Reincarnation

by Suzanne Weyn

  Hearing her today made him explode with love and longing for her.

  He hadn’t kissed her because he hadn’t wanted to cause gossip there at the club. Lenny was lurking, making excuses to pass by, commenting that he wasn’t sure the songs were right for the club. Del had told him to be open-minded.

  Finally, at two-thirty, Lenny had told them they had to go. He needed the stage so the chorus girls could rehearse a new number.

  “Let me keep these,” she’d said, gathering up the songs. “I’ll go over them myself and then rehearse them with Al, our pianist.”

  “Okay. See you tonight,” he said, taking hold of her hand. “I know you’ll be great.”

  “If I am, it will be because of these songs,” she replied. “They’re beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Just then, the chorus girls came clacking onto the stage and Al the pianist, a thin black man, came in to claim his piano. Letting go of her hand, Bert left … even though he keenly wanted to stay.

  Coming into his room, he threw himself onto the threadbare loveseat. He closed his eyes in order to conjure the image of her face, to hear again the honey tones of her voice.

  She had his songs. Maybe she was singing them right now. Was she thinking of him as he was imagining her? He hoped so.

  Tonight after the show, after she debuted his songs, he would tell her how he felt. He’d find the right moment to kiss her. He was pretty sure from the way she gazed into his eyes as she sang that she felt the same about him.

  That night, Del had tears of happiness in her eyes as the people in the club jumped to their feet, applauding. They’d cheered for her before, but this was different. There was no stomping or whistling, like when she did her comic material. She had moved these people by singing Bert’s songs. Some of the women were crying with abandon.

  Standing at the piano with Baby seated in front of her, she presented Al to the audience, encouraging them to give him his share of the applause. She saw Bert out in the audience and waved for him to come forward. He shook his head.

  “Thank you so much, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, quickly wiping her eyes. “You are so kind. The genius who wrote these great new songs is in the audience tonight. Please give a hand to a brilliant songwriter, Bert Brody.” She signaled the man who ran the spotlight to direct it at Bert.

  Caught in the round circle of light, Bert waved sheepishly to the applauding audience.

  Later, when everyone had finally left, she changed her clothes, leashed Baby, and came out again to the front of the club. Bert was waiting for her, sitting alone at a table. He stood when he noticed her.

  There was nothing she could think of to say to him. He’d said it all in his songs and she’d echoed it back to him. When she reached his table, he put his arms around her and drew her close.

  Reaching around his neck, she fell into his embrace, kissing him. Something within her opened and let the energy of this kiss, this contact, flow through her. It felt strange and new and familiar and safe all at once.

  At that moment, she knew that she loved him.

  Three weeks later, Bert was whistling as he came up the stairs. There was no more need to skulk into his room, avoiding the hotel owner. Lenny had doubled Del’s salary since the club was packed night after night. Del had insisted on giving him a cut of it for his songs.

  They’d spent every night since then having late suppers and taking moonlit strolls along the Seine, basking in the joy of their new love. In the afternoons, when she wasn’t seeing her psychoanalyst, they worked on new material. Sometimes he read to her, mostly love poems.

  When he unlocked his door, he found the man from British Intelligence seated in the red velvet chair by the one window overlooking the street. “How did you get in?” he demanded to know.

  “It’s not important,” the Intelligence man replied. “I didn’t want to loiter outside; it attracts attention.” He opened a briefcase to reveal British pounds, neatly bundled. In these past weeks at the club, he’d heard bits and pieces of suspicious conversation that he’d mentioned when this man came by to check. It hadn’t seemed very important to Bert, but the man assured him that anything might be important.

  “Tonight you’ll give this money to your contact. She will pass you the rocket blueprints.” Bert had been told about these prints days earlier. He hadn’t known there would be an exchange tonight. “Your contact will pay the scientists who gave the prints to her. You don’t want to be responsible for what happens if she doesn’t get this money.”

  “How will I recognize my contact?”

  “Go to The Panther tonight. An agent will slip you a note telling you how to recognize her.”

  “Can’t you just tell me who it is?”

  The Intelligence man left the case behind as he headed for the door. “The less you know, the better. The agent can’t do it for you because he might be recognized.” At the door, he turned back. “And don’t skim from that case, not even a little. The whole amount has to be delivered.”

  Bert would do this just as he’d been requested to. England and America were allies, so he felt it was his patriotic duty. And the Nazis had repulsed him. In no way could they be allowed to gain the military superiority this rocket might provide them. Nazis in England — the thought made him shudder.

  Dr. LeFleur peered at Del through his thick glasses. Lines of vivid orange sunset striped the small darkened room despite the fact that the elderly doctor had drawn the blinds to block it. Below, Del was dimly aware of the rumble of evening traffic like the crash of a river steadily tumbling over rocks.

  She enjoyed seeing Dr. LeFleur once a week, but so far he’d done nothing to quiet the terrifying dreams that plagued her sleep. She’d had them since childhood, but lately they were growing worse. She would wake up shrieking, helpless. She became so hysterical that a few of the neighbors had even petitioned the landlord to evict her. The only reason he hadn’t was that she got home from the club so late and these fits occurred in the morning when most of the other tenants were working.

  “Tell me, what are you feeling now?” the analyst prompted gently. “Let’s see if we can’t get to the heart of these troubling dreams.”

  Del shifted a bit on the green leather couch and closed her eyes. “It’s funny,” she said. “This room reminds me of a cave I dreamed about last night, though I’ve never been in a cave.”

  “Picture the cave. What else is in it?” he asked.

  “There is a woman in there with me. She is my mother, but maybe not … she’s someone’s mother.”

  “You do not recall your actual mother, true?”

  “That’s right. She left me with my grandmother when I was an infant. My grandmother was wonderful, but she died when I was small.”

  “Perhaps you seek a strong mother figure in your dreams who can take her place.”

  “Maybe. In the dream she’s telling me something, but I don’t understand what she means.” Opening her eyes, Delilah turned to him. “Where are these pictures coming from, Dr. LeFleur?”

  “They arise from deep in your unconscious mind. Over these weeks that we have been talking, I see that you are a young woman who is in unusually keen contact with your unconscious; many creative people are. These images may be manifestations of your greatest fears and desires. You may be calling forth symbols that are universal to all people but are manifest in different ways. Or there is another possibility.”

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “It is possible that these are memories.”

  “Memories? But I told you I’ve never been in a cave. I dream all sorts of things that can’t be real.”

  “I would like to try something with you today. It’s called a hypnotic regression. It might help you to remember a past life.”

  “What past life?” she asked.

  “On my most recent trip to America, I learned of a man named Edward Cayce. He falls asleep and claims he has dream visions of a person’s past lives. I w
itnessed one of these readings and was most impressed.”

  “Could you read my past lives?” Del asked.

  “No. I don’t have that gift. But I studied the methods of hypnotism set down by Milton Erickson and even met the man on my trip. Would you mind if I hypnotized you?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Good. Close your eyes once again. Now relax. Count backward from ten. Good. You are feeling sleepy, very sleepy….”

  Eyes narrowed for focus, Lenny released the dart from his hand. It flew straight and swift to the dartboard on his office wall. Bull’s-eye! Again. He was so good at this, it was getting boring. But darts soothed his nerves and helped him think.

  Two problems weighed on him at the moment.

  He had to get rid of this Brody character. He hated him, pure and simple. Once he was gone, Lenny could win back Del’s affections. But as long as Brody hung around, Del had eyes only for him.

  Now, a way to do this had presented itself. The phone call he’d just received had come at the perfect time.

  He went to the office doorway, gazing into the halls where chorus girls, musicians, and stagehands were preparing for the night’s performance. “Yvette,” he called when he spotted her, trailing her yellow feathered boa behind her tap outfit. “A word, please.”

  She clacked toward him in her tap shoes, tilting her head like an alert canary. “Oui?”

  “Come inside.” Offering her a seat, he sat behind his desk. Tilting his chair back casually, he made her a proposition. For a large amount of francs, would she be willing to be very friendly with Bert Brody tonight? Perhaps she would want to take him up onto the roof with her?

  “I’ll show him the lights of Paris,” she said with a laugh. “Why do you want me to do this?”

  “I want Del to forget him,” he divulged, although it was only part of the truth, “and to see he can’t be trusted.”

  “What if she can trust him?”

  “He took you to dinner, didn’t he? He’s attracted to you, even if you don’t appeal to his better nature.”

  “I can get him up there and then throw myself into his arms when Del shows up. One way or another, I’ll make it work. I have a condition, though. I’ll do it if you make me the headliner of the show.” Yvette fancied herself to be a shrewd negotiator.

  “I can’t do that; Del’s my hot draw. She wants a night off, though. What if I give it to her on Sunday and you headline that night?”

  “Sunday? The place is empty on Sunday.”

  He shrugged. “It’s the best I can do.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. “Sunday — I headline and I get the money?”

  “And the money,” he assured her.

  “Tonight?” she checked.

  “Tonight.”

  “All right.” Tossing her curls behind her shoulders, she grinned at him. “Nice doing business with you.”

  Rocking forward in his chair, Lenny rubbed his jaw. He’d make sure Del caught Bert Brody in a compromising position with Yvette. And this solved his second concern as well. One of his backers in Chicago, a German immigrant businessman, had a brother back in Berlin, a Nazi officer. The businessman had referred his Nazi brother to Lenny as a man who could be trusted to accomplish whatever was asked of him. That officer had just phoned him, revealing that Bert Brody was working for British Intelligence. “We are told he comes to your club every night. Tonight he will be delivering money for the British. It’s in a case he will have. Don’t let him make that delivery.”

  Tonight he would bring Del to the roof. She would find Bert with Yvette. Lenny would provoke a fight with him. In the skirmish, he’d go off the roof. Lenny would get the case from him and take some of the money for himself before turning it over to the Nazis.

  He went to his safe and turned the tumbler until it opened. He took out his handgun and shoulder holster. If anything went wrong, he’d rely on this.

  Bert arrived early to The Panther. He couldn’t wait to turn over this suitcase of money. It filled him with anxiety. It seemed so obvious that he was carrying money, as though the case itself had a glowing dollar sign on it. What if he was robbed? How would he explain that ?

  Why hadn’t they selected a tough guy, someone more formidable — a boxer, maybe? The only two sports he was good at were sailing and archery. Despite his nerves, his lip quirked into a grin as he imagined strolling the streets of Paris with bow and arrow slung over his arm. Ridiculous as it would appear, it would be some protection at least.

  He walked into the empty club. A janitor in front was removing the chairs that had been stacked on the tables. Otherwise the place was empty.

  In a half hour, the show was scheduled to start. There would be a few acts with the chorus girls, a comedian, another chorus girl act, and then Delilah would appear and remain onstage for the rest of the act.

  He took a stacked chair off a table and sat, placing the case at his side. He kept his right hand on top of it, not losing contact with it for a second.

  Yvette walked out from the wings of the stage and down center. “Bert, I need to speak to you,” she said, swinging her legs over the side and dropping her feet to the floor. He stayed seated, not wanting the case to be conspicuous. “Del saw you come in. She sent me with a message. She wants you to meet her on the roof. It’s very important.”

  He couldn’t leave, not until the agent gave him the information that would identify his contact. “Would you tell her I might be a little while?” he asked.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “It’s nothing. If you’d tell her I’ll be along, I’d appreciate it a great deal.”

  “It will cost you another supper.”

  “Please.”

  “I’ll tell her. The door to the roof is backstage to the right, up the stairs behind the first door you come to. I’ll make sure it’s unlocked.” Her message relayed, Yvette sauntered off the stage, into the wings.

  Maybe he had better go outside, he considered. The agent might be waiting there. Now he was anxious to know what Del wanted, eager to pass on the briefcase and be done with this espionage.

  He got up to go when, glancing down, he noticed a folded paper on the table in front of him.

  It hadn’t been there before! He was sure of it.

  Checking around, he saw no one. The only change in the club was that the janitor had finished his work and left.

  The janitor. Of course!

  He unfolded the paper. The note read: EMERALD COLLAR.

  He imagined a lavishly dressed woman with an emerald choker around her neck. Then he remembered: Baby wore an emerald-studded collar.

  Del was his contact!

  Del scratched Baby behind the ears with her short red fingernails. She held her leash tightly as they paced the alley behind the club. Del was nervous and Baby always picked up on her emotions with an uncanny sympathy.

  She had no idea who her contact would be. The man from British Intelligence had assured her it was for the best. A man would approach her with a briefcase filled with money. She had picked up the rocket plans already from a man who had come to her apartment that evening. He would return that night for the money. He warned her that if she didn’t have it, he would kill her.

  Lenny came out into the alley. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go onstage?” he asked.

  She opened her coat to reveal her red dress. “I’m ready.”

  “Good. Come up to the roof with me for a moment. There’s something there I think you should see.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll see.”

  She didn’t have time for this, but what if Lenny was the person who was going to hand her the cash? He was an American, after all — he could be the one. “All right,” she agreed, following him inside.

  Locking Baby in her dressing room, she went with Lenny up the stairs to the roof.

  On the other side of the door to the roof, someone was arguing, though she couldn’t tell what was being said. What was this all abou
t? Impulsively, she unlatched the bolt and pushed the door open. Yvette and Bert were facing each other.

  Yvette sprang to his side, clutching his arm. “You told me she would never find out about us!” she cried.

  “What are you talking about?” Bert replied angrily. He turned to Del. “Yvette said to meet you on the roof. You weren’t here so I was about to leave but the door got locked from the inside.”

  “How can you lie like that?” Yvette accused him. “You brought me up here so we could be alone. That’s what you told me.”

  “Why are you lying?” Bert shot back. “You told me Del was up here.”

  With darting eyes, Del saw the briefcase in his hand. With an almost imperceptible glance at her, he confirmed that he was the one she had to contact.

  Whatever was going on, the important thing was that she get that case and give him the plans. This other business could be sorted out later. She was sure it was some sort of trick. Lenny had probably put Yvette up to it. He was jealous as anything these days.

  “It’s all right,” Del said coolly. “Bert and I just met. It’s not like he owes me an explanation. He can fool around with you all he wants, for all I care.”

  Turning to go back inside, she came face to face with a man stepping through the rooftop door. Another man came through the door behind the first man and he had a gun in his hands.

  “What’s this?” Yvette yelled at the men. “Put that gun away.”

  With a deafening explosion of sound, he shot her in the shoulder, throwing her back against a smoke stack. Sobbing in pain, she clutched her shoulder and passed out. Del couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive.

  The first man spoke in a heavy German accent. “We’ve intercepted the traitors who gave you the plans. They are dead now. Unless you want to be dead also, please give me the plans.”

  He aimed his gun at Del as she hopped onto the wall surrounding the roof. She knew there was a fire escape right below them.

  The man fired at her.