Episode 8
The show was over. Ginger was back in her room. She had everything she wanted. A comfortable bed with warm blankets. Any kind of food she could want. Meats, seafoods and prepared dishes as fine as the best dining she experienced in Hollywood. Beautiful décor with paintings on the walls. She had almost everything she needed. One thing she was not allowed was her freedom. The only door to her room was locked from the outside. The windows overlooking Red Square were locked, of course, and made of unbreakable glass. She knew that her best chance was to find President Nixon. But how could she get out in the first place?
Then, she heard a knock at her door. "Who is it?" she said. The door opened slowly. A smiling young man entered. "I have come to see if you would like anything," he said in a Russian accent. "Nothing right now," replied Ginger sitting down on a divan.
"All right. Ring your bell if you need anything," said the young man. "Do you know where your bell is?"
"Yes."
" I really like your singing. I am a – how do you say in Amerika? – a big fan."
"Thank you." Ginger started to think back to a movie she was once in. A character she played was in a similar situation. "Why don't you come in and talk to me for a while." She smiled as she stood up as the man walked in and closed the door behind him.
"Thank you."
"You are very handsome. What is your name?"
"Vladimir. Vladimir Putin. You are very beautiful."
"It's very nice to meet you Vladimir. It was amazing seeing my own president watching my performance."
"Oh yes. He is here for a meeting with Chairman Brezhenv."
"That's nice. I've always wanted to meet him."
"That would be impossible."
"That's too bad," pouted Ginger. "I don't why that would be impossible. He couldn't be too far."
"It is against the rules."
Ginger started to gently run her hand up Vladimir's chest. "What are you doing?"
"What any woman should do. You are a handsome man; you said yourself I am a beautiful woman. We can have a very nice time together." At this point, Ginger's hands were gently wrapping around Vladimir's neck. Vladimir was tongue-tied and frozen. He tried to stammer something that Ginger didn't understand so she planted a kiss right on his lips. "How's that?" said Ginger.
"Very nice," replied Vladimir.
"Why don't you take your shirt off?" coaxed Ginger.
"Oh, I couldn't do that."
"Why not?"
"It's embarrassing."
"Oh come on." Ginger started picking at his shirt. "What would a strong, handsome man be embarrassed about taking off his shirt and showing a beautiful woman his physique?"
"All right." Vladimir mustered up the courage to unbutton his shirt and throw it off.
"Oh my," gasped Ginger. She began to caress his chest, shoulders and back. "You should take off your shirt more often."
"Maybe I will," murmured Putin. Ginger kissed him and held him close. Her hands found their way to his pants. She caressed his buttocks. Vladimir reciprocated on Ginger's butt. Ginger let go and put her hands on the straps of her dress. She slowly pulled them down over her shoulders and let the dress drop on the floor, leaving her standing before Vladimir in her bra and panties. "Well?" she said reaching for his belt loops. "Let's get this off." Putin eagerly undid his pants and dropped them. Ginger went back to caressing and kissing Putin. Then she whispered in his ear, "I wish I was in the same hotel as Nixon."
"I do not have that information," murmured Putin, "but he will be at the Kremlin with Chairman Brezhnev tomorrow."
At that moment, Ginger's knee went swiftly and directly into Vladimir Putin's groin. He collapsed to the floor suffering terrible agony. Ginger quickly threw on his shirt, pants and hat. Then, she grabbed his keys and was out the door in a shot. Vladimir Putin simply laid on the floor in his underpants, tears streaming from his eyes, gently cradling his testicles in a vain effort to soothe his excruciating pain.
