Free Hotel Moscow by Talia Carner Page B

photographs.”
    Olga couldn’t help compare Brooke’s youthful thirty-eight against her own aged forty-eight. America was so generous with her women, while Russia was parsimoniousness with hers.
    A waiter brought a pot of strong fragrant coffee. Brooke signaled to him that she needed a cup. He ignored her. Mustering her most commanding tone, Olga spoke to him in Russian, but he snubbed her too.
    After two more failed attempts to get attention, Brooke got up and walked to the door leading to the kitchen. Three waiters congregated outside it, smoking. When Brooke returned with a clean cup, Olga watched the men eyeing the slim, lithe figure.
    Olga poured her coffee. “Sorry for not getting you the cup myself, but they are unionized.” When she saw the American’s confused expression she added, “They’re prohibited from giving it to someone who is not a paying guest.”
    “I know all about unions,” Brooke replied, but Olga doubted she really did. One had to live in Russia to experience its unions’ impact on every minute human interaction. The job description of each occupation was so detailed that no employee could be faulted for sticking to cumbersome procedures, while in fact it guaranteed lack of courtesy. The regulation meant to control theft of hotel property now prevented her from getting a cup.
    The conversation around the table turned to democracy and what could be expected in the new Russia.
    “We have a very educated population with more women engineers and physicians than any other country,” Olga said, seizing the opportunity to reclaim a sliver of her beloved Russia’s pride. “Once we have the right tools, a real leap forward will surely follow.”
    Brooke nodded. “The rug has been pulled out from under this country with no preparation,” she said. “The legal system collapsed with nothing to replace it. And the goals of the new economy have been defined, but not the means by which to reach them.”
    Olga noticed that Brooke’s short, manicured nails sportedclear polish instead of the expected shade of red or magenta a Russian woman—especially a successful one—would apply. “Not enough reason to collapse into chaos,” she said, and squashed her cigarette in a saucer.
    “It will take strong leadership—and time—to draft a working legal system,” Brooke said, “and then to establish effective enforcement of it.”
    “What about God’s law and human law? What about respecting others’ rights? What kind of new society are we building here? Yeltsin’s new machinations have brought only distrust in his leadership. He’s inciting a civil war!” Olga’s indignation rose as she picked up her coffee cup, splashing some coffee. “I’m all for progress—especially when it includes making room for our women’s development. New horizons have opened to our nation, and women will march toward them.”
    Brooke touched her sleeve. “That’s why we’re here. To help them in business.”
    Business. The new English word had a sweet taste. Olga rolled it on her tongue. Other new foreign words she marveled at, recently adopted into Russian, were entrepreneur and marketing. She asked Brooke, “What exactly is ‘business’?”
    Brooke looked at her for a long moment as if assessing whether Olga was serious or just ignorant. “Business is creating a product or service that people need or can use. Then you develop the infrastructure to market and distribute it, and make a profit at the end of the sale.”
    “What do you do?” Olga asked the young, unassuming woman who knew so much. “Are you a professor?”
    “I’m an investment manager at a private firm that manages people’s money.”
    “A whole company just to manage people’s money? Must be very rich clients.”
    Brooke smiled, and Olga registered that the Americans smiled even when there was no reason to. Russians were born with a scowl on their faces.
    “There are specializations for each business aspect,” Brooke said. “I