“Finally, you’re here!” he shouted in her direction with a hurried, inconvenienced tone.
“I got here as soon as…”
Patrick interrupted her by walking briskly over, reaching into his pocket and dropping a small room key into her hand. He then fumed out the door of the suite with an exasperated slam.
“There’s absolutely no time for idle chatting, Lena.” a woman’s voice said. As Lena turned to face the voice, she was rewarded with the perturbed face of Makeup-lady, “You know what you have to do?”
“Yes, I do. I mean, I think so.”
“Know so.” she replied simply, “Remember: you can skip any point, and we can conduct remedial training later. But if you are going to go for it, then do it right. We can’t afford mistakes tonight.”
“I understand. When do I move?”
“Just give it a few moments.”
Just then, Lena heard a drunken commotion outside of the suite—a raucous laughter from just down the hall. Picking up on this, Makeup-lady began speaking to the trashy-looking women in the corner.
“Alright, you two. Time to get to work.”
The two women stood up with the most irritated looks they could possibly manage, swearing under their breath before walking out the front door. Before the door slammed, however, Lena noted their walk and postures changing from ‘everything-must-die’ into ‘first come, first serve’.
“Give it about three minutes.” Makeup-lady said flatly.
“What are they doing?”
“Oh, you know…” Makeup-lady responded with a smirk, “Gathering intelligence.”
After a few minutes, the soundscape outside of the room changed to a much different, err, hue, inside of a nearby broom closet. What had begun as muffled introductions became coy conversation, before finally turning to the throes of adults doing the things that adults did when they were supposed to be doing something else. Lena turned slightly green.
“Just imagine how pleased he’ll be once he finds out.” Makeup-lady smirked.
“Finds out what?” Lena scowled.
“That we bugged the broom closet.”
“Oh.”
“The aide should be taken care of, Lena.” Makeup-lady said, grinning ear-to-ear, “No doubt, he is busy with other… duties. Are you ready?”
“Yes.” she responded, hoping that she truly was.
“Well, get to work, then. Room six, right next door. Be quick about it.”
Immediately, Lena stepped out of the suite. As she turned down the hallway, she tried to ignore the wet, sloppy sounds coming from the nearby broom-closet of a man in the throes of passion, and women in the throes of pretending. Thanking the good Lord that she hadn’t been tasked with that duty, Lena awkwardly placed the key into the doorknob, and gently turned it in the lock.
Once the key snapped the pins into their rightful place, Lena quietly opened the door. Upon entering, she exhaled with surprise at the sheer majesty of it alclass="underline" the room was just incredible. The same gilded chairs as room five, but now properly placed around desks carved out of rare, fragrant woods. The kitchen area had fine marbled counter-tops, and instead of cheap plastic cups, fine crystal glassware kept company with flower arrangements that just smelled amazing.
This room had windows too; wide portals that framed a big chunk of Berlin in gold and ebony. It even had these pointless frosted glass panels separating the guest ‘rooms’. These rooms contained large, fluffy beds with huge, tasseled, sapphire pillows dressed in gold. Yet where the black wall would have been in room five stood a grand piano; a Boesendorfer, which she recognized by the extra black keys near the far end. That piano cost half a million dollars—she knew this from memory—and it took every ounce of her strength to resist playing a few bars. Everything about this room was just magical.
Taking a final indulgent look around, Lena searched for her prize. After some careful steps, so as not to disturb anything that ought not to be, she finally saw it on a nearby desk: the briefcase that the aid had just brought up. Snatching it quickly (and taking time to remember the codes to the locks), she walked briskly out of the suite, quietly closing the door behind her. Before re-entering room five, however, she took a brief second to listen to the broom closet where she heard gross slurping sounds, along with a few French words being struggled through by a man that really should have known better. Stifling her immense disapproval, she walked back into room five.
“Well, we may make an asset out of you, yet.” Makeup-lady beamed.
“I really…” Lena responded, before being quickly cut off.
“Shut up, dear girl.” she responded, her tone immediately sharp, “Your mission is not nearly complete. Remember, time is of the essence! This is the most crucial part, by far!”
“I’m ready.” Lena responded.
“Well, then… you know where the spot is?”
“I do.”
Lena awaited a reply from Makeup-lady, who was simply staring awkwardly at her… and staring… and staring. She looked to be waiting some unknown reply from Lena, who stood awaiting further instructions. After a few moments, Lena felt profoundly uncomfortable with this, “Oh god, what did I do wrong?” she berated herself, “I did something wrong. I know it!”
“Lena?” Makeup-lady said after several more uncomfortable moments.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“What are you doing?”
“I… uh… I’m…” oh, what a bother this all was.
“Why are you still here, stupid girl?”
“Because… uh…”
“Why are you still here, stupid girl?”
Lena practically ran out of the room, then. A red flash of embarrassment spread across her face. She still didn’t dare bring herself to hate the woman, but she really, really wanted to.
Lena awkwardly shuffled out of the Metropol and into the night. As soon as she felt the brisk chill of winter, she released a loud and exasperated sigh. Quickly, she reached into her purse and pulled out a cigarette. This, she lit and proceeded to puff on profusely. She hadn’t realized just how stifling the Metropol had been until now. It was beautiful inside, sure. Every inch of the five-star was palatial in essence, and the very epitome of human design. The alcohol was pure finery, as were the lounges that served them. The people were just unnervingly beautiful, as were the rooms and the furniture that filled them. And yet, all that Lena could think about was how much she missed the banged-up old churches.
She missed her old band. She missed the bare chests and fist fights, the blood and the puke and the raw, filthy smell of it all. It was the grit—the pure honesty of imperfect people doing far more imperfect things. She missed ducking around wherever she went, and she even missed being on the other side of the Stasi. Maybe not the prisons… no, that she would never miss. But she missed the days when the Stasi were nothing but shades in the night and rumors to be pondered, rather than an ever-present reality.
Now that she knew them, she understood them. That made her like them even less. Here, at this overly-elegant testament to self-worship and futility in motion, she had realized the other side of it all. The Stasi had gone from a myth, to her tormentors, to her trainers, and now to a veritable orgy of… well, remembering the broom closet, ‘orgy’ was probably the best word to describe it, truly.
After filling her head with the noxious cloud of her sweet sedative, it was time to get to work. Thus, she began making her way around the building, being careful to hug the shadows. Not an easy thing to do in a black cocktail dress, ever-punctuated with the awkward ‘clomp, clomp, clomp’ of her heeled boots. All in all, Lena didn’t know much about shoes, so she didn’t know what constituted high-heels or otherwise-heeled, she just knew that these weren’t very good for clandestine warfare.