“Walter is a worm, Lena,” Vivika spoke. “The guy looks slick and talks slick, but he’s a worm. He can barely get a decent technician in here to record us on time, and he’s almost never here to actually produce. All the other bands on Little John complain about him. He doesn’t have a thing planned for us.”
“Just a little faith and a little more time is all I’m asking,” Lena implored. “These things take time. Let’s just wrap up the album and get everything ready on our end. Walter’s got a tech coming in tomorrow and we can finally get Jakob’s parts solidified. If, after the album is recorded, we still haven’t heard anything, I’ll book us a show myself. We have the passports, anyway.”
“We aren’t going anywhere without the Stasi to babysit us,” Vortecx complained. “Unless you have a main-line to them, we’re gonna have to go through Walter.”
“Trust me…” Lena said in as authoritative a tone as she could manage, “Let’s get everything finished on our end of things. I’ll handle Walter once everything is finalized.” The group didn’t seem very satisfied, but even the drunk and victimized Jakob could see that there wasn’t a way around it. Besides, they had placed a large amount of faith in her ability to make things happen. She was, after all, an infamous punk rock starlet and new mainstream legend.
Oh yeah… that had happened.
“Two facts that every musician is doomed to learn,” Grandfather had told her, “the masses like what they are told to like, and legitimacy is completely engineered.” She didn’t believe him at first—that is, until she gave two reasonably high-profile interviews. One, for a popular underground magazine, and another on an illegal pirate radio program (that was subsequently broadcasted all over Armed Forces Radio in the West). In both of these interviews, she had described (in vivid detail) her capture by the Stasi and subsequent internment. She expounded on her brutal torture and how she had managed to escape their clutches while still sticking to her guns.
Of course, she had realized the error of some of her ways. A few Stasi officers had taken it upon themselves to graciously educate her on the meaning behind the socialist values. Certainly, she couldn’t have been expected to see the bigger picture without some teaching, and the officers had understood this. Lena was glad she had grown, despite the austere conditions.
However, she did stick to her guns on everything else. She openly trash-talked the Politburo and SED. She tore down the fallacy of the Wall brick by brick, and decried everything it stood for. She even threw in a few pot-shots at the Stasi whom she couldn’t possibly be bothered to fear, “Liars and whores, all of them!” she had said in both interviews. She would then go on to detail her work in the underground, and about how well she had been received by the punk movement after being tortured so mercilessly (all the while sticking to her values without ratting anyone out). And despite the fact that she was forced to hide her face for safety, she was becoming a well-known installment at almost every show.
All of it was utter nonsense, of course. Lena hadn’t done a single interview since she left prison. She hadn’t even done one before prison, minus the scant few articles she wrote under her pseudonym. These interviews, much like her music, were all written for her. Hell, Lena (or Madeline Dangerbunny, as she was now better known) had practically started Little John by merely being the impetus behind it, and the underground listenership had been so quick to pick up on it that it was scary. Only a few of her very close (and very secret) friends in Leipzig ever conceived that the Stasi could (and had) released zines and pirate stations of their own.
But now the Mad Bunny (yes, even her nicknames had nicknames now) was starting to break through onto the regular airwaves. It started out with immense disapproval from the stations, of course—disapproval that Grandfather correctly assumed would have the opposite effect on the GDR youth. Once the youth were showing support, well, the radio stations just had to make a few comments to pacify them. There was no condoning, of course; just ‘tactical observations’ that quickly made her into an urban legend. Since the Mad Bunny was in hiding, she of course couldn’t be reached for comment. But in mainstream media, no news is good news and by the time the rumors started that the Mad Bunny had somehow made it over the Wall (just last week, as a matter of fact), she was practically canonized.
Her band knew they were playing with the Mad Bunny, of course, which is why they had agreed to so carefully conceal their actual identities out on the street. Sure, it felt like they weren’t being hardcore; but they had an ace up their sleeve. All they had to do was shut up and toe the line, and their fame would be engineered for them. Best of all, they would get to retain their legitimacy to the scene, so long as the legitimacy (and very possibly the scene) were similarly engineered.
She still had to work at keeping them in line. But she didn’t have to work all that hard at it. Especially since the only one who adamantly refused to see logic was Jakob, whom the two girls and Vortecx could easily keep in line just by being women and otherwise. Thus, they resolved to work for as many hours as they could before the morning. Lena was confident Grandfather would come through. He always did. All she had to do was be an absolute espionage master and complete her mission tomorrow evening.
Interhostel
Danger was everywhere, in all directions and at all speeds. Unseen enemies abounded, wielding wicked weapons of wayward warfare that sliced throats and stole the beat from unwary hearts. She knew a minor slip-up would be the end for her. Thus, Lena was compelled to maintain a calm yet hyper-aware mental state that would alert at the first sign of danger. With death assured at even the slightest bit of complacency, and enemies out for blood as she furtively sidled through the streets like the super-secret agent she was desperately trying to be, only one concern found its way to the forefront of her hyper-vigilant mind; “is my dress ‘fancy’ enough?”
Also, man, it was hard to sneak about in heels.
She had spent nearly two hours rummaging through her pile of clothing looking for the nicest item (or combination of items) she had. She had several low-cut things, and a few short things as well. Yet nothing combined into any sort of manageable or particularly pleasant motif. After trying really hard to convince herself that spikes and leather could be fancy, she decided instead to have a nervous breakdown and just give up on the whole thing. That is, until she considered that maybe Vivika might have something.
As luck would have it, not only was Vivika well-equipped for dressing to the nines, she was also a master at doing hair. So, after Vivika shooed her male ‘guest’ (it figured) out of the apartment, with vile threats of hair-curlers and lipstick, the two set to the task of discussing boys while divining the perfect attire for Lena.
They spent a half-hour or so gushing about Lena’s date and why he was taking her to the nicest hotel in the city (Vivika could hardly be trusted with the real reason). Lena was then outfitted with a very swanky black dress that prominently exhibited her shoulders, along with a pair of matching boots to die for that she was sure Vivika had stolen. When Vivika informed her that both items had been stolen, Lena realized just how very much she adored Vivika.
A few more minutes of gushing, a few more minutes of checking her own ass out in the mirror (while poorly striking poses she had seen in the movies, of course), and almost an hour of fussing with her hair, Lena realized she would be late if she didn’t leave immediately. A few awkward girl-hugs and more-awkward girl-kisses and she was off to begin the first leg of her journey.