“I didn’t ask him to and he certainly didn’t ask my permission.” The reminder that her name and face were being used to promote the ideals of a regime she didn’t support made the sweet champagne turn to vinegar in Meike’s mouth. “I thought you invited me to New York to have fun, not discuss politics.”
“I did. So let’s stop debating and start celebrating.” Helen raised her arm to catch the waiter’s attention. “Another bottle of champagne.”
Meike emptied her glass. “Make that two.”
*
Helen knew Agent Lanier expected her to check in with him as soon as she stepped off the boat from Adelaide, but she hadn’t expected to see him tonight. She had nearly screamed when he suddenly approached her outside the elevator. The note he had slipped her—the piece of paper he had shoved at her under the guise of asking for her autograph—had contained directions to a warehouse near the docks and asked her to meet him there tomorrow morning at eight “for training.” She had memorized the directions and returned the note, but she had no idea what kind of training he had in mind.
The mystery had preoccupied her throughout dinner, leaving her unable to hold up her end of the conversation once talk turned from tennis to more mundane subjects. Thankfully, though, Swifty was there to take up her slack. But now the meal was almost over and she wouldn’t have Swifty to hide behind for much longer.
“What are your plans for the night?” he asked.
“I figured we’d start at the Cotton Club, then play the rest of the evening by ear. I have two possible destinations in mind, but I’ll let the champ decide which one we choose.”
“Oh, no,” Meike said. “You know the city far better than I do. Tonight, I’m in your hands.”
The thought gave Helen an undeniable thrill. “Careful, Meike. You never know where my hands might end up.”
“No, but I have a pretty good idea.”
Meike’s voice was a gentle purr that made Helen feel warm despite the cold glass of champagne in her hand. Swifty’s cheeks reddened as if he felt the heat. He hurriedly pushed his chair away from the table. “I think that’s my cue to leave. A pleasure, as always.” He kissed the back of Meike’s hand, then turned to Helen. “I would say, ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ but I don’t feel like wasting my breath. Just be careful, okay?”
“Aren’t I always?” The bubbles in the champagne were making Helen light-headed. She needed to keep her wits about her, but it didn’t seem worth the effort. None of this was real. Her pursuit of Meike was all for show. A ruse to help the government get the information it needed to prevent a war. But why did it feel so genuine?
Swifty pressed his lips together like a disapproving schoolmarm. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“No, I don’t.” Helen laughed despite her uncertainty. “Good night, Swifty. I’ll meet you at the train station tomorrow morning.”
“What do you mean you’ll meet me? I thought we were sharing a taxi.”
“Change of plans. I have to see Meike off. Then I have an errand to run.”
“What kind of errand?” Swifty raised a speculative eyebrow. “The kind you need me to dish out a couple of sawbucks to clean up?”
“No, this one I can handle myself. For free.”
At least she hoped so. She expected Lanier to exact a steep price from her tomorrow, but she doubted it would be monetary. Perhaps the training session he had planned for her wouldn’t be as bad as she thought. Perhaps he only meant to give her typing lessons or teach her shorthand to speed up production of the weekly reports she had fallen behind on. Perhaps he didn’t have anything physical in mind. She depended on her body to make a living. Her athletic ability was her greatest and, some would say, only asset. Surely Lanier and, by extension Uncle Sam, wouldn’t put her career at risk by asking her to do something foolish. Then again, they had potentially asked her to risk her life by keeping tabs on the Nazis. Why wouldn’t they ask her to risk her livelihood, too?
“Let’s go,” she said after she signed for the meal. “The car should be ready.”
Meike dragged her feet. “Don’t you want to change clothes first?”
Helen continued outside, where a chauffeur and limousine were waiting. “What would you prefer me to wear?”
“I would prefer you to be comfortable.”
“Aside from the shoes, I am.” In truth, Helen would have preferred going upstairs and changing out of her dress into a suit, but, still recovering from their last encounter, she didn’t want to risk running into Lanier again. She knew they were supposed to be on the same side, but sometimes it felt like they had different agendas. Tonight, she didn’t want to think about the mission. Tonight, she just wanted to enjoy being with Meike, even though she couldn’t tell if what was happening between them was imagined or real. “But don’t worry about me,” she said, ignoring the complaints her feet were making about the heels she had forced on them. “I’ll be off my feet soon enough.”
“Where to?” the chauffeur asked after Helen and Meike climbed into the back of the limousine.
“The Cotton Club.”
“I have read about this place,” Meike said as the chauffeur began to weave through traffic. “Isn’t the Cotton Club the establishment where the audience is white but all the performers are black?”
“Yes,” Helen said warily. She started to point out that, despite its policies, the Cotton Club was also one of the most famous nightclubs in New York, but it seemed too weak a rejoinder to counter Meike’s argument.
“That hardly seems fair.” Meike frowned at the obvious injustice of the entertainers’ friends and families not being able to watch them take the stage and the entertainers themselves not being allowed to mingle with the crowds who paid dearly to watch them perform.
“I don’t make the rules. I only follow them. Occasionally.”
“Do you intend to follow the rules tonight?”
Helen took a long look at her. Was that lust she saw on Meike’s face or were the three bottles of champagne they and Swifty had shared at dinner responsible for the rosy glow? “I intend to make them up as we go along.”
She slowly reached under Meike’s evening gown and slid a hand along her calf. Meike’s skin was the color of marble and felt just as smooth. The heat of it seared Helen’s palm. Meike responded to her touch with a high-pitched gasp that quickly dissolved into a low moan. Craving more, Helen moved her hand higher. When she met Meike’s eyes, there was no mistaking what she saw. Meike wanted her. Still.
The liveried chauffeur was watching the traffic instead of his passengers, so Helen moved closer to Meike. She had been unable to press her advantage in Adelaide, but they were playing a much different game now. Now they weren’t playing for a trophy. Now they were playing for keeps.
Helen slipped one hand between Meike’s knees and caressed the soft skin of her inner thigh. With the other, she cradled the back of Meike’s neck as Meike’s eyelids slid shut and her head lolled on the seat rest.
“I want to kiss you,” Helen whispered as she watched Meike fight a losing battle with her self-control. A fight she was ready to surrender as well.
“What’s stopping you?”
Meike’s question was a challenge. One Helen was unwilling to accept. She didn’t want a quick grope in the backseat of a car. She no longer wanted to exact revenge for past slights. She wanted something more profound. Something real. A relationship built on honesty instead of the lies and half-truths her mission forced her to tell. But did Meike want the same thing? Did Meike want to be with her for the long run or just for one night?
“Am I serious enough for you, or do you still think I’m too frivolous to take a chance on?”
Meike’s lips parted. Her eyes searched hers, seeking answers without, tellingly, offering any of her own. “None of that matters right now. Kiss me, Helen.”
“In time.”
Helen trailed a finger over Meike’s lips and moved away, struggling to rein in her desire�
�and keep her priorities in order. She was supposed to be trying to win Meike’s heart while keeping her own at a safe remove. She was supposed to remain objective while pretending to be anything but. But the closer she pretended to feel to Meike, the closer to her she actually felt.
When she kissed Meike, she wanted it to be real, not part of an act. But the more time she spent trying to dig up the dirt Lanier wanted, the less she knew what was real and what wasn’t. Soon, she feared, she might not be able to tell the difference. If that happened, the battle might be won, but the war would be lost. Was fulfilling her duty worth losing her soul?
*
Meike heard the Cotton Club before she saw it. Jaunty jazz music greeted her ears many minutes before she spotted the brilliantly lit sign hanging above the famed nightclub’s front door. The club was opened by heavyweight boxing champion Jack Johnson in 1920 and was later run by gangster Owney Madden. It was in less infamous hands now, but Meike still felt an illicit thrill at the thought of going inside.
When the chauffeur pulled up to the curb, a long line of well-dressed patrons stood outside seeking entrance. The semicircular canopy overhead protected those at the front of the line from falling snow, but not from the driving wind whipping at the flags on neighboring buildings. Meike wondered how long the people in line had been standing in the cold—and how long she and Helen would be forced to join them. But when the chauffeur opened the door, Helen led her past the long queue and steered her toward the tuxedoed employee stationed next to the velvet rope stretched in front of the club’s entrance.
“Good evening, Miss Wheeler,” the man said with a smile as he unhooked the rope. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you, Bobby.” Helen slipped a folded bill into his pocket and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Get a little something for the wife and kids on your way home.”
“Thank you, Miss Wheeler. I’ll do that. Nick will show you to your usual table. Have a good evening.”
“I’m sure I will.”
“Do you come here often?” Meike asked after she and Helen took their seats at a table so close to the stage Meike almost felt like she was one of the performers instead of part of the audience.
“Not very,” Helen said, though her mischievous smile hinted her response was less than honest. She took a sip of the champagne that had been chilled and waiting for them when they arrived, then nodded a greeting at one of the chorus girls kicking up her heels onstage.
“Do you know her?”
“Very well.” This time, Helen’s smile held an air of mystery. A mystery Meike was eager to unravel. “If you like, I’ll introduce you to her after the show.”
“I thought the entertainers weren’t allowed to mingle with the patrons.”
“They aren’t. Most of the entertainers get together after the club closes. They drink peach brandy, smoke marijuana, and have informal jam sessions in the basement of the building next door. The superintendent lets them use the space and doesn’t even charge them a fee. The outsiders lucky enough to get in are treated to an even better show than any of the ones put on here. The music isn’t half-bad, either.”
Meike couldn’t imagine how what went on in the basement of a nondescript apartment building could possibly top what went on in the club itself. She gaped at the spectacle playing out onstage. Chorus girls—uniformly tall, light-skinned, and beautiful—danced to the driving beat provided by the tuxedo-clad musicians. The lavish stage sets were even more elaborate than the dancers’ costumes. Meike felt like she was watching a Hollywood musical rather than a live show. She had never seen anything like it in person, not even in Berlin during its heyday.
When the chorus girls were done performing, they ceded the spotlight to a woman in a ruby red dress slit from ankle to mid-thigh. The woman idly fanned herself with a lacy white handkerchief between verses, but the songs she sang were so bawdy Meike felt like she was the one who needed cooling off.
Each act was better than the last. By the time Bill “Bojangles” Robinson took the stage, Meike doubted he could top everything that had come before. Seconds into his routine, however, she realized why he was billed as the headliner. His feet and legs moved so fast they were little more than dazzling blurs as he tap-danced across the stage. Meike was mesmerized. Until an unwelcomed visitor broke the spell.
“Uh oh,” Helen said as a tipsy blonde lurched toward their table. The table tilted precariously as the woman leaned her weight on one end. Helen grabbed the bucket of champagne before it could slide to the floor. “Careful, Persephone. We wouldn’t want to waste any of this, would we?”
Persephone grabbed the bottle and raised it to her lips. “Don’t fret. I’ll buy more,” she said as she wiped droplets of champagne off her chin with the back of her gloved hand. “You said you would call me the next time you were in town. Why didn’t you?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“So I see.” Persephone gave Meike a quick once-over, then barked a caustic laugh. “On my way over here, I thought she looked like me. Up close, though, she looks more like that kraut tennis player you lost to in Australia.”
“She is that kraut tennis player I lost to in Australia.”
“Seriously?”
Meike smiled after Persephone nearly choked on her pilfered champagne. “I could give you an autograph if you like.”
“No, thank you. I think I’ll tuck my tail between my legs and take my leave with as much dignity as I can muster instead.”
“I take it you know her as well,” Meike said after Persephone wobbled back to her own table.
“You’re not jealous, are you?”
“Should I be?”
“As you reminded me on the Southern Star, we aren’t together anymore. I’m free to spend time with whoever I choose.” Helen’s gaze seemed to penetrate to Meike’s very soul. “Would you rather I spent time with only you?”
Tonight, Meike wanted nothing more. But her future was too uncertain to draw anyone into it. Even for one night. “We both know that’s impossible, Helen.”
The waiter approached the table carrying another bottle of champagne, but Helen waved him off.
“Then why are you here with me tonight? Why did you accept my invitation to come to New York if being with me is impossible?”
The pleasant buzz Meike had felt since leaving Adelaide faded as reality intruded on the fantasy world Helen had created for her. For a few blissful weeks, Helen had allowed her to live life as it used to be. As it probably never would be again. Now their time together was about to come to an end and she would be forced to mourn its passing once more.
“Because I would rather be here than home,” she said before she could convince herself not to. “Because I would rather be here with you than anywhere else.”
Helen’s smile was tinged with sadness. She reached out and caressed Meike’s cheek. Meike leaned into the pressure of Helen’s hand, trying to take comfort in the solace Helen was offering even as Helen’s words broke her heart.
“You’re putting up a good front, Meike, but you’re obviously not yourself. You haven’t been since Oskar Henkel appeared in your life. Tonight is the first time in months I’ve seen more than mere flashes of the old you. The real you. The woman I once loved. I want her back, Meike. Tell me what I have to do to make her stay.”
Meike closed her eyes. She was waging a war she couldn’t hope to win. Her rekindled feelings for Helen were becoming too powerful to resist, but the Nazis’ grip on her life was too strong to overcome. She was so tired of fighting. Maybe she should take the path of least resistance. Maybe she should just give in. If she did, perhaps she could stay alive long enough for the miracle she constantly prayed for to finally occur.
She pushed Helen’s hand away, even though her body yearned for her touch. “It’s too late, Helen. The woman you loved is already gone.”
Chapter Six
February 1938
New York City
Helen ran along the pier, mirroring the
ship’s slow but steady progress as the Ocean Voyager left the harbor. In the growing distance, the white handkerchief Meike waved on deck looked like a flag of surrender.
“I’ll see you soon,” Helen yelled, though she doubted Meike could hear her over the cries of the hundreds of people the departing passengers had left behind. She let her hand drop after she ran out of real estate and Meike moved farther out of reach. “Be safe.”
As Meike steamed toward home, Helen wondered what was next for both of them. The night before, she had offered Meike a chance to ease the obvious burden she carried, and Meike had seemed eager to take her up on her offer, but something had held her back. Not something. Someone.
Meike had been her old self after they ditched Oskar Henkel in Adelaide and sailed to New York together. She had been relaxed and happy and receptive to Helen’s advances. Just like old times. Then, when Helen thought she was finally making progress, Meike had pushed her away. Meike’s demeanor had changed as soon as Helen mentioned Oskar Henkel’s name.
Henkel discomfited Meike. That much was clear. The question was why. Helen had a theory. And it involved Gottfried von Cramm. She had heard rumors the Nazis were making life miserable for him. When he was in Germany, they followed him everywhere he went, trying to catch him committing a homosexual act. They didn’t seem to care he was gay when he was winning every tournament in sight. After he suffered back-to-back losses to Don Budge at Wimbledon and the Davis Cup, however, they seemed determined to put him away. Perhaps for good. If Meike was being given the same treatment as Gottfried, the surveillance on her was much more overt than it was on him. The pressure to succeed, however, must have been even more intense. Since Gottfried had failed to bring home a title at Wimbledon or the Davis Cup, the two most important competitions in men’s amateur tennis, Meike had no option but to succeed. No wonder winning seemed more like a relief for her than a cause for celebration.
Helen wanted to save Meike from the Nazis’ clutches, but she didn’t know how. If they wanted to punish Meike for being a lesbian, Helen’s pursuit of her could put her in more danger. It could also jeopardize her mission. How was she supposed to get what Lanier wanted without putting both her and Meike’s lives at risk?
Break Point Page 8
