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scraggly shoppers in cheap coats arrived to find the show was over. The Party officials didn’t understand what Austin wanted to see, but they knew it wasn’t long lines and poorly stocked stores. Since they were under strict orders to accommodate the singer’s every whim, they could hardly intervene.
    Austin put a friendly hand on Leo’s back:
    —
Tell me a little about yourself.
    Leo had no desire to talk about himself:
    —
What would you like to know?
    Appearing out of nowhere, one of the officials joined them, having evidently overheard their conversation:
    —
Leo Demidov is one of our bravest officers. He fought heroically during the war and was awarded numerous commendations. Please, Mr. Austin, where is it you would like to be taken? Perhaps you could take some tea while we make preparations?
    Austin was annoyed at the interruption, ignoring the notion of tea, a crude attempt to stall for time, and addressing Leo:
    —
What do you do now, Comrade Demidov?
    Leo believed in his work as an agent. Communism faced dangers from many sides. It needed to be protected. However,it was much too complex an issue to go into now. He simply said:
    —
I’m a police officer.
    Leo hoped the questions were at an end. But Austin continued:
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Is there a lot of crime in the city?
    —
Not crime as there is in America. There are no murders or theft. I deal with political criminals, conspiracies against the State.
    Austin went quiet for a moment:
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Fairness has many enemies, am I right?
    —
Yes, you are.
    —
I’ll wager your job can be difficult.
    —
Sometimes.
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It’s worth it, my friend. It is worth it.
    They’d danced around the edge of this dark subject. Leo was thankful for Austin’s discretion. The conclusion of the conversation seemed to require a long silence, a pause. Jesse Austin eventually broke the silence, opting for a lighter topic:
    —
No more serious questions. What do you like to do for fun? A handsome man like you, you must be married?
    Embarrassed at being called handsome, and at being single, Leo blushed:
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No.
    —
But why not?
    —
I don’t know…
    —
But there’s someone you love, isn’t there? Surely there’s someone? There’s always a love story, right?
    The question implied it was simply unthinkable that a person could be without love. Leo was desperate to move the conversation on. A lie was the easiest way to do it:
    —
There is someone. We met recently.
    —
What does she do?
    Leo hesitated, thinking back on Lena’s pile of schoolbooks:
    —
She’s a teacher.
    —
Bring her to the concert tonight!
    Leo gave a small nod of his head:
    —
I will ask her. She is often very busy. But I will ask her.
    —
Please, bring her.
    —
I will try.
    They’d walked for ten minutes, down side streets, off the main road. An official tugged Leo’s arm, smiling broadly to conceal his agitation:
    —
Are we walking anywhere in particular?
    Before Leo could reply, Austin saw the line. He raised his hand, pointing to a line of customers snaking outside a small grocery store. Grigori ran ahead, assessing the store. There were at least thirty men and women lined up. Many of them were elderly, their ragged coats dusted with snow. Grigori looked at Leo with alarm. The elderly crowd turned and stared at the unlikely visitors, an MGB agent and a well-dressed American celebrity—perhaps the most famous American singer in the USSR, one of the few that the media was allowed to promote.
    Leo turned to Austin:
    —
Wait here. Let me see what the problem is.
    Leo hurried to Grigori’s side to hear him whisper:
    —
They haven’t opened yet!
    Leo banged on the store window. The manager scuttled out of the back room, unlocking the door. Before Leo could utter a warning, Austin was by his side:
    —
They open a little later here?
    Despite the cold, Leo’s shirt had become damp with perspiration:
    —
It would seem so.
    As the door opened, Austin addressed the store manager:
    —
Good morning. How you doing