Once all the shots were delivered, Petrov waved his bottle of vodka in her direction. "Let's get on with it,devochka. Do your worst."
Mattie got off her stool. "All right. Konstantin, you are going to be the brothel woman who answers the phone and takes the booking. You're going to be her so Number One can practice on you."
"I am a Russian scientist of some standing."
"Right now, you are an actor. Embrace it for the next five minutes."
"I have no training."
"Neither does Number One."
Petrov pointed at Dimitri. "Why can't he be the woman who takes the bookings?"
"Because he has no experience dealing with the brothel. You do. You've talked to her, and you know what she asks."
He didn't look embarrassed by her pointing out his experience in the brothel.
"I never call. I just show up."
"You are a smart man." Mattie smiled indulgently at him. "I'm sure you can improvise."
"Fine." Petrov made a show of crossing his knees and assuming a bored, pouty expression. He cleared his throat and, in a passable falsetto, said, "Good afternoon. How may I help you?"
Mattie lost the fight.
She laughed so hard that she doubled over and had to press her hand against her stomach and wait for the wave of it to pass.
Dimitri was grinning, but the Eight seemed not to get the humor of Petrov's attempted imitation.
"Okay," she said, wiping her eyes. "Okay. That was good. Keep the voice. Just less."
"Less what?"
"Less theatrics and make her sound old and bored. She's answered this phone a thousand times. Nothing excites her."
"This I can do."
He opened his notebook, pretended that his pen was a cigarette, and once again assumed a bored expression.
"Good afternoon. You have reached the House of Pleasure. How may I assist you?"
"Better. I'll play Number One for one round, and then he's going to take over." She glanced at the soldier. "Pay attention."
Number One inclined his head. "Go ahead."
"Good afternoon," she said in a monotone, low voice. "We are calling to make an appointment."
"Certainly," Petrov answered in a bored voice. "Any special requests? Kinks? Fetishes? A particular look?"
"Yes. We would like to request Anita."
"Anita," Petrov repeated. "What's your number, soldier? I need to verify how many credits you have available."
Mattie hadn't expected that question, but Number One seemed to know exactly what was needed.
He rattled off a long sequence of numbers.
Petrov pretended to type the number on his keyboard. "Oh," he said in a surprised voice. "You have plenty of credits. You can order eight girls, one for yourself and one for each of your friends. You can even do two for each."
