The Berlin Connection

by Johannes Mario Simmel

  "No, not at aU. Why?"

  "Then come along to the Reeperbahn."

  Jerome's eyes lit up, as lecherous as ever.

  "Sankt Pauli. All right? Tomorrow morning your knees are going to be knocking!" Kostasch laughed. They waved as I pulled away.

  The subject came up a few days later. Kostasch shrugged his shoulders. "What do you expect? I gave him what he wanted—and more. I'm unprincipled? Sure I am. How would you know how a German producer makes a living? Last year three hundred movie theaters closed. A producer who borrows money from a bank today to make a movie has to guarantee repayment personally within nine months. Who can give such a guarantee? One reason why we have to co-produce with private money lenders. Preferably with foreigners, like the Wilsons. And I ought not to have gone to^a cathouse with the little Jerome because of principles? I should not have taken him to some flagellating perverts, if that's what he wanted? I know he is a bastard; so is his brother. But do you think our industry is so grand? I tell you one thing; I'd do a lot to be able to continue to produce movies. You're an artist. You can't understand that. Besides: you have integrity!'*

  "Nonsense."

  "That's not nonsense. I saw how bad you felt when you had to accept your wife's money. You walked around aimlessly for hours. I would have taken the dough right away. But not you! That's the difference between us. You have scruples. I'm unscrupulous. You have a conscience. I don't. . ."

  10

  As I mentioned before, this talk took place a few days later.

  After Kostasch and Wilson had left us, Joan and I drove back to the hotel in silence.

  As usual I took the stairs while Joan went up in the elevator. The drawing room was empty.

  "Joan?"

  "I'm in the bathroom!"

  I undressed in my bedroom and went to my bathroom where I had hidden the black bag. I sat on the side of the bathtub and drank. Finally, after a half hour or so, I stowed away the black bag and returned to my bedroom.

  The bedroom was dark. I groped for a switch when Joan said, "Don't turn on the light, darling."

  From a dim light in the drawing room whose door stood slightly ajar I could see that Joan was nude.

  She opened her arms.

  "I want you, Peter . . ."

  I sat on the side of her bed.

  "Be gentle with me, darling. It's been so long . . . I've been dreaming of how loving you used to be once . . ."

  She pulled me down to her.

  "Kiss me."

  I kissed her.

  "Come ... do all those wonderful things . . . come . . . come to your Joan, who loves you so much . . ."

  She clung to me. Her hands in my hair pressed my head down and—down—

  (Transcriber's note: Mr. Jordan's remarks here are interrupted by sounds that appear to be sobs.)

  11

  I had to be up at six the next morning.

  Joan did not stir. In the bathroom, looking in the large mirror, I made a terrible discovery. The rash, which for days had covered my feet and legs, had spread overnight to my abdomen, chest and back. The spots were dark red,

  dry and hideous. It brought to mind something my mother had said, "One is always unclean inside first and then outside."

  My thoughts, my deeds, my entire life should, according to the maxim of my unfortunate mother, have been the cause of the disfiguring rash and pestilential boils on my skin. My soul had long been putrid. Now, finally, my body was beginning to rot...

  Nonsense!

  Absurd. Enough of that.

  I pulled the black bag from its hiding place, poured a drink and looked at myself in the mirror. In the movie I did not have to swim or undress. Only during the scenes at the steel mills which we were going to shoot on location would I appear naked to the waist. Makeup would still hide the rash provided it did not become worse. But as soon as the rash would appear on my face—

  They would immediately call in a dermatologist. What would he say after an examination? I quickly drank some more whisky. I mustn't think about it.

  But I had to!

  I had to do something. But what?

  When I asked for my car to be brought the doorman said, "Your car, yes. Oh, Mr. Jordan, the garage just called a moment ago about your car—"

  "What is the matter with my car?"

  Stolen? Burglarized? The green box was in the trunk . ..

  "Something is wrong with the starter, the mechanic said. He asked if it would be all right if he drove out to the studio with you. He would then have it fixed. This way you could have the car back tonight."

  "Yes, that will be fine. Tell him to come along."

  The doorman was one of the people I had asked to keep an eye on Shirley. When I asked, he reluctantly told me that Shirley had come home the previous night at eleven o'clock. A tall, slim man in a black coat had ac-

  companied her. They shook hands like friends and she had seemed somber and pensive.

  He was very sympathetic. "Don't take it so hard, Mr. Jordan. I well remember the upsets and the troubles we had with our daughter when she was this age. Girls today are more impetuous, less restrained. But not Miss Shirley, Mr. Jordan! She is not like that. You don't have to worry about her."

  "Thank you."

  "A doorman has an eye for people. Miss Shirley would not do anything wrong." He answered the telephone. "Your car is outside now, Mr. Jordan."

  "Thank you." I pressed a bill into his hand as I shook hands with him, then left.

  My black Mercedes, shiny from the rain, stood outside. A man in a clean yellow uniform of the garage mechanic held the door open. He wore a beret and bowed slightly in the manner of a lord greeting his guests at his manor.

  "Good morning, dear Mr. Jordan," said Dr. Schauberg.

  12

  "Wasn't that a great gag?" Schauberg was driving. The windshield wipers were moving quickly. "I ought to be a script writer. German movies would probably be a little better then."

  "Schauberg!"

  "I said, a little better."

  "How did you get here? When did they release you?"

  "Saturday." He was in high spirits.

  "Saturday? Why didn't you call me right away?"

  "My dear Mr. Jordan, don't forget that I was released —my thanks for the bail money last but not least—but that now I am surely under even more intensive surveil-

  lance than before. Can you imagine what the police would have thought if I, hardly free again, had come to see you?"

  I did not answer. He laughed, very pleased with himself.

  "No, no. Even though I had to do without morphine for quite a long time my brain functioned weU enough to direct my steps to Madam Misere's establishment and to Kathe. Wouldn't the police think that a touching gesture of gratitude and love?"

  "Why did you go and see Kathe?"

  "First I gave myself an injection. Then—really, Mr. Jordan!"

  "Don't talk such nonsense. I want to know how you managed to land here in the hotel!"

  Now he was serious.

  "Well, you see, even the smartest man can make a mistake. You frightened me out of my wits, I lost my head and stole this damn cough medicine. I swear: I'm never going to slip up like that again!" His gaze was searching. "The movie is going to be finished now, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "It was obvious that once I was released the police would watch me closely. Question: How could I treat you? Only if I was in your proximity. How could I be close to you without looking suspicious?"

  "How?"

  "Well, one of my cellmates—such coincidence is truly remarkable—happened to be a mechanic who had, until very recently, been employed by a hotel garage. He recommended me to the chief of your hotel garage. I know a lot about cars and the man did not ask too many questions. I was even given a small room in the hotel's staff quarters. How do you like that: I am, from now on, at your service day and night!" He laughed. "Isn't that a marvelous solution? The police are reassured. I r.m working. I have a place to sta
y. Now it is child's play to operate too."

  "You are going to—" I began.

  "In your stepdaughter's room, naturally," said Schau-berg. "She couldn't be more comfortable! I'll bring my young friend to give the anaesthesia. Then afterwards I can keep an eye on her."

  "When ... when are you . .."

  "You can introduce us as soon as she arrives at the studio. I'll examine her then. It would also be best if your wife were not too close by when I operate."

  "On the twenty-ninth, which is a Sunday, I'm going on location to Essen. Shirley can stay here. I'll take my wife along."

  "Any time after Sunday then." He smiled. "By the way, I must congratulate you."

  "Why?"

  "Your stepdaughter. She is absolutely charming!"

  "Be quiet."

  "No, really. I'm green with envy."

  "If you don't—when did you see her, anyway?"

  "Last night. Outside the hotel. When I was picking up

  a car."

  "With whom?"

  "No idea. He wore a black coat. TaU and slim."

  "Car?"

  "No. They were walking. I asked the doorman who the girl was. The man left right away. They only spoke a few words. Now, don't make such a face. I don't think Shirley is being unfaithful to you. Perhaps she wants to make you jealous. Women are strange creatures."

  13

  Before I went to the make-up department Schauberg and I locked the door of my dressing room. He had taken the necessary medication from the green box and had

  seen that one ampoule was missing. I told him that I had had an attack. He asked me when and who had given me the injection.

  "A doctor."

  "Who?"

  "I won't tell you."

  "Then I won't treat you any more."

  "Then don't!" I thought the time for a strength had come. "Get out of here. I don't want to see you any more!"

  His face was ashen. T could see that he too was at the end of his rope. "I need the money, you know that! But I did tell you that I would stop treating you if another doctor—"

  "Just leave me alone! Go ahead! Get out of here!" What would I do if he really left? But I felt I had to put him in his place.

  He murmured, "My risk is increasing."

  "So is mine. I paid thirty thousand marks for your bail."

  "You can rely on this doctor?"

  "Yes." "^

  With sudden clairvoyance he said, "It is a lady doctor!"

  "No!"

  "It is, of course. And she loves you."

  "No!"

  "Yes. And you know it. Now I understand why you are so composed. Love is a heavenly force. Well, I guess then she will keep quiet. Just tell me one thing, dear Mr. Jordan. What do you think your future is going to be?"

  "Just tell me one thing, dear Schauberg: how do I get rid of this rash?" While we had been talking I had undressed and he had given me injections.

  "It's nothing serious. I'll give you something to take care of it. It's from all those injections."

  "I know what it is from. It has already spread to my

  chest. Once it spreads to my face, that's the end of the movie."

  "I'll give you some powder for your body. As a preventative I'll give you aureomycin ointment for your face." He gave me directions for its use.

  "You do sleep alone?"

  Thanks to the cream and the protective towel he recommended I would have to manage that from now on, I thought. A man with an unguent on his face. A man with a toothache towel. A ridiculous man. One should be thankful for small mercies.

  "Dear Mr. Jordan, I won't conceal the fact from you that your condition had deteriorated somewhat."

  "Somewhat?"

  "I'm afraid so. Your work is taking its toll. And I guess you've had some upsets."

  "Enough."

  "Exactly. How many more days do you have to work?"

  "Twenty-seven."

  "Hm."

  "What do you mean, hm?"

  "I shall have to use some new medicines."

  "Such as?"

  "More effective ones. Perhaps a little arsenic . . ." Schauberg looked dejected. My condition must have been poor indeed if he could not conceal his worry over me. Maybe he thought of his money. Suddenly he brightened. "Don't worry. It will be easy. Now that I'm living at the hotel I can treat you much easier."

  "Mr. Jordan to the make-up department, please." The voice from the loudspeaker.

  "I must go," I said. "My daughter will be here about ten o'clock."

  "I shall wait."

  "Good."

  "I still have money to come from you."

  I handed him two checks of eight thousand marks each which I had been holding for him.

  "But one week I was not here ..."

  "You gave me the medication and instructions for self-treatment."

  "That's very generous of you." He actually blushed. "Really most generous, I thank you."

  "All right. Sign a fictitious name when you cash the checks."

  "Certainly."

  "Schauberg?"

  "Yes?"

  "I'll be leaving Hamburg on Sunday ..."

  "Once I've treated your stepdaughter I can come to see you as your chauffeur. Don't worry.'*

  "That's not what I meant. Shirley will be alone in Hamburg. She might ..." I stopped, feeling ashamed. "Possibly she wiU meet this man again. Or the man wiU come to her."

  "I see."

  "I must know who he is. Can you help me find out?"

  "Surely. I have many friends. What would you like to have done?"

  "Nothing. Both of them must not be aware of being watched. I merely want to know who the man is."

  "I'll take care of it. That reminds me, on top of the green box was a child's crazy drawing. Did you put it there?'*

  Misha's drawing!

  As if I'd lost my senses I suddenly yelled, "Leave it there! Don't touch it!"

  For the first time since I knew him I saw pity in his pitiless eyes. He sighed.

  "Why are you sighing?"

  "Because I feel sorry for you, Mr. Jordan," he said. He stuffed his stethoscope into his mechanic's uniform. "You are a poor slob."

  This had been on the morning of November twenty-third.

  At ten o'clock I introduced Shirley to Schauberg. He examined her in an unused cutting room while I was before the camera. During lunch Shirley came to my dressing room. She said the examination had not taken much time.

  "He said it would be easy. He drove away in your car. Why are you looking at me like that?"

  "Don't you have anything to tell me?"

  She looked directly into my eyes and shook her head. She was pale and somber and her beauty stirred me.

  "Nothing at aU?"

  "No. You?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Don't you have anything to tell me either?"

  "No. Oh, yes!" I told her about Gregory's call. "I think we can assume that Joan knows everything."

  "She would have said something to me, at least to me."

  "She set a trap for us ... she is waiting ... waiting .. • for us to tell her ..."

  "Some day we shall have to tell her."

  "But surely not that you are expecting a ..."

  Quickly she interrupted, "Do you still have my cross?"

  "Shirley!"

  "Do you still have it?"

  "Naturally."

  "Show it to me."

  I showed her the little golden cross she had given me at the airport in Los Angeles.

  "Could I have it? Just for one day?"

  "No."

  331

  "Please! I'll give it back to you."

  "Well, all right then." Sudden fear of a new attack rose in me. I felt very weak and dizzy. I did not feel up to all this. Were both women sticking together? Was each one deceiving me in her own way? But who was I to reproach them; I who deceived everybody?

  I sat down on the couch and held my head with both hands. I felt Shirley's hand on my hair and
heard her say, "You think that I'm deceiving you."

  I was silent.

  "I know that you believe that. I'm not deceiving you. But there is somebody I must meet sometimes."

  "It's all right," I said.

  "But I'm not unfaithful to you. It has to do with us."

  "All right," I repeated.

  "With us and our love, our future. Soon I'll explain everything to you. But you must have a little more patience and not ask me any questions. I haven't asked you any more questions either, have I?"

  I was silent.

  "When the baby is gone I'll tell you everything. Will you trust me until then?"

  "All right," I said.

  I spoke softly and did not move. I thought I would not have another attack if I did not move, not become excited and spoke quietly.

  And I did not have another attack. By the time I felt better Shirley had gone. She had taken the little cross of gold.

  15

  After the day's shooting our first camera man gave a party to celebrate his winning of a lawsuit in the States. The cafeteria was crowded with people who drank, were merry or sad, each behaving characteristically.

  Thornton Seaton drank with his blond, blue-eyed assistant and told a secret, "Hans is coming to the States with me. I'm going to find him work in television."

  Henry Wallace was upset and argumentative. The Internal Revenue Department had attached his collection of French impressionist paintings in Hollywood.

  Hennessy was apparently drinking to work up courage. When he was quite drunk he blushed and announced his engagement to the cutter, Ursula Konig, and his intention of—hie—marrying her in the very near future.

  Everybody applauded and congratulated him. When I shook his hand he said, "Your daughter also has auburn hair. She reminds me a great deal of Ursel. Perhaps you noticed that I often stared at her."

  "Yes, I had noticed that."

  "Every time I saw your daughter I was reminded of Ursel. It drove me absolutely crazy so that I finally thought: It must be love then! And now I am going to marry her!"

  Now I could forget Hennessy. Even if he was lying to me: he could never have lied to the red-headed Ursula and been beheved.

  Then who?

  My wife, who happened to be there too, was drinking with a merry Kostasch whose movie had been saved.

  Shirley had excused herself. "Don't be angry if I drive back to town. I have to see someone."