by Kris Tualla
In spite of all of their professed affections, expensive gifts, and suggestions of a life together after the war ended, she never felt guilty for leading them on like she did. They were only men, after all. Any one of them would use a woman the same way—or worse—if the situation were somehow reversed.
Selby stepped under the hot spray and let the shower’s water stream over her body. She used a bar of silky French soap, yet another gift, to lather away the remnants of her evening’s labors, both in the theater and in the tavern.
As Shakespeare’s Jacques—played nightly by Dahl—said in act two of As You Like It, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players… one man in his time plays many parts.”
So she was Rosalind in As You Like It.
And a Nazi whore in Bergen.
It was just another role.
Reluctant to stop the soothing heat, Selby was forced to turn off the water before she fell asleep standing up. She wrapped one threadbare hotel towel around her head and scrubbed her body dry with the other.
The nightgown she wore to bed was old but warm. Whenever one of her suitors presented her with a silk or satin gown in the obvious hope of seeing her wear it to his bed, she thanked them graciously, teased them about the cheekiness of their assumption, and sold the luxurious thing at a dear price to a German soldier in the next town they visited.
Then she used that money to help fund the troupe as they carried information from town to town, from resistance post to resistance post.
The irony made her chuckle.
Unfortunately, Rolf didn’t have any new information tonight, though he did express his doubts about Quisling’s closing all the Norwegian schools for the month.
“While I commend th’ man for trying,” he slurred into her ear, “I think iss not getting the results he hoped for.”
“No, I don’t imagine it is,” Selby said sympathetically.
“You know wha’ he’s gonna do now?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“He’s gonna arrest ‘em. The teachers.”
Selby frowned. “All of them?”
“Nah.” Rolf waved a loose hand of dismissal. “There’s no place to put ‘em all.” He gulped the last of his aquavit. “Just a thousand of them.”
“Quisling is arresting a thousand Norwegian teachers?” Selby made a mental note to look into that in the morning.
Rolf pointed a finger at her. “Jus’ men. No women.”
Selby smiled sweetly. “At least he’s a gentleman.”
Gentleman and a traitor.
“Right!” Rolf leaned back so quickly he almost fell off his chair.
Selby called the evening to an end at that point. Now she snuggled into the bed, plumped the thin pillows, and anticipated sleeping late in the morning. They were booked for five nights in Bergen, so they had time to relax between their travels.
She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.
I wonder what sort of mischief we can cause while we’re here?
Chapter
Five
March 27, 1942
Bergen, Norway
“Captain Schmidt was right. The arrests started three nights ago.” Dahl held up a communication that a Bergen Resistance member had managed to swipe off the desk of an SS officer. “One thousand male teachers from several cities are being imprisoned for ‘defying the government’s edict and holding illegal classes’ while the schools are closed.”
“And they’re closed because the teachers refused to sign the Nazi’s Declaration of Loyalty.” Bennett shook his head. Is that simpleton Quisling a complete idiot on top of being a traitor?”
Selby turned away from the make-up mirror in the theater’s dressing room, the one secure place where the members of the troupe could quietly discuss their true mission. “Is there anything we can we do?”
Bennett plopped into a chair. “We’re going to make sure that the teachers’ families get paid while they are incarcerated.”
Selby frowned. “How will you coordinate that?”
Gunter, the second male lead in the troupe leaned forward in his chair. “We’ve been instructed to contact the Resistance posts in each city we visit. They will reach out to organizations in their area which are known sympathizers.”
Dahl nodded. “They’ll be asked to combine their financial resources and distribute them to the families of the arrested teachers.”
“This situation’s going to affect every single family in this country.” Selby narrowed her eyes and tapped her chin with the end of a long makeup brush. “We’re going to need a new idea, something to do on the ground to keep the people’s morale up.”
Dahl chewed absently on the paperclip he pulled from the stolen communication. “Anyone got ideas?”
Selby stared at the glint of bent silver.
Paperclip.
Paper. Clips.
Clips hold things together.
“Stick together!” she yelped.
Dahl and Bennett stared at her.
Selby pointed at the implement dangling from Dahl’s lips. “Paperclips hold things together. Let’s start a campaign—wearing a paperclip on your coat represents the idea of Norwegians holding together.”
Dahl pulled the clip from his mouth and stared at it. “That’s so simple!” His gaze lifted to hers. “And completely brilliant!”
Bennett clapped his hands together. “It’s the perfect token to remind all the families that we are in this together, so we need to stick together.”
Dahl gave her a warm smile. “Well done, Hovland.”
“Thanks.” Selby felt her cheeks heating. Dahl’s attraction to her was no secret to anyone and she found the approving twinkle in his eye disconcerting.
Dahl was a man after all. And men were, well, men.
“Can we get a list of who was arrested?” Bennett asked. “Or do we let each town figure it out on their own?”
“Unless they print the names in the newspaper—and admittedly Quisling is narcissistic enough to think about doing that—figuring it out ourselves will be impossible.” Selby shook her head. “We’re going to have to leave that up to the individual posts.”
“Fair enough.” Gunter looked at Bennett. “Want to go shopping for paperclips?”
“Selby and I’ll do it.” Dahl stood. “Bennett, can you check that loose hinge on the tavern set?”
Bennett stretched and scratched his short beard. “Sure, boss.”
Dahl turned to Gunter. “We have a new recruit coming later to talk about joining us. Will you interview him and see how we can use him?”
“You got it.” Gunter stood. “Do we have packets to take to Ålesund or Kristiansund?”
“Not yet, but Karster is coming to the show tonight.” Dahl turned to Selby. “Let’s get lunch when we’re out. There’s that tavern by the SS office that had really good soup last time we were here.”
Selby forced a smile. “Sounds great.”
*****
There was nothing obviously wrong with Dahl. Really. He was always polite and he had treated her with the utmost respect ever since they formed the Royal Shakespearean Acting Troupe last year as a cover for their select band of Resistance members.
And as a leading man in their productions he was, of course, very handsome. Standing three inches over six feet, with shoulder-length sandy hair and bright blue eyes, he was noticeable on the stage.
In person, his good looks often brought women to a gaping halt.
Watching him across their lunch table, Selby asked herself once more if she could let go of her conviction that all men were selfish and violent in their core and give Dahl the chance to prove himself to be better than that.
To what end?
Marriage wasn’t a consideration at this point. With her playing the escort to multiple Nazi officers, and the entire world tangled in a war with no obvious end, the idea of engaging in either romance or love was inconceivable.
Selby real
ized with a start Dahl had asked her a question. “I’m sorry, would you say that again?”
His eyes flicked briefly to the side and she caught his irritation in the moment. “I said, how do you think we should disperse the paperclips?”
Good question. “I suppose we could pass them out on the street to begin with. Pretend we are inviting people to our show if we’re caught.”
Dahl nodded. “If we had playbills with us, we’d be believed.”
“We’ll have to go back to the theater and get them.” Selby cast a cautious look around the tavern which was littered with brown-uniformed SS officers. “But that should work.”
Dahl paid the bill for their simple lunch, grabbed the bag of boxed paperclips, and the pair made their way from the tavern. The wind outside was sharp and threw slivers of sleet at them from under a lowering gray sky.
Selby pulled her woolen scarf up over her cheeks. “The weather here is so unpredictable,” she grumbled.
“Looks like our plan will have to wait.” Dahl slipped his arm around her shoulders. “But I’ll keep you warm in the meantime.”
Selby hoped he didn’t feel her stiffen under his touch.
April 11, 1942
Ålesund, Norway
Selby checked herself one last time in the dressing room mirror. Thankfully, the deep red and nearly-backless gown had held up well on its three-months-long northern journey along the coast of Norway. Trondheim was their next and final stop before she replaced it for the journey south.
At ten o’clock on this mid-April night the city would be in deep twilight—in fact the sun would dip so shallowly below the horizon that tonight’s sky would never go fully dark.
While the extra hours of daylight did rob some of the perceived romance from her rendezvous, once she and her officer-of-the-day made their way into a cozy establishment the mood could be manipulated to meet Selby’s goals.
Lieutenant Fritz Walder, tonight’s assignation, was her youngest suitor at a mere thirty years old—and that made him her most dangerous. He and she were so close in age that his imagined future with her was by far the most appropriate of all of Selby’s dalliances.
He was also brash and vain, which made him the hardest to control.
More than once, Selby considered cutting him loose. If another prospect appeared, she might actually do so. She hadn’t yet needed to dismiss and replace any of her contacts and wondered if there was a way to do so cleanly.
“Selby Sunde, my beautiful rose…” Fritz waited at the front of the crowd. She noticed that those nearest to him leaned away from the SS officer. “How I have missed you.”
Selby laid her hands in Fritz’s outstretched palms. She stood on her toes and kissed both of his cleanly shaven cheeks. “It’s so good to see you, Fritz.”
As she looped her arm through his and turned to face the small crowd, she noticed how many of those waiting there—and glaring at her—had paperclips on their lapels. Selby reached out and laid her hand against the closest gentleman’s chest. Her palm covered the paperclip and she pressed against it.
“Thank you all for coming to our show.” Selby smiled warmly. “You’ll never know how much your support of our little Shakespearean troupe means to us.”
She slid her regard to the right, away from Fritz’s view, and winked at the first person whose eyes met hers.
Then she dropped her hand from the man’s chest, tightened her grip on Fritz’s muscular arm, and allowed the officer to lead her away from the theater.
*****
“They love you, you know.” The way Fritz said it, it was almost an insult.
Selby played it off, choosing to respond as she would to a boyfriend who was unnecessarily jealous. “Oh, stop that.”
She flipped an unconcerned wrist. “I mean nothing more to any of them than a night’s diversion from war.”
Then she laid her hand on his forearm and gave a little squeeze. “Not like it is with you.”
Fritz downed a shot of aquavit and took a long pull of his beer before he fixed his dark brown eyes on hers. “How is it with me, Selby?”
Uh, oh.
She shrugged. “You know. Special.”
“Special, how?” Fritz’s palm groped for her thigh under the table.
Selby removed her hand from his arm and chased after his that was climbing up her thigh. Her palm landed on the back of his hand and she tilted her head to assure she had his somewhat blurry attention.
“What are you asking me, Fritz?” she murmured. “You and I are nothing more than a man and a woman, enemies according to our leaders, who are caught in a world that forbids us to be together.”
“But you are here.”
“And you are here,” she countered. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that same question?”
Fritz stared at his beer mug. “I’m lonely, Selby.”
She drew a deep breath. “Everyone is lonely in war,”
“No. You are here. In your homeland. With your people.”
A lump thickened Selby’s throat. She swallowed a small, sharp sip of aquavit to tame it.
“My people hate me, Fritz,” she managed.
“Because you have chosen my side,” he stated and straightened in his chair. “The right side. The victorious side.”
Selby couldn’t look at him, afraid he would see the soul-deep revulsion she felt when she heard his pompous declaration.
She wagged her head slowly. “They don’t see it that way.”
“They will. They must. Or they will die. It’s that simple.” Fritz motioned for another shot of aquavit while his callous words fell over her like a shroud.
Selby’s stomach turned. “I—I don’t know what to say to that.”
Fritz faced her again. “Say you’ll come to Germany with me when this is over. We can build a life together there in the glorious Third Reich.”
Selby could not stop herself from asking, “Are you so certain Hitler will win?”
Fritz’s jaw went slack and he looked at her like she had just declared the moon actually was made of cheese. “Of course. It’s inevitable. To suggest otherwise is treason.”
And treason for me to agree.
Selby scolded herself to let that go for now. She forced herself to disguise her true feelings behind months of practiced acting skills.
“Do you love me, Fritz?”
That question obviously knocked him sideways. “Love?”
“Yes. You say you want to build a life with me.” Why was she even asking this? “Do you love me?”
Fritz blinked. “You’re a beautiful and influential woman, Selby Sunde. I’d never be lonely again.”
Selby chuckled. “That’s not love, Fritz.”
“Maybe not. But with you on my arm, I’d rise very high in the Reich.” He downed the replenished shot of aquavit and winced at its stinging strength. “Love isn’t important.”
Selby was silent for so long that Fritz finished his beer before turning a stony face to hers. “What is wrong?”
Selby’s brows pulled together as she considered the lieutenant. Maybe the time had come to end this particular relationship. Of course, that meant no enemy intelligence source in Ålesund for a while, but the Resistance would go on without it.
“I’m not sure, Fritz.” She gave him an apologetic look. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”
He scowled. “What do you mean?”
“Planning a future together.”
“Why not?”
Selby didn’t move away from the soldier, afraid to provoke him further. “I always hoped for love.”
Fritz stared at her, his bloodshot eyes taking a moment to focus. He pulled his hand from her thigh and shoved his chair away from the table. “Let’s go.”
He stood, wobbled slightly, and grabbed Selby’s arm.
Selby rose to her feet, clenching her shawl in her free hand. Fritz’s fingers dug into her arm but she didn’t dare fight him in view of the other SS officers who frequented this nightclub. S
he’d have to wait until they were outside before breaking free.
Something dangerous seemed to have come over Fritz. In the pale light of the spring night outside Selby could clearly see the jut of his jaw and the anger in his eyes. Once they were away from the club, she stopped walking and yanked her arm from Fritz’s grasp.
He spun around and grabbed her shoulders, his fingers clawing her painfully. “What do you think you are doing?”
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Getting what I’ve earned.”
A shiver of realization zinged through Selby’s body. Fritz was showing his true colors and proving that her theory about every man’s base and violent nature still held true.
She planted her feet on the road as firmly as her high-heeled shoes allowed and refused to budge. “And what do you think you’ve you earned?”
Fritz swung her around, shoved her against the side of a townhouse, and pressed his body against hers to pin her there. “You’ve been stringing me along for months, teasing and flirting. Now you must pay your debt.”
Selby put her hands against Fritz’s brown-wool-uniformed chest and shoved with all of her strength. All she succeeded in doing was knocking him off balance—and inflaming his anger.
Fritz regained his stance and wrapped one meaty hand around her throat. “Go ahead and shout,” he growled. “Curfew was an hour ago.”
The strong alcohol stench from his breath burned her sinuses. Selby struggled to breathe past his strangling grip and think—she had combat training, she should know what to do. But her shrinking field of vision distracted her.
Until Fritz jerked the hem of her dress to her hips.
Selby reacted out of instinct—like a feral cat fighting for its life. She yowled and scratched, her fingernails raking over his face.
When she fumbled for his Luger Fritz tightened the grip on her throat and ducked away from her flailing arms.
“You bitch!” he bellowed. She heard his belt buckle jangle loosely. “I’ll teach you not to treat me this way!”
Lights danced in Selby’s vision. Helpless, she felt Fritz’s rough hands pushing her garters aside. His insistent hardness bypassed her panties.
