The Brickyard

Settling In

One of the requirements to race in IndyCar was to have American residency. Kathrin had gotten said residency, but needed a residence. She couldn't live in an Indianapolis hotel room the whole time.

So, she got an apartment at a place called Penn Street Towers.

It was a nice hotel in a great location, the Sheraton Indianapolis City Centre (that's its name) in the... City Centre... overlooking the main circular square. Not knowing if she was going to get as good a view as this, Kathrin lingered at the window, resting her chin on crossed hands, watching the people and traffic circling the square and the obelisk with a statue in the middle of the square. Morning traffic was typical, mostly people getting to work in the skyscrapers surrounding the square. Since this was the Capitol of the state of Indiana, she suspected more than a few of the people she watched below worked for the state. The rest were office or service industry employees.

She heard a knock on her door and turned around. Her suitcase was all packed, waiting at the side of her bed, and her race bag sat on top of it. Her room, called a "Monument View King", was almost completely clean and empty, having just the one bed and the two bags were all she brought with her to the hotel, a four-star. She didn't even bring furniture (to be fair, how could she transport a bed across the Atlantic? Call Angela Lansbury to fly it?).

The door knocked again, and Kathrin realized she'd been distracted by her own thoughts. She jumped off the chair, ran to the door, and opened it right as the person outside was about to knock again. The man, eyes wide, stared at her not out of unfamiliarity, but surprise, surprised that she'd opened the door so quickly, from what she could gather. He was somewhere in his late 40s, already seeing some grey here and there, but looked good and fit, no doubt thanks to a good diet and exercise regimen.

"Guten morgen," he said.

"Guten morgen," Kathrin answered.

"Did you not recognize your agent?" he asked.

"Did you not recognize your client, Thomas?" she asked in return.

Thomas grinned and entered the room, straightening out his jacket. He checked behind the bed, seeing her bags. "Is this all you brought?" he asked.

"Ja," she answered. Thomas shrugged, chuckling.

"At least you won't have trouble unpacking," he remarked. He watched as she picked up her jacket, throwing it over her white tank top, zipping it up. He looked her up and down, not in that way, but surprise. It was Kathrin's turn to chuckle this time, crossing her arms and giving him a sly look.

"Sorry, you look like a boy right now," he said.

"Then I'll take that as a compliment," she replied, picking up her bags.

"Before I forget, Herr Großkreutz wants you to visit the new shop for its grand opening," he said. "I'm also trying to book an appearance on EuroSport."

"Danke," said Kathrin, throwing her bags over her shoulder, flipping her hair to the side.

"Does that actually work on women?" he asked.

She paused, grimacing, then bashfully looked away. "... No."

Thomas laughed again, patting her shoulder. As he guided her out the door, he said, "There's a fine line between a look of desire and defiance sometimes. Pick the right moment, and you could use that against someone who hates you."

True. She was a lesbian in a straight male-dominated sport, living in a region not exactly known for tolerating people like her. The current Vice President, a smarmy, smug man with a warm, yet venomous voice and rhetoric, who once signed a law that all but legalized discrimination against LGBT people in the name of "religious freedom", was from Indiana. But so was the gay mayor of South Bend, who represented the state's future more than the Vice President represented its past. Besides, she didn't know what was going to happen yet, but she had a good feeling the paddock would be very supportive of her.