Helmut waved off Boris’s protests. “The girls will still be there when we arrive. When we get there, we can tell them all about the free show they missed.” He tucked Friedrich’s papers under his arm and clapped his hands like an eager audience member waiting for his favorite performer to take the stage. “Come on, Friedrich Stern. Sing me a song.”
Instead of one of his trademark torch songs that never failed to bring tears to his listeners’ eyes, Friedrich launched into a halting version of a song more popular in beer halls than cabarets. When he performed in drag on a beautifully lit stage, he sang in a rich soprano so pure few would believe he wasn’t biologically female. Dressed like a man on a dirty city street, he sang in a much lower register, occasionally drifting—perhaps intentionally, Meike thought—off-key. Helmut stopped him after a few bars.
“No wonder you lost your cabaret card. Perhaps it’s time you found another profession because you’re obviously a piss poor singer.” He tossed Friedrich’s papers on the ground and urinated on them. “Now you have the papers to match,” he said as he walked away, his and Boris’s drunken laughter drifting on the wind.
Meike bent to retrieve the soiled papers, but Friedrich held out a hand to stop her. “Don’t.” He gathered the sodden documents between two fingers and held them in front of him as they dripped on the ground. “Get in the car.”
Meike climbed inside the Rolls-Royce and closed the passenger door behind her. She felt like apologizing even though she knew she wasn’t at fault. Friedrich didn’t speak, but she could feel his fury as he stomped on the accelerator and directed the Phantom away from the site of his humiliation.
“I know it wasn’t my best performance,” he said after the streets of Berlin had disappeared from view, “but I didn’t think it was that bad.”
Meike laughed despite herself. Friedrich often used humor to defuse a tense situation. If he weren’t careful, though, he could end up laughing all the way to an early grave. “How is Hans?” she asked, changing the subject to one she hoped would prove more pleasant.
Hans Strauss, an accountant from Frankfurt, was Friedrich’s long-time and long-suffering lover, content to remain in the shadows while Friedrich basked in the spotlight. Friedrich’s attention occasionally strayed as wealthy admirers lavished him with gifts and promises of a life Hans could never hope to provide, but his devotion to Hans never faltered. “He has fled to Switzerland.”
Since Hans had relatives in Zurich, the news wasn’t entirely unexpected, but Meike was surprised to hear he had decided to leave without Friedrich. Despite Friedrich’s frequent affairs, Hans had never left his side. Until now. “Do you plan to join him?”
Friedrich’s delicate hands tightened their grip on the steering wheel. “No.”
“Why on earth not?”
“Tell me, Meike.” He took his eyes off the road and turned to look at her. “Do you plan to leave Germany?”
“I can’t leave. My family is here.”
“So is mine.” He took her hand in his and held it tight, reminding her that even though they weren’t related by blood, they were still family. “Now tell me about your American.”
“Helen is too independent to be anyone’s anything. She isn’t my American.”
“She was once and I suspect you would like her to be again.”
“I have enjoyed spending time with her the past few months, but what we had in the past is over. We are just friends now.”
“Tell me again why you ended things.”
Knowing he would see through a lie, Meike responded with the truth. “She got too close. I was afraid of losing to her.”
Friedrich’s once perfectly arched eyebrows had grown in full and thick, but they remained just as expressive. “You ended a promising relationship because you were afraid of losing a tennis match?”
Back then, the pressure to win was self-induced and not nearly as intense as it was now. And though it had been part of the reason Meike had decided to let Helen go, it hadn’t been the only one.
“I was afraid of losing myself. When she and I were together, we felt like one being. I didn’t know where I ended and she began. It was frightening.”
“No, darling, it was love.”
“It was an affair.” Although applying the word to her relationship with Helen made their time together seem trivial, how else could she describe something that had been so temporary? “Being with her was like eating cotton candy. Enjoyable in small amounts, but not in large quantities. I loved being with her, and for a time, I thought I might even be in love with her, but even when we were together, I felt like we existed at the periphery of each other’s lives instead of the center. Our respective careers got in the way.”
“Tennis brought you together, but it also divided you.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t the only reason we parted. Helen and I have much in common, but we are fundamentally different. She lives for the present, Fritzi, not the future. I want a future with someone, not a few months or a few years of a relationship that will never amount to anything more than a pleasant diversion.”
Yet, during their time together, Helen had touched her in a way no one ever had before or since. And not just sexually. Helen had made her laugh until her sides ached. Helen had made her scream until her throat was raw. And most of all, Helen had made her dream of a life that could never be. A life Helen didn’t want and one she could no longer hope to have.
“She wanted a good time and you wanted forever. That’s always the case with you.” Friedrich patted her hand. “Beautiful dreamer, when will you realize forever isn’t meant for people like us?”
Friedrich’s question sent Meike into a funk she couldn’t pull herself out of until the Phantom neared the freshwater lake the Swiss called Lake Constance but the Germans referred to as Bodensee. She rolled down the window and stuck her head outside the car, inhaling the crisp scent of the wind as it whipped across the cerulean water. She sighed contentedly, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of home.
After Friedrich maneuvered the car through the tight city streets of her hometown, he finally reached the grounds of her family estate. Flanked by the assorted cooks, maids, butlers, chauffeurs, and groundskeepers they employed, her parents waved to her from the front steps of the family castle, a sturdy stone structure that had been in von Bismarck hands for almost four centuries.
Meike looked at the lush green grass in the foreground and the snow-capped mountains in the distance. She and her younger brother Michael, who was away studying engineering at the University of Hamburg to avoid being conscripted to join the army, would inherit their parents’ titles and property one day, but she doubted that day would come anytime soon. Her parents were only in their early fifties, and their parents, in turn, were as hale and hearty as ever even though all four were nearing eighty.
I might be known as the Countess on the tennis court, Meike thought with a smile, but it will be many years from now before I will be able to be called that at home.
“Mama. Papa.” She hugged her parents one at a time.
When she was growing up, her father had been the more openly affectionate of the two. In recent years, however, as her travels kept her away from home for longer and longer periods of time, her mother had become more demonstrative. Today, her mother held on for so long Meike began to think she didn’t intend to let go.
“How long will you be home this time?” her mother asked when she finally released her.
“For two weeks. Then I’ll be heading to St. Tropez for a tournament. If I’m lucky, perhaps I can convince Friedrich to accompany me.”
“Oh, that would be lovely. A trip to the Côte d’Azur would do you both good. Especially you, Friedrich. Come inside. You look like you could use a big bowl of Almuth’s famous rabbit stew. We can talk between spoonfuls.”
Friedrich shook Meike’s father’s hand, then offered her mother his arm. “I know better than to argue with such a charming hostess. Lead the way, Countess.”
Meike’s father clamped his pipe between his teeth as he and Meike supervised the butlers’ offloading of her luggage from Friedrich’s car. “How was your trip?”
“Long,” she said with a weary sigh.
“But successful, I trust.”
She grinned as she caught him examining her bags. Wondering, no doubt, which one contained the trophy she had earned for winning the Australian Championships. He seemed to take even more satisfaction in her victories than she did. He always listened intently as she recounted her results, requesting more and more details until telling him about her matches often lasted longer than the matches themselves.
“Are you looking for this?” She reached into her overnight bag and pulled out the sterling silver trophy she had received in Adelaide.
“Oh, my.” Her father blew out an aromatic plume of smoke. “It is beautiful, Meike. May I?” After she handed him the trophy, he held it as hesitantly as a new father cradling his infant child for the first time.
For Meike, this was what winning was all about. Not earning accolades from fans or the press, but experiencing moments like this. Moments she spent watching pride light up her father’s bright blue eyes.
He put an arm around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Fritzi and Katja will keep each other entertained for hours as they debate hemlines and the latest Paris fashions. Why don’t we retire to the study and have a glass of brandy by the fire?”
“Is something wrong, Papa?” Meike asked, noticing the fine lines of tension that had started to gather around his mouth after he suggested they spend some time alone.
He opened the heavy oak door and ushered her inside the study. Three of the four walls were covered by floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with leather-bound books. The fourth featured a massive stone fireplace that served as the perfect location for roasting marshmallows or gathering in front of to tell scary stories. Two things Meike and her brother had done as often as possible when they were children but hadn’t had time for in far too long.
Hildegard, the family’s Russian wolfhound, lounged in front of the fireplace now. Meike bent and scratched the dog between the ears. “Hello, old girl.”
Hildegard lifted her head and gave Meike a welcoming yip, then put her chin on her paws and returned to her nap. Meike wasn’t put off by the less than enthusiastic greeting. Hildegard was almost seventeen. She didn’t venture too far from her two favorite spots—the hearth and her food bowl—and didn’t allow intrusions to either domain. Meike considered herself lucky her beloved childhood pet was still around to greet her at all.
Her father poured her a glass of brandy. “A telegram came for you while you were away. I didn’t know if it might be good news or bad, and I was too afraid to open it and find out. So I held it for you until you returned.” He pulled a sealed envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. “I thought you might like to read it in private so you wouldn’t worry your mother.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
She hadn’t told her family about all the threats the Nazis had made against her, but they knew Party members were trying to force her to join their ranks. And they knew how dangerous it was for her to refuse. She took the envelope with shaking hands.
Her father regarded her a moment, his eyes filled with concern. “Would you like me to stay?”
“No, Papa, I’ll be fine.”
She had kept the details of Hitler’s edict to herself, wanting to bear the load alone like she did most burdens. But now she felt her knees begin to buckle from the added weight. She sat in a nearby armchair and, after she heard her father close the door behind him, she slid a finger under the envelope’s flap and ripped it open. Her heart hammered in her chest as she removed the piece of paper inside. She had done everything the Nazis had asked. She had continued to win. So why didn’t it feel like enough? Why did they keep asking for more?
She took another sip of brandy before she unfolded the telegram. She frowned in confusion when she saw the return address was New York City instead of Berlin. She didn’t know anyone in New York City. No one except—
She lowered her gaze to the bottom of the page. The telegram was from Helen. When she was finished reading it, Meike felt like her father had when he had received it. She didn’t know if it meant good news or bad.
“Meike?” Her father knocked on the door and poked his head inside the room. “May I come in?”
“Of course, Papa.”
“Is everything all right?”
“I’m afraid not. Helen Wheeler has injured her shoulder and her doctors have suggested she take several weeks off to rest. If the joint doesn’t heal on its own, she might require surgery. Then she could be out of commission for months instead of weeks. If she is fortunate enough to play at all.”
Her father took a seat opposite her. “That is bad news. I have only seen her play a limited number of times in person. All on clay, which doesn’t suit her game, but I enjoy her style of play. Very athletic and incredibly dynamic. The way she rushes to the net at every available opportunity, she puts me in mind of a female Don Budge.”
Meike held up the telegram. “The way she describes her current situation in here, she might have to change the style of play you love so much.”
“Do you think she can do it?”
“It is easier to change a baseliner into a serve-and-volleyer and vice versa when she is still a relative beginner. Once she becomes an established player, the task becomes much more difficult.”
“Difficult, but not impossible.” Meike’s father took another puff on his pipe. He had always talked appreciatively of Helen’s game and seemed genuinely distraught she might not ever be the player she once was. “She has the most powerful women’s serve I have ever seen. It would be a shame if such a weapon were lost forever.”
“Yes, that would be a shame.” She remembered how rattled Helen had become when her serve began to falter in Adelaide. How would Helen react if she lost it for good? Would she be able to lift the rest of her game to compensate or would she slowly slide down the rankings, eventually relegated from a contender to a competitor filling out the field?
“You should invite her to come here.”
“Here? Why?”
“Can you think of a better place to relax and recover? It is quiet, out of the way, and heaven knows we have the room.”
Meike considered the idea but quickly dismissed it. “I have several tournaments lined up in the coming months. It would be rude of me to invite Helen to be somewhere I’m not.”
“Even if you invited her today, it would take her several weeks to arrive, which means you could still play the tournament in St. Tropez, and you and Friedrich could have a brief holiday before you return.”
“If I have my way, I will be returning from St. Tropez alone.”
“Oh,” her father said, unable to hide his surprise. “I doubt Fritzi would willingly leave the vast majority of his assets behind, which means you plan to smuggle the money to him.” He leaned forward in his seat as if he planned to spring out of it at a moment’s notice. “You could end up in prison, Meike.”
“I could be imprisoned for a variety of offenses, Papa. Helping a friend is the least of my concerns.”
“No wonder playing the tournament in St. Tropez is so important to you,” her father said thoughtfully. “And all the more reason you should pull out of the ones that follow immediately after. You’ll need time to gauge the government’s reaction to Friedrich’s departure—and to plan your next move if they come after you for helping him leave.”
“Your idea is a good one, but I wouldn’t want Helen to get caught in the middle if there are repercussions against me. Besides,” she said, trying to lighten the mood, “I think she would prefer to recuperate on the beaches of California than here.”
Her father swirled his snifter of brandy. “This is Castle von Bismarck. The Nazis wouldn’t dare come for you here. You will always be safe inside these walls. So would she.”
“P
erhaps I will send her a telegram,” Meike said, not wanting to admit to her father—or to herself—how much the idea appealed to her. Helen’s invitation to spend time with her in New York had come as a surprise. No doubt Meike’s return invitation would as well. But would it be as eagerly received? As their night at the Cotton Club had shown, Helen didn’t lack for company. Would she be content to limit herself to Meike’s for a few weeks?
Beautiful dreamer, Fritzi had said during the drive from Berlin, when will you realize forever isn’t meant for people like us? Perhaps he and Helen had it right. Forever, Meike was forced to admit, wasn’t promised to anyone. All she had was the present. She needed to live each moment as if it could be her last. Because it just might be.
The phone on the desk jangled. Startled, Meike’s father cursed under his breath. He had never warmed to the modern convenience her mother had insisted on having installed in the foyer and the study, and he showed his displeasure now.
“How I hate that contraption. Carrier pigeons are more civilized and much less intrusive. Sure, they shit on everything in sight, but I would prefer the occasional soiled hat brim to the heart attack I have every time that infernal bell rings.”
Meike’s smile faded when she heard raised voices outside the study. She and her father rushed into the foyer, where Friedrich was holding Meike’s weeping mother in his arms. Maria, the maid who usually answered the telephone when it rang, was ashen. The receiver dangled off the telephone table, the connection lost.
“What’s wrong?” Meike asked. “Who was that on the line?”
“Gottfried von Cramm’s mother.” Meike knew what Friedrich would say next even before the words left his lips. “Gottfried has been arrested. Gestapo agents came to his house and took him away while he and his family were having after-dinner drinks in their salon.”
Break Point Page 10
