by Andie Newton
Weathered leaves fell from the trees and into the street. A few of them tumbled down the carpet toward the road; shifting eyes followed them, afraid to move out of formation. Hoffmann leaned into my ear. ‘Remember, treat her like a princess.’
I took a deep breath. ‘I will.’ My mind was on Erik, and how I was going to get him alone, hopefully, and talk about firing Louise. I hadn’t thought about my actual job of escorting the little Japanese princess, even though Hoffmann reminded me every chance he got.
‘Thank God there’s a bombing reprieve,’ Hoffmann said, pointing to the rain-swelled sky. ‘The weather came just in time.’
‘Yes,’ I said, turning to him. ‘Thank God.’
And we waited, waited for the rain, and waited for the Japanese, near shivering. Then a black Mercedes 240D crept up out of nowhere and from the opposite direction. Officers and dignitaries shifted around, not sure what to make of the vehicle coming to a screaming halt next to the kerb.
The driver opened the door and we all leaned forward to get a glimpse of the Japanese inside. Then long legs pivoted from the backseat to the kerb.
‘I thought the Japanese were short,’ I whispered from the corner of my mouth.
Hoffmann tilted his head near mine. ‘I thought so too.’
Erik leapt to the front of the carpet to greet Ambassador Ōshima, stepping on my foot to get in close. I yelped with a hop, but he looked at Hoffmann and apologized.
Hoffmann patted my shoulder, and I put on a smile amidst throbbing toe pain.
Erik shook the ambassador’s long-wristed hand, but then all attention turned to the white umbrella that had poked out from the car door.
I heard someone whistle low, then the umbrella sprung open with a fluttered snap. Iridescent blue and green birds ran along the edges of the umbrella. In the middle, and offset like a pair of eyes, were two giant, double-stitched dark brown almonds.
Hoffmann elbowed me. The girlfriend.
She held the umbrella in such a way that it shielded her face. Three black barrel-rolls of hair lined the top rim. She spun the umbrella clockwise and the birds appeared to fly, yet the almonds never changed and still looked very much like eyes. The umbrella stopped spinning, and Hoffmann elbowed me again. Two satin red shoes popped out from under a long, bluish-grey robe embroidered with violet ribbons that feathered into shades of pink. A tiny, gloved hand reached for the chauffeur’s. Her feet scooted across the carpet like a centipede until she stood in front of me and bowed, just slightly, before moving the umbrella away from her face.
‘May I present Toyoka,’ the chauffeur said.
‘Konnichiwa, Toyoka. I’m Ella Strauss, your chaperone.’
She straightened from her bow. Rosy cheeks buoyed powdered white skin. Her subtle smile brimmed with confidence. ‘Mmm,’ she said just above a whisper.
Erik kept trying to lead Ōshima into the hotel, but the ambassador stalled and seemed to be waiting for Toyoka.
I smiled, not sure what Japanese word I should be uttering to get her to move when she turned slowly away from me, first with her body, then with her head, and floated up the carpet like a puff of air behind Erik and the ambassador.
A roll of thunder passed overhead. I took a deep breath, grasping my throat. This is it.
Just as I crested the double doors to the foyer of the hotel, rain poured from the dark bulges of the clouds, and it ticked against the pavement with intervals of speed that sounded remarkably like gunfire.
*
At five past six in the evening, I arrived at Toyoka’s room on the top floor of the Regina Palast Hotel to escort her to the main dining room. I hadn’t even knocked on her door before she burst into the corridor and told me I was late.
I apologized with a slight smile, bowing.
Her dinner kimono was scarlet red with thin white ribbons that burst upward from its hem and mushroomed into pools of cream, which made me feel very underdressed in my grey dinner suit. ‘You look lovely tonight, Toyoka,’ I said in my best Japanese.
She blew onto her shoulder, dusting it with her fingertips. ‘Yes,’ she said, slowly. ‘I do.’ She spoke perfect German with a slight Japanese accent, but she didn’t sound odd like I had expected. Instead, she sounded exotic.
We walked to the main dining room together, pausing just inside the double doors. Rectangle dinner tables had been arranged in the shape of a giant swastika. Brand new white tablecloths with creases down the middle covered every one. A wheeled metal tray wedged in the corner filled with flutes of champagne and ornate, ceramic steins of beer completed the room.
Ambassador Ōshima and Toyoka had seats reserved in the middle marked by two matching red chair covers. ‘Your seat is…’
She pointed across the room with a bent wrist and smiled. ‘Over there?’ Her lips curled at the edges, and for a moment she reminded me of Louise. ‘Yes, I can see that.’ Before walking over, she turned to me. ‘And stop trying to speak my language.’ She smiled thinly. ‘You’re horrible at it.’
Toyoka walked away and I heard Hoffmann’s voice in my head. Treat her like a princess. I chased after her.
The chairs closest to Toyoka went first. Metal legs intertwined and clinked together like sharp knives as officers jockeyed for a good seat. A slippery smile smoothed across her face as she watched them fight for her attention.
Platters of roasted pork that fanned out family-style were positioned onto red and black table runners adorned with a thousand miniature swastikas. Ash-coloured china from Dresden rimmed in silver offset crystal goblets filled with the reddest of red wine. Normally this type of set up wouldn’t go together, the elegance of formal and the cosiness of family-style, but the Japanese liked it that way, said it was the perfect blend of culture and civility.
Erik sat down directly across from me, next to Ambassador Ōshima, wearing a cunning smile meant for himself. He adjusted his brown NSDAP tie with one hand and leaned onto the table with the other. I didn’t have an official plan for that evening, other than for him to take notice of me. I could talk about all the work I’d been doing, most of it Louise’s duties, and see where the conversation went. But none of that was going to happen if I couldn’t get Erik to talk to me first.
I closed my eyes briefly. Christophe had told me to seduce him.
I gulped my glass of wine down as if it were a shot of whisky, pulled the vee of my blouse forward just a hair and then rubbed my swastika pendant with two fingers.
With a long exhale I lowered my eyes into a sexy glower, as sexy as I thought sexy could be, and studied Erik through the steaming mound of pork that separated us.
My heart raced as I rose from my seat, bent over the meat and fingered the salt-shaker near his right hand. My chest warmed from the heat of the meat as I paused over the platter and started to sweat.
‘Are you using this?’
I rested two limp fingers on the head of the shaker. I waited for Erik’s eyes to glance at mine, but he waved me away and turned toward the ambassador. Toyoka shot up from her chair and snapped her fingers for the waiter.
‘Sake for the officers!’ she said in a forceful, very German tone.
My eyes darted to hers, and her raised eyebrows pushed me back into my chair.
‘My Toyoka… she thinks of everything,’ Ambassador Ōshima cooed.
A cheer erupted in her honour, and glasses clinked in the air as the waiters brought out bottles of Japanese sake. Toyoka giggled and sat on the edge of her seat, a perspiring glass of water clutched in her hand. Erik went behind the ambassador’s back, cupped his hand near his mouth, and whispered something into Toyoka’s ear that made her smile. When Erik dropped his hand, I heard him say Toyoka’s name perfectly.
By the end of the dinner all the men were drunk. Hoffmann waved from the far end of the table, a glazed, placid look hanging on his face. I waved back and he tipped his glass at me. Ambassador Ōshima and Erik smoked cigars and sipped brandy until the dinner had run its course and people started to leave.
<
br /> I walked Toyoka back to her suite, but when I tried to leave she grabbed my arm and tugged me inside. ‘Stay here,’ she said, disappearing behind a dressing screen. I glanced at my watch: ten minutes till ten. Erik would probably be taking the ambassador to a beer hall soon, but I didn’t know which one. I’d have to leave now if I was going to catch them.
‘I’m sorry, I have to go.’
Her stiff finger poked out from behind the dressing screen and pointed at the ground. ‘Sit!’
Moments passed, and then her kimono flopped over the top of the screen. I cringed and waited as moments turned into minutes, the irritation of her request turning into something more. I glanced at my watch again: ten o’clock. I huffed loud enough for her to hear me, but then she started to sing. It began as a light hum, then escalated into more of a song. Notes bent with a wavy melody, reminding me of my aunt when she used to sing before my uncle left. If my night had gone better I would have allowed myself to enjoy it.
Toyoka stopped singing mid-note and peeped around the corner. An earthy, olive glow had replaced the white powder from her face. ‘A woman should always know how to sing,’ she said. ‘Can you sing, Fräulein Strauss?’
‘Nein,’ I blurted.
She smiled as if she already knew the answer. ‘Of course.’
She walked out from behind the dressing screen. Her kimono was purply-pink, like a bruise, and veined in yellow. With both hands she lifted her garment at the knees, sat on bended feet and lit a fire with a sprig of kindling.
‘You can take the pins out of my hair anytime,’ she said, with a shake of her head.
‘I’m your chaperone, Toyoka. Not your maid.’
She sat silently with her back to me, fanned her fingers out and gazed at her nails. Crackling embers shot from the fireplace and speckled the ground as she shook her head again. She had an egotistic sexuality about her that was somewhat intimidating, and I saw the way she used it, the men melting in her hands. I knew she could make trouble for me if she wanted.
I pulled my skirt up over my knees and knelt down on the ground, picking those pins out, one-by-one.
‘Hurry up, secretary.’
Twenty minutes later I was still pulling pins from her head. The fire roared with giant orange flames and my cheeks reddened along with my temper. I wanted to call her a name, something nasty. But Hoffmann’s request pulled my voice back, and I spoke it in French.
‘Salope,’ I said, gritting the word through my teeth. Bitch.
She put her hands gently in her lap and I swore I heard a light chuckle come from her mouth. Finally, I pulled the last pin out of her hair, flicking it to the ground.
‘I don’t have time to be your hairdresser.’
I stood up from the floor and she caught my hand. Her dark almond eyes widened to round. ‘You should be thanking me for keeping you here so long,’ she hissed. ‘You made a fool of yourself, hovering over mounds of pork. That is no way to get a man’s attention!’
My jaw dropped. ‘How did you—’
‘Stop!’ She jerked on my hand as if her voice wasn’t harsh enough. ‘Don’t insult me. I invented that game.’
‘Game?’
Toyoka hopped to her feet to walk to her dresser. She opened a padded, purple satin box that had a golden almond bead for a clasp. Jewellery and coins jangled together as she rummaged through it.
‘How do you think I got here? Do you think it luck? Please. A girl makes her own luck. You know that, by now you must.’
My eyes skirted around her room. The door to her wardrobe was open. Kimonos of every colour hung from puffed black hangers. On the floor, six pairs of satin heels, one studded with jewels. A glimpse of her bedroom through a set of pocket doors revealed a crystal decanter on the nightstand half full with water next to a bed sprinkled with pink rose petals.
She plucked a black drawstring bag from the box and dangled it on one finger. ‘Why do you think I ordered all that sake? They’ll be drunk for hours and I’ll be in here enjoying my things.’ She waved her hand across the room, a bangle of gold slid from her elbow to her wrist. ‘Ambassador Ōshima has his own room and by tomorrow he won’t remember if he had me or not. And I prefer it not.’
She snapped the lid on the box and slinked toward me. Her hair slid off her shoulders and down the middle of her back. It was black as tar but shined silky smooth in the fire’s light.
‘You can serve your ta-tas on a plate, but you will never get that Erik’s attention like you will with this.’ She opened the bag and pulled out a men’s straight razor with a black grip. Its blade shined like a knife and looked sharp enough to cut a steak. ‘Men want what they’ve never had.’ Toyoka slapped the razor into the palm of my hand, and then paused with a sly smile. ‘I want to help you because you look like a fool, and I can’t have a fool escorting me around and all over the place.’
She pulled on my hand. ‘You Europeans are so hairy. Think it is okay to be bushmen. Start at your ankles and go all the way up. Only you can decide when to stop.’ My fingers curled around the razor’s handle and she let go of my hand. ‘Trust me. You will get his attention.’
‘All the way up?’ Auntie said only prostitutes shaved above their knees.
‘Enough!’ she yapped, gliding toward her covered balcony. ‘If you want to be a little girl about it then continue doing what you’re doing. But if you want a chance with this man, you try it my way.’ She opened the door to her balcony and the room got cold. ‘And the last chaperone that called me a bitch got demoted.’ Her eyes lowered to a glare. She knows French. ‘I’ll let that one slide.’ She stepped out onto the balcony and then shut the doors behind her.
*
I stood outside my building in the pouring rain, staring up at Max’s window. The light was on, and I saw the shadow of at least one person through the drawn curtains. I squeezed the razor in my hand, thinking about what tomorrow would bring. I had wasted one day, and I felt time slipping away from me with nothing to show for it. Toyoka was right; I was doing it all wrong.
I had never felt so alone and lonely all at one time.
I don’t remember walking into my building, or up the stairs. But I do remember standing at my door, thinking about Louise, when I heard Max call my name from his opened door. It had been months since I heard his voice, which made my heart flutter. I knew I shouldn’t turn around, but the longing for what was weakened me just enough.
I felt dreadfully ugly dripping in the corridor wet with rain, staring at him.
‘What are you doing?’ He was half-dressed and bare-chested; he had either just got out of bed or was just getting in it. ‘I saw you standing outside for an hour. Are you well?’
My chin quivered, and I swallowed, my eyes flicking behind him, looking for signs that he had another woman in his room. ‘Are you… alone?’
He searched my face for an explanation before nodding.
Then we hugged very tightly, not saying a word, until all my cold parts had turned warm.
We slipped into his apartment together, and he whispered in my ear. ‘It’s only been you, Ella, only you.’
And we closed the door behind us.
*
I woke up several hours later in Max’s bed, believing our night together had been a dream, thinking of his hands sliding down my body, his kisses, and his voice in my ear telling me I was the only one for him. I stretched lazily, thankful for the dream, but then sat bolt upright, looking at him, and then to the window where the sun was breaking, and then to him again.
I slapped my palm to my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut. What have I done? My breath picked up and my heart too, wondering if anyone saw me enter his room, when his hand searched the sheets for me, a body part to hold onto.
I slipped away and hurriedly gathered up my clothes from the floor, but then took one last moment to feel the reality of being in his room and hear him slumbering, peacefully, before he realized what I’d done to him. I closed my eyes. Oh Max.
I felt the ra
zor in my coat pocket. I glanced at Max to make sure he was still asleep, and then to his vanity and at a tube of shaving cream. Time was running out. I sneaked out backward, out the door and down to my flat with that tube in my pocket.
23
The tang of warmed apples, potato pancakes and savoury sausages hovered over every table in the Regina Palast’s breakfast room. I sat dutifully next to Toyoka in a hard wooden chair. A set of double doors that led out to the patio kept opening, and with each waft of air I crossed my shaven legs, which felt naked and awkward—I hadn’t found a way to sit comfortably. After the third time, Toyoka snapped me in the shoulder with her paper fan, clenching her jaw.
‘Stop it,’ she gritted. ‘Leave it to me. Sit still and look pretty.’
Erik breezed into the room with his blond hair clumped into slicks of pale yellow, searching the crowd, smoothing the sleeve of his pressed NSDAP uniform. His cool blue eyes skimmed right over me and landed on Toyoka.
Toyoka rose from her seat, touched Erik’s swastika cuffband with a flat palm, and pointed to a chair with a white napkin slung over the back of it directly across from me. ‘Director Koch.’ Erik called for some coffee with a wave of his hand, smiling at Toyoka as she smoothed her jet-black hair back.
A gloved waiter brought plates loaded with food to our table, but Toyoka wouldn’t touch her meal until Ambassador Ōshima had arrived. When he did come in, he stood at the entrance, looking long and skinny with a wobble in his knees from too much sake and weiss beer the night before.
Toyoka covered her mouth with her fan. ‘When your man bends down, make sure he sees your legs.’
I nodded, eyes looking straight.
‘And when you leave, always look back, just at the last minute.’
I looked at her, surprised. ‘Why?’
‘You ask too many questions,’ she snipped.
The ambassador motioned for Toyoka and she bolted from her chair, knocking the table hard with her hip as she rushed to his aid. Erik’s fork fell to the ground and vanished under the table. When I felt it hit the tip of my shoe my heart skipped.
