“SOPHIE! HURRY!” YELLED Irena. “You’ll be late!”
Stella ran a comb through her hair and tied her apron as she ran out of her room. “I’m coming.”
The girls were all waiting at the foot of the stairs and they were a somber group. Irma stood by the door with Maria and Hanni supporting her. Frau Bothe had called and said Irma was expected back at work, no excuses and no crying.
“Your apron,” said Inge.
Stella looked down and it was all askew. “I’ll fix it later.”
“Let me. You represent Valkyrie and Frau Bothe is already mad at us. We can’t make her any madder.” Inge fussed over Stella’s apron, but it was such a trivial thing with Irma standing there, colorless and glassy-eyed, that Stella was annoyed. Irma wasn’t crying, but every so often a quake went through her gaunt body and Stella couldn’t see how she could get through a night at Valkyrie as devastated as she was.
“Why is she mad?” Stella asked, although it was practically irrelevant. Frau Bothe was always mad about something.
“It’s my fault,” said Maria.
“No, it’s mine,” said Irma.
Irena shook her head. “I should never have given you the phone.”
“I said it,” said Maria.
“It was about me,” said Irma.
Irena took one of Irma’s hands. “You can’t be held responsible.”
Stella threw up her hands and asked, “Someone tell me what happened.”
Maria blushed furiously. “I told Frau Bothe that she was being mean for making Irma come back when she wasn’t ready and she should have until Monday after the memorial.”
“What did she say?”
“That if we didn’t like how she ran Valkyrie, we could look for other jobs. She heard that Siemens was hiring.”
A shudder went through the girls. They didn’t see themselves as factory girls in the slightest and neither did Stella. If they got fired, she would find Anna and leave Germany immediately. There wasn’t a whole lot of information to be had on a factory floor.
“I guess we’ll just have to be extra charming then,” said Stella.
“You don’t have to be anything,” pouted Inge. “You’ve got Obersturmbannführer von Drechsel twisted around your tiny little fingers.”
Stella rolled her eyes. “He has no interest in me. He’s only interested in the war.”
“He keeps requesting you.”
“The Führer only knows why.”
“Just keep him happy,” said Irena. “We all need your work at Valkyrie to keep things going.”
She opened the door and the girls filed out. Irma was walking, but Stella wasn’t entirely sure it was on her own.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” Stella said as she grabbed her coat and hat off the rack. “I’ll be extra sweet to the Obersturmbannführer on Saturday.”
“See that you do.”
Stella went for the door, but Irena called out to the others, “Sophie will be right there,” and she closed the door. “I need to talk to you.”
Stella’s chest got tight and she ran through what she could’ve done to give herself away. Someone saw her at the bakery and reported back to Irena. Or the doctor’s house. Or the pharmacy called and said there wasn’t any line to delay her.
“Don’t look so scared,” said Irena. “You aren’t in trouble. At least, I hope not.”
“What do you mean?”
Irena held out her hand and in the palm was the little tube Sonja, the Temmler executive’s wife, gave her. “Is this yours?”
“Yes. Where did you find it?” Stella asked.
“In the sitting room on the floor.” Irena exuded disapproval, but Stella couldn’t imagine why. She went to take the Pervitin, but the matron closed her hand into a fist. “Why do you have this? Is this why you wanted to go to the pharmacy?”
“No. I don’t even know what it is.”
Irena crossed her arms.
“I don’t. A guest gave it to me as a kind of thank you,” said Stella.
“A guest? Which guest?”
“Magnus Riedel’s wife. They were at my tables one night.”
“Who is he?”
“A Temmler executive. Why?”
Irena took a breath and relaxed. “Now I understand.”
Maria opened the door and peeked in. “We have to go.”
“Yes, yes. Start walking. Sophie will catch up.”
“All right.” Maria was puzzled but she obeyed.
Stella put on her coat and buttoned it. “Well, I don’t understand. Is there something wrong?”
“No, dear girl, not as long as you’re not taking them.”
“What are they?”
“Pills for energy, but they’re very bad for you.”
“But don’t they sell them at the pharmacy?” Stella asked.
“They do, but they shouldn’t. My brother is a doctor in Mannheim. He says they are addictive and you must not take them. None of my girls take them. I should’ve talked to you before, but I forgot.”
Stella put on her hat and tried to seem worried when she really wanted to smile. “I understand and I won’t take them. I promise.”
Irena hugged her. “I’m glad you trust me and will not.”
“But can I have the tube?”
She went stiff. “Why would you want them?”
“Herr Riedel will probably come back. He might ask me about them. Shouldn’t I have them with me?”
Irena thought about it and then nodded. “Yes, you should. Other girls at the club take them to keep up and he will think it odd if you don’t have his gift.”
Stella took the tube and put it in her handbag. “Thank you for the warning. My mother wouldn’t want me to take a pill like that.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” said Irena. “Have a good night.”
A good night was guaranteed. Stella allowed herself to smile as she went out into the darkness. So the military had ordered 30,000 units of energy pills. It was a very good night indeed.
Stella’s good cheer didn’t last long. Valkyrie was packed as always and Irma wasn’t able to do her bit. The girls raced around covering for her while Frau Bothe scowled from the wings. The woman had absolutely no sympathy for a girl in mourning and had declared that Otto was only a brother, not a husband. Such grief was only required for husbands and, in a nod to Stella’s grief, possibly fiancés. She said it like Irma had bought grief pills and decided to take too many. It was ridiculous and insulting. Stella could only imagine what she would feel if one of her brothers died. They were loud and smelly at the best of times, but she loved them dearly.
The best thing to do was keep quiet. Frau Bothe was angry at Maria for accurately calling her mean and had moved her off her good tables to a spot way out by the kitchens where the least desirable guests sat. Stella got moved up next to Irma’s tables, where she and Hanni did their best to help, but Irma hadn’t been eating and she was weak. Sometimes she seemed disoriented.
A hand reached out and snagged Stella’s skirt, almost pulling her off her feet since she’d been nearly running to cover the extra tables.
“Can I help you, sir?” she asked the SS who glared up at her.
“What is she doing?” He pointed up two levels to where Irma was standing on the stairs, holding a large tray and staring blankly at the band, where the musicians were ripping off Glen Miller. Some Reich songwriter wrote “Moonlight Serenade”. Right.
“I’ll take care of it, sir,” she said. “Right away.”
“You better or I’m talking to your matron.”
“Yes, sir.” Stella dashed up the stairs and gently took the tray, laden with shots and beer, away from Irma.
“Otto would’ve loved that song,” she said, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“I know.” Stella managed to balance the tray on one hand—a feat she wouldn’t have thought possible a month ago—and turned Irma around with the other. “Go take a break.”
“I can’t.”
Stella pushed her up the stairs and then rushed back down to serve the grouchy SS. She talked them out of complaining by batting her eyes and saying that Irma had lost a beloved brother for the Führer. Frau Bothe said not to mention that to any guest because the war didn’t belong inside Valkyrie as if the massive amount of uniforms wasn’t a dead giveaway.
The plea for sympathy worked barely, but the men thought Irma ought to shape up for the Führer. Whatever that meant. She took some food orders and went to her tables to check on them. While she was discussing the merits of adding Leberkäse to the menu with a couple of intoxicated Luftwaffe pilots from Augsburg—drunk Bavarians always wanted Leberkäse—Stella saw Frau Bothe go after Irma with Clara intervening. The redhead sent Irma to the bar and had a tense discussion with Bothe, who gave her something and then marched away.
“I will ask the kitchen if they can find you Leberkäse,” said Stella, backing away.
“God, you’re beautiful,” slurred the younger of the duo.
“She’s married,” said the other.
“I heard he died.”
“Did he die?” The pilot grabbed her wrist and trained an unfocused eye on her Werner ring.
“Yes, he did.” She peeled his fingers off and straightened his tie. “I will be right back.”
“I think I love…” He fell over and took his fellow Bavarian with him.
For crying out loud.
Stella checked on the men, both of whom looked perfectly happy lying on the floor. “I’m going to get…something.”
She ran up the stairs and caught sight of Clara tucking something in her pocket. “Clara!”
Clara turned around, looking like she ought to be on stage, and raised an eyebrow, perfectly penciled. “Oh, Sophie. Thank goodness.”
“What did Bothe say?” Stella panted and leaned on the bar.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“I think I have to. Is she firing Irma?”
“Not yet, the wretched witch,” said Clara. “I talked her out of it.”
“Did she give you something?” asked Stella.
Clara leaned on the bar, too, but not like she was exhausted, which they all were. Clara never looked exhausted or anything less than perfect. “Have you been watching me?”
At times like that it was best to be completely honest. “Yes. You got in the way of something with Irma. What happened?”
Clara gave out a surprisingly undignified snort. “Bothe knows about your matron.”
“Irena? What about her?”
“You know, how she won’t let her girls have a little bump. She wanted to talk Irma into it anyway. I told her I’d do it.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Stella.
Clara eyed her and asked, “Where are you from?”
“Munich.”
“Don’t they have Pervitin there?”
“Oh, that,” said Stella. “Irena doesn’t want us to take that. She told me today.”
“You didn’t know about it before?”
“The Temmler executive gave me some, but I didn’t know what it was. Why does Bothe want Irma to take it?”
“To wake her up, of course,” said Clara. “It would work, but in her state, it might kill her.”
“Kill her?”
The state ordered 30,000 pills of something that could kill their men?
The barman offered Clara a shot of cherry schnapps and she downed the fiery liquid in one go, despite drinking being forbidden. “Don’t look so worried. She’d probably be fine. I use it all the time.”
“You do?”
“Sure. How do you think I get through Saturday nights?” She swept a long arm across the club. “How do you think they do?”
“I did wonder how in the world they could be here for twelve hours and never get tired,” said Stella.
“Twelve hours? That’s nothing. After Warsaw fell, try twenty-four. I thought we’d never get out of here.”
“That’s amazing.”
“It is. You should try it sometime. Just half a pill though, if you want to sleep in the near future.”
“You aren’t going to give it to Irma, are you?” Stella couldn’t allow that.
“No. Of course not. Irma’s never taken it before and she looks like she might throw herself out a window already.”
“Good. Thank you for intervening.”
“I’m happy to help and I got a pill for free so it all works out.”
Bothe marched back over. “What are you two talking about?”
“We are taking a break,” said Clara, haughtily as possible.
“No breaks. Look at this place. And where is Irma?”
“Adjusting to her bump.” Clara steered Bothe to the backstage door. “You should take a break. We’ve got the club. Don’t worry.”
“Irma’s back?”
“Absolutely.” Clara rolled her eyes over Bothe’s head at Stella. “You go put your feet up. I think they’re swelling.”
Frau Bothe looked down at her fat ankles and exclaimed. “I really must sit down.”
“See. You have to take care of yourself.” Clara gently pushed Bothe through the door to the office and closed it firmly behind. “If only we could bolt it shut.”
“I wish,” said Stella, turning to put in her drink orders. “I have to ask the kitchen about Leberkäse again.”
“Don’t ask. Say you asked.”
“I hate to lie,” said Stella, innocently.
Clara laughed. “You are too good for this club. Just do it, Sophie. You can’t bother the kitchen every time you have drunk Bavarians because that’s every night.”
“Not every night.”
The girls laughed and the barman gave them their trays.
“Oh,” said Clara. “Catch up with me later. I have news for you.”
“News?”
She leaned over to whisper in Stella’s ear. “There is a genius in Koblenz.” Then Clara was off, working her way above the crowd in more ways than one, leaving Stella exhilarated and antsy to get the night over with.
But the night wasn’t anxious to end. It went on and on into the wee hours, straining Stella’s patience and ability to keep Frau Bothe away from Irma. All the girls helped, including ones that didn’t live at Irena’s. Maybe Frau Bothe didn’t understand loss and grief, but Valkyrie did. Practically everyone from the barmen to the band had lost someone at some time and they helped. A drummer cornered the matron on a break to discuss what songs she thought might be the most appropriate when attacks on Britain began in earnest. A barman insisted they didn’t have enough Elderflower liquor and took her down to storage to count the bottles. Stella had never had anyone order Elderflower liquor so she doubted there was a pressing shortage. People came up with all kinds of ploys. Girls broke glasses, faked proposals, and Inge went so far as to slip in a non-existent puddle in a showy fall that got her quite a bit of attention from a handsome Kriegsmarine. Stella wasn’t sure if it was entirely for Irma’s benefit, but it kept Bothe away from their grieving housemate and that was good enough.
When the last guests heaved themselves out of their seats and staggered to the coat check, Stella went in search of Clara and found Irma instead, sitting in a dark corner on the floor with her legs in a pool of spilled beer.
“Irma, what are you doing?” exclaimed Stella.
She pushed her long blond hair out of her face, revealing swollen eyes and blotchy red cheeks. “I don’t care.”
Stella got a towel, dried her legs, and wiped up the beer. “Don’t care about what?”
“This.”
“The club?”
She shrugged and began to cry again.
“It will get better,” said Stella because that’s what people said about such things.
“Otto’s always going to be dead. I’ll always be alone.”
She wasn’t wrong and there was nothing to be said that could make it different. Stella wished she could tell her that things did change, that they’d changed for her, but she couldn’t because they hadn’t. Not really. There were still moments when she felt exactly the same way she did when Uncle Josiah told her that Abel was dead, like no time had passed, not a minute, not an hour. Agatha swore time would heal, but Stella was fairly sure that only action would heal, but she could hardly tell Irma any of that.
“All I know is someday it will get better. It has to get better,” said Stella.
“Do you feel better?”
Stick to the truth.
“Not really, but I don’t cry all the time anymore, so I guess that’s something.”
Irma surprised her by saying, “You aren’t very good at comforting.”
“That’s why I serve beer and get my bottom pinched.”
“How bad was it tonight?”
“Average.” Stella showed the marks on her thighs, a testament to how she’d gotten Irma’s SS officers to forget about her.
“I’m sorry,” said Irma.
“I’m not. What’s another pinch here or there? You’ve still got a job and now we’re getting out of here.”
Maria and Inge came up and asked if everything was all right. They said that because that’s what you say and Irma got up. The other girls put their arms around her waist, saying that Bothe was in the kitchens so they’d better hurry up.
Stella scanned the club, looking for Clara, until Inge called back, “Coming, Sophie?”
“I am.” She went after them, waving to Wilma in coat check and the barmen who were wiping the many counters at the enormous bar before she went downstairs into the chaos of the dressing rooms. Everyone was exhausted and trying to get home as quickly as possible. Coats and hats were tossed across the room and a shoe went zinging past Stella’s ear.
“What is happening?” she asked a girl next to her, who was pulling on a pair of rubber boots.
“There’s a storm coming in. Sleet and lots of snow.”
Stella groaned.
“If we don’t hurry, we won’t get a cab. They’ll go home,” said the girl.
“Sophie!” Hanni waved from the coat room and then threw Stella’s handbag over. Stella caught it and three more. One went too high for her, but Clara came through the door and nabbed it with no difficulty.
“Sometimes I hate being short,” said Stella.
“You’ll get no sympathy from me.” Clara took her coat and hat from one of her housemates. “I have to get out of here. This is insane.”
“I’ll take the handbags up to get out of the way,” she called over to Hanni.
“Good. We’ll be right up. I can’t find my hat,” said Hanni.
Stella squeezed through the door between two male dancers who were trying to cut through to their dressing room and ran up the stairs, keeping her eyes trained on Clara’s red hair. It wasn’t easy. The cleaning staff had been released without finishing their work and Stella could barely fit up the stairs past the rotund ladies, whom she suspected feasted on guest’s leftovers while they scrubbed the kitchen and the rest of the club.
She weaved through the barmen who were heading for the stairs and spotted Clara at the door to the lobby. “Clara! Wait!”
Clara tugged on a particularly ugly wool hat and turned around. “Oh, Sophie. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. You were going to tell me about that thing in Koblenz.”
“Right. I forgot.” She pushed open the door and they went into the lobby to peer out into the storm. It was no joke. Ice pinged against the windows and several girls piled into a cab that had spun up onto the sidewalk when it pulled up.
“I hope my girls hurry,” said Clara. “I don’t want to sleep here again.”
“Again?”
“It happened twice last year, but at least it’s Thursday and we’re getting out at a reasonable time.”
Stella noted that reasonable in Clara’s book was three o’clock in the morning. When she thought about it, it was a wonder that there were any cabs at all. “So what’s this about the genius in Koblenz? I really want to sound like I’m not a ninny.”
“If you were a ninny, Obersturmbannführer von Drechsel wouldn’t have bothered with you. He has little patience with stupidity or anything else, for that matter.”
“So you know him well?” asked Stella.
Clara’s face creased into an expression of extreme distaste. Stella wouldn’t have thought it possible for her to have so many folds in her frown. “I know about him. He isn’t quiet or subtle.”
“Subtle about what?”
“Anything. He’s a man of passionate dislikes.”
“And this genius that Ulrich wants to work with? Oscar dislikes him?”
“If he does, it’s because he thinks there’s no advantage in him. By advantage, I mean advantage to the Obersturmbannführer.” Clara’s nose touched the glass. “I don’t see any more cabs. This is not good.”
“Who is it?”
“Huh?”
Stella could barely contain the desire to shake Clara. “The genius.”
Clara turned her attention back where Stella wanted it. “I forget you’re not exactly an operator.”
Stella frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve not been here long and aren’t exactly interested in the government.”
Her heart leapt a little in her nervous chest. That was perfect, exactly what she wanted. “I never thought about it.”
“That’s what I mean,” said Clara. “So the genius is Erich von Manstein, Chief of Staff of Group A in Koblenz.”
Stella made a face. “I thought a genius would mean science.”
Clara smiled down at her. “I do find you funny. Military science. That’s the science that matters now and Manstein is the best at it, according to some.”
Stella was frantic for information. This could be just what she needed. “Then why is he just a Chief of Staff?”
“Why do you think? He’s not a favorite. I heard he went against General Halder. That’s not a good idea.”
“So Halder’s the favorite then,” said Stella. “But if Ulrich likes von Manstein, I should talk about him and not Halder. I wonder if that’s who Oscar wants Ulrich with. Halder, I mean.”
“Oscar. Ulrich. You do sound chummy,” said Clara.
“I’d rather sound smart.”
“You will. You don’t have to say much.”
What to say? How much to say?
“Oscar wants him to be at the front of something. He said so. But maybe Ulrich would be safer with von Manstein.”
Clara smiled at her, knowingly. “You like him.”
Stella thought about it and found she did or, at least, she had some compassion for his injuries. Ulrich was still the enemy, compassion or no. “I do. He’s interesting.”
“Interesting. Right.” She glanced back and said, “Thank goodness. Here they come.”
“Maybe he should just stay with Goebbels. He’s injured.”
“Darling, he’s just there to get on his feet and help his brother. When that’s done he’ll be gone.”
“Help him with what?”
Clara’s housemates crowded around them, complaining about the weather and then yelling that a cab was coming down the street.
“See you tomorrow!” called out Clara. “Get a cab as soon as you can.”
Stella nodded and waved as Hanni and the rest of the girls came into the lobby. She could barely talk she was so full of information. Halder. Manstein. Plans. Oscar’s plan and something that was coming out of Koblenz, probably from the genius. It didn’t seem like the same thing. Oscar didn’t want Ulrich in Koblenz, so the plans were different.
The whole thing made Stella’s tired head hurt and she let the girls sweep her out the door and through a truly miserable shower of freezing rain into a crowded cab. The girls chattered endlessly on the long and very slow drive home, all except Irma who stared out into the storm, unseeing, and Stella who wanted to see everything.
