The Notorious Pagan Jones

by Nina Berry

  He nodded, pretending to give her suggestions real consideration. “With you as my monkey?”

  “I’ve got plans, but thanks,” she said.

  “I hear a few others from the movie might be showing up on the roof tonight,” he said. “It’s the hot new place in town.”

  “And here you sit, all alone.” She tsk-tsked, shaking her head. “Such a shame.”

  “Oh, I’ll see you later,” he said, his smile widening. “You know I can’t stay away.”

  “I’ve noticed,” she said, rallying, her skirt rustling. “Am I really free to go? Without you watching my every move?”

  “If you don’t come back, I’ll call out the military police,” he said. “No big deal.”

  “Nice to know you care,” she said. “Good night and drop dead.”

  “Bis bald,” he said as she closed the door behind her. She understood all too well what he meant: see you soon.

  * * *

  She stared at the back of the elevator operator’s gray uniform as she took the elevator to the roof, fingers tapping impatiently against her pocketbook. It took every ounce of her self-control to stay here instead of heading downstairs and grabbing a cab to somewhere else, maybe even all the way to East Berlin.

  Not that Thomas deserved to be ditched. But now that Pagan was alone, thoughts of the possibly coded letters to her mother, of elderly Frau Nagel and the many times she’d uttered the names Ursula and Emil Murnau, crept to the forefront of her thoughts. There had to be more to the story than Frau Kruger had told her.

  As the doors swished open, the elevator operator put out a hand, gesturing grandly at a wide vestibule with doors to restrooms on either side, an unattended cloakroom in the corner, and a short flight of steps up. Strains of music drifted down those stairs, along with a cool brush of summer air.

  “Just up the stairs to Die Sparren,” he said. The name of the restaurant translated to The Rafters. “Have a lovely evening.”

  Pagan half ran up the stairs. The soft jazz swelled as she came out the doorway under a black velvet sky onto a broad rectangular rooftop rimmed with footlights. Laid out below, the lights of Berlin appeared to float. The city was a dark lake reflecting back the stars.

  Thomas, in black tie, stood next to a podium where the maître d’ was arguing with an older couple. Beyond him, two dozen round tables dotted the space, each lit by a single centered lamp, which cast uncertain shadows on the animated faces of the diners in their white dress shirts and dark bow ties, their pearl necklaces and low-cut gowns. Gray clouds of cigarette smoke wafted upward in single columns, as waiters hurried between tables, bearing gin and tonics, shrimp cocktails, and plates covered in crispy potato latkes, and mini tarts filled with blue cheese and pear.

  The seating area opened up at the far end to allow space for dancing in front of the bandstand, where a jazz orchestra of ten musicians was swooning out a very romantic version of Gershwin’s classic “Someone to Watch Over Me.” No one was dancing yet. Too early, but that would change after suppers were eaten, drinks imbibed, and the night wore on.

  “Good evening,” Thomas said, bending his dimpled smile at her as he came forward. “You look exquisite.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Ah, Guerlain,” he said, inhaling her perfume with real appreciation. “It is indeed the blue hour, when the night is transformed, and we shall be reunited.”

  “You smell pretty good yourself, bub,” she said, throwing a little extra sass into the line.

  “Thanks, Küken,” he retorted with equal sass. The word meant chick or young goose, and was often used for the baby of the family. He held out his elbow and she slipped her arm through his. “Mein Herr,” he said to the maître d’, “the most beautiful girl in the city has arrived.”

  The maître d’ bowed, his eyes taking in Pagan with a brief shock of recognition, which he smoothed over expertly within a blink. “Indeed, Herr Kruger. An honor, Fraulein Jones. This way, bitte.”

  The space between tables was narrow, so Pagan released Thomas’s arm to follow the maître d’. Shoulders back, she thought, weaving gracefully between the chair backs.

  Sure enough, the woman at the table closest to her did a double take, which pulled the stares of the other three at her table. More heads turned, and the room’s chatter first cooled, then escalated, rippling outward as she moved along, her eyes resolutely on the broad back of the maître d’.

  “Is that Marilyn Monroe?” a man asked nearby in a very bad whisper.

  His wife smacked him in the chest with the back of her hand. “No, dummy!”

  Pagan laughed and slowed, angling back toward Thomas, who bent forward, his ear near her mouth. “I should be so lucky,” she said.

  He chuckled, and their interaction sparked further currents of comment. By the time they reached their table, right beside the dance floor, the place was buzzing, and Pagan settled into her chair, buzzing a bit herself.

  “Let’s go crazy and have some lemonade,” she said quickly, as the waiter arrived to get their drink order. The dinner club atmosphere and sparkling trays of cold cocktails was all very enticing, and she needed to set the tone right from the start. So they toasted each other with tall frosty glasses of golden liquid. She even tried a bite of Thomas’s dreadful herring and apple salad appetizer. She settled for sauerkraut balls and fried asparagus to start, followed by a delicious chicken Kiev.

  Halfway through, a dapper Bennie Wexler came over with a somewhat sloppy Jimmy Brennan, exclaiming hellos. Hoping to forge a stronger bond with Jimmy after his temper tantrum on the set, Pagan invited both men to join them.

  They sat down and the waiter appeared to get their drink order. “We can’t stay long, but we may see you later on the dance floor,” Bennie said. “They say this place has the best band in Berlin.”

  “Best, my eye,” Jimmy said, slurring a bit, and ordered another scotch and soda.

  “Jimmy, my dear, maybe you should have a little dinner first,” Bennie said.

  Jimmy fixed him with red-rimmed eyes. “It’s not my job to set an example for your alcoholic little pets.”

  “Hey,” said Thomas, frowning at Jimmy.

  Pagan put a hand on Thomas’s arm to show him she was okay. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “I don’t,” Jimmy said. “Hey, isn’t your ex in town? That Nicky what’s-his-name?”

  “Is he?” Pagan managed a look of faint surprise even as her stomach lurched.

  “Time to go order our own dinners, I think,” Bennie said. He looked at Pagan and mouthed I’m sorry at her. She shook her head back at him and made a don’t worry about it gesture. Had she ever been that horrible when she was drinking? She hoped not, but she also didn’t remember everything from those days.

  “You order,” Jimmy said, standing up and swaying a little as he buttoned his jacket. “I’m going to make a call.”

  Bennie watched him walk unsteadily away through the crowd. “At least he doesn’t do it on set,” he said with a sigh, and stood up. “I’m very sorry to have inflicted him on you, my darlings. Please have a wonderful night. Perhaps we’ll see you later.”

  He kissed Pagan on the cheek, shook Thomas by the hand, and took off toward his table.

  During dessert Pagan noticed a familiar dark head tilted down to speak to a pretty brunette in fuchsia satin in his arms as they skirted the dance floor in a stately manner. Her full stomach fluttered uncomfortably and she put her fork down. So he was making good on his threat to keep an eye on her, only he had his own date. A very attractive one.

  “Is that Devin Black?” she asked Thomas, knowing the answer.

  Thomas frowned over at the couple. “What’s he doing here? And who’s that he’s with?”

  Pagan watched Devin move easily to the music, his hand on the woman’s narrow waist, their other fingers intertwined. F
rom her teased updo to her shiny nails, the woman was effortlessly sophisticated, older than Devin by at least ten years, and darkly beautiful, with Elizabeth Taylor eyebrows and ropes of pearls lustering against her creamy skin.

  “Whoever she is, she’s ancient,” Pagan said, and put a hand over her mouth. “Oops, did I say that out loud?”

  Thomas slid her an appreciative glance. “She’s practically on her deathbed. We need to show them how proper dancing is done.”

  As the female singer sent her contralto swinging along with the band, Thomas led Pagan onto the dance floor with a flourish. For a broad-shouldered boy, Thomas was surprisingly deft with his dance steps, swinging her into a smooth fox-trot as the band went into “I’ve Got a Crush on You,” and switching easily to a rhumba when they started up “Just Another Rhumba.”

  They passed Devin, swaying. Thomas kept them hovering effortlessly in place for a moment as they nodded and smiled his way. Devin swept them up and down with a measuring look, smiled hello, and whispered something in his date’s ear. She laughed, and they swept off to the other side of the dance floor.

  “What a witch,” Pagan said.

  “With her warlock,” Thomas said.

  She smiled up at him. It was fun hanging out with someone as ready to dig on Devin as she was. She really wished she could feel something more than friendship for him. “Can you believe he’s my legal guardian? He’s barely two and a half years older than I am.”

  “That must be a temporary arrangement only,” Thomas said. “For the duration of the movie, right?”

  “I hope so. Ugh.” She threw another glare at Devin and his date. Was this why he’d arranged for her to have a date with Thomas? So he could have his own date and keep an eye on her at the same time? Or was he up to some other criminal enterprise? “Do you hate him for my sake, or are there other reasons?”

  “He was my first contact with the studio,” Thomas said. “I didn’t want to do the movie at first. I was worried it might displease the Party. But Devin persuaded me it would be good for my career. He’s the whole reason I’m in the movie, really. So I’m grateful to him for that.”

  “But?” She could feel a twist in the story coming up.

  Thomas opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. “It’s not very interesting. At first he was very nice. I thought we were becoming friends. But as soon as I got the part—fft!” Thomas let go of her hand to make a gesture with his fingers. “He was gone.”

  “To make sure I got in the movie,” Pagan said. If Thomas’s recruitment by Devin was anything like hers had been, she could understand his resentment, even if Thomas didn’t want to give the details.

  “Yes. He left me for you,” Thomas said with a sly smile.

  “And now he’s with her!” Pagan said. “So fickle.”

  “With any luck he’ll leave her for someone else by the end of the evening, then she can join our little club,” he said, and twirled her around for emphasis.

  “What if,” Pagan asked as he took her hand again, “the band played something from this decade? Think Devin and his darling could keep up?”

  “There’s one way to find out,” Thomas said. “Not sure this is the right crowd for the Twist, but hang on.”

  He lifted her hand and twirled her toward her chair, releasing her so he could walk over to the band leader. The man dipped his head to listen as Thomas slid a bill into his hand and asked him a question.

  The leader slipped the bill into the pocket of his white dinner jacket, shrugged, and nodded. After the rhumba, there was a brief pause as the band leader consulted with his musicians and the singer, who was grinning as she sauntered up to the microphone. The guitarist put down his acoustic instrument and picked up an electric one. Pagan took a big sip of her lemonade and got ready as the crowd parted for Thomas and he extended his hand to her. Out of the corner of her eye, Pagan could see Devin’s head turn their way. She was ready to show him just how good a time she could have without him.

  The drummer counted off, “One, two…” and tapped his snare ba-dum bum!

  “One, two, three o’clock…” the singer belted out, and the band ripped into “Rock Around the Clock.”

  The crowd stirred, and someone laughed. Thomas made a funny face, and shrugged. “An oldie but a goldie,” he said, and grabbed her hand to twirl her around twice.

  “Woooo!” Pagan shouted, and Thomas swung her out, then pulled her back into a breakaway. He twirled her again, and her skirts flared out. She let go, only to catch his hand behind her back on the beat. She’d like to see Devin’s ladylike date top that.

  Unless…unless the woman was more than a date, and more than a girlfriend. If Devin was a thief, his date might be, too. That female accomplice she’d joked about back at Schloss Charlottenburg.

  She tried not to slow down as the thought hit her. The crowd on the floor was growing, forming a circle around Pagan and Thomas as he led her in a left side pass. She couldn’t see Devin or his date in the throng, but there was no doubt who the star dancing couple on the floor was.

  In no time, the song was over, and the band went right into Buddy Holly’s “That’ll Be the Day.” Pagan and Thomas slowed the pace slightly to accommodate the song.

  Still no sign of her keeper. She wondered if she’d be able to leave Thomas for a moment and find them in the press of people, maybe overhear what they were talking about.

  Thomas had spotted the assistant director, Matthew Smalls, with a petite round woman on his arm, dancing confidently nearby. He led Pagan close to catch Matthew’s eye and shout their hellos.

  “My wife, Elisa!” Matthew said over the guitar, pointing to his partner, who flashed a smile, her feet moving in perfect time with her husband’s. They were swinging pretty hard.

  Thomas cocked a glance at Pagan, who knew instantly what he was thinking, and nodded. The band segued into “Long Tall Sally,” with the female vocalist doing a nicely shredded imitation of Little Richard, and Thomas sent Pagan out, releasing her, and triple-stepped up to Elisa Smalls, asking her, “May I?”

  With Pagan ready to be Matthew’s partner, Mrs. Smalls threw up her hands in a why not? gesture and let Thomas take her hands to send her out in a left-hand pass. Pagan grinned at Matthew and he, thick brows frowning, hesitated, then grabbed Pagan’s hands and threw her expertly out and whipped her back in a furious series of under-arm passes and twirls that had her whooping with delight. The room was spinning in the best possible way, and for a tiny while she forgot all about Devin Black and his double life.

  They danced through a surprisingly raucous version of “Roll Over, Beethoven,” until Matthew, breathless, begged off and led her back to her table for a long drink of lemonade, while he gathered up his wife and thanked them both.

  Still no sign of Devin Black. It was irrational to resent him for not hovering over her every second of the evening, but wasn’t he supposed to be keeping an eye on her? He was really falling down on the job. She could’ve downed a drink any number of times by now without anyone the wiser.

  Thomas took his seat, ordering them both more lemonade and water. A shadow crossed his face, and she tilted her head at him inquiringly.

  “I have a favor to ask,” he admitted, dabbing at his high forehead with a napkin, his cheeks flushed from the dance. “I’ve been invited to a garden party tomorrow at First Secretary Ulbricht’s hunting lodge out in Döllnsee, about twenty-five miles northeast of the city. They say it’s lovely out there, right on the lake and surrounded by woods. It won’t last for more than a couple of hours for an early dinner, and it would be so much more fun if you came with me.”

  Pagan fanned herself with her napkin. The night was cool for August, and the sky was starting to cloud over, but the dancing had left her breathless. “You’re so kind to invite me,” she said, to give herself time to think about it. An afternoon
party with Communist party leaders sounded like the stuffiest event since her last mixer with the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce, but Thomas inviting her flew right in the face of Mercedes’s speculation that being seen with Pagan would tarnish Thomas’s reputation in East Germany. And that made her curious.

  “Are you sure they won’t mind being in the company of a capitalist tool like me?”

  “They may squawk a little amongst themselves in order not to seem too starstruck,” he said. “But I have it on good authority that the First Secretary’s daughter is a fan of yours, and secretly they’ll all feel very important because they got to meet a real film star from the West.”

  An idea was forming in Pagan’s mind. “Well, I must say it doesn’t sound like two tons of fun, with the exception of being in your company. But I wouldn’t mind getting out of the city for a few hours. I’ll go if we can stop off and see your sister afterward, even just to drop off some more presents I have for her.”

  She didn’t have more presents for Karin, not yet, although it would be wonderful to see the girl again. But if Thomas agreed, getting back to the Krugers’ neighborhood might give Pagan a chance to sneak back to the griffin building and maybe talk to some of the other residents, perhaps even to chat with Frau Nagel again. Somehow she’d find a way to communicate, this time without Frau Kruger’s strange reaction interfering with the interview.

  “Karin would love that! Oh, and—” Thomas paused, looking a little sheepish “—I already asked Devin, to make sure it was okay, because you’re still underage.”

  “You asked him tonight?” She hadn’t seen the two of them talk. “Does that mean we’ll be a happy threesome again?”

  “No, actually.” Thomas brightened. “He said it would be fine for just the two of us. Perhaps he thinks I’m trustworthy, after all.”

  “Oh, great!” Pagan faked a smile over a strange feeling of deflation. An expedition into the countryside without the smothering presence of her minder should’ve been a victory. Instead, it felt like a snub. And what illegal no-goodery was he planning to execute while she hung out with boring, movie-star-despising socialists?