13. Dallas #2
She backed out of the kitchen and into a living room that was larger than their entire apartment in Berlin.
The house was contemporary, but it wasn’t cold.
It looked lived-in, like someone had jumped on the couches and run races across the floors.
There were shelves filled with board games and puzzles and books.
Greta could not imagine the kind of woman who lived here.
And then she noticed a stain on the living room rug, coffee possibly or something much worse and dog-related, and she stopped to look at it.
Would Lucy remember that that mark was already there, before Greta and Otto had arrived on the scene?
She got her phone, took a picture of the spot, and then created a folder in her photos she called “Damages.” She added a picture of the side of the sofa that had been shredded by a cat.
“ Schau mal, Greta, ” Otto called from the next room. “You won’t believe size of the Fernseher .”
She found him with the dogs in a cozy den, staring at a huge TV that floated on the wall above a fireplace.
“It’s as if we’ve been living in das neunzehnte Jahrhundert , and now we come to this house, and we see what is actually possible.” He turned to her, looking amazed. “To watch Fu?ball on such a big Bildschirm ? I will never want to go home.”
Greta smiled to think Otto could be made this happy over a television. They did not own one in Berlin.
“But I am not so much happy about the animals,” he said as one of the dogs licked his socks. “I feel a deception was committed.”
The song came to an end then, much to Greta’s relief. There was a nice, quiet pause, but then it started up again from the beginning. “How do we make it stop?” she said. She cleared her throat and commanded, “Turn off the music.” Nothing happened.
“Excuse me to the captain,” said Otto. “ Halt the music.”
“Maybe we won’t be able to hear it from the bedroom,” she said.
They went up the stairs together, the dogs following behind.
“This is a bad situation,” Greta said, a hand on the cool steel railing, her legs weary. “Did you hear what Mr. Henley said about Lucy’s husband?”
“I didn’t understand,” Otto said. “He’s in Mexico?”
“ New Mexico,” Greta said, “in jail.”
“Jail? How do you know?”
“He’s doing ‘a six-month stretch out west.’?” Greta said. “He’s in prison.”
“This is the home of a Gauner ?”
“Apparently,” she said. “And the wife of the criminal will be living in our apartment.”
Greta looked in the first room off the landing, which was surely Lucy and her husband’s: it had a king-size bed and a large corner window. The music was coming from a speaker directly above the bed.
“No more music, please,” Greta said, louder this time.
“I wish I had my sleep-suit,” said Otto, unbuckling his belt.
“We’ll have to do without,” she said.
“But I’m cold.” He dropped his pants on the floor and climbed into bed in his underwear. “The house is overly climatized.”
“Let’s hope our suitcases come tomorrow,” Greta said.
Otto sighed and mumbled, “This house feels to me more like a spaceship than a cruise ship.” He sneezed twice and fell asleep.
Greta stepped out of her slacks and blouse, folding them on a chair in the corner of the room.
She went in to use the large, bright bathroom, wishing she had a toothbrush, and then climbed into bed in her bra and underwear.
She could not remember the last time she and Otto had been in bed together with so few clothes on.
The sheets were very soft. She rolled on her side and realized she hadn’t turned off the light in the bathroom.
“Yes, excuse me?” she said to the house. “Could you turn off the bathroom light?” Nothing happened. “Please? And stop the song,” she said. The music played on as the dogs paced restlessly around the room. This was not very relaxing.
Greta wondered how Lucy was faring in Berlin, what she would think of the apartment with its old-fashioned light switches and antique furniture. Would she find it too dated, too small, too…
And she felt herself dozing off, with the bathroom light on and a pillow over her head.
At two in the morning, Greta woke with a jolt, disoriented and afraid.
Over the song about Mary Anne and Wanda, she heard noises, kids’ voices and knocking on glass.
Otto was snoring, and a cat was asleep at the foot of the bed.
The dogs had already run down the stairs and were barking at the front door.
Greta wrapped herself in a bath towel, tiptoed downstairs, and looked out the window.
The lights were on outside, all along the front walkway, but she couldn’t see anyone, no people, no coyotes. So what had she heard?
The woman was singing about “Tennessee ham and strawberry jam” with a thick southern twang as Greta followed the dogs through the kitchen and family room, where they started scratching at a set of double doors.
She opened them, and… Oh , she thought. So this was the master bedroom.
She looked up at the vaulted ceiling and then walked up to the wide, upholstered bed.
A framed mirror covered most of one wall of the bedroom; Greta looked past her own reflection and out to the backyard and pool, both lit up in the night.
This was lovelier than any luxury hotel room she’d ever seen.
And best of all, the music was not playing here.
As the dogs jumped onto armchairs in the corner of the room, Greta pulled back the covers and climbed into Lucy’s bed. She would not miss the sound of Otto snoring or the woman yelling goodbye to Earl.