Page 3 of Geist Fleisch
The man weaved through the crowd, his light blue shirt easy to spot in a sea of white, cream, and grey. Callum’s embarrassment soon found room for an encore, as the stranger sat down at the table with the friendly fellow from the bathroom. That was Callum’s cue to leave… No, no, no, don’t you—
His bathroom admirer waved his hand above the table, beckoning Callum over. The man in the blue shirt looked away shyly, but Callum could see him smiling. Great. All he wanted tonight was to be the sideshow at Chez Fritz. No thanks, lads.
He put his beer down on the bar and went to find the door or opening he’d come through that would take him back to Anneand the other women. No door. No curtain. Nothing of the kind in the bathroom either. This was asinine. He returned to his beer and lifted it to his lips. Maybe after a drink, he’d—
Callum pulled the sour brew away from his lips as if he’d burned them on it. Hell, he had! His lips and tongue felt numb. He tried to cry out, but only managed inarticulate grunts as his tongue failed to answer. A flash of blue crossed his vision, as the man who’d tried to talk to him earlier took hold of his chin, lifting it gently and blowing on Callum’s mouth. Callum shivered so hard he felt like he’d burst, but there was no missing the brush of the stranger’s cool lips on his, just for an instant, before his mouth cooled. He watched, regaining his breath as the man put a finger on the edge of his mug and circled its rim anti-clockwise. He then grazed the foam with his finger, before lifting it to Callum’s lips, allowing him to suck the cool beer off it. It tasted normal. No nasty, boiling side effects. In fact, the mug seemed cooler in his hand.
The man whispered something to him in German, then returned to his table.
Callum took a sip just to make sure, tasting a cleaner, purer, colder pint than any pub had ever poured him. He couldn’t help but stare at it, then at the scarred, blue-shirted stranger. The bar erupted in applause as the music stopped, and the small woman dressed in a tuxedo at the piano, the only woman in the place, stood up on the seat and bowed low. That mask… Callum recognised her immed—
“Where the hell were you?” Anne startled him, pulling on his shirtsleeve. “I waited, then spent an hour looking for you! Even popped in next door and let me tell you, I’ve now seen things no woman of virtue should. Someone should warn the nearest greengrocer. Also, we’re running late now.”
The room was again full of women. Not entirely the same women—Anne’s date was gone—but the bar was back to its sapphic self.
“Hello? Are you going to answer me or not?”
“I… sorry, did you…?”
“Are you all right, darling? I thought you’d fallen in, and from the look of you, I wouldn’t rule it out.”
He thought about telling her. But what, exactly? Anne might have been the adventurous sort, but she was also practical. He couldn’t imagine what she’d make of some half-cocked story about him visiting a full-cock bar in the short time he’d been away, never mind the rest of it. “I’m fine. Let’s hurry. Where’s…”
“Helene,” Anne said after leaving him hanging for several seconds. “Such a bore. Hates the Eldorado, apparently. She might have told me that before! No matter.Weare going to have the most fabulous time.”
“F…f…fabulous?” he stammered.
“My dear cousin, you barely know the meaning of the word.”
He let her guide him to the entrance to collect their coats, all the while looking back at the table in the corner, for any sign of a light blue shirt that was no longer there.
CHAPTER TWO
The sign above the door promisingHier ist’s Richtig!confused Callum. It shone over the street like a layered puzzle, from the androgynous figure with the pencil moustache, to the ‘come hither’ eyes on the female opposite. The wordsHier ist’s Richtig!were duplicated in smaller, less cartoonish letters beneath, just in case visitors missed the garish main sign. Above it all, a spread fan hid the face of a young dancer behind a question mark that felt like a curiously German type of sarcasm.
“Here, it’s right?” he asked Anne, trying to remember the basics Viktor had taught him as she pulled him toward the entrance.
“Oh, I don’t know! What sort of question is that? You’ve arrived at the most marvellous place in the universe… Oh, do you have a couple of marks?
“What?”
“I loaned Helene money for a taxi.”
“Loaned?” Callum fished the coins from his pocket, wondering if Anne would ever see Helene again. “Why did you bring us to a place that charges a mark just to get in?”
“Don’t be a bore. You’ve simply no idea where you are—Oh!” She grabbed Callum’s arm before he had a chance to object,giving a nod that was anything but discrete. “Don’t stare, but do you know who that is?”
He looked over at the cluster of four well-cut suits she’d pointed out at a table across the way. “Should I?”
Anne rolled her eyes with drama. “That’s Erika Mann and her brother, Klaus. You’ve heard of their father, Thomas?”
This time he did stare, blankly, at her.
“The novelist!Death in Venice? Surely, you’ve read it.”
“No, and neither have you.”
“Anyway, Erika was married to the actor, Gustaf Gründgens, though everyone knew it was Klaus he was sleeping with, including Erika, and she was too busy having it off with some other actress to mind. Now, they write and produce the most marvellous cabarets. Erika performs in them too! We must go and see one. Not sure who the two fellows are sitting with them. Writers too, I expect. It’s that sort of place, besides the transvestites, who are their own sort.
