"Yes, yes," said Irina, sounding lost.
"And tomorrow I'll send you Leo," said Mama. "Leo is the best salesman in the salon where I have my things made. You'll need clothes. You can rely on Leo, my dear. He'll look after you. He has fantastic taste!"
Oh, God! I thought, and looked at Hem who looked at me, his face blank. I could only hope that Leo's taste was really fantastic. Going by the way Mama dressed, it wasn't likely.
"Of course, I never let him influence me," said Mama, and I felt better.
When we got to my apartment house I saw the car with the two plainclothesmen sitting in it. They nodded and waved while I was taking our things out of the Lamborghini. In the apartment, I unpacked and carried my typewriter and tapes to the desk in my workroom. I noticed that I had left the recorder in the car. I could get it later.
I wasn't hungry, but I asked Irina if she would like to eat something, but she said, too, that she wasn't in the least hungry. I'm just so tired.... overtired, really. You know what I mean?"
"Oh, yes," I said, and fixed us two whiskeys and took Irina into my bedroom because the record player was there and Irina had said she loved Tchaikovsky, too. We sat on my king-sized bed and listened to the Path6tique, and everything was peaceful.
"In my workroom there's a record cabinet. Lots more Tchaikovsky. If you can't sleep after you've had a bath, play some of the records. And have another drink. You know now where everything is."
"Yes, Walter."
"And then go to bed. Ill be back late. I'll lock you in, but you have a second set of keys. Don't open the door for anyone. Answer the phone only when I call. Ill let it ring three times and hang up. The next time I'll let it ring till you answer. OK?"
She nodded. Suddenly I saw tears in her beautiful eyes. "What is it, Irina?"
She grasped my hand arid held it to her wet cheek and whispered, "Thank you. Thank you for everything."
"Oh... skip it."
"No, really. I mean it. What would have happened to me without you?"
"Without me? You know I've done all this only because I want your story."
"And that's a he," said Irina, smiling.
"Yes," I said. "It's a he, my darling."
She kissed the palm of my hand, then she let my hand fall abruptly and drank, a lot. "What now?"
"I—I thought of him. Forgive me—"
"Of course," I said. "It will pass... until nothing is left."
"Yes," she said. "I want it that way. Nothing should be left. Nothing!"
I didn't understand her at the time, but I was to understand her very soon.
A jet flew over the house, just after takeoff. The noise was dreadful. We said nothing because we couldn't have heard each other. I smiled, but Irina's dark eyes remained serious, sad, and veiled. The noise of the plane receded. We could hear Tchaikovsky again, the wonderful Pathetique with its minor mood and the eastern mystique of eternal suffering, interrupted every now and then by the sweet cantilenas of western sentiment. We looked at each other. The music played on, and I went over to the table with the bottle of Chivas on it and fixed myself a stiff drink, and this time it had nothing whatsoever to do with my jackal—
13
"Now listen, Max," I said, "according to Tutti, you've got a pecker like an elephant."
"He has! He has!" Tutti assured me. "Man, Walta/i, Max's got the biggest cock I've seen in my life, and I've seen plenty. Professionally speaking, of course."
"Well ... it ain't the smallest one around," said Max, smiling with a possessor's pride. "But why're you so interested, Walto/i? You ain't no fag, he-he-he!"
"He-he-he, you idiot!" I said. "I'm interested in your prick because we want it for the title page in Blitz"
"Waltaft/ Dear Jesus, you can't mean it!" cried Tutti.
"I'll be damned," said Max. "You been drinking, Waltafc, yeah?"
"I'm sober as a judge," I said, "and I mean it seriously. They want your prick, Max. I've just come from a conference, as I told you on the phone." 464
"In the middle of the night?"
"And still going on. We're working on two very important series. I need you both."
"Max! Your pecker on the front page! You'll be famousl They'll put you in the movies!" cried Tutti.
It was 10:30 p.m., and I was in Tutti and Max's living room in a brand-new apartment house in Herbartstrasse. A covered bird cage stood by the window, I presumed with Tutti's darling and Max's archenemy, the canary, sleeping in it. I knew the apartment; I'd been here several times. Twenty-eight-year-old Tutti Reibeisen, whose real name was Gertrude which she found ugly, had very bright blue eyes and a big mouth. Even when she wasn't smiling, the right corner was always a little upturned. She was wearing high-heeled shoes and a salmon pink miniskirt, and she sat in a way that showed off her blue underwear. Her pimp, Max Knipper, a great fellow, was tall, slim, and muscular, and he was built like a Greek god. Looked like a Greek god, too. Noble, a truly noble-looking guy. Only his hands were three sizes too big for him.
"You see," I said, "I knew I'd come to the right place. But we've got to work fast. I've got to be finished by middle of next week."
"Max!" Tutti sounded startled. "Poor Walta/i's gone bonkers! Oh, Lord, Lord... I've always begged you to come to my love bed, Walta/i, but now you say you've gotta be finished by middle of next week? Today's only Thursday! Waltaft, you ain't got all your marbles! Compared to you, Leichenmiiller was a dodo!"
"No, no," I said hastily to my friend Tutti with the big heart and the small brain. "That's not what I mean. I mean finished with what I have to write for Blitz. With my first article. And for the next one I need all sorts of information from you. But right now I need Max's cock."
"Oh, my God," said Max. "What's the world coming to?"
Beer, schnapps, and glasses were standing in front of us on the table. For once I was doing without my Chivas because I didn't want to embarrass my friends. Max was wearing a blue suit with broad white stripes, a yellow shirt, and a wildly colorful tie. He was sitting against a wall with a lot of framed photographs on it. Some were family pictures, yellowed by age, a little out of place in this modern apartment, but Tutti was sentimental. You could recognize her in every picture—little Tutti holding her mother's hand in front of the polar bear cage at the Berlin Zoo. Little Tutti holding her father's hand at a fair. Little Tutti with her mother at
a spa, on a pony, under the Christmas tree, always with relatives—parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents—all of them dead long ago, according to Tutti. All she had now was Max. There were no pictures of him on the wall.
I had called diem from Herf ord's office and asked if I could come over. Max answered the phone. "Can't come now," he said. "In an hour's OK. Tutti has a John. Mr. Moneybags. Doesn't want to be seen. Didn't park his car in front of the house. A little farther along. But you can't miss it. A red Alfa. If you come in an hour and it's still there, you gotta wait. Drive around the block a bit. Okay?"
"Okay, Max."
The other men in the office looked at me expectantly. "Well?" said Herford.
"Everything's set," I said. "I'll talk to him tonight. He's the .ideal man for it. Can we take the pictures tomorrow?"
"You, Engelhardt," said Herford.
Bertie laughed.
"What's so funny?" Lester's tone was sharp. Lester, the worm. Bertie gave him a look but said nothing.
"Let's keep it peaceful, boys," said Herford. "Herford isn't going to tolerate any display of animosities."
The air in the room was blue. Everybody was smoking. Herford had taken off his jacket—the boss's privilege; the rest of us couldn't. But we were allowed to smoke. And bottles of beer stood on the conference table. Stag party. Mama had been taken home long ago.
During the conference I experienced again the beauty of my profession in all its grandeur. The decision on the title page with the unconscious boy had taken only fifteen minutes. How the series was to begin was left entirely to me, whereas "Total Man" absorbed the gendemen e
ndlessly. They had ideas, brainstorms; they all talked at once, interrupted each other, were full of admiration for themselves and each other, and were just crazy about this shit series.
"The man must be in profile! The whole figure in profile!"
"Well, I don't know. I think I'd prefer it full front."
"Are you crazy? The penis must show up against a black background!"
"And in erection, of course!"
"Right! In all its glory!"
"It should be a lulu!"
466
"It will be, it will be!"
'The women will be dazzled!" crowed Ziller.
"Herford doesn't like the tone, gentlemen," said Herford. "What our women are getting here is life-saving advice!"
"Of course, Herr Herford!"
"Naturally, Herr Herford!"
"Life-saving advice!" He actually said it!
"This series is a serious thing," said Hem. (The thing was getting the better of him.)
"You said it, Kramer." Herford was impervious to irony. He didn't know the meaning of irony. "Tioo series at once with serious impact. In Total Man' you mustn't lose sight of the humane element, Roland. You'll be sure not to, won't you?"
"I shall not lose sight of the humane element, Herr Herford."
"Then you can be as explicit as you like. You know what I mean?"
"I know what you mean, Herr Herford. I shall be very explicit."
"No inhibitions! Not this time. We mean business. Serious business. I think even the church will give us her blessing. And don't neglect the sociocritical viewpoint, Roland. The retardation and denigration of women in the late capitalist era. Keep our new course in mind!"
"I shall, Herr Herford. Ill keep our new course in mind." He evidendy also wanted the blessing of the labor unions for this shit-and-fuck series!
Photo-editor Ziller said, "The studio must be ready."
Blitz had a huge photography studio with all the most modern equipment in a house on the Zeil. "What do you mean, 'ready'?" asked Lester.
"We need naked girls."
"What for?" Lester was a prude, in spite of everything else. And he had no imagination.
"Well, if the man's to have an erection, we've got to spread out a few naked girls," Ziller said impatiently. "Where can we get them on such short notice?"
"I'm sure Herr Roland can help us out with that." Lester's tone was malicious. He hadn't recovered from our scandalous little scene on Monday.
"Certainly, Herr Lester," I said. "It's only a question of money. If I'm allowed to spend a lot of money, I can get you the most beautiful girls in Frankfurt."
"Money is no object in this case, you know that," said Herf ord. He was very excited and took his little gold pill box out of his vest pocket again and swallowed five pills—red, yellow, blue. He washed them down with beer. "This is going to be the sensation of the year, if we can bring it off I This and your other series, Roland. And we'll be on top! Herford is predicting!"
"Or we'll be censored," said elegant general manager Seerose.
"We will not be censored, Oswald," said Herford. "You and Ziller weren't there when Rotaug approved the whole thing. Please, Docktor, explain it again."
The human turtle blinked his eyes, tugged at his collar, fingered the pearl in his stickpin, and spoke. "We will not be censored, we will not be banned or confiscated, we won't even be chastized. All we have to do is put a band over the controversial section, to hide it."
"What controversial section?" asked poor benighted Ziller.
"The member, of course!" shouted Herford.
Oh, yes, of course," said Ziller.
"What did you think? The nose?" Lester couldn't stand Ziller either.
"Be quiet, Lester. The Doktors speaking."
"I'm sorry, Herr Herford."
Oh, yes, it was a great session!
"The band can, of course, be removed," said Rotaug.
"Naturally!"
"Of course!"
"Will the little girls ever be stunned!"
"Quiet!" shouted Herford. "Are we in a brothel or in the office of a publisher?"
It was quiet. Rotaug was tugging at his collar again. "The band will suffice to quell any public protest against indecency and pornography. I base my contention on a ruling of the county courts in Minister and Lubeck in 1964 and 1967, according to which..." and he proceeded to describe the tenor of these decisions and gave a legal explanation that lasted ten minutes. "Well, that seems to be the solution," said Seerose, finally impressed.
"Marvelous idea, Oswald, isn't it, with the band?"
"Yes, Tommy."
"Herford's idea," Herford said proudly. "Rotaug just mentioned something about a band—and Herford had the idea!"
"Amazing, Herr Herford!" said Lester worshipfully.
"You're not saying anything, Herr Kramer." Herford sounded annoyed. "Is anything wrong? Don't you like Herford's idea?"
"I think the idea is great," Hem said amiably, puffing on his pipe. "I would go so far as to say nobody else could have thought of it."
Herford beamed. "Yes. Herford has a good head on his shoulders. Sometimes I wonder what you'd do without me, you jerks 1"
Lester, Rotaug, Leidenmuller, and Ziller laughed dutifully; Seerose looked at Herford sharply, but Herford returned his manager's look all-innocence. Then followed the debate on how Total Man' was to be handled graphically, and this was again one of Leidenmuller's splendid hours. He presented designs, lectured on the layout and headings, and everybody listened to the poor old whore-fucker, because he was an expert.
Three quarters of an hour later I left and drove through the night to Herbartstrasse. A red Alfa Romeo was parked five houses away from where Tutti lived. I stopped, turned off the motor and my headlights, and waited. For twenty minutes. Then a man came down the street, looking to right and left cautiously, got into the Alfa quickly, and drove off fast. I thought I had seen a ghost!
14
"That was young Herford, all right," said Max Knipper. "But you'll keep your mouth shut, won't you?"
"Bob was here?" I couldn't get over it.
"With Tutti. Sure. For two hours—four hundred marks. Never knew her to ask so much, but he paid, pronto! But that's peanuts compared with the others he screws. Nothing else he can do, though."
"What do you mean—nothing else he can do?"
"Knocked up another girl. Does it every time," Tutti explained. We were sitting in their living room. "And the last one wants half a million. Because he raped her, sez she. And she's a minor. And she don't want to get rid of the child. All I can say is, I
believe her—that he raped her. Here he carried on like a bull, tore me apart—"
"How did he get your address?"
"Got it out of Leichenmiillafc. Gave him money and pestered the old goat till he got it out of him."
"Donner wetter!" I said. "Leichenmiiller!"
"Was satisfied," said Max. "I mean young Herford now. Told me so when he was leaving. So we have a new steady customer.
Not bad, eh? We can do with the do-re-mi " And he was off on
his pet subject. "This co-op apartment... whaddaya think we still owe the bank? And the interest! But we had to have it. Needed a—whaddaya call it? Headquarters. Big enough. A room for me, a room for Tutti to work in, a bedroom for the two of us, and the salon here. Kitchen, bath, oil, heat—and all the furniture's new! The built-in kitchen's a jewel! Tutti's pride and joy! Weve been wanting this for a long time, ya know, Waltaft. Tutti's had to work for it."
Faithful Tutti said, "Wasn't a bed of roses, but now we're safe from the rent gougers. And we're our own bosses. Ownership is ownership."
The two had come to Frankfurt from Berlin three years ago. I'd known them that long. At first they'd lived in a hotel that rented rooms by the hour. When I was writing my article on prostitution in Frankfurt, I'd asked them why they left Berlin.
"Because we couldn't live decently there anymore," Tutti had explained. "You see, Berlin—it's a
two-bit town. Either you get the young people, students who've come there because they don't want to go into the army. They don't have enough to eat! You can't do business with them. On the other hand—the old people? Living on pensions? It's a sad thing when an old Berliner like me has to say something like this, but that city's had it, and it gets worse and worse. Those old guys don't have any money either. And the tourists? The traveling salesmen? They're stingy as hell. And then the competition. You get that in Frankfurt, too, but here it's swarming with well-heeled gents and they pay... wheel How they pay. And then there was Max."
"What about Max?"
"He was with the sanitation department," said Tutti.
"Yeah," gorgeous Max corroborated. "I earned my money the hard way, Herr Roland. With garbage you work till your asshole splits. Like a dog. Like ten dogs!"
"I can imagine."
470
"And do you think it's appreciated when you collect other people's crud?" Max was red with fury. "No! They look down on you. And the pay stinks more than the crap you're collecting!" Max had pounded on the table with his fist. "They need workers—and how! No unemployment in garbage. But nobody wants it. And they're right! Ya see"—he was warming up to his theme—"when them asshole teachers tell their dumb kids, Tf you don't work hard you'll never be anything but a garbageman,' all I can say is: If that's pedajogik, then they shouldn't be surprised if nobody wants to work in garbage anymore. Am I right?"
"Absolutely, Herr Knipper."
"Just take a look at Nyu Jork. Right now they've got their crud on the street. The garbagemen are on strike. And in the heat! Bravo, I sez! Right on, I sez! In Nyu Jork you can see the rats running across Fifs Evenyu, that's what I've read. Let 'em run over to Vail Street and the stock market and eat up all them stocks and bonds. Nah, Herr Roland, who knows what would have become of Tutti if life hadn't thrown us together!"
"And what are you doing now, in Frankfurt?" I asked.
"Oh... I got a few things going.,. ain't going too well. Nuthin's movin'—"
15
Unfortunately, Max wasn't doing too well three years later either, because he now put up a fierce fight for the amount to be paid him for the title page. He asked for five thousand. That was outrageous, and I managed to bring him down to two thousand.
The Traitor Blitz Page 51