be
better to let her know?”
“Dear Petersen,” the attorney said
arrogantly. “Calm down. I am convinced that this is just the girl
we need and I think that is enough.”
The coach stopped in front of a wine locale
and they entered. Frank Braun asked for a private room in the back
and the waiter led them to one. Then he looked at the wine
selection and ordered two bottles of Pommery and a bottle of
cognac.
“Hurry up!” he cried.
The waiter brought the wine and left. Frank
Braun closed the door. Then he stepped up to the prostitute.
“Please Fräulein Alma, may I take your
hat?”
She gave him her hat and her wild, unpinned
hair cascaded down and curled around her forehead and cheeks. Her
face was clear with just a few freckles and her green eyes
shimmered. Small rows of bright teeth shone out between thin pale
lips and she was surrounded by a consuming, almost unnatural
sensuality.
“Take off your blouse,” he said.
She obeyed quietly. He loosened both buttons
of her shift at the shoulders and pulled it down to reveal two
almost classically formed breasts that were only a little too firm.
Frank Braun glanced over at his uncle.
“That will be enough,” he said. “The rest
will look just as good. Her hips certainly leave nothing more to
desire.”
Then he turned back to the prostitute. “Thank
you Alma. You may get dressed again.”
The girl obeyed, took the cup that he offered
and emptied it. During that hour he made sure that her cup never
stood empty for more than a minute. Then he chatted with her. He
talked about Paris, spoke of beautiful women at the de la Galette
in Moulin and at the Elysée in Montmartre. He described exactly how
they looked, described their shoes, their hats and their dresses.
Then he turned to the prostitute.
“You know Alma, it is really a shame to see
you running around here. Please don’t think badly of me but haven’t
I seen you before somewhere else? Were you ever in the Union Bar or
the Arcadia?”
No, she had never been in them or in the
Amour Hall. Once she had gone with a gentleman to the old Ballroom
but when she went back alone the next night she was turned away at
the door because she wasn’t dressed properly.
“Of course you need to be dressed properly,”
Frank Braun confirmed. “Do you think you will ever again stand all
dressed up in front of that ballroom door?”
The prostitute laughed, “It doesn’t really
matter–a man is a man!”
He paid no attention and told her fabulous
stories of women that had made their fortunes in the great
ballrooms. He spoke of beautiful pearl necklaces and large
diamonds, carriages and teams of white horses. Then suddenly he
asked.
“Tell me, how long have you been running
around here?”
She said quietly, “It’s been four years since
I ran away from home.”
He questioned her, pulled out of her bit by
bit what he wanted to know. He drank with her, filling her glass
and pouring cognac into her champagne without her noticing. She was
almost twenty years old and had come from Halberstadt. Her father
was an honest Baker, honorable and distinguished like her mother
and like her six sisters.
She had first lain with a man a few days
after her confirmation. He was an associate of her father’s. Had
she loved him? Not at all–well only when–yes and then there was
another and then another. Both her father and her mother had beaten
her but she would still run off and stay out all night. It went on
like that for a year – until one day her parents threw her out.
Then she pawned her watch and traveled to Berlin. She had been here
ever since–
Frank Braun said, “Yes, yes. That is quite a
story.” Then he continued, “But now, today is your lucky day!”
“Really,” she asked. “Why do you say
that?”
Her voice rang hoarse like it was under a
veil, “One day is just a good as another to me–All I need is a man,
nothing else!”
But he knew how to get her interest, “But
Alma, you have to be contented
better to let her know?”
“Dear Petersen,” the attorney said
arrogantly. “Calm down. I am convinced that this is just the girl
we need and I think that is enough.”
The coach stopped in front of a wine locale
and they entered. Frank Braun asked for a private room in the back
and the waiter led them to one. Then he looked at the wine
selection and ordered two bottles of Pommery and a bottle of
cognac.
“Hurry up!” he cried.
The waiter brought the wine and left. Frank
Braun closed the door. Then he stepped up to the prostitute.
“Please Fräulein Alma, may I take your
hat?”
She gave him her hat and her wild, unpinned
hair cascaded down and curled around her forehead and cheeks. Her
face was clear with just a few freckles and her green eyes
shimmered. Small rows of bright teeth shone out between thin pale
lips and she was surrounded by a consuming, almost unnatural
sensuality.
“Take off your blouse,” he said.
She obeyed quietly. He loosened both buttons
of her shift at the shoulders and pulled it down to reveal two
almost classically formed breasts that were only a little too firm.
Frank Braun glanced over at his uncle.
“That will be enough,” he said. “The rest
will look just as good. Her hips certainly leave nothing more to
desire.”
Then he turned back to the prostitute. “Thank
you Alma. You may get dressed again.”
The girl obeyed, took the cup that he offered
and emptied it. During that hour he made sure that her cup never
stood empty for more than a minute. Then he chatted with her. He
talked about Paris, spoke of beautiful women at the de la Galette
in Moulin and at the Elysée in Montmartre. He described exactly how
they looked, described their shoes, their hats and their dresses.
Then he turned to the prostitute.
“You know Alma, it is really a shame to see
you running around here. Please don’t think badly of me but haven’t
I seen you before somewhere else? Were you ever in the Union Bar or
the Arcadia?”
No, she had never been in them or in the
Amour Hall. Once she had gone with a gentleman to the old Ballroom
but when she went back alone the next night she was turned away at
the door because she wasn’t dressed properly.
“Of course you need to be dressed properly,”
Frank Braun confirmed. “Do you think you will ever again stand all
dressed up in front of that ballroom door?”
The prostitute laughed, “It doesn’t really
matter–a man is a man!”
He paid no attention and told her fabulous
stories of women that had made their fortunes in the great
ballrooms. He spoke of beautiful pearl necklaces and large
diamonds, carriages and teams of white horses. Then suddenly he
asked.
“Tell me, how long have you been running
around here?”
She said quietly, “It’s been four years since
I ran away from home.”
He questioned her, pulled out of her bit by
bit what he wanted to know. He drank with her, filling her glass
and pouring cognac into her champagne without her noticing. She was
almost twenty years old and had come from Halberstadt. Her father
was an honest Baker, honorable and distinguished like her mother
and like her six sisters.
She had first lain with a man a few days
after her confirmation. He was an associate of her father’s. Had
she loved him? Not at all–well only when–yes and then there was
another and then another. Both her father and her mother had beaten
her but she would still run off and stay out all night. It went on
like that for a year – until one day her parents threw her out.
Then she pawned her watch and traveled to Berlin. She had been here
ever since–
Frank Braun said, “Yes, yes. That is quite a
story.” Then he continued, “But now, today is your lucky day!”
“Really,” she asked. “Why do you say
that?”
Her voice rang hoarse like it was under a
veil, “One day is just a good as another to me–All I need is a man,
nothing else!”
But he knew how to get her interest, “But
Alma, you have to be contented
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