Jason Overstreet - Beneath the Darkest Sky

We continued our drive along the river. All this talk of new types of recording devices had me wondering what technology the Soviet scientists were actually on the cusp of.

“That river is beautiful, isn’t it, gentlemen?” said Bullitt. “Pull over up here to the left, Prescott. I’d like to get out and stretch my legs.”

I pulled over and waited for the ambassador to get out. But he just sat there for a moment smoking and staring at the river.

“I’d like to have a private moment with you, Bobby,” he finally said. “We’ll be right back, Prescott. Keep it running.”

I nodded as they exited and made their way to the rear of the vehicle, both of them lighting fresh cigarettes. My window was up, so I couldn’t hear them, but my confidence was up as well, so I rolled it down just a bit. My desire to eavesdrop on their conversation overrode any type of honor one might suggest I exhibit.

“There is an apartment for you and your family at the Mokhovaya, Bobby,” said Bullitt, essentially whispering. “But I think it’s in the best interest of everyone to have Prescott and his family find a more suitable living space.”

“Sir!” whispered Bobby, obviously taken aback.

“I’m not trying to hide him, Bobby, but I think it’s best to keep other staff from making him feel uncomfortable. I know we’re in the Soviet Union and race relations are progressive, but most embassy staff still see the issue as it is back home. They most certainly aren’t comfortable with race mixing, in terms of living arrangements.”

“But you and I talked,” whispered Bobby. “In Haiti, embassy staff were completely fine with Prescott living—”

“This is not fucking Haiti… or Africa… or the Caribbean. You know there’s not a single Negro FSO in our entire Moscow chancery. There’s a reason for that. It’s the way things are within the State Department still. For that matter, there’s not a single female FSO here either.”

“We’re not like this, you and I, William.”

“No, we’re not. And I believe relations will change. Listen. I agreed to have you serve on my staff, at a very high level at that. And I know that Dorene’s influence with the president and first lady didn’t hurt. Franklin all but demanded I take you on. So you’re here. You’ll be an ambassador yourself very soon. That should be your focus.”

“Prescott is a man of great integrity. And as my career grows, I intend to have him by my side for as long as—”

“You can have him by your side here, too. We’re simply talking living arrangements. I agreed to let you hire whomever you wanted as your personal aide. Shouldn’t that be enough? He’s got embassy clearance at least, and he’s on a personal service contract. But let’s be clear, he’s basically no different from the Russian builders I hired for the ballroom, a contractor hired by the embassy.”

“I understand that,” said Bobby, sounding quite disappointed. “But if—”

“He’s a fucking assistant, for Christ’s sake! Essentially a servant! They’re plentiful. And like all the others, regardless of color, there won’t even be a record of him having ever existed at the chancery here. That’s just plain old reality.”

“Prescott is one of the most brilliant, loyal—”

“So is my new Italian aide, Mr. Offie,” said Bullitt.

“But Prescott will eventually be an FSO. I intend to see to it. And he, like the American gentleman who’s now Consul in Las Palmas, will eventually completely break through these archaic barriers.”

“Dammit, I, for one, know this Negro Consul you speak of. His name is Clifton Wharton, Sr. And I really like and respect him. But he wasn’t sent to Moscow.”

“But perhaps he could have been.”

“That’s enough on the subject, Bobby. I’m sure Prescott is bright, and I meant what I said earlier about having him work with the Russian contractors on the new ballroom as a technical advisor. And your office at the chancery shall be his office as well. But let’s find him a suitable apartment. Come! I’d like to get going.”

I casually rolled my window back up as the two rejoined me, lit cigarettes still in hand. I wasn’t going to let this living situation deter me from working with my friend, because I believed that he would one day see to it that such arrangements wouldn’t have to be made. In fact, I intended to relieve him of even having to bring the issue up. I planned on telling him that Loretta wanted to live amongst some of the local artists, wherever that was.

“Let’s continue on to Kutuzovsky Street, Prescott,” said Bullitt, exhaling smoke. “I’ll show the two of you Stalin’s private estate. It was just built. It’s called Blizhnyaya Dacha… his nearby dacha. The house is heavily guarded and difficult to even see, but you’ll get a sense of the place. Construction is actually still being completed on it.”

“Sounds fantastic,” I said, knowing that Bobby’s sour mood would lead him to remain quiet.

“I’m hoping,” said Bullitt, “that Stalin keeps his word on something. He promised me I could build a new embassy chancery on a place I desire. It’s a piece of land on a beautiful bluff in the Sparrow Hills overlooking the Moscow River. I’ve had an American architect draw up some plans. It could be like Jefferson’s Monticello.”

No slaves, though, I hope, Mr. Ambassador! I said to myself. I wouldn’t have dared said it out loud.

“I would like to take this opportunity to be frank, gentlemen,” said Bullitt. “I’m merely thinking out loud. As I hinted at earlier, Prescott, perhaps you could work with the Russians I just hired to build the new ballroom. Be our American electrician! The Soviet government forced me to use Russian contractors, but we need at least an American consultant on board. Then you could dig a little and find out where they’re hiding their new gadgets. The electricity will have to be shut off periodically and you’ll maybe have access to areas in the attic and behind the walls of the mansion—all thirty rooms.”

I looked in the mirror at Bobby. His face was beet red. I was hoping that he could at least wait until we were alone to blow his top. I didn’t want him to lose his job on the first day.

“You’re being colored, Prescott, and speaking Russian will allow you to ingratiate yourself to the workers without raising any eyebrows. They simply find it almost a communist calling to treat coloreds with complete deference… as if how they treat you all is the ultimate test of their allegiance to Marx’s manifesto. Is that too blunt, Prescott?”

“Blunt is quite preferable to vague, sir,” I said.

“Indeed. You can have him most of the time, Bobby, but perhaps he can work on the ballroom for the first couple months here. Don’t worry about desperately needing Prescott to translate for you for the time being, Bobby, because you’re probably not going to leave your office very much in these early days. I need you to help sort out the passport mess our consular has on his hands.”

“Yes, sir,” said Bobby.

“He’s overwhelmed. Hundreds of Americans have lost theirs. When Mr. Stalin initially promised them work over here, somehow their passports magically disappeared within the first few weeks of their arrival. Some, I know, threw them away as a protest to America’s Depression after they’d been promised Soviet citizenship. They’ve told us as much. Now they’re homesick and want them back.”

“I’m here to serve you, Mr. Ambassador,” said Bobby.

I hated hearing my friend have to suppress his own feelings and bow down to his superior, but such was the way it had to be. Besides, other than perhaps Paris, there wasn’t a place on this earth where a colored man like me wouldn’t have to deal with race-based inconveniences like this.