Marion Kummerow - From the Ashes

She took the bus to Zara’s place and brought her friend the happy news. As much as Zara loathed to go out at night, the promise of a dinner was enough to make her brush her long ebony hair until it shone and put on the best dress she owned. Together they walked to the Café de Paris in the lovely starry night, crisp with cold foreshadowing the coming winter.

“Things look nicer at night,” Marlene remarked. “The darkness hides much of the devastation.

“Yes, though have you noticed how fast some areas have been rebuilt? There’s even a cinema house reopening next month,” Zara said.

Marlene linked arms with her friend. “The Lichtburg. How I loved going to the movies. What fun it will be to be able to do that again.”

After a brisk thirty-minute walk they arrived at the Café de Paris, where Bruni had already announced their visit to the bouncer at the door, who directed them to Bruni’s dressing room where the singer was getting ready for her first show.

“Hi, girls, how are you doing?” A very happily smiling Bruni greeted them.

“Fine, and you?” Marlene said.

“Stupendous. I have the most terrific news.”

“Your Captain has asked you to marry him?” Zara pursed her lips, clearly indicating she didn’t consider this terrific news.

“God, no! That would be awful, wouldn’t it?” Bruni hugged first Zara and then Marlene and ushered them inside. “Here we can talk privately.”

Bruni offered her friends wine and chocolates with a grand pose.

“Chocolate? Did your captain get a promotion?” Marlene asked, but didn’t deny herself the delicacy of a real piece of chocolate. She put it into her mouth, where it melted against her tongue, the sweet flavor exploding and sending a rush of complete and total satisfaction through her body. She groaned, “hmmm… that’s how it must feel to be in heaven.”

Bruni giggled, “He did, kind of. My new benefactor is Colonel Dean Harris.”

Marlene all but dropped the wine glass and stared with wide eyes at her friend. Judging by the gasp to her left, Zara was as shocked as she was.

“The American Kommandant?” Marlene whispered.

“The one and only. And he’s… fantastic.” Bruni made a dreamy face.

“What about Orlovski? Won’t he be jealous?” Zara asked fearfully, glancing around as if awaiting to find him waiting in a corner.

“Oh Zara, I thought you’re so politically interested. Haven’t you heard?” Bruni asked.

“Heard what?”

“That he left Berlin.”

Marlene cocked her head. “Actually, I’ve been wondering, because I heard nothing of him since the elections.”

Bruni gave a theatrical sigh. “He might have been promoted. I don’t know. About a week before he left, he told me not to ask questions and never again mention his name in case he should disappear.”

Marlene felt the shock seeping deep into her bones. A promotion ? That must be the joke of the century. More probably he’d joined the thousands of abducted Berliners at whatever location where the Soviets kept their enemies of the state. And Orlovski clearly had become an enemy by not winning them the elections.

“You just move on?” Zara wondered.

“Come on Zara, you of all persons feel sorry for him? I thought you never liked him.”

“I didn’t, but that’s no reason to drop him like a hot potato,” Zara hissed, her eyes shining with righteous indignation.

“I didn’t drop him, remember? I’m still here. He was the one to leave. It’s time to look into the future and an American Kommandant is so much more powerful. More money, better gifts, even better rations. And he’s so much more virile… you know…”

“God, spare us the gory details.” Marlene wrinkled her nose in distaste for her friend’s candor and lack of any sort of moral compass.

“An American is preferable to a Russian, I suppose,” Zara said naively. “Not that I would share a bed with an allied soldier. They came here as occupiers, not to be our friends.”

“It takes all sorts,” Bruni was in too good a mood to be put down.

“At least he won’t disappear overnight, the Americans don’t send their people to Siberia, like the Russians do,” Marlene said.

“Shushh… never talk about that or you might be the next one on their list,” Bruni warned them.

Which is exactly the reason never to get involved with a communist, Marlene thought to herself.

A knock on the door summoned Bruni to the stage. Marlene and Zara were escorted by the manager himself, who walked them through a sea of appreciative men, to a reserved table in the elegant night club.

Bruni was announced amid a drumroll and a flurry of claps and wolf whistles. This was her natural environment and she glowed in the spotlight that set her apart from her audience. The music began to play and a hushed silence spread through the room. She started to sing, and at the end of her chanson the room burst into thunderous applause.

Marlene admired the way Bruni knew exactly how to play her audience, while Marlene herself would have died of embarrassment should anyone order her to climb on the stage and sing.

Not Bruni. She smiled, blew kisses, waved to familiar faces, and flirted with the men, as she moved seductively around the stage. On the stage was a star, a gifted woman. It was no wonder she was a regular act at the Café de Paris while other performers came and went.

“Sitting in the corner are two of my best friends,” Bruni announced, peering through the darkened room and pointing out Marlene and Zara. “This is their first visit to our Café de Paris, so be nice, boys.”

A roar of applause followed the spotlight that singled out the two embarrassed women. Marlene felt her face flush with heat, but she somehow managed to give a polite wave and swore to murder Bruni later.

Bruni returned to her dressing room to change while the band played the latest popular songs. Some of the GIs fascinated onlookers with their gravity defying jive moves, a dance craze that captivated the younger crowd.

A couple of Russian soldiers came up to Marlene and Zara, asking for a dance but they politely declined, too shy to make a spectacle of themselves with their lack of ability on the dance floor. The men weren’t pleased and since they had obviously had a bit too much to drink, they insisted rather stubbornly to this dance.

Marlene felt completely at the mercy of these louts and helplessly glanced at Zara, who didn’t seem more confident either, when out of the blue, Werner Böhm and another well-dressed young civilian stood in front of her. As much as she wanted to avoid him, she couldn’t help but give him her brightest smile.

Werner said something in Russian to the two soldiers who quickly disappeared, and then he asked, “Would you grant me this dance, please?”

Much to her surprise, she heard someone say, “It would be my pleasure.”

She glanced around, but Zara was already on the way to the dancefloor with the other man. Before she even realized, that it was her who’d given her consent, Werner put an arm around her waist and led her through the crowd.

The weight of his arm seared through her clothes, making her skin tingle and her legs go to jelly. All the resolve to keep away from him had been crushed with one single smile. He was a gifted dancer and guided her masterfully between the other couples. After fighting the intoxicating sensation for a while, she decided to give in to it and enjoy being held in his arms.

“We should go back now,” Marlene stuttered, when the song ended.

“Yes, of course, if that’s what you wish,” he replied gracefully. Leaning over, he touched her cheek with his as he said, “Thank you for the dance, Marlene.” Then his firm hand on her back led her to their table, where Bruni and dinner was already waiting for them.