3 Ways to Wear Red

by Janet Leigh

  Jake stood and spread a map out in front of us. “Truman drops the atomic bomb in August, then all hell breaks loose, and Berlin isn’t the same again until 1989, when the wall is finally taken down.”

  “What do I do?” Ace asked.

  “Go to the travel lab. If you are summoned, Pickles can help you with the landing mark.”

  “Good luck, mates. I hope you don’t need my assistance.” Ace picked up a copy of Movie Mirror magazine and left the room with a casual wave to us.

  “You will land here.” Jake pointed to a location on the map of Berlin marked Tiergarten. “It’s a large park, and the tree cover should provide a safe haven for your landing. This area has an open space that now holds a soccer field. The nightclub is here on Kurfürstendamm. You will have to walk or catch a taxi. After you find Isla, take her to the bakery.” He handed Marco and me each a fifty deutsche mark banknote, the German currency used in 1965. “Sorry, this is the largest bill we have in our vault.”

  I didn’t know the conversion rate, but the concerned look on Marco’s face told me it wasn’t enough money, even in 1965.

  “The bakery is here on Friedrichstraße. It’s a short walk from the Tiergarten. Go east until you reach the Berlin wall. Follow the wall to Struesemann, and go left until you hit Friedrichstraße. Checkpoint Charlie, the American checkpost dividing East and West Berlin, should be on your left, and the bakery is on the corner.”

  “We’ll be so close to East Berlin.” Marco ran his fingers over the map, stopping on the Märchenbrunnen park.

  “Under no circumstances are you to land in East Berlin. This is directly from General Potts.” Jake stared at me as he said the words. If he were Superman, the message would have been burned on my forehead. “You will go in Jennifer’s vessel, together.”

  Marco folded his arms across his chest in defeat. We had one shot at finding Isla and convincing her to give the key to Marco’s grandfather, Giorgio. If all went well, she would fall in love with his business partner, and Marco’s lifeline would remain intact.

  “You have one hour to learn about Berlin. I will get the Sleigh key and meet you at the landing dock.” Jake left the room, and Marco and I sat in silence.

  The inability to get the painting was a deal breaker. If we disobeyed the order, we would both lose our keys and our jobs. Jake’s unspoken words were left on the table next to the cookie crumbs.

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  I aimed for a cluster of trees in the Tiergarten. When we’d reviewed the maps of 1965, Pickles had assured me this area was hidden from view but not so densely wooded that I might ram into a tree. We came to a stop, and I looked over at Marco. I heard music playing and voices of people singing in the distance. I prayed we hadn’t landed in the middle of Potsdamer Platz or another highly public place. Marco and I retrieved the money, folded and covered in spit, from our cheeks.

  “Jen, I hear music. Where did you land us?”

  “Only one way to find out.” I took a deep breath, pushed the outhouse door open, and stepped out into the night. Marco followed, and we were greeted with a loud “Heilige Scheiße!”

  A stubby, round man was leaning against a tree trunk about ten yards away, pants around his ankles, holding his manhood. He had obviously been in the middle of a piss when we’d interrupted. About thirty feet behind the man, lights were strung haphazardly between trees, providing illumination for a dozen or so picnic tables. Damn Pickles. He hadn’t taken into account the night activities of the Germans.

  “This wasn’t in the plans,” I said, thankful we were tucked back in the shadows, hidden from everyone except our local pisser.

  “It’s a biergarten,” Marco said. “Probably temporary—that’s why it wasn’t in the research.”

  Marco stepped forward, and I hoped he would pull a red laser from his pocket and wipe the man’s mind clean. Marco spoke a few words to the man in German. The man nodded his head and replaced his boy part back into his pants. We watched our friend stumble back to the party.

  “What did you tell him?” I asked.

  “He asked if you were the green fairy.”

  “The one from Ace’s illegal booze?”

  “Yep, I assured him you were indeed the absinthe green fairy, and you were providing a more private place for him to relieve himself.” Marco nodded toward my outhouse. “He went to tell his friends.”

  “Oh, no. Definitely not!” I waved my hand, and my outhouse disappeared into the night.

  Marco laughed. Nice of him to find humor in the desecration of my vessel. In the light cast from the biergarten, I looked down at my outfit. The green fairy wasn’t too far off. I was in head-to-toe green wool plaid. I removed the hat from my head. It was a cute pillbox-style hat in the same shade of green as the dress. I examined the hairdo with my fingers. It was pulled back with bobby pins on top and done up in a clever knot, while the back of my hair was down. Replacing the hat, I checked out my shoes. Loafers, not my favorite, but functional. The plaid skirt hit above my stocking-covered knee, and a matching jacket completed the ensemble. The night was cool, and I was thankful my vessel had dressed me warmly and fashionably.

  Marco was watching me admire my clothes, so I gave him a quick catwalk pose. “Very nice,” he said. “Sort of Twiggy meets Jackie Kennedy.”

  “Why are you dressed like James Dean?” I asked. “Isn’t that the wrong decade?”

  “James Dean is timeless.” Marco flipped up his collar and held up his wrist. “Look what else I got.”

  A watch on a leather wristband encircled his left wrist.

  “It’s a watch.”

  “It’s not just any watch. It’s a Patek.” He admired the face of the watch.

  “It looks like my uncle’s Timex.”

  “It’s worth about fifty grand in our time. Do you know what this means?”

  “We’re running out of time?” I asked but smiled at Marco’s joy over the watch.

  “We have something to barter if we need it, although I would hate to sell it.” He glanced down at it lovingly and then held out his watch-adorned arm to escort me out of the woods.

  “We’ve got about six hours,” he said, walking toward the biergarten. “I want to chat with the locals and get some intel on our night club.”

  I tightened my grip on his arm. “Marco, we don’t have enough money to blow on booze.”

  “What do you think I have you for?”

  We entered the area, and Marco asked me to sit at the end of one of the long wooden tables. A group of German students seated at the far end of the table eyed me as I took a seat. Marco left me to go speak to a man standing behind a makeshift bar. It was less than a minute before I had a dark German beer in my hands, compliments of a group of men at a nearby table. I smiled and gave a thank-you wave. Marco joined me and took a sip of my beer.

  “I told you it wouldn’t take long to get a pint. The Germans got a bad rap, thanks to Hitler and the Nazi regime. They are normally very hospitable people.”

  We shared the beer and listened to the three-piece band. One of the men squeezed an accordion while the crowd sang along to German beer hall songs. I thought that at another time, this might be a fun place to hang out.

  Marco was staring down into the beer.

  “When are you going to tell me about the Sleigh key?” I asked.

  “You know all about it.” He cut his eyes at me as he took another sip of my beer. “I love German beer—so much strength in the brew.”

  “Don’t try and change the subject. Who is the owner of the Sleigh key?”

  “Isla,” he said, taking a much larger sip.

  “You know I am asking about the current owner, and you don’t have to tell me, because I already know the answer.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, I know the Sleigh key belongs to your sister.”

  Marco sighed and finished off the beer.

  “It’s Evangeline’s key.” I touched the hollow of my neck and
felt the warm tingle of my key hidden safely under my shirt. “She doesn’t know about the gift, does she?”

  “No, and I’d like to keep it that way. My grandfather always wanted us to travel. I was almost relieved when he died before she showed any signs of the gift.”

  “Giorgio wanted you to travel together? Evangeline is your transporter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t you think she has a right to know?”

  “How do you feel now that you know Eli has the gift and could die any time the moon is full?” Marco slid down the table to have a conversation with the students. I wasn’t sure I’d had time to process the idea of Eli traveling or what could happen to him if he did join the WTF. A few minutes later, Marco nudged me out of my reverie.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Marco said, leaving the empty beer stein on the table. He interlaced his fingers with mine. We walked toward the exit, and to the casual observer, we looked like a couple strolling through the park. “Those guys I spoke with were students at the university. They told me the Eden club is owned by some rich guy, and they couldn’t afford to get in.”

  “Great. How are we going to get in?”

  “I’ve got you.” He smiled and kissed my fingers. Heat shot up my arm, and I was about to pull away when the Berlin Wall came into view.

  A few rows of cinder blocks topped off with barbed wire greeted us. It wasn’t as tall as I’d imagined, and I’d expected it to be covered with amazing murals painted by political protesters.

  “What’s wrong?” Marco asked.

  “I thought it would be covered with art,” I said, pointing to a well-lit section of the wall.

  “The wall was rebuilt in the eighties. The graffiti art became popular after the rebuild.”

  There was a big trench between the wall and the walkway. We proceeded along a deserted, tree-lined street, and I questioned how I would feel if I didn’t know about my gift.

  “What are you thinking about?” Marco asked, pointing at my free hand. “You’re twisting your hair, so it must be serious.”

  A strand of hair was wound around my index finger. I let it go, and the hair corkscrewed down my shoulder. “I think we should have the right to choose our own path.” I pointed toward the barbed wire, and Marco picked up on my meaning.

  “You’re right, but I’m not ready to show my sister the world of time travel, and Jake has agreed to respect my wishes.”

  Marco’s gift was too valuable to refuse. Jake was sacrificing the Sleigh key in order to keep Marco on the team. Postponing was probably a better word. Eventually, Jake would find a way to recruit the owner of the Sleigh key to the WTF.

  Marco stopped and put his hands on my shoulders. “If things don’t go as planned, I might need to lateral travel to East Berlin and get that painting.”

  “Jake told us not to go to East Berlin,” I said, standing firm.

  “Jake said not to land in East Berlin. I could lateral travel to Strausberg and take a taxi to Berlin.”

  “It’s not safe to lateral travel in the past.”

  “I know it’s risky, but even if Isla remembers us, I don’t see how she is going to identify my grandfather. I’m not sure I would recognize him if I saw him.”

  I didn’t have any answers for Marco. Caiyan and I had lateral traveled in the past on a prior travel, and we hadn’t encountered any problems. But Jake had warned me about travelers getting lost in time. Marco could call his vessel and do as he pleased, regardless.

  “Let’s find Isla first. We don’t know if the painting is still hidden in the Märchenbrunnen.”

  “If Isla doesn’t meet my grandfather and marry Henri, I won’t be here when the moon cycle closes.”

  I ran my hand on the side of Marco’s cheek. “We’ll find Isla, and we will stay until your grandfather comes to the bakery.”

  Marco nodded and then leaned in and kissed me. The passion his kiss held was epic. We both knew the consequences of revealing ourselves to people in the past. Anna’s bright face flashed in my vision as Marco hailed a taxi.

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  Our cab pulled up at Eden. The club was attached to a hotel, and a long line of people stood against an adjacent wall, waiting for the giant bouncer to grant them entrance through the velvet ropes. Prostitutes strutted up and down the boulevard, displaying their goods for sale and bending into car windows to speak to interested clients.

  As we exited the cab, a thin brunette in a sequined dress brushed up against Marco, licked her lips, and said something to him in German. He smiled and replied, shaking his head. The girl frowned and moved on.

  “What did she say?” I asked.

  “She told me what she would like to do to me.”

  “What does she want to do?”

  “Let’s just say she got my attention.” A wide smile spread across his face.

  Marco took his fifty deutsche mark and passed it to the bouncer. The guy removed the rope, granting us entrance, along with groans from the currently waiting guests. We pushed through a set of double doors, and I stopped short in the entranceway to give my eyes a second to adjust to the dim lighting.

  The place was packed. Coughing from the thick cigarette smoke that hung in the air, Marco grabbed my hand, and we squeezed through the crowd. People were everywhere with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. Girls were dancing in cages and gyrating around poles connected to various platforms scattered throughout the club. Marco and I shoved our way to the nearest bar. A guy on my left was snorting a line of cocaine off a dancer’s breast, and the girl on my right was making eyes at Marco.

  The music was loud, and scantily clad women walked around, carrying trays of drinks. A couple in the corner was getting busy, and I stood with my mouth hanging open as I watched them go at it. Marco pulled me in next to him.

  “Stay close,” he said in my ear. “The bars in Berlin are very different from American bars.”

  I was shocked. This was 1965. I’d expected Ward and June Cleaver to be foxtrotting on the dance floor. Marco was asking one of the bartenders if he knew Isla. Based on the head shaking and grim expression, it was a no.

  “That’s strange,” I told Marco. “I read about the club, and one of its go-go girls was named Isla. I was certain it was her.”

  “The bartender normally knows everyone who works in the club.”

  “Maybe she is newly hired,” I said hopefully.

  “Maybe.” Marco shrugged but didn’t look as hopeful.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” I said, and Marco pointed me to a restroom. I passed by well-dressed couples sitting at small, round tables. Most of the men were wearing suits and ties, and all the women had on dresses. It was a bygone era, one that demanded paying respect to your elders, washing behind your ears, and saying a prayer each night at bedtime.

  On my way to the restroom, a man resembling one of the Beatles came out of the men’s restroom. My inner voice, who had been unusually quiet, was standing on her tiptoes to get a better look.

  The bathroom was floor-to-ceiling black-marble tile with sinks attached to the wall on my left and a row of toilet stalls on the right. A few women were at the mirrors, patting their noses with makeup. I ducked quickly into a stall—no need for conversation, since I didn’t speak the language.

  As I stood at the sink washing my hands, I felt a presence breathing down my neck. I glanced in the mirror and jumped about three feet when I saw Toches staring back at me. His nose had a bandage across it and traces of bruising blackened the areas under his eyes.

  I spun around. “Toecheese, what are you doing here?”

  “We came for the key,” he spat. “I stole it, and it should be mine.”

  He pulled at the crotch of his suit, as if maybe the high-waisted material didn’t allow enough room for his manhood. His scrawny neck was minus a tie and a key, and that only meant one thing. Mahlia was here with him. She was the only transporter dumb enough to bring him after
us.

  “Where is Mahlia?”

  An evil grin snaked across his face. “She’s taking care of the blond god. Good choice for a partner. He’s much easier to take out of commission than the Scot.”

  He was wrong. Marco could handle himself. Toches was blocking my exit. For such a crowded nightclub, the restroom was eerily empty. He caught me glancing at the door and moved in closer. His foul breath had me turning my head to the side.

  “Sorry, there’s an out-of-order sign on this one.”

  “How did you find us?”

  “Do you think the WTF is the only one with a travel tracker? We might not be able to see you in the present, but once you make the jump, you’re free game.”

  That was a relief. At least they didn’t know about Gitmo.

  “Now where did you hide my Sleigh key?” He reached a bony finger toward my jacket, and I batted it away, knocking my hat off in the process.

  “Toecheese, I don’t have the key,” I lied.

  “Quit calling me that,” he snarled. “It’s not how you say my name.”

  I thought about running. He noticed me checking for an escape route and pinned me to the sink.

  “I’m going to strip you naked, check all the hiding places, knock you unconscious, and strap you to the toilet with electrical wire I found in the janitor’s closet. You and lover boy will miss your return. Oh, they will probably send a rescue party the next moon cycle, but we will be long gone with the Sleigh key by then.” He gave a cackle that would have made the Wicked Witch proud.

  A spool of electrical wire was on the floor by the door. Toches had raided the janitor’s closet. Where was my knight in shining armor? My inner voice began singing my mantra. She was right; it was up to me.

  Toches pinned my shoulders with his hands, so I rammed my knee as hard as possible into his groin. His face contorted. He made a high-pitched squeal and grabbed his nuts. As he leaned forward, I karate chopped him with my palm to his nose. He flew backward with one hand on his crotch and the other on his nose. As he hit the floor, his head smacked against the marble tile, and he lay lifeless, blood oozing between his fingers. I bent down and felt the pulse at his neck. Good, he was still alive. If I killed a brigand by accident, did I die as well? I should probably get an answer to that for future reference.