“God, spare us the gory details.” Marlene wrinkled her nose in distaste for her friend’s candor and lack of any sort of moral compass.
“An American is preferable to a Russian, I suppose,” Zara said naively. “Not that I would share a bed with an allied soldier. They came here as occupiers, not to be our friends.”
“It takes all sorts,” Bruni was in too good a mood to be put down.
“At least he won’t disappear overnight, the Americans don’t send their people to Siberia, like the Russians do,” Marlene said.
“Shushh…never talk about that or you might be the next one on their list,” Bruni warned them.
Which is exactly the reason never to get involved with a communist , Marlene thought to herself.
A knock on the door summoned Bruni to the stage. Marlene and Zara were escorted by the manager himself, who walked them through a sea of appreciative men, to a reserved table in the elegant night club.
Bruni was announced amid a drumroll and a flurry of claps and wolf whistles. This was her natural environment and she glowed in the spotlight that set her apart from her audience. The music began to play and a hushed silence spread through the room. She started to sing, and at the end of her chanson the room burst into thunderous applause.
Marlene admired the way Bruni knew exactly how to play her audience, while Marlene herself would have died of embarrassment should anyone order her to climb on the stage and sing.
Not Bruni. She smiled, blew kisses, waved to familiar faces, and flirted with the men, as she moved seductively around the stage. On the stage was a star, a gifted woman. It was no wonder she was a regular act at the Café de Paris while other performers came and went.
“Sitting in the corner are two of my best friends,” Bruni announced, peering through the darkened room and pointing out Marlene and Zara. “This is their first visit to our Café de Paris, so be nice, boys.”
A roar of applause followed the spotlight that singled out the two embarrassed women. Marlene felt her face flush with heat, but she somehow managed to give a polite wave and swore to murder Bruni later.
Bruni returned to her dressing room to change while the band played the latest popular songs. Some of the GIs fascinated onlookers with their gravity defying jive moves, a dance craze that captivated the younger crowd.
A couple of Russian soldiers came up to Marlene and Zara, asking for a dance but they politely declined, too shy to make a spectacle of themselves with their lack of ability on the dance floor. The men weren’t pleased and since they had obviously had a bit too much to drink, they insisted rather stubbornly to this dance.
Marlene felt completely at the mercy of these louts and helplessly glanced at Zara, who didn’t seem more confident either, when out of the blue, Werner Böhm and another well-dressed young civilian stood in front of her. As much as she wanted to avoid him, she couldn’t help but give him her brightest smile.
Werner said something in Russian to the two soldiers who quickly disappeared, and then he asked, “Would you grant me this dance, please?”
Much to her surprise, she heard someone say, “It would be my pleasure.”
She glanced around, but Zara was already on the way to the dancefloor with the other man. Before she even realized, that it was her who’d given her consent, Werner put an arm around her waist and led her through the crowd.
The weight of his arm seared through her clothes, making her skin tingle and her legs go to jelly. All the resolve to keep away from him had been crushed with one single smile. He was a gifted dancer and guided her masterfully between the other couples. After fighting the intoxicating sensation for a while, she decided to give in to it and enjoy being held in his arms.
“We should go back now,” Marlene stuttered, when the song ended.
“Yes, of course, if that’s what you wish,” he replied gracefully. Leaning over, he touched her cheek with his as he said, “Thank you for the dance, Marlene.” Then his firm hand on her back led her to their table, where Bruni and dinner was already waiting for them.
Bruni gave Böhm a brilliant smile, but as soon as he’d excused himself, she pounced on Marlene. “What’s going on between the two of you?”
“Nothing.”
“So why the silly smitten look on his face – and on yours?” Bruni’s power of observation was sharp as a knife.
“I don’t fancy Werner at all, but—” Marlene tried to form an excuse to satisfy her friends.
“One dance and it’s Werner, is it?” Bruni laughed, delighted by Marlene’s slip up. “Admit it, you’re in love with the detestable Werner Böhm.”
“Stop being ridiculous!” Marlene blushed. “He is a gentleman, nothing more and nothing less. I’ve always admitted that he has impeccable manners. And he really did save us from a most embarrassing situation.”
Zara now joined Bruni’s laughter, because she evidently had been able to dance with Böhm’s friend without flushing like a pumpkin.
“Stop it, will you! Or someone will hear your nonsensical accusations,” Marlene pleaded with them.
At last her friends changed the subject and the time flew by eating their dinner. As soon as they finished, Bruni had to go on stage for another performance and Werner seemed to have waited for just this moment, because he came to their table to ask for another dance.
Marlene agreed, because there was nothing wrong in dancing with him, right? She enjoyed the second dance even more than the first one, feeling already strangely at home in his arms. She didn’t have to engage her mind anymore to follow his lead, it was as if her body already knew the upcoming steps.
When the music paused, she returned to their table, out of breath from the vigorous dancing, but happier than she’d been in a long time.
Zara saw her heated face and said, “Marlene, I shall go home now. I have to get up early in the morning. But you, by all means, should stay and have fun.”
“No way. We came here together and we’ll return home together as well. What kind of friend would I be to send you home all alone this late at night?” Marlene answered and grabbed her handbag.
“Please ladies, allow me to drop you home,” Werner suggested, and seeing the hesitation in their eyes he added, “I have a car at my disposal.”
Marlene reluctantly accepted his generous offer. It’s not that she was afraid of him, but more of herself and her lack of self-control in his presence. He dropped off Zara first and then headed into the Russian sector for Marlene’s home.
Throughout the journey, they didn’t speak a word, but the tension crackled in the car. She was grateful for the darkness that enveloped them and hid her expressions from him.
“Is this your place?” he said, surprise in his voice.
“Yes,” Marlene said in a low tone as she saw the dilapidated building for the first time with the eyes of a man who lived in one of the few undestroyed boroughs in Berlin, a requisitioned apartment in Pankow he shared with another member of the Gentner group.
He walked around the car and opened the door for her. “I’ll walk you to your door, you can never be too careful around here.”
She actually welcomed his company, not because she was afraid of an attack, but because she yearned to prolong the time with him just a bit more.
“Thank you for driving me home,” she said, looking up at him. The keys in her hand began to jingle as she stared into his mesmerizing green eyes. His face looked so young, so innocent, so honest.
“May I kiss you?” he asked and when she didn’t protest, he leaned down and pressed his warm lips on hers.
Against her better judgement, she opened her lips and returned the kiss. A heated minute later, she stepped back and whispered, “I…better should go.”
“Good night, my sweet Marlene.” The words from his mouth caused a myriad of butterflies to flutter in her stomach and she hurriedly unlocked the door and rushed inside.
Damn him ! Why did she like him so much?
Chapter 23
Dean watched the beautiful blonde by his side. Bruni von Sinnen was really something. Not only did she possess fantastic looks, but she knew how to please in bed. Though the best thing about her was that she didn’t succumb to girlish notions of love, but looked at their relationship for what it was. A pleasant business.
The life of the American Kommandant in Berlin was a lonely one. The Berlin population oscillated between loathing and admiring him. The entire Russian military, spearheaded by General Sokolov, equated him with a beast and called him Enemy of Democracy. He constantly received anonymous death threats and had slept with a pistol under his pillow for the past one and a half years.
Sure, his subalternates respected him, but he could never confide his sorrows to anyone, except maybe at times to his deputy and friend Jason Gardner.
Bruni provided him with much needed comfort and everything else a man needed who hadn’t seen his own wife in almost four years. In exchange, he provided for her, protected her, and allowed her to live a better life than the other Berliner Fräuleins. It truly was a win-win situation.
He kissed her goodbye and slipped out of bed in the dark of the night to return to his own quarters.
In the morning, his deputy already waited for him in his office.
“Morning, Jason, what’s up?”
Jason grimaced. “The Soviets giving us problems.”
“Tell me something new.” Dean settled at his desk and beckoned for his friend to take a place opposite him. “What’s it this time?”
“Sokolov issued an order that none of the members of the Magistrat who were elected last month are allowed to take their position without prior approval of the Kommandatura.”
Dean slammed his fist on the desk with such force that the old wood croaked. “Why don’t I know about this?”
“I just found out,” Jason said. “Since he’s the current chairman he issued the order without consulting the others first.”
Dean’s fist was still hurting or he’d have slammed it on the desk again. “How dare this filthy, lying, crooked asshole! He doesn’t have the authority to issue such orders.”
“Sir, it gets worse,” Jason looked at him, obviously loathing his situation of having to relay more bad news. On Dean’s nod he began to explain, “The newly elected members have complained about communist squads being trucked to the City Hall to beat them up.”
“That must be a joke.”
“It’s not.”
Dean called his secretary, “Get me Sokolov on the line. Immediately.” It was barely ten a.m., so Sokolov would still be fast asleep. “Oh don’t bother,” Dean said, “tell him I’m coming to his office at noon and he better be there or I’ll give him hell.”
“You know there’s not that much you can do, right?” Jason asked him.
He sighed. The City Hall, the Magistrat and the City Council, all of them were in the Soviet sector. Technically Sokolov’s cronies could do to the people in their sector as they pleased and nobody, not even the American Kommandant, could hold them accountable for their crimes.
In the Kommandatura the three Western Allies had made every effort to work with the Soviets. In the beginning, they’d acquiesced to every Russian whim, hoping the other party would see the honest will to cooperate. When this didn’t work, they’d accepted, against better knowledge, unfavorable and crooked terms. They’d appeased the gangsters like an abused wife might appease her husband, all in an attempt to show their goodwill and honest dedication to govern Berlin together – and to prevent another war. That the Soviets might start another war, was the biggest fear of everyone in the West and dictated the odd appeasement policy.
But the daily obstruction of the Soviets took a toll on Dean and more than once he he’d grabbed the phone to ask General Clay for a transfer away from the city of hell, although he never actually completed the call.
Almost six weeks after the election and the new city government was still unseated. The despicable Russians kept the old SED-dominated administration in place, while allegedly investigating some of the new candidates for Nazi crimes, and there was nothing Dean could do about it.
Chapter 24
For three weeks after the night when he had dropped Marlene off at her home, Werner persisted, taking every opportunity to meet with her and using his charm to woo her. Eventually, she relented and they became a couple, meeting clandestinely two or three times each week
He should be happy, but a nagging sorrow ate at him. The party would never approve of their relationship, because Marlene was not a trusted communist and he, well, he was one of the highest SED functionaries in Berlin.
Every so often he toyed with the idea of defying the party. But then, menacing old memories resurfaced and drowned out the thought. He knew better than to challenge his superiors since such a move would mark the end of both Marlene and him. He certainly didn’t want to share the same mysterious fate as Captain Orlovski. Yet, there was no way he was going to give up Marlene either.
He thought up a solution and the next time they met, he said as casually as possible, “Why don’t you join the SED?”
“What?” she glared daggers at him and before she could scratch out his eyes, he raised his hands in a placatory way.
“Please, hear me out. It would be much better and we could openly show our love.” He showered her with the charming smile that always made her purr like a kitten.
Not today.
“Better for whom?” She said with a scathing voice. “And why? Do you have to get approval from Comrade Gentner or General Sokolov on who you’re going out with?”
Not exactly. Although he did have to follow the party line, and that didn’t include a romantic relationship with a woman who wasn’t a trusted comrade. “Don’t be silly, Marlene. Of course not, but in the current political climate it wouldn’t be beneficial for me to be seen fraternizing with members of the opposition.” Werner explained gently. At the sight of her furiously shimmering eyes he hastily added, “and it might tarnish your good name.”
“Member of the opposition?” she exclaimed. “I’m not even a party member.”
“No, you’re not, mein Liebling ,” he replied, kissing her cheek. “I suggest this move only because it’s in your best interest. Both of our best interests. Your anti-Soviet stance has been noted. If we want to be together, we cannot be on opposite sides, the SED won’t stand for it.”
“Surely one is allowed to have opinions?” Marlene said hotly.
Actually not. At least not when they deviate from the official party line . He inwardly cursed the SED leaders for their stupidity. For everyone but Norbert it was clear that the catastrophic loss in the elections last year had been due to the SED’s reputation as being the “Soviet party”.
But instead of changing course and insisting on an independent socialist way for Germany, blockheaded Gentner and his closest cronies had stuck their noses way up into the Soviet asses.
“Of course, you are entitled to your own opinion, and the SED leaders together with the Soviet occupation power wholeheartedly supported the free and fair elections in Berlin. But in our case, it is like one person trying to build a house, while the other person tries to knock it down.”
He pondered whether to muzzle her protest with a lengthy dialectic lecture about the philosophical background of Marxism-Leninism, but opted against it. It would only help to enrage her more. Since Marlene wasn’t a schooled and trained party official, she reacted to theoretical lectures like most lay people did: rolling her eyes and outright refusal to even consider the truth behind his words.
“What a terrible analogy,” Marlene gasped. “Now I’m the one obstructing the rebuilding of Berlin when in fact these hideous Russians disassemble what’s left right from under our noses.”
Werner sighed. He didn’t approve of the demolition for reparations either, he’d even tried to talk to Norbert about this. But in his arrogant manner Norbert had simply stated that the topic wasn’t to be discussed. Ever. Again.
&nbs
p; “I know, it seems unjust, but we always have to remember how much our Russian friends suffered at the hands of the Nazis—”
“They’re not my Russian friends,” Marlene scoffed, turned on her heel, and walked out on him.
He stared at her, angry about her insolence, but at the same time envious. He wished he could do the same, just once, and walk out of yet another ludicrous party meeting where the comrades tried to outdo each other in kissing Moscow’s ass. Then he startled at the critical thought. Had his discontent with the party evolved so far already? Despite the many things he disliked about Stalinism, he still harbored the highest hopes for a new and better way in Germany.
But the future looked bleaker and bleaker.
Chapter 25
Georg, Marlene, Lotte, and Julian were butting heads in a heated discussion at Georg’s place,
“I tell you we need to be more aggressive,” Julian said.
“That’s not a good idea, you heard the Board of Directors. The administration unfortunately cannot give in to our requests, because their hands are tied.” Georg took the voice of reason.
“Their hands are tied? Don’t make me laugh! The SED is high up the Soviet asses, fearing for their privileges and pajoks if they say a single wrong word.” Julian’s eyes shimmered with rage. While the rest of Berliners suffered hunger and lack of housing, clothes, even paper and pens, the SED functionaries lived in nice villas requisitioned from former Nazis.
Marlene had never been to Werner’s place, but she knew that he’d chosen a more modest four-room-apartment that he shared with another bachelor. At least Werner also disapproved of the blatant disparity between Berliners, party members and party officials. According to him, that was in direct opposition to Marx’s teachings.
The pajoks were regular weekly or monthly boxes filled with all the goods, food and others one couldn’t buy on the open market, or even on the black market. Werner had often given her the ingredients of his box, since he got to eat at the canteen in the SED headquarters, the Haus der Einheit .
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