“But for heaven’s sake, what’s happened? Can’t you use your savings if worst comes to worst?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, don’t you have anything left over from your acting days? An emergency fund?”
“I always spent the money I earned, and I went to Italy after the divorce.”
“You can’t afford that on a salary and lessons. You need a trust fund. But you just bought an apartment?”
“On installment.”
“And furniture?”
“Also on installment.”
“But that’s dreadful! No safety net? You can’t live like that.”
“But that’s how ninety percent of the world gets by.”
“Well, yes, but not someone like you.”
The phone rang. “How much do you need? —Whether I have fifty thousand available? —Is the deal certain? —All right, no, but twelve percent. No collateral at all? —What? A mortgage? I see. —Well, I’d be quite worried. And the taxes? Can you avoid getting taxed? Come over tonight for a bottle of Rotspon!” —“So, dear child, I’ll loan you five hundred marks. You only need to give me back four hundred. I’ll save that much in taxes anyway. Just write it down on your tax declaration.”
“Of course, Mr. Waldschmidt. With pleasure. Many thanks.”
“Not necessary. I’m glad to have seen you.”
“The greater pleasure was mine,” she laughed.
15
Frächter pays Cochius a visit
EIGHT days after the Weissmanns’ party, Frächter called on Cochius.
Cochius was reserved, as usual.
Frächter began. “Mr. Cochius, we had discussed restructuring your newspaper. I’m not just a short-story writer. I’m not just a journalist. I did gramophone advertising for Omega for years, and I also worked for Mecker-Flossen for a while; fabulous water shoes. I’m no stranger to salesmanship. We need to make the Berliner Rundschau bigger. Even the masthead needs to change. Much bolder and larger. Hydrocephalic, so to speak. What’s tradition good for these days? Locksmiths and dead lords. Just because a masthead is a hundred and seventy years old doesn’t mean that it’s good enough for 1929. On the contrary! I’ll supply you with twenty new masthead designs. Your circulation needs to grow to at least one hundred thousand, then you can expand your classified section, but you’ll only get more classifieds when your subscriber numbers are up. And you’ll only get more subscribers if you advertise. If we offer a good deal to the management of the Tiergarten, they’ll allow us to write Berliner Rundschau on every bench in white paint, but then! You should run a daily column: ‘Berlin is talking about . . .’ with everyone’s names, very decent, of course, not too gossipy, but still! And raffles for your readers.”
“Thank you, Mr. Frächter. You clearly have lots of ideas. What are your conditions?”
“A salary of thirty thousand marks, and a stake in the revenue increase.”
“We could certainly agree on that. I hope that you can also use the most up-to-date management methods to streamline the business to cut expenses.”
“Of course,” said Frächter. “Your masthead needs new blood. Young blood! Your good old journalists from 1900, who haven’t been swept up by the spirit of the times, write in a style that’s far too elevated for today’s readers. It’s all the same to the public, after all. If we didn’t have critics, no one would be able to tell apart the good paintings, films, or books from the bad ones. Newspapers receive as little criticism as silk stockings. The day after tomorrow, everyone will prefer reading about Mr. von Trappen or Käte Herzfeld’s secret trysts rather than laboring through analyses of French politics. No one wants to admit it. But the job of the modern business expert is to awaken slumbering desires.”
“Mr. Frächter, I hope your restructuring isn’t too costly. I can’t stress how tired I am of being bothered about taxes.”
Frächter said, “You’re quite right. One can’t hand over responsibility to the capitalists on one hand and terrorize them on the other. I guarantee you’ll make my salary back tenfold.”
“You’re making big promises! We’re headed into the summer months now. But I’ll consider whether you should join us this winter.”
“Gladly,” said Frächter.
“Thank you,” said Cochius. “Well then, goodbye.”
Frächter was a motor that ran at a thousand revolutions per second. He discussed founding a talkie company named “Käsebier” with a few people, to give him his big break, like Tauber.31 His phone rang; it was ringing off the hook.
“Hello, Frächter here. —Good day, director. —Tomorrow, you think? —I’m afraid I’m going to Dresden by plane tomorrow, and I need to attend a conference in Hamburg on the following day. Just a moment, let me fetch my agenda. The third, the third. —Tauber, look at Tauber. Why can’t Käsebier become the new Tauber? —His voice? Oh, that’s the least of it. But we have to get cracking on the film; night shoots, day shoots. You have to see to it, it’s got to happen faster. —What? Art has to grow? A film doesn’t grow, a film gets shot. Goodbye.” —
“Miz, get me the theater.”
“Yes, what’s happening with the loan? —You can’t get it? My dear sir, I’ve already obtained a loan for the Titania publishing company and the Excelsior film company. —Director Breitfuss, who’s with the trust bank, has gone to Geneva. Fritz Blumentopf, who wanted to introduce Fitzke to him, who’s friends with Patz, who knows Kobalt from the Maris film company, told him that Patz is in Dresden right now because of a new talkie. I’m going to take the express train through Basel to Geneva, provided of course I can get a sleeping car, so that I can at least talk to Breitfuss. Let me take care of it. You’ll get the loan. Goodbye!”—
“Miz, please connect me to the Roter Stern.”—
“My dear Ohnstein, how are you? Listen, are you interested in a series of articles on ‘The biggest deals since 1750,’ ten of them? I’ll do each for three hundred marks apiece. That’s dirt cheap! People’ll love it!”
“Of course, Mr. Frächter, what a fabulous idea. Could I see one first?”
“Gladly, I’ll send one along today.”—
“Miz, get me the shoe store.”—
“Frächter. So you’ll name the shoes ‘Käsebier’? Excellent. Stick a big papier-mâché Käsebier in front of the store. Isn’t that a good idea? —What? —Isn’t it? I also hope it pays off. Ha, ha, ha. Deal.”
He arranged for Käsebier to perform at private clubs. He became the director of advertising for the Käsebier cigarette factory, which had just been launched with an initial investment of fifty thousand marks. He launched the cigarettes Käsebier Melior, Käsebier Optimus, and Käsebier Bonus.
But although Cochius had thought it through quickly, he was not about to immediately hire a man—even an ace—for thirty thousand marks a year.
16
Financing the Käsebier theater
MRS. MUSCHLER was getting ready for Cannes. The Muschlers wanted to leave on the thirtieth of April. The sleeping car tickets and the hotel room had been booked long ago. They postponed their trip until the eighth of May, because Mitte had scheduled another meeting with Muschler on the sixth. In the meantime, Mitte had held other meetings. One with Karlweiss the architect. Karlweiss came to see Mitte.
Mitte said, “What’s with Hohenschönhausen? Why don’t I have the paperwork yet?”
“You’ll get it. What projects do you have right now?”
“I have a big job for you. A property worth two million.”
“What is it?”
“Oh, you don’t know about it?”
“Out of the question.”
“Well, it’s Muschler’s property.”
“Isn’t that interesting. Apartments?”
“No, much more.”
“What everyone’s doing right now—restaurants, movie theater, bar, café?!”
“Something like that.”
“What is it, then?”
“First give
me Hohenschönhausen, then I’ll give you the Kurfürstendamm job!”
“You’re not mincing words—”
“What of it? Why not? Mitte’s always straightforward. What’s with the fancy talk?”
“I’m just saying. What’s the percentage on the construction if everything works out?”
“I was thinking three,” said Mitte.
“Let’s say three and a half.”
“And you’ll let me have a say in the prices.”
“Fine,” said Karlweiss.
“When are we going hunting in Rebenwald?” Mitte asked.
“I’d be delighted to join you this summer.”
“I’m going to host a dinner there soon with crabs and May wine.”
“I’ll be there, thanks,” said Karlweiss.
“Goodbye then.”
“Goodbye then.”
Otto Mitte had also talked to his son-in-law, Ekkehard Rübe.
“I’m sorry,” said Mitte. “But I can’t give you the job.”
“Excuse me, Papa, but I brought it to you through Kaliski.”
“I’m not excusing myself. I mean, who’s Rübe, anyway? Do you think they would have come to you if you weren’t my son-in-law?”
“Probably. Kaliski knows me.”
“Oh, you and your Jews.”
“Excuse me, that’s a strictly professional relationship.”
“It’s all the same to me. I’ll tell you the truth. I just got a job from my comrade in arms, Karlweiss, with property tax revenue. It’s at least four times the size of your whole Kurfürstendamm thing. But I’ll only get it if . . . —D’you understand?”
“Understood. But you’re throwing away my opportunity to work on a big project.”
“Don’t talk about throwing things away in that uppity tone and calm down. I’ll pay you a negotiator’s fee out of my own pocket, and we’ll take the car to Rebenwald tomorrow. How’s Jutta?”
“She’s fine.”
“And Eckbert?”
“Fine as well, as far as I know. How’s your old lady?”
“She’s busy with her club. Well, let it go. No harm meant!”
“See you soon.”
Rübe was insulted, but since he was lazy by nature, he was content to remain head of the Zeuthen artist’s association, sport a long blond goatee and a black velvet jacket and receive a respectable allowance from Otto Mitte.
Mitte phoned up Muschler and let him know that he’d chosen another architect. “Karlweiss. You won’t care, anyway.”
Muschler didn’t care at all. All he asked for was a meeting on the sixth. It took place.
Muschler the banker and his dignified lawyer, Dr. Löwenstein, formed one party. Otto Mitte, Karlweiss the architect, and a solicitor, Matukat the assessor, were the other. Mitte presented a proposal with splendid financing and revenue estimates. Basic construction costs would come to one million, turnkey ready, and included the architect’s fee. A hundred thousand marks on top of that for garages. The theater would cost 250,000.
“Don’t forget the incidental costs,” Muschler cried. “Interest rates. Damnum.”
“Processing and legal fees,” Dr. Löwenstein said.
“All in order,” the assessor said again. “That’ll cost ninety-seven thousand marks.”
“If we’re conservative in our calculations,” said Muschler, “that comes to one hundred and ten thousand marks. So one million, two hundred and ten thousand marks in total. And what does the revenue look like?”
Otto Mitte read out the estimate. “One hundred and eighty rooms. Each room 1,000 marks a year equals 180,000 marks. Two stores equals 11,000 marks. Theater lease equals 50,000 marks. Garages equals 19,000 marks.”
“Well, well,” Muschler exclaimed.
Otto Mitte said, “Even with a land lease of twenty-five thousand marks! Well—and you’ll get three thousand per month on the land?”
“Certainly.”
“It’s still phenomenally profitable. 20 garages at 75 marks equals 900 marks per garage per year, minus expenses, that’s still 19,000 marks per year. Here, have a pencil, Mr. Muschler.”
“Right, right,” Muschler said.
“On top of that,” Mitte continued, “we’ll get extra earnings on gas. Garage renters will be obliged to buy their gasoline from us. Do the numbers again. Twenty liters at a ten percent markup comes out to 10,000 marks, which is 245,000 marks in adjusted net income. Now, to the interest rates: 68,000 marks on the first mortgage. We’ll finance the rest through rental subsidies. 1,000 marks per room in subsidies equals 180,000 marks. Then we’ll need another 230,000 marks at twelve percent for the second mortgage, which I’ll contribute. So we’ve got 68,000 plus 27,000 marks. Add on additional expenses at 45,000 marks. That’s 140,000 marks. Subtract that—245,000 marks minus 140,000 equals around 100,000 marks in adjusted net income. Well? With numbers like that, we can swing this thing.”
“Then all I can say is, will we find renters?” asked Muschler. “Will we find someone to lease the theater? We haven’t even spoken to Käsebier yet.”
“We’ll get him, all right,” Mitte said. “And the rent? No big deal. There are no vacancies anywhere. There aren’t any vacant five- or six- or four-room apartments. Not with this housing crisis! No way.”
“You’ll guarantee it?”
“I’ll guarantee it.”
“Gentlemen, please leave me your calculations.”
“And the project?” asked Karlweiss.
“Oh, yes, the project. I’d almost forgotten. I’m traveling to Cannes now. I need to think everything over again.”
“Don’t wait too long,” boomed Mitte. “You have to strike while the iron’s hot. You won’t get another mortgage of eight hundred thousand marks at eight-and-a-half percent so quickly, or find someone like Otto Mitte.”
“Well, hopefully we’ll reach an agreement.”
“Goodbye and good trip,” Mitte said in his boisterous manner.
“Well, what did they say?” Mrs. Muschler asked that evening.
“If their calculations are correct, one hundred thousand marks a year in net income.”
“How heavenly!” cried Mrs. Muschler.
“I spoke to Oberndorffer yesterday as well. He said the project is a bad idea.”
“Even if we can make one hundred thousand marks a year on it?”
“Times could change. The apartments cost four, five, and six thousand marks.”
“That’s not so bad. Our villa will be far more expensive, right?”
“Certainly, my lamb. Oberndorffer thought I should build one-and-a-half, two-and-a-half, and three-and-a-half-room apartments.”
“Come on, you can’t build working-class apartments, just imagine the fuss.”
“Yes, I wouldn’t even dream of it. But Oberndorffer said that people who used to have five rooms are now moving into two or three.”
“Oh, nonsense. Our friends are all still living the same as ever. And Margot Weissmann is looking for an apartment in the old west, she wants to move to Drake or Rauch or Hohenzollernstrasse.”
“That’s hard to find.”
“You see? That’s what I said too. We saw each other today at Marbach’s fashion show. The most divine things. Margot is also taking classes with Herzfeld.”
“An interesting person. Brilliantly funny and pretty as a picture.”
“Well, I don’t find her all that good-looking.”
“No, she is.”
“Klaus Waldschmidt is courting her.”
“He’s a good catch. She should hang on to him.”
“Margot said that first of all, Waldschmidt’s old lady would murder her, and second of all, she’s not even thinking about it. She wants to enjoy her freedom. You know, people say she’s carrying on with Miermann.”
“What, the old writer?”
“He’s not that old yet. He’s supposed to be very witty. Apparently, she frequents artists as a rule. Margot prefers to as well. Imagine, she’s still friends w
ith the attaché.”
“Well, what’s a small-time ambassador worth.”
“But from Spain! Not from South America, like we all thought.”
“Well, fine. I’ll leave that pleasure to her.”
“By the way, I still need to buy myself a hat.”
“But Mausi, times are bad.”
“You say that now, but if I realize that I need one once I’m in Cannes, it’ll be much more expensive in Cannes than here.”
“Well, fine, buy yourself one.”
“You’re such a dear. And if the house works out!”
“Well, we’re not there yet.”
17
A meeting in Baden-Baden
THAT EVENING, Muschler and his wife left for Cannes. Their children stayed in Berlin with the governess.
Oberndorffer was working on a project proposal, as was Karlweiss. Oberndorffer sent Muschler an extensive report: the Karlweiss project wasn’t particularly well thought out. He’d wasted lots of open space. Out of 179 rooms, only 66—37 percent, in other words—looked into the courtyard. The rooms represented only 47 percent of the built surface area, because so much had been used up on hallways, stairs, and impractical interior courtyards. Almost every apartment was flawed: dark hallways and foyers with no ventilation, small rooms, awkward shapes. Oberndorffer wrote: “Luxury apartments of this sort should have only one problem: their price. If they have even the slightest failing, they will be unrentable.” Oberndorffer, who was careful and reliable as always, offered this assessment to the best of his knowledge.
Oberndorffer’s letter reached Muschler at the same time as two letters from the credit agency. It was of course ridiculous to make inquiries about Otto Mitte. But a businessman doesn’t agree to a major deal without receiving some references: “Good for a credit of 100,000 marks.” Once this was done, the matter was essentially settled for Muschler. But old Mayer and his associate Gustav Frechheim, Muschler’s old, overcautious uncle, wrote that they couldn’t disregard Oberndorffer’s concerns.
“Have you ever known Uncle Gustav not to be a spoilsport?” Muschler asked his wife. “Here’s what he wrote: ‘I remember the housing crash before the war. You can lose far more money on houses than you can earn. Badly built apartments in Berlin are not uncommon, and then a theater! I think Oberndorffer’s project proposal is much better, and ultimately it can’t make a huge difference to Mr. Mitte whether he hires Oberndorffer or Karlweiss. Therefore, I think we should grant Oberndorffer’s request for a third-party opinion on the plan. Oberndorffer has suggested Professor Schierling.’”
Käsebier Takes Berlin Page 16