Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [162]
Stumpf arose, took Hildegaard’s hand, kissed it, and asked her to be seated. She saw in traditional pinstripe a maitre d’ of the old school. He was monocled and wore a pearl stickpin. His withered left arm was permanently held against his body, the hand covered by a black leather glove and on its second finger an outlandish diamond ring, a mark of either great vanity or great hurt.
He spoke softly, questioned her carefully, and Hilde answered well. She was obviously from a good family, was well groomed, well mannered, well schooled. Her body appeared to be as lovely as her face. The only question was her ability to handle men. Elke assured him that, if they worked as a team, she would train Hilde.
As they spoke, Hippold, the bodyguard, palmed Stumpf several notes. There were already a half-dozen requests around the room to meet Hilde.
A drum rolled, an excited master of ceremonies introduced Renate, an immaculately groomed chanteuse who looked with moony eyes over the tarnished place and sobbed:
“Berlin, Berlin, I hardly recognize you,
Where is your reckless light heart? Where are the good old songs
You seem sad and lost ...”
Elke nodded to Hilde and they excused themselves and retreated to the temporary sanctity of the women’s room, sat side by side and repaired their makeup.
Hilde was baffled. She fully expected Stumpf, as “master,” to try out the new girl first.
“He is a fascinating man,” Hilde said cautiously.
“The old-school charm.”
“Is he involved with a woman?”
“He has many.”
“I have a feeling he does not like me.”
“Part of his arm was not all that was shot away during the war.”
Hilde changed the subject. “I take it we have dates.”
“Yes.”
“What about our pay?”
“Don’t get greedy, Hilde. You have been accepted on Herr Stumpf’s payroll as a hostess. He takes care of his girls. Remember, he does not deal with money and it is just as well we don’t get involved in the transactions. Besides, if you are a good girl, the soldiers will be generous with their tips.”
The thought disgusted Hilde. She was thankful Elke was with her to ease things. Elke bussed her, with a bit too much affection. “Come on.”
They were led to a table toward two British officers.
“Berlin, Berlin I could cry for you,
The most beautiful city in the world you once were.”
The sentiment struck deep. Renate continued with another verse on the demise of the beloved city.
The two British officers stood. Elke was impressed by Hilde’s quick adaptation. The British major made a sweeping gesture in offering Hilde a seat. She smiled as though she were a very little girl and someone had given her a big, beautiful doll.
“How nice to ask us over,” she said in English. “My name is Hilde ... Hilde Diehl.”
Fritz Stumpf watched the scene with a never-ending fascination. It was the endless game he and his father had watched played a thousand times. A new queen bee was in the hive to start a short and fruitless reign. In a small time she will be in such demand she will be heady with success. She will be a favorite of colonels and generals. But, in these days, there were no mistresses in the grand style, only prostitutes. She will become greedy and start making arrangements for herself. They always try.
Stumpf desired her for himself, but in a new girl there is always a certain amount of pride and temper. She could not be degraded immediately. That was a way to ruin a good race horse. Sooner or later she would degenerate by herself. He would be patient until the facts of life softened her up.
Such were things! In the old days, girls like her loved for love and adventure. The Paris Cabaret rocked with laughter and not this dirge-like sentimentality. Beautiful women could not swim the treacherous channel today ... they had to crash into the rocks.
But ... without me, he rationalized, they would be prowling the streets and making love in rubble piles for worthless occupation currency.
A note was handed him. It was a lucky night. A case of excellent