Silent Victim - C. E. Lawrence [96]
She puckered her lips and swiveled her hips back and forth, tilting her chin forward in a come-hither look. She opened her mouth in a wide smile, trying to imitate the famous portrait of Marilyn Monroe in which the actress looks as if she is about to gobble up the camera in one ravenous bite. Regarding her reflection in the mirror, Hildegard heaved a sigh and plopped down on the green satin cushioned chair. There was no denying it—she was more Dietrich than Monroe, with an aggressive masculine edge no amount of makeup or feather boas could disguise. Maybe that accounted for her talent at undercover work. She seemed to be born with an urge to slip into another persona, something more socially acceptable.
Not that Elena Krieger felt any shame or guilt over her heritage—she was proud of her background, and identified closely with her Germanic forefathers, who included (on her mother’s side) Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, the great poet and playwright.
She plucked a tissue from the box on her vanity and dabbed at her lips, blotting the thick layer of lipstick. Why, she had even read Goethe—in German, of course—at school, and rather enjoyed his play Faust. What a great story, what an archetypal struggle! She certainly possessed the Germanic passion for heroic stories—she also admired the Ring cycle, even though she found operatic singing distasteful. She loved the staging and was always thrilled by the entrance of the Rhinemaidens and their Ho-jo-to-hos.
Hildegard Krieger was a something of a Rhinemaiden herself. A woman with energy, flair, and ambition in a world still largely populated and controlled by men, she sometimes had the urge to mount a white steed and soar over the wild, mountainous landscape of her ancestors—all the while quite conscious of the ridiculousness of her taste for self-dramatization.
Still, life at the NYPD had never been easy for her, so she donned a hard, brittle shell that was only part acting. As a woman, a German, and a lesbian, she knew what it was to be an outsider. To her delight—if hardly her surprise—she found the ranks of lesbians within the force were strong.
Some of them were mannish like her, while others were softer and more “femme.” She had a certain cachet and popularity among the other dykes, because of her exotic looks and accent. Some women found that alluring, especially if they were into sadomasochistic role playing.
But Hildegard had no wish to squander her time and energy on sexual peccadilloes. There would be time for that later. What she wanted more than anything was to rise within the ranks—she longed someday to be a station commander. She watched very carefully every move Chuck Morton made. She knew that as head of the Bronx Major Case Unit he was one of the most respected and successful members of the NYPD brass.
She looked into the mirror, drew the wine-colored feather boa across her bare shoulders, and shivered. Captain Morton was quite attractive, too, she had to admit—those bluer-than-blue eyes and tight, muscular body. A smile crept across her face as she thought about what it would be like to throw him across that big oak desk and … What was she thinking? First of all, he was her boss. Second, he was married, and third, she was a lesbian.
Actually, her sexual identity was not that clear cut. The truth was that sometimes she liked women, and sometimes she liked men. She had had both, and was aware of the advantages of each. Men were exciting, primal, commanding—and, like a lot of strong women, Hildegard Krieger enjoyed being dominated sexually. She liked the way they smelled, of aftershave and cigars and saltwater. On the other hand, women were beautiful and soft and took their time. In general she found them to be more considerate lovers. She was attracted to quite feminine lesbians, women whose “secret” was not readily apparent—that was