Abducted By a Russian Boy band (Part 3)

Probably the the most memorable aspect of my first encounter with Ha-Ha (pronounced Na-Na - which means "Come and get it" in Russian Slang) was how matter of factly Soap Guy and I were embraced by the guys in the band. They didn't seem overly excited, but they were definitely not very skeptical either. My only conclusion after all these years is that their day-to-day lives were so far beyond my comprehension of "Normal" that to wake up and be told "Yeah we have a couple of Americans swinging out to be a part of your gig - perhaps forever" was actually not that big-a-deal to them. And it couldn't have been that they were once starving-line-waiters as children and now are so grateful just to wake up each day because I was able to determine, piece by piece, that most of them came from "The Chosen Pool" (as I like to call it) plucked from an early age to be trained to be Uber-Talents ala white nights and therefor well cared for....to some degree anyway. At any rate, I had officially strapped on the seatbelt (double shoulder aerobatic harness) for the ride. After the Red Square shoot, we walked with our entourage of - I was soon to find out heavily armed - body guards around Red Square, up to Lennon's Tomb, and down through the Arabat, Moscow's famous outdoor market place. This was the first time I learned the rule about American cash which reads: It's VERY illegal to use, and it's VERY desirable to obtain by merchants. I decided to buy a set of Russian Dolls for my Mom, (the ones that open up to reveal an even smaller doll several times till you have a little baby nub) whipped out my billfold of greenbacks and, all at once, was descended upon by not only every merchant in sight, but the bodyguards. The merchants wanted it and the bodyguards wanted me to put it away. This would be apropos for the way I learned everything for the rest of the trip. Back to the band's building we went and I was relieved not to have the crowds of crying, screaming, fans chasing us anymore. From this point on the fans (mostly young girls) would simply sit outside the building and cry and scream when we appeared in the window - a game Soap Guy and I played off and on until that wore thin too. I think the whole "parading us around Moscow" bit was an attempt by the producers to show us how big the band was already - maybe to intimidate us, maybe to impress us, or maybe because that was easier than just saying - yeah they're like the Back Street Boys in the US - which they also eventually said too. I have to admit that at this point I was very intrigued by the prospect of this adventure continuing, and my mind was constantly computing what it would or could be like. I'm sure the feeling of living in an isolated language/culture bubble would eventually wear off or even disappear, I knew I'd become fluent in Russian soon enough (being fluent in a second language was something I always wanted to be), and I knew the real money in music was in the US so there was never any doubt that their intentions were to get there - which meant for me - home. BUT, this was all very intense sensory overload and I had absolutely no idea how long all of the aforementioned would take and, after all, I left a lot back home in the meantime. All of this was careening through my brain as we were given a tour of their building (yes they owned a building) which included a recording studio on the top floor, a large dance rehearsal room, and several mini-apartments where each band member "lived." They led Soap-Guy and me down to the lowest floor and to the most opulent mini-apartment of all (in a strict early 80's sense). It was a large loft space with guitar shaped stairs leading up to the overlook area that Soap Guy immediately claimed as his room. On the main level was a pull out couch (mine) and I'll never forget the Jailhouse-Rock-Elvis phone on the bureau staring back at me. How perfect that I finally find a phone and Elvis is my only link to America! In 1997, cell phones weren't nearly where they are today in the US, and almost unheard of in Russia. This was a time when most people still used pay phones, we were all still clinging to our 1-800# beepers, and calling cards were the dominant source of connection long distance, and my next task was to figure out how to use this phone system and communicate to a Russian Operator to make the process work. I decided I'd take Elvis for a test drive and possibly wake up some Family back home (I didn't know what time it was on either continent - I hadn't seen a clock yet today...interesting). My first attempt at dialing out I learned that the phone was set up dominantly as an in-house intercom system and I reached the kitchen. I was trying really hard not to seem too eager to get a line out and looking back on it I realize why. From the get go, there was inherent tension between myself and the producers. My agent had battled with them so intensely (one reason I was told Soap Guy was there as insurance) that I think they sensed I had one foot out the door before I even got there. Perhaps for my own safety, or at the very least sanity, I was trying to placate the powers that be so that they wouldn't get angry that I was potentially wasting their time and money. Anyway, I decided I'd try the phone thing tomorrow and let Soap Guy figure it out if he wanted to. Our mini-apt had no windows, and because I had no idea what time it was otherwise (assumed it was early evening by now) I decided to try and sleep. I would soon deduce that not having clocks all over the place was likely another form of control the producers had over the band. Band members were expected to wake up when called, eat when called, sleep when called, do concerts when called, record when called, dance when called, etc... Jailhouse rock started playing a few minutes later and the voice on the other end of the line told us it was officially sleep time. Elvis had spoken and I was starting to feel like a prisoner now and it was only the first day still... (To be continued)....