"Who was that?" asked Irina.
"Victor Largent," I said. "An agent."
"An agent?" cried Irina.
"Not what you're thinking," I said, trying to smile. "A literary agent. Deals with authors, novels, films." I looked at Fraulein Louise, blind suddenly with fury. "And you get out! This minutel"
Fraulein Louise's voice was soft, almost a whisper. She said, "Irina is still a child. Can't you see that, Herr Roland? Are you so depraved that you can't see she's still a child?"
"I am not a child I" cried Irina. "What do you know about me? You don't know me! You don't know anything about me!"
With great dignity Fraulein Louise said, "I know all about you. You are still a child, and I know all about children. I never gave birth to one and I was never married, and still I have had children, more than any mother in the world. Hundreds! Thousands! I have taken care of them and protected them all my life. I have sat beside their beds at night when they were ill. I have defended them and protected them from evil. Just like a real mother. Better than a real mother! I have had thousands of children and they have loved me. All of them." She swayed, and fell into a chair.
I couldn't have cared less. I walked over to her and did something incredibly cruel. I said, "If you don't get out of here right away, Fraulein Louise, I'm going to have a little talk with someone."
"A talk with someone? With whom?" She looked up at me. There were tears in her kind eyes.
"I know the director of the Mental Health Institute in Bremen—" I began^ but was interrupted by a loud, jovial voice.
"Hello, everybody! I'm not intruding, am I? The door was open so I walked in. Ladies, dear friend Roland—"
The man who had just walked in was tall, and stocky and didn't have a hair on his head. He was wearing rimless glasses, looked sly, and was a shining example of colossal nerve and bad manners. When I saw him, I was so enraged I even forgot Fraulein Louise. "I told you I didn't want to see you!"
"And I told the desk you were expecting me," the man said, grinning. "You have a visitor. Charming! Charming! Don't you want to introduce me?"
"No!" I said. "Get out!"
My visitor bowed to Fraulein Louise and Irina. "Largent. Victor Largent. A pleasure to meet you ladies. Herr Roland and I are old friends."
"Friends!" I shouted, enraged. "I said, 'Get out!' What's the matter with you? Are you deaf?"
"I have something very important to discuss with you," said Largent. "So, do be more polite. Offer me something to drink. No... don't bother. I see you're not in the mood, so I'll fix one for
myself." And he waltzed across the room and actually did pour whiskey into a glass, added water and ice, toasted all of us, and drank, after which he grunted contentedly.
"You are a literary agent?" asked Irina, still slightly stunned.
"That's me, beautiful lady. Victor Largent." He spoke German fluently, with a strong American accent. I had known him for years. He had a big agency in New York with branches in Hollywood, Paris, London and Rome; his clients were authors, film writers, and actors. He sold series, documentaries, and novels, and was a legend in his field. Not fifty yet, but looked older because of his bald head. He wore ready-to-wear suits that were always creased, nylon shirts, and cheap ties; but everybody knew that he was a wealthy bachelor. He owned a famous collection of old clocks and traveled all over the world. Until now, our business had been indirect. He had sold my sex stories in many countries, but all transactions had gone through the house—I had merely collected my percentage.
Largent sat down, sighed happily, drank, looked us over with his little pig eyes, and seemed very pleased with himself. I got more and more furious. "Listen, Largent," I shouted, "I'll have you thrown out if you don't get out!"
He merely grunted.
"Isn't he an idiot?" he said to Irina. "Always bashing his head against a wall. A stormy character. And he knows me. You don't know me yet, ladies. I have a proposal to make to Herr Roland. Right away. And I'm not a man to take no for an answer." He stretched his legs out on a low coffee table, drank, and turned to Irina again.
"What's your name, child?"
"Irina Indigo." She still looked baffled.
"A pretty name." Largent nodded. I realized I couldn't throw him out myself—he was too big. "And you, madame?" Largent took his feet off the table.
Fraulein Louise hadn't taken her eyes off the American ever since he had entered; obviously he fascinated her. She looked ecstatic. She got up and walked over to him. "Gottschalk. Louise Gottschalk. But you know that "
This strange greeting—she had addressed him with the Du —didn't seem to bother Largent. He grinned. "Of course I know you, Fraulein Louise Gottschalk. I meet so many people. You must forgive me if I didn't recognize you right away."
Fraulein Louise beamed at him. "Now everything will turn out all right," she said.
Largent gave me a look. In his profession he met up with weirdos all the time, so nothing surprised him anymore. And as he had always told me, he loved freaks.
"Everything will turn out all right. Absolutely, Fraulein Louise. You can relax. Largent is here. Nothing can go wrong now."
"Wonderful," whispered Fraulein Louise. "Oh, how wonderful! Everything is going to happen just as I wished."
"No doubt about it," Largent said calmly. "Never despair, just call in Largent."
"My American I" whispered Fraulein Louise.
"At your service, madame. America is always at your service!"
"Thank you, dear God," whispered Fraulein Louise.
They couldn't have done better in a madhouse!
I said to Fraulein Louise, "Now that's enough. Either you leave or I call the desk."
"No, no! You mustn't do that!" cried Fraulein Louise. "It's too important that Herr Largent came just now."
"I'll say it is, Fraulein Gottschalk!" cried my unwelcome visitor. "Or may I say Louise?"
"Of course you may!" cried Fraulein Louise, delighted.
Just then the door opened and waiter Jules walked in with the first course of our dinner on a table—damask cloth, silver, the lobster cocktail, an ice bucket with champagne. He stopped, perplexed. "Pardon ... I didn't mean to disturb. The dinner—" He looked at Largent sharply.
The latter gave him a broad smile. "Hello," he said.
"Monsieur," said Jules. And to me, "Should I bring in the table now?"
"Yes, please," I said. "Our guests are just leaving."
"That's what you think," said Largent, winking at Fraulein Louise. She was still staring at him, wide-eyed; then her gaze wandered over to Jules. "French, yes?"
"Yes, madame," Jules was busy arranging the table.
"If you only knew how happy that makes me," said Fraulein Louise. "You're looking after things, too, aren't you?"
Jules looked at Fraulein Louise nervously. "I'm doing what, madame?"
"Looking after things."
"I don't understand, madame—" Jules began to say, but just then Largent tapped a finger against his forehead and shrugged. Jules raised his eyebrows but didn't exactly look relieved. "Should I open the bottle, monsieur?" he asked me.
"Yes, please. We're going to eat now. Alone! I'm going to get these people out of here," I said, while Jules picked up a damask napkin and took the bottle of champagne out of the bucket. Fraulein Louise went over to him. "Just a minute," she said.
"I beg your pardon, madame." Jules was nervous again.
Fraulein Louise looked at him sternly. "You know very well—" Again she used the intimate Du.
"Pardon, madame," said Jules, overcome with embarrassment. "I really have no idea—"
"Aha!" said Fraulein Louise, sounding threatening now. "So that's how it is! I thought so! But just wait a minute. I have a message for you."
Jules stared at her. Largent laughed. For him it was great fun. "Part of your story?" he whispered to me. "What a type! Jee-sus!"
"A message for me? What message, madame?" asked Jules.
Fraulein Lo
uise's eyes looked faraway. She said slowly, "You must pause a minute and listen to what those two up there say to you."
Jules reddened with embarrassment. "Those two ... up there, madame?"
"Yes." Fraulein Louise was obviously listening. There wasn't a sound except for the radio playing "A Wonderland by Night." Now she addressed herself directly to Jules. "What you are about to do is evil. You will bring misfortune upon people." Her voice was monotone. "And you will share in their misfortune."
Jules grew pale. I could see he was shocked. "Madame— really—I—"
"Quiet!" said Fraulein Louise, while Largent laughed and Irina grasped my arm. "You will have to atone for it for a long time."
"Walter, please!" whispered Irina.
"Yes," I said. "Enough!" I walked up to Fraulein Louise and barked at her, "You interrupted me a few minutes ago!"
"Interrupted you? When?"
"When I said that I knew the director of the Mental Health Institute in Bremen. If you don't leave this minute—"
"But I have to—"
"You don't have to anything. All you have to do is get out! At once! I've had enough. If you don't leave right away, or if you turn up again, I shall speak to the director of the institute."
Fraulein Louise looked agitatedly at the smiling American and the perturbed Frenchman, then back at me, and stammered, "Speak to—" 398
"Yes," I said angrily. "And you know what about. It seems to me that it's really high time you were pensioned."
"Pensioned?" cried Fraulein Louise.
"No, no!" said Largent smoothly. "But really, youve got to behave, Louise. I'll see to it that everything here turns out all right. You can depend on me."
"I can? Really?"
"Really. I am a friend. Everything is going to have a happy ending. Don't worry."
"That—that—" She was still struggling for breath. "That's wonderful. You're here now and—and so are the others." She glared at Jules. "Only you've got to watch this one. He wants to do evil! He is evil!"
"Of course we'll keep an eye on him," said Largent, and again gave Jules a sign which Fraulein Louise didn't notice. "And I know Herr Roland. A wonderful man. You can trust him."
"But Irina-"
"Is in the best of hands. Everything will turn out all right, you'll see. But now you must go, Louise."
She stood there indecisively. Largent smiled. "So long, my dear. And good luck!"
"I interfered," said Fr&ulein Louise. "I shouldn't have done that. I must trust my friends." Suddenly she was close to tears. "Forgive me. But watch this Frenchman, please."
"We will," said Largent, imperturbably.
Jules stood there like an idiot, the champagne bottle in his hand.
"He is not a friend," said Fr&ulein Louise. "But you know that, don't you?"
"Of course I do," said Largent.
"Well, then, I'll go now. And pray that it all turns out all right." She nodded to Largent, Irina, and me; she didn't look at Jules again. Tiny, shabby, and ridiculous, she left the room. For a moment there was silence; then Irina said, "Thank God!" But Jules hadn't calmed down. "Who was that? How did she get in here?"
"I forgot to lock the door."
"Yes, but how did she get up here?"
"Don't worry about it," said Largent. "Crazy people always find a way."
"Crazy?"
"Of course she's crazy," said Largent. "But harmless. If you've dealt with crazy people all your life, you get to know the
difference. Now calm down, man, and open that bottle."
Jules removed the wire cap and began to twist the cork. He was still so confused that the cork came out too fast and some champagne spilled onto the carpet. "Pardon, madame, monsieur. I—I—this woman—"
"Well, now she's gone," I said, and tasted the champagne. "Excellent!"
Jules filled our glasses after I had led Irina to the table and sat her down in one of the brocade chairs. I sat down, too.
"I shall see to it that she doesn't come back," said Jules. "Who was she, monsieur? Somebody you know?"
"Yes. Somebody I know. With eleven dead friends. They talk to her. Sometimes she sees them."
"But that really is crazy!" said Jules, offering us toast from a lined basket.
"It certainly is," I said.
"Saw one of her dead friends in me," said Largent. "Ha-ha-ha! Charming old dear! I had an author in Hollywood who saw elephants. Not the little pink ones drunks see—no, big ones! Everywhere! And once, when I went to see him—"
"Largent," I said. "Please! We want to eat. Youve finished your drink. Will you please get out, too?"
"Certainly not," said Largent. "I've finished my drink, true, but Til fix myself another. No, no, don't bother, Jules. Ill do it myself." He got up clumsily and actually did pour himself another drink. To Jules he said, "You may go now. Everything looks fine. You can attend to the next course."
"Very well, monsieur," said Jules, and withdrew. He was still pale. "I'll bring the entree in fifteen minutes. Is that all right, Monsieur Roland?"
"Fine," I said, raising my glass to Irina. "Prosit!" She raised her glass and we drank. Jules withdrew. Largent followed him to the door and locked it. Then he dropped like a log on the couch and said with a deep sigh, "There! And now to us, my boy."
I had started to eat; so had Irina. I knew Largent was a leech, no shaking him off. "Go to hell!" I said.
"I will, I will. All of us will," he said. "Don't let my presence bother you, Fraulein. I'm here on business, and no time to lose."
"I told you—"
"Yes, yes," said Largent. "And now you listen to me, you sodden genius." He took a pad out of his pocket, wrote something on it, tore off the sheet, and laid it down beside my
glass. I looked at him, nonplussed. On it he had written the name of the largest and most prestigious illustrated magazine in the United States.
"That's where you can start," said Largent, swizzling the ice in his glass, and my Chivas. "They want you. As far as they're concerned, you can fly to New York tomorrow and start the day after."
Irina, who couldn't follow what was going on, looked at me. I ate a large piece of lobster and toast with butter, and drank some Pommery Demi-Sec, 1951—a very good year for champagne, according to Jules. "Our waiter has taken you to his heart," I said to Irina. "I never got this much lobster in a cocktail in my life. Wonderful, isn't it?"
Irina nodded uneasily.
"Oh, come off it now," said Largent. "You're not going to get more money that way. They're offering you an outrageous salary anyway."
"How much?" I asked. I wanted to see how long he'd last.
He took back his note, wrote a figure on it, and laid it on the table again. "Guarantee per month," he said. "Whether you make it or not. You realize, of course, that you can't possibly meet such a sum."
The sum he had written down was four times as much as the guarantee I had with Blitz, and that was the highest in Germany.
"Impressive, no?" said Largent, the man who juggled daily with people and millions. He tugged at his cheap tie and fingered the collar of his creased nylon shirt. "They pay my percentage. You don't have to give me a cent. It's the biggest thing I've ever experienced in the magazine business, and I've been around. I've experienced plenty. But this is the biggest bonanza of them all!"
I went on eating my lobster and drinking Pommery, and didn't answer. The paper was tops, the salary was fantastic. But of course this bonanza had a flaw. In our business every bonanza had a flaw.
"They've sent me out just for you," said Largent. "In Frankfurt they told me you were in Hamburg. Hamburg—Metropole, I told myself. Came straight here. You'll say yes, of course. I'm at the Atlantic. Tomorrow morning at 8:30 I'll bring over the contract and a bank check for the first six months."
"I have an exclusive contract with Blitz,* 9 I said, "and you know it."
"Sure I know it. You can give notice—"
"You mean break it."
"Or break it. They'll ta
ke it to court. These guys"—he pointed to the note—"will look after it for you. With the best lawyers money can buy. And pay your debts."
"What debts?" asked Irina.
"Oh, he has a two-hundred-and-ten-thousand mark advance," said Largent. "They'll pay it, of course. Incidentally, Blitz won't sue. I can assure you, Roland, they won't sue."
"I heard you," I said. "That's what you think. Why do they want me? And why right away?" I could guess, but I was anxious to hear how he would put it.
"Your name. They're crazy about your name. It takes time for a name to get through to the Americans. I've been telling them for years: Get that boyl And now they're ready. Of course they want Walter Roland, ace reporter, not that hack writer, Curt Corell. They don't need any more porno sex over there. On the contrary. They want serious stuff, as serious as you like. The first thing they want from you is the moon landing. From A to Z. They'll send you straight to Houston. After that the world is your oyster. Political articles? Nobody will try to influence you. You can dish out science, history, essays... the best, the biggest themes—"
"And the story I'm after now—do they want that?"
"No. Not that one, Roland. You've got to learn to think on an international scale. What's with this story, anyway? Can you charm Germany with it? Maybe. But these people here—he pointed to his note again—"are read worldwide. Nine different editions. Circulation five million. Forget your crappy story. It's for the birds."
So that's where we were heading, I thought. There was the flaw in my bonanza. "Doesn't interest a soul," Largent went on. "Walter Roland—that's who they want to build up into a man the whole world knows. And what they're willing to let it cost them isn't chicken shit!"
Again, I said nothing but went on eating. Irina was looking at me nervously. I smiled at her.
"And you get away from this stinking continent. See the world! Hear the world! Experience the world!"
"Yes," I said. "The stench of the whole wide world!"
But you couldn't shake him. "You said it! So it's settled! Tomorrow contract and check. So glad we were able to—"
"Largent," I said. "Blitz wants this story."
"Have you been happy there?"
I said nothing.
The Traitor Blitz Page 43
