The Wall Crossers

Geena and Olivia Meet

Seconds Later

Olivia's perspective

I turn and stare at the open door to this room. In seconds, I am at the front door, turning the knob, pulling the door in—cold, wind and flakes rush in, blowing my hair back—I close it again quickly, as softly as I can. I slowly turn and look down the hall, light pouring from the room on the right, just steps away, where the phone is. I hear snuffling issuing from that room. In seconds I stand in that doorway, looking in. Old, green linoleum covers the floor, worn to bare wood in places. To the right, an outfitted kitchen, a refrigerator hums, straight ahead, clock on the wall, 9pm, a window, covered, to the left an open dining section with two rectangular tables of dark wood, six chairs at each table, Patrizia sitting at the head of one table facing me, one leg visible under the table crossed over the other petitely, arms crossed again, looking down at the table, now looking up at me, face wet and glistening.

We both are wearing our sexy Andrea Koerber mod-tastic mini dresses with pink, red, and orange hypnotic heart print. We are same like that. She sniffs, moves her arms, raises both hands to swipe each side of her face with palms, to clear away the tears. Even standing here, I can smell her—the perfume of her body reeking of sincerity now, anxious, but real—for a change. She drops both hands to the table with fingers intertwined, clears her throat, does not look up. "I am expecting you to stay here a while, okay? There is someone that... that..." She does not complete her sentence, but looks up at me, eyes melted into a tragic look.

Not knowing what else to say, I finally reply, "Sure." She nods, looks back down to her hands, breathes in deeply, exhales, to clear away any lingering uncertainty. I am not sure what else to do, so I add, "Can I... can I get you something. Do you need... do you..."

She answers, "Nein danke."

I look at the clock again, reach over and pluck at the side of my scratchy new dress nervously, shiver from the cold, suck in my lips, look back to her, turn, leave the room, and go back across the hall, pick up the comforter she had been using, return to my couch, settle in it, covering myself snugly, fall asleep, the firewood cracking, splitting, snapping in the flames.

I wake up abruptly with the sound of the front door closing, and voices. I hear Patrizia speaking.

I rise from the couch quickly and toss aside the comforter, step into the hall and look to my right: Franz and what appears to be a young girl are shedding heavy outerwear, hanging these on pegs in the foyer, stamping their boots to shake away loose snow that has accumulated on their clothing. I feel a chill from the cold air they admitted into the room.

Franz and Patrizia are speaking in low tones, in German. The girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen years of age?... is staring at me. Can this be Patrizia's agent? She is wearing Army fatigues and black boots with the trousers bloused just above the boots in true military fashion, a rather large duffel bag on the floor at her side. She pulls off a lavender knit cap and shakes long thick black hair out. She looks at least part Asian... Yes, I am certain she is Asian. Now that I see her more clearly, she looks so much like Nancy Kwan, the Chinese-American actress of Flower Drum Song—small mouth with plump lips, rounded pretty nose, thin arched eyebrows, prominent cheekbones, beautiful light chocolate eyes I can clearly see from here, straight almost boyish body especially in the layers of uniform clothing, maybe 5' 4" in height, bust probably 32b or maybe 33, but of course mashed flat by the heavy winter campaign jacket. Her longish hair below shoulder length is brunette, but now I see with sections of light brown, like an attempt at blond streaks. She gazes at me wordlessly while pulling a matching crocheted scarf from around her neck, now turning to hang that on a peg. Franz has picked up her duffel bag and walks toward me, glances at my eyes showing no emotion of any kind and passes on into the kitchen-dining room.