by Jina Bacarr
She was ready to go to Salon Kitty.
He lit another cigarette, trying to remain calm. He couldn’t. A raging headache pierced his skull, making him tense, nervous. He wouldn’t feel normal again until she was out of that brothel.
It was a pleasant street, overshadowed with trees, running through the upper-class area of Berlin with multistoried houses lining the broad leafy road. The only thing out of the ordinary were the numerous cars pulling up then leaving, most of them bulky Mercedeses, some Pullman limousines, all with Nazi Wehrmacht officers and Axis diplomats eager to partake of Madame Kitty’s girls. Beautiful girls lounging around the replica of a turn-of-the-century Parisian literary salon, eager to please with sexual delights, including sensual domination.
What the hell was taking her so long? Chuck slid his hands up and down the leather steering wheel of the lumbering old Mercedes, where they’d secured the vehicle he could only guess, waiting. He’d been sitting there more than an hour, watching customers come and go, ducking down and keeping out of sight. Night faded into early morning, a slight chill making him pull up the collar of his thin jacket. If she didn’t come out of that brothel in the next five minutes he’d—
Then he saw her. Running toward the car, her white-blond hair flying around her face, illuminated under the soft glare of the street lamps still glowing as daylight dawned, her red satin dress hiked up around her hips, the playful morning fog skipping between her long, slim legs.
Damn. What had happened? What did they do to her?
Was she hurt?
“Let’s go,” she said, jumping into the passenger side and slamming the door. She was shaking uncontrollably.
“Did you get the passport?” Chuck asked. He found himself clenching his jaw so tightly a sharp pain made him wince.
She nodded. Her face was shiny with sweat, her eyes wide. “Everything went according to plan until that Nazi…what I saw, what he did…”
Her words tripped over one another, a mixture of fear and nervousness, anger and relief. He started up the car and sped away, listening to her story, his heart racing. What in God’s name had he been thinking of to allow her to go in there? What was he doing?
What kind of inhuman beast was this Nazi?
Her story echoed in his mind.
When I entered the brothel and made my way upstairs to the third floor, a buxom girl with shiny chestnut-brown hair curled in a pageboy pushed by me, sneering at me, as if her big breasts affirmed her superior position in the house. She looked me up and down, asking me questions. I didn’t understand her, so I muttered the German phrase Josette taught me. She nodded, satisfied, then disappeared into a room at the end of the hall.
Relieved, I found the room number I’d been given and knocked on the door. A pleasant-looking man with thick dark hair slicked back opened the door, his eyes studying me from behind steel-rimmed spectacles that gave him an appearance beyond his years. He kissed me on both cheeks and, speaking in German, bade me to enter. My high heels sank into the thick white carpet, so I took them off and carried them in my hand. I couldn’t help but look around. The room was fascinating. Pornographic photos separated by Prussian-blue draperies hung on the far wall, art nouveau decor, overhead mirrors, a bidet and a sink.
The Romanian diplomat motioned me to be silent while he removed a small packet from inside an attaché case. I could see Else serving the drinks and helping herself to canapés—I’m sure she was starving—making cooing sounds, whispering loud enough for the Gestapo to hear, uttering what I imagined were seductive, naughty words. The diplomat slipped me the passport and the papers I needed to get out of the country, indicating I should hide them in my knickers.
He turned around while I did so, a strange gesture for a man in a brothel, I thought, smiling. He checked the corridor and made certain it was clear. I nodded my thanks, then left. I started back down the stairs when I saw a tall Nazi SS officer coming up the backstairs, wielding a whip in one hand and dragging a naked redheaded girl by a black leather leash attached to the collar around her neck in the other.
Frightened, I raced back up the stairs and hid in a dark corner behind a cracked statue of Venus. Watching, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing when he made the redhead get on her hands and knees and crawl up the stairway, cracking the whip over her nude buttocks when she didn’t move fast enough. She cried out, yelping like a hurt animal. I shuddered when I saw large red welts striped across her arse. When she looked up I could see her eyes in the bright glare of the lone electric light, wide and frightened. I’ll never forget those eyes. Ringed with black, dramatic, dark exotic eyes.
When the Nazi and the girl reached the top of the landing, he forced the nude redhead to stand up, then yelled out an order. Before I could take a breath, a stocky blonde wearing a filmy pink negligee, G-string and backless slippers ran into the hallway, carrying rope in one hand and an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne in the other. While the Nazi officer guzzled down the champagne out of the bottle, the blonde ran the length of rope behind the girl’s neck then brought it around in front of both her shoulders and then back across the upper part of her back. With a deft touch that surprised me, the blonde exerted just enough tension on the rope to bring the girl’s nude breasts into greater prominence. Her rosy nipples peaked, tantalizing the Nazi, who could barely contain his excitement as the blonde tied the girl’s hands in front of her with another piece of rope, leaving about a foot of rope loose, then tying it in such a way the girl’s hands were secured behind her head, leaving her completely helpless and exposing her entire body, back and front, for his pleasure. He pushed the blonde out of the way and executed the kiss of fire on the redhead’s hard buds over and over again, sweat rolling down his face, the veins popping out on the side of his neck as he whipped her breasts and buttocks repeatedly while the girl screamed and screamed until she could barely whisper, much less scream.
I’ve never seen such a display of erotic servitude, though it was more like morbid fetishism tying sexual pleasure to the girl’s suffering. I’d heard the Nazis were cruel, sadistic, but this was beyond my imagination, as if the Third Reich contaminated the art of submission with their psychic toxins, their lust for power. It made me violently ill to see this man degrade the spiritual essence of bondage into something ugly and debauched and I hated him for it. The art I engaged in with Lord Marlowe subscribed to the poetic nature of what he taught me: that freedom through restraint is the ultimate goal.
Fearful for my life, I pulled back farther into the shadows when the redhead slumped to the floor unconscious. The Nazi officer kicked her in the ribs, but she didn’t move. In swift, harsh words, he yelled out another order to the blonde. She nodded and called out a name. Brigitte. A door opened and a girl with a shiny chestnut-brown pageboy strutted into the hallway. I gasped, nearly giving away my position. It was the same girl I’d seen earlier. I watched in horror as the Nazi ripped the white satin chemise she wore from her breasts down to her thighs, pulled it off her, then ran his black gloved hand up and down her nude body. She stood at attention, shivering under his inspection, her pure white skin a sharp contrast to his black leather fingers pinching and probing her, from her nipples to the softness between her legs, inserting his fingers inside her while he continued giving orders to the blonde. I watched as the woman removed the collar and leash off the unconscious redhead and placed it around the nude girl’s neck. Before she could snap it closed, the girl bolted and ran back into the room, slamming the door. The Nazi officer laughed, cracking his whip and racing after her, his hobnailed boots pounding on the scuffed wooden floor. I didn’t wait to find out what happened next. I ran down the stairs and out the back service entrance, trying to block out what I’d seen, but I couldn’t. The sight of the girl’s nude breasts and buttocks crisscrossed with swollen red welts stayed with me. I pray to God I never see anything like that again.
“Eve,” Chuck said, doubling back on a parallel street to give anyone following them the slip then he
headed for the airport. “You don’t have to say anything more. You’re safe with me.”
Was she? He was worried about the girl confronting her. What if she reported her? Would the Gestapo be waiting for them at the airport?
He took her in his arms, not wanting to let her go. The Deutsche Lufthansa DC-2 plane was on the tarmac, ready to take off. A cool, brisk morning put a chill in the air and a cramp in his neck. Not that he was complaining. He’d spent the past hour trying to keep his eyes on the road and not on the rearview mirror on their way to the airport. He was certain they weren’t followed, but he couldn’t resist looking when she changed out of the flimsy satin dress and into a conservative traveling suit in the back of the car. He had never looked at her in such a way, gazing upon this desirable female and thinking of her not only as a sensual, enticing creature he wanted to take in his arms, but as a woman he had known in so many other ways. Her strength, her ardent desire to do what she could to end this war, no matter what she had to do. His eyes swept over her, seeming to touch her everywhere.
He heard the announcement over the loudspeaker. Her flight was boarding. A motley group of passengers hurried past them, running toward the aircraft, including Jewish refugees still wearing the yellow Star of David and occasionally looking back to see if anyone would stop them. Minutes left before she was out of his life and he intended to enjoy every damn one of them.
“I hated deceiving you in London, Chuck,” Eve said, explaining. “But I had no choice. Yet if you hadn’t been so insistent on recognizing me in the hotel, that SS officer would have killed me and I wouldn’t be able to complete my mission.”
“I don’t regret dumping that Nazi bastard in the lake,” Chuck said. “Just thinking about him aiming that gun at you makes me want to take on the whole damn German army.”
“I wish you were coming with me, Chuck.” She gripped him tightly. “If only we could be together—”
“We will, Eve. Someday.” Chuck paused, choosing his words with care. “I believe America will soon be in this war. We have a long fight ahead of us.”
“Will I see you again?” she asked, breathless.
“When the war is over, nothing will keep me from finding you.”
She nodded. “The first thing I’m going to do is rebuild the hideaway in Coventry.”
“I’ll be there,” he said, though he had slim chance to none of making it back to London. Josette had confided to him the Germans had increased their patrols monitoring the English Channel.
She spoke quietly, slowly. With confidence. “Take the perfume, Chuck. It will keep you safe.”
“No, you may need it. You must get your information back to London.” He patted his jacket pocket. “Besides, I have some here in your stocking.”
“I’d like to be there when you show that souvenir to your commanding officer.” She smiled. “Kiss me, Chuck.”
Holding her closer, not caring if the whole Third Reich got an eyeful, he bent her backward and pressed his lips upon hers. She placed her arms around his neck and drew him toward her. She opened her lips and he kissed her long and hard, his tongue pushing inside her mouth, tasting her sweetness, then forcing himself to pull away.
The last few minutes with her were nearly unbearable.
Because he could not let her go.
But he must.
She looked back over her shoulder as she ran to board the plane. So pretty, so feminine, so totally without trepidation, yet knowing she still faced danger. He watched her long after she was out of sight, her scent lingering with him always. He was impressed with her resolve, how she got through every obstacle thrown in her path without giving up. No matter what happened, what horror he would have to endure, he would cling to life with everything he had until he could see her again.
Only when he saw her flight take off for Lisbon did he return to where he’d parked the car. This was where the game changed. His orders were to leave the vehicle here and wait for his contact. That could mean hours. He pulled out a German newspaper from his side pocket, then lit a cigarette. Then another. Long minutes dragged by until he saw an old man wearing a wide-brimmed black hat with a red feather approaching him from a side street, whistling and holding an empty birdcage.
Chuck put out the half-smoked cigarette and stomped on it with the heel of his shoe. Too late he realized his mistake. With cigarettes rationed, someone may have noticed. He turned, looking left then right, his heart pounding. Nazi collaborators were everywhere, shopkeepers, women bent over and carrying heavy baskets filled with the day’s rations, mothers with their babies, even children bore the effects of Nazi brainwashing.
The old man brushed by him and put down his birdcage, then picked up the cigarette and put it between his dry lips. He said something to Chuck in German, then picked up his birdcage and walked off in the opposite direction. Chuck stood still, watching him, unsure what to do next. He put his hand inside his pocket to get another cigarette and felt something. He pulled it out. A letter with florid handwriting. Obviously a love letter to a soldier at the front. Where did it come from? Then it hit him. The old man with the birdcage. He couldn’t read it, but that wasn’t important. He recognized the return address as not being far from here. That must be his next stop.
He tore up the letter into small pieces and dropped them into the gutter then started across the street. Before he reached the opposite corner, he heard the unmistakable diesel sound of a black Mercedes sedan slam to a halt at the curb. The back passenger door swung open and two Gestapo men jumped out, an officer and his aide. They grabbed him, restraining him.
“Is this the man?” the Nazi officer asked in English to someone inside the car.
“Yes,” he heard a woman’s voice call out from the backseat. Laila. “He’s an American spy. Get the woman, too.”
“There’s no woman with him.”
“You fools! She got away.”
It was clear to Chuck that the one meaningful aspect of this whole mess was getting Eve out of Berlin and away from this woman. He was grinning from ear to ear, pleased with himself, when the Muslim woman jumped out of the car and slapped him. The blow stung his cheek, but he refused to let her get the best of him. He glared at her, not backing down. Her distaste for him was obvious in the way she gained pleasure from watching him squirm, knowing he was angry enough to tear her apart with his bare hands, but her lust for the perfume was greater.
“She took the perfume with her, didn’t she?” Laila asked.
Chuck looked at her with an intense hatred in his expression. “You’ll never find out.”
“Tell your man to search him, Lieutenant.” Her voice was tense, angry, her suspicion just under the surface. The Gestapo officer barked the command to his aide, aggravation etched on his face at taking orders from a woman. He drew his Luger out of his holster, waving it around to show his authority.
Chuck knew there was no moment to lose, or he was dead. He struggled to free his arm when the Gestapo man dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out the silk stocking. Laughing, muttering what he assumed were dirty words in German, the Nazi waved the stocking under Chuck’s nose then tied it around his neck. That was all he needed. With a sharp turn on his heel, he clipped the man on the jaw, sending him sprawling onto the ground, then ran with all his strength down the cobblestone street, his leather soles slipping on the smooth stones, not knowing where to run, yet knowing he must. Panting, sweat getting into his eyes, he could hear the angry shouted commands of the Gestapo officer somewhere behind him, ordering him to stop. He wouldn’t.
He heard the screams of a woman. Laila. Yelling something incoherent, her frustrated cries suddenly cut off as if someone had silenced her. But it wasn’t thoughts of her that ravaged his mind. Eve. Her body pressed against his, the feel of her softness making the blood rush through his veins madly, his need for her so intense, his hold on her tightened. This time he wouldn’t let her go.
Without warning, his nostrils were full of her fragrance. Enlivenin
g his sense of smell. Then an insane idea hit him. Why was he running? He must have faith in the perfume. In her. It seemed to him the spicy scent of the perfume and the even spicier odor of her alluring female body were inextricably commingled, giving him the courage to slow his gait when he heard footsteps gaining on him.
He turned around and confronted the Nazi.
Shoot, Chuck prayed silently. Dammit, shoot me.
The Gestapo officer, in anger or frustration or both, fired several shots at him. In a momentary flash, Chuck suddenly realized there was a perceptible reduction of his senses, a deafening explosion in his ears, then silence. It was a strange, baffling sensation, disparate feelings of unbelievable lightness, and, in a very real sense, freedom. He held on, knowing what would happen next.
In that split instant, Chuck Dawn disappeared.
EPILOGUE
Coventry
September 29, 1945
T he war is over. I promised to finish this diary and so I shall, dear reader. Though the exploits of this chorus girl turned spy would make scintillating background information for a novel, I have but one reason for writing down the aftermath. I must record my thoughts, my hopes, my dreams, for in that I draw strength. I’m writing it down in the last few remaining pages of my original diary in hopes of finding a happy ending to my story.