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“No. I boycotted vodka when Russia attacked Ukraine, like lots of Americans, and haven’t gone back.”
“Well, I would have been fine with whatever champagne Clifford had popped,” I told him.
“Clifford?”
I motioned at the bartender.
“Ah, of course. You really do know every bartender here. You weren’t making a joke.”
“So, am I a barfly or a drunk?”
He put up his hands, as if pleading his innocence. “Neither! You don’t seem like a drunk at all. Or a barfly. You said yourself, you work here—at the casino—so I shouldn’t have been surprised that you knew him.”
“I wasn’t insulted. Just giving you a hard time. You said your last name is Orlov?”
“I did.”
“What do you do?”
He stared into the burnt sienna of the drink. God, it was beautiful, I thought. So much prettier than champagne. Then he looked into my eyes and said, “We always ask that question when we meet someone. We ask if they have children or they’re married or divorced. We ask what they do. But do you know what we never ask?”
It could have been a straight line, and I had to restrain myself from answering, Do you do meth? Were you at the Capitol last year on January 6? Do you live in a van? Instead, I waited.
“If they’re content. If they’re at peace. If they make other people happy.”
I smiled at his sincerity. Then I took a sip of my champagne, almost emptying the flute before responding. “Okay, my answers: Yes. No. And I have no idea. Too caustic?”
“By half.”
“But I do entertain people,” I went on. “I make them realize that, at the very least, they’re not about to die in a cataclysmic car accident in a Paris tunnel. And, you, Mr. Orlov?”
“Yes, yes, and I certainly try.”
“Good. Now will you tell me what you do?”
He reached into a front pocket of his blazer and handed me a business card, thick black cardboard with gold lettering. Below his name and vitals were the letters GEI.
“What’s GEI?”
“Global Economic Initiatives. We’re an investment conglomerate with assets around the globe. Metals. Energy. Telecommunications. Banks. A couple of power plants.”
“Oh, my God. Am I drinking with an honest-to-God American oligarch?”
“You are drinking with an investor who works hard and got some lucky breaks. A self-made man. I’m no fan of kleptocracies.”
“What do you do for GEI? Do you run metals or banks? Or power plants?”
“Little of this, little of that. Manage how the assets work together, look at our compliance issues around the world.”
“Where do you live?”
“Manhattan. Mostly.”
“You have a dacha, I suppose.”
“A place in Montauk.” He shook his head. “You just love the idea that my first name is Yevgeny and I was born in Volgograd.”
“If it would make you more comfortable, I will stop making jokes like that.”
