Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

4. Divided Nations

January 8, 1999

Four Seasons Hotel

New York City, United States

I tossed back the rest of my whisky before exchanging it with the waitress for a full glass. "Thank you," I said hoarsely.

After the General Assembly each January, a party was held for all attending Nations. The United Nations, a global organization of almost two hundred countries, did not share NATO's tender feelings toward the US. In fact, many Nations relished the evening as an opportunity to punch up at me.

Painfully dull music played in the dim, carpeted ballroom. The current lineup of Great Powers—me, England, France, Germany, Russia, China, and Japan—all wore red pins to signify our status to unsuspecting Nations. I found this to be tacky and boring.

I quickly realized my mistake of hovering near the appetizer station as people continually greeted me in passing. Before I could relocate, someone approached me.

"Hallo."

"Germany, hey. How's it going?"

"Good." He dutifully positioned himself to make his plate easily accessible to me. "Und you?"

"Eh," I said, popping an olive into my mouth. "Who's pissing you off the most?"

The loaded question gave him pause. He inhaled sharply, and I lifted my eyebrow expectantly. "You look wonderful tonight," he said.

I glanced down at my black, form-fitting dress. "Thank you," I chirped, letting my eyes sweep over his tuxedo. "So do you."

He lifted his drink with a small smile. "Prost."

"Cheers."

I softly clinked my glass with his and took a sip. When Spain and Portugal waved to us in passing, I manufactured a polite smile. I wistfully eyed an empty corner across the room.

"I won't keep you from mingling," Germany said.

"Oh, no," I said in a rush, reaching for a cheese square on his plate. "I need to take a breather. You have no idea how painful these are for me."

"Mm."

I washed it down with another drink, trying my best not to glare at anyone over the rim.

"Imagine," he said in a departing tone, "for a moment, you had been at war with almost every Nation in this room."

My eyes darted to his face. When I saw the teasing look in his eyes, a conflicted smile played on my lips. I fiddled with my diamond earring. "Well, I mean..."

He gestured with his glass, and my eyes followed. Israel was chatting with some of her allies over by the punch bowl. "Case in point."

"Germany," I scolded under my breath. "My God."

As if on cue, God sent Russia to further amplify my suffering. He towered over the both of us, equal parts imposing and awkward as always. I wanted to sink into the floor.

"USA. Germaniya."

"Russia."

"Russland."

His brown eyes calmly scanned the room. "Coming to G8 summit in June?"

"Yep," I replied with a tired nod. "I will be there. As will Canada."

"Da, good. Good."

I cast my gaze across the crowd, looking for someone who could come rescue me. Some Nations were making diplomatic inroads, but most were mixing within their own circles. When I made unintentional eye contact with France among the clique of Arab Nations, I immediately looked away.