Page 6 of Geist Fleisch
“Well, good.” Frank smiled. “You’re in one of my favourite cities in the world. I’m glad to hear it’s treating you well.”
If Frank’s demeanour had offered him some relaxation, the sense that eyes were following him from the far side of the room was its undoing. They peered at him from the middle of a squat, boar-like face, which was punctuated with one of those silly square moustaches, just below the man’s bulbous nose. The man’s two companions appeared not to notice, crying out raucously in German as shots of liquor disappeared down their throats.
“Pretend you haven’t noticed them,” Frank whispered to him.
“What?”
Jacqueline and Robert made a poor show of hiding the pause in their conversation, though a better one of hiding the fact that they too, now watched the Nazi’s table with interest.
“Trust me, your night will go smoother,” Frank continued.
Anne returned at that moment with two beers, setting one in front of Callum. “What’s going on? Why are you all so quiet?”
Callum winced. She’d just been loud enough for the neighbouring tables to hear. When he shot another glance at the boar’s table, the man had gone back to watching his two increasingly inebriated flunkies.
“That’s Rohm, isn’t it?” Callum asked. “I’ve seen him in the papers. Some politician or the like?”
“Some politician? He’s head of the SA and all but bed chums with Angry Chaplin. Usually shows up with one or two of his more strapping meatheads, who stick close as long as he keeps the drinks flowing.” Frank took another sip of wine. “You’ll find far more interesting people in this room, Callum, I promise you.”
“Hirschfeld for one,” Jacqueline teased. Frank didn’t bite.
“Oh, yes?” Anne piped up. “Doesn’t he run that sex club? Or is it a university?”
Callum took a moment to parse the gap between these possibilities.
“Institute of Sexology,” Frank answered. “Or theInstitut für Sexualwissenschaftif you can get your mouth around it.”
Anne snorted her drink.
Frank smirked. “That is not what I was implying. Anyway, Magnus may not be with us much longer.”
Robert and Jacqueline looked at him with grim faces.
“Oh, nothing like that! Politics. Anyway, he may be enjoying the Institute’s last throws. Von Papen’s bad enough, but if… Anyway, Magnus seems very keen on moving his work to America.”
“Why not?” Robert asked. “All the actors and directors have. Murnau, Dietrich… Veidt’s hooked himself a Jew, so he’ll no doubt be next.”
“I thought we agreed, no politics?” Jacqueline reminded him.
“America,” Frank continued. “Perhaps even Japan. I gather Magnus’ ideas about sexuality have found some traction there.”
“Must be so exciting, to travel so far!” Anne grinned, pulling the edges of her eyes back to lower their lids. “The mysterious east!”
“Don’t do that,” Callum chided her, gently pushing one of her hands away.
“What? You don’t fancy me the next Anna May Wong?” She tilted her head from side to side in some mockery of a dance he supposed Wong had done in a film once.
“She’s American, and you’re embarr—”
“Chinese?”
“What?”
“I’m sure she’s Chinese. Oh, wouldn’t China be a marvellous adventure?”
“American, Chinese, Japanese, Siamese, Hawaiian... You’re none of them.”
Anne stuck her tongue out at him and sipped her beer. “It’s far too easy to rile you up.”
