The Berlin Connection (33 page)

"Good evening," I said.

Silence.

"It's all right," I said. "That's right, Jerome, I'm alive. You're out of luck. I'm not a ghost."

"Where ... where ..."

"I think now you could stand a drink." I picked up the telephone and ordered. An hour ago I had thought I was dying. Now I felt like superman.

The movie? Finished. Discontinued. So what?

Joan? The detectives had talked to her. She knew of

Shirley's pregnancy. Perhaps she knew more than that And even if she did, what did I care?

Joan said, "We were terribly worried about you."

Kostasch said, "WeVe looked for you all over town. Peter, are you out of your mind? Why didn't you tell us before?"

Jerome, with an obsequious bow, said, "I would like to apologize to you. I must apologize! We've said some terrible things. You accused me—^unjustly—of some dirty work. I'm sorry that I became upset and lost my head. I did not want to insult you. Please forgive an old, sick man. I am happy, very happy, that everything worked out so well in the end."

"What worked out well? How?"

Kostasch was staring at me. Instead of answering me he repeated, "Why didn't you tell us before? Why did you leave it to your wife to tell us?"

"Yes, why?" cried Jerome. "I just don't understand you, Peter!"

Disconcerted, I looked at Wilson, then Kostasch, then Joan. She was not smiling. Were her eyes cold? She rose. ' "Come," she said to me. "I'm sure the gentlemen will excuse us."

I followed her to the bedroom, her bedroom. She was pale and, as always, perfectly groomed. As sentimental as she had been during the past few days, now she was cool and matter-of-fact.

All right, I thought, so you know everything. Or a great deal anyway. Now you are going to settle accounts. Did you plan it this way? Had you planned it with Jerome?

Let's get it over with. As long as the injection is effective, as long as t too am as cool and calm.

Joan was walking up and down. Her silence was unnerving me. She obviously wanted to savor her triumph.

Yet, was she not entitled to that?

I could not stand it any longer.

"You know everything?"

"Yes."

"Just tell me one thing: how?"

"Where were you all this time, darling?"

"First, tell me who told you, how you found out!"

"Kostasch told me."

I felt weak. I sat down.

"Kostasch?"

"Of course. Kostasch."

"But how . . . what ..." I swallowed hard. Nausea was rising in me. It could not be. Could it?

She was acting.

She wanted to torture me.

"Don't look so thunderstruck. After you disappeared Kostasch and Jerome came here. Kostasch told me when Jerome went downstairs to take care of something."

"Told you what?"

"Why are you shouting? He told me about the hundred fifty thousand dollars you need to checkmate Jerome's plan to get rid of the two of you. And now tell me where you have been all this time!"

I could not believe it. Automatically I answered, "I've been walking around."

"But why?"

"Joan! One hundred fifty thousand dollars! We're finished! This goddamn son-of-a-bitch took care of us with his plan! I couldn't stand to look at him! That's why I ran out. Can't you understand that?"

"No, I can't. If Kostasch can't come up with his share of the money right away you will pay it for him. He will give you a few percent of his share of the profit. That much even I understand about business."

We were looking at each other. A cat-and-mouse game? A few hundred yards away. Natasha.

"That's what you told Kostasch?"

"I told him and that little sneaky rat that v-ou have the money. I had vto teU him that half of all I own belongs to

you. You should have seen their faces!" She laughed out loud.

"Joan..."

"I understand, darling. You must have been very upset about Jerome's dirty trick."

I was certain she didn't know anything.

No woman could put on such a convincing act. After all it was her daughter!

"It's your money ... I won't touch it . . ."

"Now don't upset your little Joan. And anyway, everything is settled."

"Settled?"

"I called my cousin at the consulate. You must hurry now and change. He invited us tonight."

"Your cousin?"

"Darling, are you high? That's what I'm saying!"

No. No. No.

She could not know. She did not know. Or did she? What about those detectives? Gregory's call? She must know! How far was she willing to go?

"Who is invited?"

"Both of us, Kostasch and Wilson. Don't you feel all right? Poor darling." She opened the door. "Has the whisky arrived, Mr. Kostasch? Would you please fix a drink for Peter?"

Kostasch's voice was breathless. "Right away, Mrs. Jordan. I'll fix him the largest drink he's ever had!"

"I think he needs it, too," Joan said very softly, leaning against the doorframe. Her smile was wiped away for the fraction of a second and her eyes were hard and cold. They were the eyes of the dead seagull, the eyes of the elephant, they were scrutinizing me, without mercy, without pity, with hate. And seemed to say: Liar. Blasphemer. Scoundrel,

She knew, I thought. It is worth a hundred fifty thousand dollars to her to torture me and get her revenge.

The next moment her brown eyes reflected love and tenderness. She handed me the drink. She kissed me.

"Cheers, darUng."

Quite possibly this was one way to become mad.

"I asked my cousin to invite us for tonight. I thought since you have to be at the studio tomorrow again, this matter should be settled quickly."

"But I don't understand—"

"It's pure formaUty. The banks don't have your signature as yet. I think of everything, don't I, darling? Tonight my cousin will witness your signature on the check and that's it."

"On what check?"

"You poor darling, you really are confused, aren't you? The check you are going to write for the hundred fifty thousand dollars of course," said Joan. "Have you noticed Jerome's consternation? He can take the check and give it to this nice president." She leaned forward, "pidn't I manage things beautifully?"

"Yes," I said.

"Isn't it lucky I have all that money?"

"It is," I said.

"And a cousin at the consulate?"

"Yes," I said.

"And that I can help you, now that you could use some help?"

"Yes," I said.

"I always hoped that someday, somehow, when you needed help I could help you. It's been a very gratifying day for me! It's too bad Shirley won't be with us tonight."

"Why . .. why can't she?"

"She has gone out again. An hour ago. She told me she had a date. Isn't that sweet?"

I emptied my glass. Was this her revenge? Was she trying to see how much further she could push me?

"Just think, Peter, our little Shirley's first love. I wonder which of us will be the first to know who he is?"

I did not see Shirley that evening.

We, Joan, Kostasch, Jerome and I drove to Joan's cousin's. His villa in Blankenese had large grounds which fell steeply to the water of the Elbe.

Joan's cousin had also invited another official of the consulate to witness my signature of the check. My hands were unsteady and I had to write very slowly. Wilson, who still did not seem to have recovered from the shock, wrote out a receipt. Kostasch wrote that I had paid for his part of the payment to the movie company and the changes which would be made in our contract.

Business over, we spent a lovely evening talking and watching the ships pass on the Elbe.

About midnight we took our leave and drove back to town. Wilson and Kostasch got out at the Carlton. Tears were in Kostasch's eyes when he shook my hand. 'Til never forget this, Peter. Never. You saved our movie."

"Yes, yes," I said.

Wilson kissed Joan's hand and offered me his. I didn't take it.

"You're still angry with me."

"No, I'm not," I replied. "Just the same I'd rather not shake your hand."

"Peter, I swear—"

"Yes, yes," I said. "Have a pleasant trip. Regards to George."

The little man's lips moved, he was searching for words. Kostasch, trying to smooth over the situation, slapped his shoulder, "Let's forget the whole thing! You tried to gyp us and you didn't succeed. So let's end it right here. Are you tired, Jerome?"

"No, not at aU. Why?"

"Then come along to the Reeperbahn."

Jerome's eyes lit up, as lecherous as ever.

"Sankt Pauli. All right? Tomorrow morning your knees are going to be knocking!" Kostasch laughed. They waved as I pulled away.

The subject came up a few days later. Kostasch shrugged his shoulders. "What do you expect? I gave him what he wanted—and more. I'm unprincipled? Sure I am. How would you know how a German producer makes a living? Last year three hundred movie theaters closed. A producer who borrows money from a bank today to make a movie has to guarantee repayment personally within nine months. Who can give such a guarantee? One reason why we have to co-produce with private money lenders. Preferably with foreigners, like the Wilsons. And I ought not to have gone to^a cathouse with the little Jerome because of principles? I should not have taken him to some flagellating perverts, if that's what he wanted? I know he is a bastard; so is his brother. But do you think our industry is so grand? I tell you one thing; I'd do a lot to be able to continue to produce movies. You're an artist. You can't understand that. Besides: you have integrity!'*

"Nonsense."

"That's not nonsense. I saw how bad you felt when you had to accept your wife's money. You walked around aimlessly for hours. I would have taken the dough right away. But not you! That's the difference between us. You have scruples. I'm unscrupulous. You have a conscience. I don't. . ."

10

As I mentioned before, this talk took place a few days later.

After Kostasch and Wilson had left us, Joan and I drove back to the hotel in silence.

As usual I took the stairs while Joan went up in the elevator. The drawing room was empty.

"Joan?"

"I'm in the bathroom!"

I undressed in my bedroom and went to my bathroom where I had hidden the black bag. I sat on the side of the bathtub and drank. Finally, after a half hour or so, I stowed away the black bag and returned to my bedroom.

The bedroom was dark. I groped for a switch when Joan said, "Don't turn on the light, darling."

From a dim light in the drawing room whose door stood slightly ajar I could see that Joan was nude.

She opened her arms.

"I want you, Peter . . ."

I sat on the side of her bed.

"Be gentle with me, darling. It's been so long . . . I've been dreaming of how loving you used to be once . . ."

She pulled me down to her.

"Kiss me."

I kissed her.

"Come ... do all those wonderful things . . . come . . . come to your Joan, who loves you so much . . ."

She clung to me. Her hands in my hair pressed my head down and—down—

(Transcriber's note: Mr. Jordan's remarks here are interrupted by sounds that appear to be sobs.)

11

I had to be up at six the next morning.

Joan did not stir. In the bathroom, looking in the large mirror, I made a terrible discovery. The rash, which for days had covered my feet and legs, had spread overnight to my abdomen, chest and back. The spots were dark red,

dry and hideous. It brought to mind something my mother had said, "One is always unclean inside first and then outside."

My thoughts, my deeds, my entire life should, according to the maxim of my unfortunate mother, have been the cause of the disfiguring rash and pestilential boils on my skin. My soul had long been putrid. Now, finally, my body was beginning to rot...

Nonsense!

Absurd. Enough of that.

I pulled the black bag from its hiding place, poured a drink and looked at myself in the mirror. In the movie I did not have to swim or undress. Only during the scenes at the steel mills which we were going to shoot on location would I appear naked to the waist. Makeup would still hide the rash provided it did not become worse. But as soon as the rash would appear on my face—

They would immediately call in a dermatologist. What would he say after an examination? I quickly drank some more whisky. I mustn't think about it.

But I had to!

I had to do something. But what?

When I asked for my car to be brought the doorman said, "Your car, yes. Oh, Mr. Jordan, the garage just called a moment ago about your car—"

"What is the matter with my car?"

Stolen? Burglarized? The green box was in the trunk . ..

"Something is wrong with the starter, the mechanic said. He asked if it would be all right if he drove out to the studio with you. He would then have it fixed. This way you could have the car back tonight."

"Yes, that will be fine. Tell him to come along."

The doorman was one of the people I had asked to keep an eye on Shirley. When I asked, he reluctantly told me that Shirley had come home the previous night at eleven o'clock. A tall, slim man in a black coat had ac-

companied her. They shook hands like friends and she had seemed somber and pensive.

He was very sympathetic. "Don't take it so hard, Mr. Jordan. I well remember the upsets and the troubles we had with our daughter when she was this age. Girls today are more impetuous, less restrained. But not Miss Shirley, Mr. Jordan! She is not like that. You don't have to worry about her."

"Thank you."

"A doorman has an eye for people. Miss Shirley would not do anything wrong." He answered the telephone. "Your car is outside now, Mr. Jordan."

"Thank you." I pressed a bill into his hand as I shook hands with him, then left.

My black Mercedes, shiny from the rain, stood outside. A man in a clean yellow uniform of the garage mechanic held the door open. He wore a beret and bowed slightly in the manner of a lord greeting his guests at his manor.

"Good morning, dear Mr. Jordan," said Dr. Schauberg.

12

"Wasn't that a great gag?" Schauberg was driving. The windshield wipers were moving quickly. "I ought to be a script writer. German movies would probably be a little better then."