The Queen and I

by Russell Andresen

  “Listen, Jacob …” Jeffrey began, but was interrupted by the secretary.

  “Mr. Stone, he’ll see you now.”

  This troubled Jeffrey as well, since she had not even acknowledged once during their stay in the office that Jeffrey was even there. All of her attention seemed to be focused on Jacob, and it was as if Jeffrey was just an unfortunate add-on.

  Jacob motioned for Jeffrey to get up and even attempted to straighten the collar of Jeffrey’s charcoal-grey sports jacket while standing so close that he was clearly trying to smell Jeffrey’s breath to assure that it was suitable to be in the presence of this mysterious and powerful man.

  Jeffrey looked at the now opening office door and anticipated that this would most definitely be a momentous event.

  The office was larger than Jeffrey thought it would be, and there was no thick smoke that he was certain permeated the air since he could smell it from outside. The windows were covered by long, dark drapes that allowed only a smallest amount of light to enter the room, and the furniture screamed of old-world Eastern Europe.

  Classical music played on a real old-fashioned Victrola, and Jeffrey was almost certain that it was Wagner. A white cat sat on a plush antique chair in one corner of the room, and upon further inspection, Jeffrey noticed that the cat’s facial markings were of a black smudge under his nose and a swath of black that resembled a hair part, leaving the cat with an uncanny resemblance to Adolph Hitler.

  Behind a large, antique oak desk stood an even larger man dressed in a pinstriped, three-piece green suit with a jovial, cherub-like face, burned red from too much alcohol consumption, and a slicked-back, receding hairline. He stood six and a half feet tall and must have weighed about three hundred and fifty pounds.

  He came quickly from around the desk and embraced Jacob in a bear hug, lifting him from the ground. He let out a loud, guttural laugh and turned his attention to Jeffrey, who was now dreading the notion of being lifted by this giant of a man. Instead, he offered a huge hand that more closely resembled a bunch of bananas than it did a hand.

  “This must be the genius!” he announced excitedly in a thick German accent.

  “Yes, it is,” Jacob began. “This is Jeffrey David Rothstein. Jeffrey, this is Heinrich Schultz.”

  “Ah, Heinrich!” the large man spat. “Call me Henry.” He bowed his head and quickly clicked his heels. “And over there is Herman. Say hello, Herman.” He was speaking to the cat who watched with mild interest.

  “Herman?” Jeffrey asked.

  “Ja, named after my uncle who did not quite make it out of Germany with the rest of the family.” Henry bowed his head again and made the sign of the cross.

  Jeffrey looked around the office, examining its décor a bit closer now and noticed a bust of Hermann Göring with a plaque underneath that read, “To my favorite nephew, Love Uncle Hermy.”

  “Is this the Hermann Göring? The one from World War II?” Jeffrey asked.

  “War? What war?” Henry asked incredulously. “A little skirmish, that’s all. Please sit.”

  He motioned for Jeffrey and Jacob to sit and offered them both a small glass of peach schnapps. “I would offer the two of you a cigar, but this building is non-smoking.”

  Jeffrey wondered how any of that could be true since there was such a strong stench of cigar smoke in the air, and then Jeffrey noticed what looked like a humidifier behind Schultz’s desk. A faint stream of mist was billowing out of the side of the machine that hummed softly, and Jeffrey assumed that this must be some kind of machine rigged to pump the smell of tobacco into the air. It probably contained nicotine in the vapor. Schultz was without a doubt an eccentric man and had the money to satisfy all of his worldly wants.

  “How is that lovely girlfriend of yours?” Henry asked.

  Jeffrey shot a look at Jacob, who returned an innocent stare, and he answered, “How do you know …”

  “When I go into business with someone, I always find out everything about them.” He downed his schnapps in a single gulp and poured another. “She’s a very talented critic; I hope that she will write a good review of our play.”

  This was a very presumptuous comment, and Jeffrey did not like what it implied. First of all, his relationship with Rachel was nobody’s business and certainly not this Heinrich Schultz character; second, there was no way he would ever attempt to persuade his girlfriend to write a favorable review of anything he did based on their relationship. Jeffrey was beginning to dislike Heinrich Schultz very much.

  “Jacob tells me that you were thinking of taking some time off.” Another overstep. “I think maybe I can persuade you to think otherwise.”

  Little Herman got up from his chair and sauntered across the room to jump onto Jeffrey’s lap, purring quietly.

  “Ah! Herman likes you, always a good sign!” Schultz exclaimed with unfettered delight.

  Jeffrey looked down at the cat’s cooing face and saw that this cat really did look like Adolph Hitler, undoubtedly, not a mistake, and not beyond the realization of his owner. As he looked around the office again while Henry was speaking to him about how wonderful this venture was going to be, Jeffrey noticed that there were some very odd pictures on the wall—a bombed-out storefront and lamp factory, a wheelbarrow filled with watches, and a picture of Schultz with Arnold Schwarzenegger when the former actor was governor of California.

  Something was not quite right with what was happening; Jeffrey knew that he needed to start getting some answers, or he could find himself in a position that he perhaps could not write his way out of.

  He looked over at Jacob, who sat in awe of their host, and the grin that he was sporting was an obvious showing of great affection and admiration. Jacob was obviously taken in by the charm of this big man, and the perspective money did nothing to tarnish the shine on that charm. Jacob was mesmerized.

  Jeffrey’s head was beginning to spin slightly, and he heard Jacob’s voice ask a question, but did not recognize any of the words. Jacob spoke again.

  “What do you think, Jeffrey?” Jacob asked.

  Jeffrey turned to Jacob, a bit startled by the question and a little disoriented by his surroundings and asked, “About what?”

  “The play, of course!” Henry bellowed. “Kristallnacht and Noel.”

  Jeffrey turned to Heinrich and back to Jacob before turning back to his host, and he asked quietly, “I’m sorry, what?”

  “His play, Jeffrey, his play, Kristallnacht and Noel. The tale of a Jewish shop owner in Nazi Germany who masquerades as a Christmas tree salesman to avoid having his store bombed out during the Kristallnacht and who falls in love with the wife of an SS officer charged with hunting him down.”

  Kristallnacht, of course, was the infamous night in Nazioccupied Germany when thousands of Jewish owned shops and Jewish synagogues had been destroyed. Windows were shattered, temples burnt to the ground, some of them hundreds of years old. If Jeffrey was hearing correctly, this Henry person and Jacob wanted Jeffrey to write a play about that horrible night and put his name to it, giving the play instant credibility.

  “What do you think?” Henry asked.

  Jeffrey blinked his eyes a couple of times and rubbed his temples. Herman jumped from his lap due to the tension the cat was picking up on. “What do I think, you ask?”

  He looked over at Jacob, his wide-eyed, hopeful expression betraying the absolute naiveté his young assistant had to the topic and to Jeffrey’s reaction. Jeffrey slowly stood up and calmly said in an even tone, “I think that you are both out of your fucking minds.”

  Henry’s expression quickly went from that of joyful expectation to confusion to anger at the use of language. “I don’t like your choice of language in front of my cat,” he said in his increasingly thick German accent.

  “I don’t care what you or your Nazi cat thinks of my language.” Herman hissed from across the room and hid under the desk. “This is beyond ludicrous to even think that I would put my name to a project like this! It’s dis
gusting!”

  Jeffrey’s ire was up now, and his rage, which was a very rare sight indeed, was hitting a crescendo. He had heard some bad ideas before, manuscripts that were sent to him with the request that he rewrite them and put his name to them, all in the hopes of seeing the work on stage, but this was the most offensive to ever cross his path.

  “Jeffrey, calm down,” Jacob pleaded, slightly afraid to stand up as his mentor was having a meltdown in front of him. “Maybe we could revise it a bit.”

  Jeffrey stared at him with stunned silence and then broke it by saying, “Stuff it in a paper bag with that cat’s shit, light it on fire, and throw it at that giant anti-Semite over there! Discussion is over!” He caught his breath and sized up the two shocked expressions staring back at him and quietly continued, “I’ll show myself out.”

  He straightened his coat, shot Schultz as angry a stare as he could muster, and told Jacob that he would talk to him later. He left Heinrich Schultz’s office for what he hoped would be the last time. He had no idea that this man would play such a critical role in his future endeavors or how he would change his life.

  “That was unpleasant,” Henry said solemnly. “You told me he was a reasonable man with vision.”

  Jacob squirmed in his seat. Indeed, he had told Henry that Jeffrey was a man who could be dealt with and being affable was the worst of his qualities. This explosion of rage was nothing Jacob had ever seen, and he had no idea how to react to or explain it. The only thing he had left for himself at this point was to get back on Heinrich’s good side.

  “I can talk to him.”

  Henry put up a big, dismissive hand and continued, “I have no patience for those who lose theirs. He obviously does not want to work with me, so I no longer have any use for him.” He reached under his desk and lifted Herman into his arms, stroking the cat behind the ears.

  The cat really does look like Hitler, Jacob thought to himself. How come I’ve never noticed that? Ah, the brilliance of Jeffrey David Rothstein, only he would have noticed.

  “Can we still use plan B?” Henry asked.

  Jacob shifted in his seat and thought about it for a moment. A lot would depend on whether or not Jeffrey had disavowed him for all of this. If he was still in his mentor’s good graces, the plan could work; if he was not, he would never get close enough to pull it off. It was all up to Jeffrey and whether or not he could find it in his heart to forgive Jacob for bringing him to this very unpleasant meeting.

  “I think I can do it, Henry. I’m sure of it.”

  * * *

  “Kristallnacht and Noel?” Rachel asked with horror. “Are you serious? This was the great offer?”

  “Apparently,” Jeffrey answered as he poured himself a Scotch and took a seat on her sofa. He had gone straight to her apartment after the meeting and told her everything. She was more than just his girlfriend; in many ways, she was his most trusted business advisor, and he knew she had to be told of this immediately.

  “Well, Jacob is fired,” Rachel said more as a statement of fact than a request.

  Jeffrey was surprised by this reaction; on his way over, he had not even considered firing Jacob. He was angry at him, but forgave much of it to his hunger to make a name for himself in the business. Fire Jacob? The thought was troubling and intriguing at once.

  “Do you really think that’s necessary? He made a mistake, maybe I should talk to him first.”

  “Screw him,” Rachel snapped. “He showed total disloyalty to you about this and intentionally set you up. Did he give you any inkling that this play was what it was? Did he tell you that this Schultz person is some kind of Nazi descendant or who he really is? No!” She walked over to sit next to Jeffrey, took a sip of his Scotch, and said calmly, “I like Jacob as much as you do, but he has to go for this. What happens when it’s time to hire a new assistant someday if you don’t?”

  Jeffrey thought about it a moment and quietly made his decision.

  * * *

  Jeffrey did not take Rachel’s advice, and he welcomed Jacob back with open, if not irritated, arms and invited him to his apartment to discuss when they were going to get back to work. He still was struggling with his writer’s block and honestly had no thoughts percolating in his mind. His decision was simple; he would take some time off, get away for a while, and refresh the soul. Jacob would be given the task of answering messages and reading correspondences.

  Jacob was thrilled to know that he did not lose his job, and was all too eager to encourage his boss to go on vacation, take Rachel to the islands, and get away from it all. He would hold down the fort and tackle any problems that should arise.

  Jeffrey told Jacob to stay clear of Rachel and to just keep focused on his work until Jeffrey returned in two weeks.

  That was more than enough time for Jacob to go through all of Jeffrey’s binders.

  Chapter Three: Heinrich

  Heinrich Schultz walked across his office to the windows looking out into the city. He savored these moments of calm and clarity that allowed him to think of what his next move would be; he always had a next move to consider.

  Herman was beside him almost instantly, rubbing against his leg and purring loudly; his cat had the affection for the big man that only an animal lover can appreciate. That was one of Heinrich’s few noble qualities; he loved animals. While other men of wealth and power throughout the centuries saw it as their divine right to torture and kill God’s creations, Heinrich saw it as his holy responsibility to care for those same animals and to bring to ruin anyone who violated that sacred task.

  He had made his fortune through inheritance, but augmented it further through cunning and foresight. His first successful venture was developing a way for people to experience the paranoia of being a minority without having to undergo invasive and corrective surgical procedures. You wouldn’t think that there was a demand for affluent white people to wonder what it was like to be a lower class African American, but white guilt is a powerful thing, and people were willing to pay big money for his little green pill.

  His big success came a bit later in life, and it proved to secure that Heinrich would be rich beyond his dreams for the rest of his life. Taking a page from the so-called great men in history, he discovered that men of power love the hunt and are always looking for fresh game that is not only taboo, but rare in comparison. The idea hit him one day when he was leaving a restaurant and was accosted by a homeless man asking for spare change. The relentless man did not know how to take no for an answer and proceeded to not only get on Heinrich’s nerves, but gave him that lightning bolt of vision. Thus, Schultz Exotic Adventures was born.

  What he offered was the thrill of the hunt for the most taboo of all animals to kill, the human being. He purchased a small island in the South Pacific and built a five-star quality resort for the social elite and morally corrupt. What was offered was the thrill that most men of such deviant qualities valued above other aspects of their lives, the opportunity to see another human being suffer and run from the powerful.

  He spared no expense in building his dream island, whether it was the ten-thousand-dollar-a-night rooms with personal valets to cater to their every need, or the world’s largest waterslide that emptied into a giant vat of whipped cream, complete with swimsuit models drizzling chocolate sauce on their male patrons and throwing little maraschino cherries at them. It was hedonism at its very finest.

  The hunt was very simple; every month, a new plane arrived with a dozen homeless men, who had been given the promise that they would be rehabilitated and given jobs with a huge international conglomerate and their training would result in riches that they could only dream of in their past lives.

  For the first two weeks, these men were fed, cared for, given physicals, and put on weight-training programs, along with detox treatments from alcohol and other narcotics, until they were deemed fit by a team of medical experts. They were now fit for the hunt.

  Once a month for an entire week, these men were relea
sed into the island and barred from returning to the resort. During that time, they had only the option of learning to survive or allowing the island to destroy them before the hunters arrived. Once the elite men and women who sought this unique hunt arrived on the island, the former homeless were informed of what was about to happen, and that they had two days to hide. Anyone who survived the entire week was given one million dollars and his freedom, along with a high-ranking job with Schultz Industries.

  Heinrich Schultz never had to pay up, however, as no one had ever survived the hunt. To date, there had been over four dozen hunts and at least three hundred homeless men had been killed. Heinrich was fuzzy on the numbers because he never really kept count, nor did he care what they were. The people who were being killed in his tropical paradise were of no consequence to him, and however they spent their last days on earth was entirely their problem.

  He smiled as he looked down at Herman and thought how wonderful his life had been. In spite of the shame that his family had suffered as a result of his uncle and his cross-dressing Führer, the Schultz family, formerly the Görings, had made a very nice life for themselves in America and laughed about it when they got together for family reunions, weddings, and the like. Heinrich was proud of what they had accomplished in their ruse to blend in among the Americans, and he relished the fact that their deception had been so thoroughly believed and accepted.

  He turned and looked at his Man of the Year award that had been given to him by the Jewish Defense League and allowed a brief chuckle to escape his broad mouth. Everyone had been so successfully fooled by his outward persona that they had absolutely no idea of the horror of a man he was capable of being, the violence he could unleash, and the unenviable night of having to listen to him croon his favorite hits from the fifties when the mood struck.

  Now he was faced with a new problem because, for the first time, his charm had not won the day, and he did not know how to respond to this uncomfortable feeling. Never before had a person whom he had reached out to been invited to his personal office, welcomed with the prospect of unspeakable wealth, and even allowed to play with his cat, only to insult him and leave the building without Heinrich getting exactly what he wanted.