Free How Nancy Drew Saved My Life by Lauren Baratz-Logsted Page B

Lars.
    â€œYes, Ms. Bell?”
    â€œYour cigarette,” I said.
    â€œOh, I’m so sorry.” He reddened, moved to stub his cigarette out. “I forgot how much you Americans detest—”
    â€œNO!” I stopped him. “I was just wondering…”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œCould I maybe bum one of those off you?”
    â€œâ€˜Bum’?”
    â€œBorrow, obtain, get. I can pay you for it.” I reached in my bag, looked for my wallet.
    â€œDon’t be silly,” he laughed, handing the pack back over the seat, the flip-top lid open, a slim cigarette sliding out. I felt like I was in the middle of a Newport commercial, only the brand wasn’t one I recognized. “Please help yourself.”
    I helped myself.
    â€œI’m sure,” said Lars, “that Ambassador Rawlings would want you to have every comfort you need, so smoke as much as you like.”
    I could get used to this, I thought, lighting up, but I still wasn’t going to smoke around Annette.
    Lars Aquavit was chattier than I would have expected an Icelander to be. Weren’t these people supposed to be reserved or something?
    Perhaps “the master”—more likely, Mrs. Fairly—had told him that it was part of his job to make me feel at home and that “at home” for an American meant gabbing up a storm until the cows came home on the range.
    â€œDid you know,” said Lars Aquavit, “that Iceland is so small in population that we all feel as though we know one another?”
    As I looked out the window, and saw pairs and groupings of people walking companionably with one another, it looked as if it might be true.
    â€œIt’s true,” Lars Aquavit nodded at my reflection in the mirror, as though I’d somehow tried to deny it. “And some of us really do know everybody!”
    â€œThat sounds wonderful,” I said, wondering even as I spoke if I really meant it.
    Would it be great to know everybody? Would it be great to have everybody know you? I had my doubts.
    â€œTell me something,” Lars Aquavit said, in what sounded to me to be an uncharacteristically challenging tone of voice, “in your country, if you wished to meet the president to discuss some small matter with him and you just tried to call him up on the phone, what kind of response would you get?”
    â€œYou mean before or after the FBI and CIA came knocking on my door with questions about what I was really after, perhaps taking me into detention until they could ascertain that I was a harmless nut as opposed to a harmful one?”
    He gave the matter some serious thought.
    â€œI suppose,” he finally said, “it would need to be after.”
    â€œThey’d say no,” I said. “They’d probably suggest making a campaign donation, but even if I did that, they’d still say no.”
    â€œAh, you see?” he said. “Here it is much different. Here, any citizen can call up the president’s secretary and request an audience to discuss whatever they want.”
    â€œYou’re kidding,” I said.
    â€œNo,” he said, “kidding is not something that I am prone to. Why, just last week, I called up the president and we had lunch together the very same day.”
    What a country. A chauffeur could call up the president and, rather than finding himself in someplace like Guantanamo, wind up with an invitation to eat.
    It seemed impossible. I wanted to accuse Lars Aquavit of kidding me again but remembered that it hadn’t gone over well the first time.
    â€œWow,” I finally said, “the same day? That’s amazing.”
    He shrugged.
    â€œI suppose it helps,” he said, “that, of course, the president is my cousin.”
    â€œYour cousin?”
    â€œAll right, my second cousin. But still a cousin, of course.”
    Of course.
    What a country. It was like Lilliput, except that everyone was tall.
    If I had been