I hold the phone in silence for a moment, then say, “Okay, Joe. Let me text you the address.”
“Good,” he says and hangs up.
Stunned, I make my way to Ada’s kitchen.
Only the sight of Ada in her PJs takes me out of my daze. Well, that and the sight of Mr. Spock sitting on the counter.
I think I see recognition in the rat’s eyes. He even seems friendly. If he could talk, I bet he’d say, “Hey, I know you. We’ve slept together.”
“Take this,” Ada says and hands me a gigantic plastic cup with something thick and green inside.
I sip the liquid gingerly and get hit with a surprisingly refreshing taste. The liquid is cold, sweet, and exactly what I needed.
“Yum,” I say after I swallow my third icy gulp. “It tastes a lot like a milkshake. What’s in it?”
“Frozen banana, silken tofu, and a little spinach for color.” Ada pours herself another cup and looks me over approvingly.
I follow her gaze and remember I’m only wearing boxers.
Oh well. Since she doesn’t seem to mind, I decide I’ll get dressed after breakfast. I tell her what I’ve learned, concluding with the fact that Joe will be accompanying me on this trip to Russia.
“I can see why you don’t want Joe joining you,” she says. “But I think he might actually be of some help. His job is providing people with security, after all. What I don’t get is your problem with visiting Russia.” Ada takes a small sip of her green drink. “I’d love to see Russia if I could.”
“You’re not going,” I say firmly, in case she was hinting at it.
“Of course not. I need to provide backup, and I’m best equipped to do that here,” Ada says. “It still doesn’t explain what your problem with Russia is.”
“How can I explain it to you?” I savor my drink and say, “Picture every Russian movie villain.”
Ada demonstratively closes her eyes and smiles.
Taking that to mean she’s using her imagination like I instructed, I continue. “So, I bet you’re picturing a Russian drug lord, or a weapons dealer, or a crazed Soviet spy, or an ex-military mercenary—”
“Actually”—Ada’s eyes open, glinting amber in the morning light—“I was thinking of the guys who kidnapped and threatened to cannibalize the yellow M&M candy in that Super Bowl commercial.”
“You know, that ‘Boris the Bullet Dodger’ actor in the ad is actually Croatian. His Russian was barely coherent during his monologue, but yeah, that’ll work as far as the point I’m trying to make. Now, take that guy and his crew and picture all these villains multiplied millions of times and located in a spot roughly double the size of NYC.”
“Okay.” Ada’s tone is serious, but her eyes roll slightly upward.
“You now have Moscow in your mind’s eye.”
“Sure I do. I can trust you, the guy who hasn’t visited the motherland since the early nineties.”
She has a semi-decent point. I don’t watch Russian movies or shows like Mom does, and I haven’t read a book in Russian for two decades. As a result, I don’t have a clue what’s really going on in Russia, outside of American news, and they definitely put a spin on things. So I know the picture I painted for Ada might be irrational, but it doesn’t change how I feel.
“I hope you’re right,” I tell her. “And even if you’re not, it’s not like I have much choice.”
“If it’s as bad as you think, it’s even more important that you get your mom back as soon as possible.”
Either Ada’s words or the air conditioning makes me shiver, so I say, “I’ll go get dressed.”
“Me too, and then I’ll prep a bunch of stuff for you to take with,” Ada says and reaches inside her fridge.
I leave to go put on some clothes, and by the time I return to the kitchen, Ada has already changed out of her PJs and is holding a backpack. She’s wearing skinny jeans and a t-shirt with an internet meme on it. The meme is of Patrick Stewart next to a quote that says, “Use the force, Harry,” with an attribution to Gandalf.
“This is for you.” Ada hands me the backpack. “I made you sandwiches for the flight and also put in some items that might aid in your brain development.”
I take the backpack, thank Ada, and together, we leave her apartment. As we walk down a flight of stairs, I mentally activate Einstein and ask him to get us a car on Uber.
The car arrives a minute after we exit the building, and I get to play the gentleman once again by holding the door open for Ada.
“I’ll work on a few apps for you,” Ada says and whips out her laptop as the car pulls into traffic. “You should make sure to set up a mobile hotspot on your phone, and double-check you’ll have cell coverage in Russia. This way, your Brainocytes will be able to connect to the internet through your phone.”
Appreciating Ada’s advice, I spend the next twenty minutes sorting out my phone. The whole process feels like it takes hours, but in the end, I’m satisfied. I even surprise the otherwise uncaring customer service rep by telling him their outrageous roaming prices are “fair enough.”
Once I’m done, I look over Ada’s shoulder to see what she’s coding.
After I watch for a while, I can’t help mumbling, “That’s even less readable than before. How’s it going to pass code review?”
“You can review the code on the plane if you want. Since this is just a little video game I’m writing for your entertainment, the review is optional,” Ada says without looking away from her laptop. “Tell me something, does Russia have the same expression about looking a gift horse in the mouth?”
“There’s a mare and teeth in the proverb, but yeah, there’s something like that,” I say. “Do you mind if I keep watching?”
“Why do you think I’m not writing this in my head?” she responds via a mental text message. “I want to encourage you to be able to do this for yourself someday.”
“Thanks,” I mentally type back.
My focus on Ada’s work is so intense I don’t notice the car stopping and get startled when the driver coughs to get our attention.
We’re standing by an airport entrance gate. After a call to Mitya, we’re escorted to a special golf cart that takes us to the plane.
Before today, I’ve only seen Mitya’s custom version of the Boeing 747 on his Facebook page. Driving up to it now, I’m amazed at its sleekness and size. I’ve always pictured something smaller, but this is almost as big as a commercial jet.
My admiration is interrupted when Ada closes her laptop and says, “Okay, I finished and loaded the game into your AROS environment.”
“Thanks,” I say and resume gawking at the airplane.
When we stop moving, I get out of the vehicle and run into yet another surprise.
My cousin is already here.
“Hey, Joe,” I say as Ada and I walk up to him. “How did you get through security?”
Joe doesn’t respond, his lizard eyes boring a hole into something over my shoulder.
I follow his gaze and see a posh limo pulling up. It must be an electric, because I didn’t hear it arrive at all. “It’s probably my friend Mitya,” I say. “This is his plane.”
Joe crosses his arms over his chest and watches the limo with the same determined mistrust.
When the door opens, it’s indeed Mitya who gets out.
I approach and reluctantly give him a Russian-style man hug, a gesture I reserve for close friends I haven’t seen in a while. “Good to see you, man. Sorry we won’t get a chance to hang out face to face.”
Mitya assures me we’ll get to chill once I return, and I make the introductions. Ignoring my cousin’s suspicious glare, Mitya asks his driver to take my backpack up to the plane, but I protest, saying I’m still capable of carrying twenty pounds strapped to my back.
As we walk up the fancy airstairs, I can tell by Mitya’s eager stride that he wants to show off his pimped-out air ride.
The place doesn’t disappoint. We pass a high-tech 3D movie theater setup and a huge collection of parachutes and wingsuits. After he shows them off, Mitya leads us past uber-comfortable beds and lets us park our butts on couches that look twenty times more expensive than what I have in my apartment—and I splurged.
Happy his efforts to impress us succeeded, Mitya really pushes it by hollering for the two stewardesses who will accompany us on the flight. The women come out wearing cutesy uniforms that emphasize their ridiculously long legs and model-like facial symmetry.
I notice Ada frowning at them, but I don’t feel comfortable reassuring her she has nothing to worry about, in case she’s feeling jealous. They’re not my type—not that it makes a difference, since I only have one woman on my mind these days, and that’s Ada. Besides, if she was going to worry, it should be about the Russian girls I’ll meet once I step off the plane. I’ve heard crazy stories of debauchery from almost everyone who’s gone to Russia. In fact, I know men who go to Russia primarily for the effect they have on the country’s female population. Vic, one of the analysts at my fund, got married to a Russian girl while visiting there—a girl who’s so out of his league the rest of us are convinced she just wants him for his green card.
“Any problem with the Wi-Fi?” Mitya asks when Joe and I take our seats.
“Nope, all set,” I mentally text him.
Mitya’s phone plays Black Sabbath’s “Iron Man” intro as his text notification. He looks at it and says, “Ada, can I get the Brainocytes as soon as we’re done? Mike just convinced me I’d give my left kidney to have them.”
“Sure,” she says. “We’ll need to get the backups first, but afterwards, we can do that. I assume you know or have access to a nurse?”
“No problem. Anything you need.” Mitya pushes his power specs farther up his nose with his middle finger, a gesture that someone might mistake for getting flipped off. “Okay, Mike, anything you want to discuss before we leave?”
I’m tempted to tell Mitya in Russian to keep his grubby paws off Ada, but since she understands Russian now, I’d only sound like a jealous idiot, so I opt for something more practical.
“I have some app ideas that’ll be useful when we’re in Russia, particularly this gun app I have in mind,” I say. “Can you guys help me out by developing these apps once Mitya gets what he wants?”
They wholeheartedly agree, and I feel a tiny spurt of guilt mixed with relief. The big coding project I gave them is, in part, to keep them busy so they don’t get too chummy with each other. The rational part of me trusts Mitya. He knows I like Ada and wouldn’t stab me in the back. However, the irrational, primitive part of me thinks no one can resist Ada. Either way, the apps will be useful, and if the request has the added bonus of girl-theft prevention, that’s just gravy.
“So this is goodbye,” Ada says as she comes up to me.
She looks like she wants a hug, so I stand up to give her one. I usually find this type of human interaction a little uncomfortable, but since it’s Ada, I might actually enjoy it.
Ada glances at the blond stewardess, then at me, and then she suddenly rises on her tiptoes. She’s looking directly into my eyes, and I feel like a fly caught in amber.
Ada’s lips touch mine.