Beware of meeting men in strange places. Yes this is the line that Mothers like to say as you pack up and move anywhere and that Dateline NBC endorses because you too could end up dead in the Hollywood Hills gratis of some man trying to lure you into his next James Bond movie. Here’s a tip for any would-be Hollywood actress: read the trades. The next time someone promises to put you in his movie, you’ll know what’s in develoment and production. The crazy thing, however, about meeting men in strange places is that this is exactly what you need to do if you’re ever going to step outside of your comfort zone and actuallly truly meet someone. Like, for instance, the 76 gas station in Beverly Hills. Go there and you too can meet a member of the Russian mafia and make your parents proud.

One warm June morning I was filling up my car when an unbelievable car pulled up next to me. The man that deplaned from this mass of steel was an incredible looking guy. Tight body, elaborate tattoos and a cool/casual LA attire. For all I knew this guy was either a rock star or a music executive. And that accent. Suddenly he started speaking Russian into two phones. I had no idea what he was saying but I was sure it had to do with making things happen. I had to meet this guy. So suddenly I pretended there was something horribly wrong with my tires. I know this is a lame ploy but apparently men love to help damsels in distress so I was particularly distressed this June morning. Something must be wrong with my tires.

Guy: “What is matter?”

Me: “Something is wrong with my tires. They’re flat. I think I need to fill them up.”

Guy: “No. Don’t touch tire. It fine.”

Me: “Oh, okay. Are you sure? They look a little low but thanks!” (I said with a twinkle in my eye)

I asked the hot Russian his name and he replied,

Guy: “Igor”

Me: “What, no, I mean what is your name?

Guy: “My name is Igor.”

Well you have got to be kidding me because I couldn’t believe this guy’s name was actually Igor. At this point small talk ensued. I was curious why he was here and if it was business or pleasure. He informed me that he has a business here and that he spends 6 months in Moscow and a few months here every year. We talked about the kinds of things he likes to do and he responded that he likes going to clubs. In fact, he owns several of them in Russia. Had I been thinking and not focusing on the Geisha tattoos and accent, this should have set off alarm bells worthy of a five-alarm fire but I was transfixed. Suddenly multiple cars started honking behind us and I realized that they either think this is a very LA moment or that I was a complete loser. But we ignored the honking. On this day, lightning had struck and I was going to be a Russian princess carried off to a Moscow palace by a dashing Ed Hardy-wearing Rusky. A little too Danielle Steel, but it works.

Right on the petrol station tarmac Igor asked me out for the following Saturday but then proceeded to call immediately and ask me out that evening. I joined him at the Stone Rose Lounge after a late client dinner determined to get to know this mysterious stranger. Everything about this night was bizarre. Thinking Igor was a gentleman, I noticed that he would always wait outside the bar or restaurant for me to arrive and would always sit with his person facing outward. He always paid cash and was very vague about his chosen profession. Well, I thought, I roped another one. The playboy-I-have-2-wives-and-a girl-in-every-port-type. For some reason, I have radar that attracts these boys. After a few cocktails I got up the nerve to ask him if he was in the Russian mafia and he laughed this off spouting the ignorance of Americans thinking that every Russian was in the mafia and that Moscow is filled with fur-clad people standing in line to get a sack of potatoes in the freezing tundra. How did he know? He mentioned he owned several companies but that it was inappropriate for a woman to ask a man what he did for a living. But no, I didn’t run at this point. My investigative reporter suddenly emerged and I was going to get to the bottom of what this handsome Russian did for a living. Igor and I left the Stone Rose to listen to live music at the Backstage Café but before we entered, I was treated to Igor’s personal collection of Russian rap videos that he animatedly played in the car while dancing around like the Father from Yentl. I didn’t know whether to laugh, bolt or join him.

Me: “Wow. I can’t believe the production values of that video. I had no idea Russians could rap.”

Igor: “Of course, it is very big business.”

Me: “The girls are stunning. Are you in the music business there?”

Igor: “No. But I am in girls’ business.”

Riiiiiight, so the guy has a girl in every port. Just what I thought. He quickly clarified that he knew many of the girls because he was “in business” with a lot of the producers there. Oh. Okay. That makes things much better. What the hell does this guy do? I arrived home that evening safe enough and Igor and I continued to go out several more times throughout the next month. So he was a nice guy. Maybe he wasn’t in the mafia. On our last date before he went back to Moscow, he asked if I had told my family about him. I explained that in America, girls don’t really tell their parents about their dates unless they’re quite serious or concerned that they may be without kidneys in the morning. Igor replied, “Please tell family I’m not bad guy.”

So now I believe something is seriously up. I decide to rile up the Russian so I asked him what he thought about that crazy KGB poisioning thing in London. At that moment, Igor sternly set down his shot glass and said,

“He knew too much.”

Yup and now so do I I’m thinking. After dinner, Igor proceeded to take me to some bizarre bath house/club that to this day I couldn’t tell you where it was. All I know is that people knew him there, you could order room service 24/7 and he had to call Moscow every evening around 11:00p.m. I saw Igor every now and then when he came back into Los Angeles but after awhile, it all got to be too much even for me. The communication improved but I couldn’t help thinking that something was very odd about Igor. He’d show up then disappear. He’d call but never answer e-mails. He was wealthy but from what who knows. He was a gentleman but could also be very scary. Well the one thing I know for sure – hey Oprah, I wish I knew better things for sure other than if your date is part of the mafia but nonethess, is that when men are vague like this they’re either married or on the wrong side of the law. Not wanting to be an early organ donor, I stopped picking up Igor’s calls and that was the end of my Danielle Steel fantasy.

So was he Russian mafia? To this day I’ll never know but I have a Cartier pen and a deeper appreciation for tattoos and Russian rap videos to keep my suspicions company.