Cleopatra�s Perfume

by Jina Bacarr

  Chuck smiled, enjoying our game. “Yes, we met in Cairo at the—”

  “The Gezira Sporting Club, wasn’t it?” I interrupted, not eager to bring up my past in front of these soldiers.

  “Whatever you say, Lady Marlowe.” He tipped his cap. “I see you can handle the situation without me. I’ll be seeing you.”

  In angry silence he turned and walked in rapid strides down Regent Street and out of my life.

  “Chuck…Chuck!” I called out, but he kept going. He did not turn around or speak.

  I discovered a truth in that moment. I had buried it, but it never went away. In the end, I still wanted Chuck Dawn.

  Darkness hovered over the city like a net waiting to drop, its icy fingers sending a cold chill inching up my spine when I heard someone following me. I had taken cover in a doorway when the air-raid siren went off and the German raiders started up their barrage. The docks again, I assumed, though we hadn’t had a major raid in weeks. Sometimes when I thought it was the onset of the siren it was only a motor bus starting up. But not tonight. The planes in their arrow formations filled the sky, roaring overhead, rolling, throbbing like continuous thunder. I panicked. I was nowhere near a shelter, which filled me with dread. The very real fear of being caught in the dark and exposed outweighed the fear of being trapped inside, so I had ducked under the overhang of a deserted building with boarded-up windows, holding myself in check. I refused to cower in fear.

  Within a quarter of an hour everything was quiet again, so quiet the sound of footsteps striking the pavement behind me was quite loud. I walked faster, a nervous skittishness about me, listening, wondering, hoping I’d make no misstep. The deepening of the night dissolving to what would soon be pitch-black intensified the sensation laying claim to my nerves. Not much farther to go. I was but a block from my town home, tired, arms aching from carrying my packages, toes pinched in my shoes. I had decided against going to Walpoles after seeing Chuck, my resolve as well as my confidence shattered. As soon as I heard the alert, I came straight back to Mayfair, the siren signaling the advancing bombers with its consistent wail.

  I picked up my pace, hoping to hear the all clear presently, but such was not my luck. The guns became lively again and within seconds the sky burst into fireworks with spotlights chasing the bombers with sabers of light. I couldn’t hear the footsteps over the din, but I knew someone was there. I sensed it. I was breathing heavily. I was certain whoever was following me thought I was losing my nerve, disintegrating, and that would make me easy prey for looters roaming the city. I would have to dissuade him of that. And quickly. I had nothing to fear, I assured myself. I wore Cleopatra’s perfume as a precaution, its intoxicating fragrance arousing my courage as it had so often aroused my desire. I held my breath, trying so desperately to listen for the sound of approaching footsteps. Whether it was foolishness or courage that made turn around and confront the man stalking me, dear reader, I don’t know. I acted before I had time to think.

  “What do you want?” I demanded, my voice steady.

  “I had to see you again, Eve,” he said, his tone quiet, even. “Hold you.”

  “Chuck…” I let my breath out quickly, relief sweeping over me. For the first time in months, a surging joy at hearing a man call me Eve came over me. How long it would last, I didn’t know, but for the moment a different kind of sanity found me. Hope. “Why were you following me?”

  “I had a feeling Jerry was coming to visit us tonight.” He paused. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  “Is that all?” I had to ask, waiting for a different answer, an answer that would assuage the emotional charges wracking my nerves, not to mention my libido.

  Finally, he said, “I saw how you treated my crew back there, the way you made them feel special. It reminded me of—”

  A loud sound came over our heads, an unmistakable rumbling, and he slammed me against the building, his hard body crushed on top of mine, his lips brushing my cheek, his hot breath in my ear. I dropped my packages and my hat fell off, but I made no move to pick them up. We didn’t speak, didn’t kiss, but in my mind the moment tasted of sin and desire, of need and heat. I knew if he reached under my coat, thrust his hand down my skirt, my knickers, he would be rewarded with a pleasing flow of my sexual juices already oozing between my legs. I wanted him to touch me, I wanted to touch him, our hands roaming, exploring. In spite of the fear racing through me, I closed my eyes and allowed the heat from his body to warm me, savoring his touch, wanting more.

  “Are they ours?” I asked in a hushed voice that spoke more of my surprise at finding myself crushed beneath him than my curiosity about the planes overhead.

  “Wait. Don’t say anything…” He listened as we heard the planes going over us. I could hear his heart beating madly. “Yes, they’re ours.”

  “Are you sure?” I whispered, my cheek brushing his shoulder, the buttons on his uniform scraping against my breasts and sending tiny shivers of pleasure through me.

  “Yes. Their engines have a distinctive sound.” He leaned down and before I could ask another question, he kissed me, parting my lips with his tongue, then diving inside my mouth, sucking the breath out of me then making me vibrate with pleasure when he grabbed the cheeks of my buttocks and squeezed them. “I tried to stay away, Eve, but I couldn’t,” he whispered. “After I busted out of that prison in Cairo—”

  I forced myself to pull away from him, act surprised. “You escaped?”

  He laughed. “You could call it that. I met up with another prisoner, a fast-talking thief from Czechoslovakia who convinced me we could break out through an old abandoned tunnel others had used to escape during the last war. He had the plans smuggled into the prison, but it took us weeks to clear the tunnel. Still, it was too easy. I don’t think he was on the level.”

  I avoided looking at him, keeping my voice low. “What do you mean?”

  “I’d bet a month’s pay he was working for somebody on the outside, somebody who wanted me out of there. The British, I suspect.” He held me closer to him, his hands squeezing into my arms as if he feared letting me go. “I thought you might know something about it.”

  “Me?” I said, the deft, innocent manner in which I answered him surprising me.

  He grinned. “No, I guess that was a crazy idea. What would you have to do with the British Secret Intelligence Services?” He ran his hands up and down my body, massaging my breasts, fumbling to find my nipples under my coat. “That doesn’t matter now. I have you in my arms again and I can smell your perfume…”

  “How did you get to London?” I asked, trying to think, decide what to do. If he knew I was involved in his escape, it could jeopardize my mission.

  “I couldn’t go back to my old job with Imperial, so I went back to the States, hanging around airports, trying to get work, hauling cargo, but I couldn’t get you out of my mind. When I heard the British government was secretly hiring American pilots to fight this war, I jumped at the chance. Sure, I want to fight those damn Nazis, I’d like nothing better than to knock off Hitler in his Berlin Reichstag, but I also wanted to see you again. Thinking I was wrong about you. All these months, I’ve been waiting, hoping…”

  The all clear sounded, but we didn’t move out of the doorway. Chuck reached under my coat and cupped my breasts, squeezing my nipples through my silk blouse, making my pubic muscles twitch, but I forced myself to ignore it. Another siren was going off in my head. He had come so close to guessing the truth about my involvement with British Secret Intelligence Services, it put me off balance. I could hear the training instructor saying, You must tell no one about your mission. Lives are at stake. I had to make Chuck believe I hadn’t changed, that I was the same selfish Englishwoman he knew in Cairo.

  “Please, Chuck, not here.”

  “Let’s go back to your place.”

  I sighed, then gave him a coy look, wishing there was moonlight so he could see my face. I was beginning to gain confidence in my ability to li
e. “I wish we could, but I’m expecting a gentleman visitor later.”

  He thought about what I said, then: “Tomorrow morning. I have a twenty-four-hour leave—”

  “No, Chuck. It—it wouldn’t work. You and me. You see—”

  “I see all right. I’m not good enough for you.” He released me but didn’t move, as if he was examining his thoughts, experiencing neither disappointment nor anger. More an understanding, as if everything became clear to him. “I was a fool to think that you and I—”

  “Chuck, you don’t understand. Things are different here in London.” Why was I saying these things? Why?

  He shook his head, his cheek so close to mine I could feel the sweat from the heat of our bodies touching rolling down his face. “You haven’t changed, Eve. You’re just as beautiful…and just as cunning.” He picked up my hat off the ground and dusted it off before handing it back to me. “You’re safe now. You don’t need me.”

  “Chuck—”

  “I’ll see you around, Lady Marlowe.”

  I stood there in the darkness, clutching the damn hat in my hand, ripping the veiling and pulling off the ribbons one by one. I felt the need to use returning; seeing Chuck was a trigger I hadn’t counted on having to face. A fierce headache, then tightness in my chest and a craving to find refuge in the drug overwhelmed my senses. Crying out, begging for it, my body shuddered, but I wouldn’t relapse. I couldn’t. I tossed the damn hat onto the pavement and stomped on it. I had to be strong, forget Chuck Dawn. I had to complete my mission.

  I suppressed the urge for cocaine by taking in deep breaths then letting them out in rapid succession. I had to regain my courage, I had to function. I glanced apprehensively at the sky. I couldn’t remain standing here in the darkness lest the bombers return. I had to pass through this moment and find my courage, my will to do my job.

  It was all I had left.

  20

  Berlin

  April 28, 1941

  I t seemed only days ago since I had seen Maxi instead of nearly two years.

  We embraced as old friends do, hugging, kissing on both cheeks, though a coldness in her hands made me wonder if her heart also tempered a chill toward me. I could see she had not changed when we sat down at a table in Horcher’s restaurant on Martin Luther-strasse. She still wore mannish clothes reflecting the drabness extolled by official declaration of the Third Reich, except I noticed she had carefully applied bright red lipstick to her lips. A change, most notably not because Maxi preferred a fashion style so unlike mine, but because Hitler didn’t like makeup. Was she showing her distaste for his military tactics or ignoring his edict as Nazi officers’ wives often did, all in the name of feminine allure?

  Whatever, I would not judge her, though I admit I harbored no malice toward her for her actions in Cairo. At the time, I chose the verdict that she was guilty of taking Ramzi’s attention away from me, but I admit I never took into consideration the overindulgent personality of the Egyptian. Had I done so, I have no doubt I would have seen I was just as guilty in my obsession to possess a man who could not be possessed. I had sought sexual fulfillment in a frenzied, confusing, chaotic world and sought it in the arms of a man who deceived us both. Blaming her for my shortcomings wasn’t the answer. I knew that now and wanted to tell her so, but I didn’t. Instead, we talked about the air raids, compared notes—we both had the same fear about being caught out in the open—though once the sirens started, it was verboten to stay out in the streets.

  We chatted about the recent German invasion of Yugoslavia and Greece, the fact that Horcher’s scorned the idea of asking its clientele for food coupons, and how the Nazi government had come up with its latest scheme to perpetrate the master race by inducing girls from the Hitler Youth to sleep with the elite SS officers. (At the time, her casual statement made me wonder if I was being shanghaied for such an experiment by that handsome but off-putting SS officer I met at the Hotel Adlon bar.) So here we were once again, twittering like jeunesse dorée, from the important to the nonsensical in a breath, for our need to rekindle old times and laugh was as important to us as our need to confide the real meaning for this meeting. The signs of our duress were there: I fidgeted with my cloth napkin, clearing my throat numerous times to discourage eavesdroppers. Maxi checked and rechecked her lipstick with the tenacity of a schoolgirl, using a small mirror she pulled out of her trouser pocket so she could see who was coming or going behind her. I couldn’t help but notice Nazi officers disappearing into a private dining room, along with a man not in uniform that I assumed was an important businessman. (Maxi casually mentioned he was the head of a steel firm.)

  I couldn’t help but stare at them, wondering what nefarious plans they were making, a look of dismay on my face and holding my fork in midair. The ugliness of their politics as well as their guttural laughter seemed so out of place in this elegant restaurant with its dark red walls, rich, deep gold drapes (fitted with blackout curtains, I noted), delicate, rustic wall covering in a floral pattern and double-layered white tablecloths. Each table displayed elegant tall-stemmed crystal glasses and fresh deep pink chrysanthemums flanking a tall red candle in a gold candlestick holder.

  “Old Berlin taking its last breath,” I said to Maxi, lowering my fork. I was careful to use my right hand in the style of an American to eat my food instead of my left. I remembered the story from my training how an agent had given himself away by holding the fork in the wrong hand.

  “Everything’s changed, Eve,” she said, putting away her mirror and taking a bite out of her veal cutlet. She chewed quickly as if the taste of the food meant nothing to her. “The Nazi government dominates every aspect of our lives, censoring the newspapers, magazines, telephones—”

  “Which is why you said nothing which could be incriminating when you rang up my hotel room.”

  She nodded. “Yes, though I’m positive no one knows that I have…”

  I must censor this part of the story, dear reader. I cannot reveal to you what Maxi told me at this point for reasons of national security.

  “…and they keep watch over the activities of what we do as well as foreigners living here.”

  “Which also includes tourists, I imagine.” I squirmed, becoming more uncomfortable as the minutes passed. I mentioned how with the strict rules with exchanging money, I was running out of local currency. Fast.

  Maxi laughed. “Money is no problem, Eve. We artists are paid handsomely to keep the Aryan face of the Third Reich out in front of the adoring populace.” Without hesitating, she slipped me several folded-up notes under the table, then let out her emotions in a torrent of words I never expected. “But money means nothing when you…oh, why didn’t I see it coming? Why? I should have. Maybe then I could have saved my father, gotten him out of the country before they sent him to an internment camp for political opponents of the Nazi regime. Now it’s too late. He’s dead.”

  I waited for her to explain further. She didn’t. Instead, she said, “I remember years ago when Hitler first came to power and the commotion he created at the Scala Theatre not far from here, the entire street closed off to traffic, people in the audience applauding and cheering and throwing violets at his box.” She put down her fork, wiped her face, smearing her red lipstick. As if the action smeared her soul with what she perceived as the blood of lives lost. “But like so many others, Eve, I ignored it because I was allowed to continue my work. I closed my eyes and looked at the world through my photo lens until I could no longer ignore what I was seeing.” She sighed. “That’s why I’m here. I need your help.”

  She looked at me fiercely, as if she didn’t want me to forget the story of how her father spent months as a political prisoner, beaten, tortured before he died of “pneumonia,” according to the official death certificate.

  I listened, staring at the silver fork in my hand with the name Horcher inscribed on it, wondering if Goering himself used it, since the Luftwaffe had commandeered the restaurant to save it from closing.


  I barely tasted my food, though from the menu I could see the famed restaurant still preserved the prewar tastes of the upper echelon of society with soup, fish or meat (lobster and oysters were plentiful), vegetables and a dessert, unlike the typical German fare of sauerkraut and potatoes or stew with fruit compote. Unlike the menu at the Hotel Adlon with various items crossed out, every dish was available here. I pushed my plate away. I thought of Maxi’s father and I could only imagine what the poor souls at a labor camp received for meals. Watery sour cabbage soup, at best.

  Maxi said, “When I made contact with your government, Eve, and offered to pass along certain information, I had no idea they would send you. Do you know what danger you’re in?”

  “Nothing will happen to me, Maxi. I’m traveling under an American passport.”

  You’re perfect for the job, Lady Marlowe, they had insisted, considering your previous friendship with the German photographer. Two old friends catching up on old times over lunch, what could be more innocent?

  “But you’re…you’re Jewish, Eve.”

  “Yes,” I said in a clear voice, not denying it to Maxi or myself. “But I refuse to cower before them.”

  “You don’t know what the Nazis will do if they find out you’re a Jew. I’ve seen how they set up deliberate difficulties for anyone trying to get out of the country.”

  “The American consulate will help me.” They wouldn’t, of course. I was on my own and Maxi knew it as well.

  Maxi continued, “I’ve heard stories of Americans being taken to the old police prison in Alexanderplatz, fingerprinted and photographed, and held for months on suspicion of espionage.” She stopped to make certain I’d taken in what she said, then she looked into my eyes. “They’ve been known to imprison Catholic priests. If they find out you’re Jewish—”

  “Why did you ask me here, Maxi? Is this a setup?” I asked her in an accusing voice. “Revenge for what happened in Cairo? I imagine your Nazi friends will show up any minute and take me away while you laugh at my stupidity for trusting you.”