Lena had to now formulate a plan to lose them all. Every place had an advantage. The streets had many avenues of escape, for instance. Little shops like this were a major choke-point, but almost all restaurants had multiple points of entry and egress. This didn’t help with Red-hat and Wart-face, but most restaurants also had a rear loading/storage area. Sometimes these areas had back entrances themselves, and sometimes you got lucky and they were located near the bathrooms.
Unfortunately, this one looked to be accessible only by the kitchen—a kitchen she could see into, by way of a portal where chefs placed the completed food. Lena was an excellent liar when she wanted to be, but there was no easy way to lie yourself into a kitchen, “Think, think, think!” Lena demanded at herself. This was how this had to happen. She was already going to be a minute or two late, so she had to lose them now, and this was the best plan that she had.
She thought about it for a few moments. She studied the kitchen, and she studied the cook. She noticed that the cook was young, slightly overweight, and had a cigarette tucked into the top of his ear at the ready for his next chance at a smoke break. Then she decided. Yes, she knew the perfect way to make it happen. Standing up, and walking as non-briskly as she could with the excitement she was desperately trying to suppress, she walked directly into the doorway of the kitchen and said, “Excuse me, uh, Sir?”
“Yeah.” he replied grufly. As soon as he looked at her, though, and noticed that Lena was a girl and was dressed the way she was, his eyes popped open (as men’s eyes often do) and his tone became much more interested, “Uh, yes ma’am?”
“Yeah, uh,” she started (noticing the ever-so-slight flexing of his biceps), trying to keep her voice down, “I noticed that you smoke. I was wondering if you wanted some company?”
You’ve never seen a man more interested in having a cigarette right then and there than this poor, rotund specimen was at that very moment. With an exuberant, “Uh, yes ma’am!” he motioned for her to follow and led her right through the kitchen.
“Sorry about it back here,” he said nervously as he pushed a few boxes out of the way, “but this is the quickest way back. We’re not normally supposed to have people back through here, but you don’t look like you’re about to steal something!”
“Oh, you never know.” Lena said, pleasantly, as he led her into the back storage rooms.
“I was almost on my break anyway!” he continued, before blathering off into the distance. “Yeah, today has been a busy day! Started out work by…”
As soon as Lena saw the back exit, the excitement of success overwhelmed her. Quickly, she leaned over to the pudgy man and kissed him on the cheek with a “You’re a lifesaver, handsome!” She left him standing confused, surprised and rather pleased with himself, as she inelegantly bolted out the back door. Checking to make sure that Wart-face, Red-hat and Makeup-lady (aka Brown-jacket) weren’t following her, she ran the next two blocks as quickly as her fancy boots would allow.
The Metropol Interhostel stood enormous the way a palace or a cathedral would. It also inspired much the same feelings: awe, wonder, reverence, and the slightest bit of disgust. While the GDR had its share of nice 4-star hotels, the Metropol was Berlin’s only 5-star, and it very much looked the part. It was black as night, ensconced in granite and marble pillars, and dressed in fountains. She had never been inside it, but she knew from reputation and rumor that it had more to offer than anything in West Berlin. Diplomat-level lounges that put most embassies to shame, filled with designer bars serving strong, fruity drinks. Female companions would likely be found for the visiting businessman, along with concierge services that lauded only the best that East Berlin had to show.
It was internationally recognized as the very definition of ‘swank’, and well it should be—not only was it designed for folks visiting from the West, it was the only hotel that folks from the West were allowed to stay at. If you were from the GDR, you didn’t even think about booking a room. Not just because you wouldn’t even be considered for attendance, but because the entire hotel was run by the Stasi.
The rooms were filled with the finest mattresses and the softest silks, just as they were the most sophisticated bugs and phone taps. The mirrors in the bathroom were one-way glass, and the peep-holes in the doors went both ways. The female companions were no doubt Stasi assets that were as skilled at picking pockets as they were picking ties for a night out. And the concierge services were more than happy to book you an entire trip, along with a private town-car and chauffeur—anything to know where you were and what you were doing at all times. This was not only the worst hotel for a traveling consular or dignitary to stay in, but the only one made available to them. Lucky for the Stasi, no one had ever seemed to catch on to the game. The sex and booze had made sure of that.
As she stood admiring this monolith, she thanked the gods for Vivika and her secret stash of stolen chic. Whatever Lena imagined would pass off for ‘fancy’ here, she was clearly incorrect. Despite her fabulous boots, the designer label on her skirt (which fit like a glove by the way) and the fair amount of shoulder on display, she knew her attire just didn’t make the grade here. It was the best she could manage under the circumstances, though. So, with a pensive “ugh”, she tromped herself into the lion’s den.
As much as the outside of this structure impressed her, the interior simply overwhelmed. The best way of describing the effects of the large, ivy-clad pillars and gilded glass panels on her senses was… well, there probably wasn’t a way of really doing it much justice, but her head ached. It was the same feeling she would get standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking a city: vertigo, and the inability to truly gauge the size or complexity with her eyes alone.
While her punk-rock roots tried to tell her she should hate all of this, her flush told both her and any potential onlooker different: she was in awe and she was envious—envious of everyone that got to experience this sort of abject finery regularly. She immediately questioned what she was doing with her life, and then decided to hate herself for the impossibility of attaining the level of prestige required.
She realized that she needed a drink very quickly, so she wandered over to the closest lounge-area she could find. The very second she rested her hands on the richly-lacquered mahogany and the gold dressing, however, she realized she could never afford anything here. Not in a million years. She resigned herself to ordering a water, and hoped the wait staff wouldn’t make a big deal about her actual (and obviously limited) net worth. However, when a gorgeous woman in picture-perfect makeup and an incredibly fancy dress approached from behind the counter, smiling pleasantly, Lena felt a small amount of acceptance.
“What’ll it be, my dear?” the bartender asked.
“I… I… uh…”
“One Diamond Cosmo?” the bartender asked knowingly before whisking off, “Great choice! Coming right up!”
“But… but I…”
“Don’t worry, my dear,” the bartender interrupted with a wink, “we’ll have it out for you in short order.”
“So, this is what it feels like to be important.” Lena mused to herself. It was absolutely incredible. Especially when the bartender poured many richly-colored liquids into a very fancy glass that contained a glittering ring too small for anyone to actually wear, and then set the whole thing on fire, “My god… a girl could get use to this.”