Taping was not scheduled to begin until six; however, an hour in advance had been set aside for makeup, staging rehearsal, background interviews, and the like, Tamara had explained. Katya did her best to conceal her joy at having the extra time.She and Tamara had come by taxi from shopping in Madrid’s Puerta del Sol, where a few of the stalls had opened on Sunday afternoon to cash in on the continued tourist craving for souvenirs. Katya had wanted a pair of boots—a stupendous prize, with leather so hard to come by in the Soviet Union—but Tamara had custody of the money. She selected a brightly colored scarf and paid for it with the most maddening air of importance, as though she were doing Katya an enormous good turn. “You will be sure to tell the Americans that you have been shopping,” she said, her puffy lips and cheeks set firmly. “But for souvenirs only, because you can buy everything you really want at GUM. Yes?”As they got out of their taxi to face the Spanish guard outside Bernabeau Studium, Katya slipped the scarf over her head, babushka-style.
