Chapter 12

Over the next weeks, I came to realize that Kitty Schmidt was an extraordinary businesswoman. So were the girls she employed. She personally trained each of them. If a customer was willing to pay for a service, Kitty and the girls provided it. The girls were beautiful, nurturing, good listeners when listening was called for, and only too willing to please every fantasy. There were those clients that wanted to make love to two women at the same time. On occasion, orgies were ordered.

Who were the customers? Lawyers, judges, doctors, industrialists, and the local police, the latter who were paid to look the other way while sampling.

Working at Pension Schmidt gave me time during the day to wander the streets in search of images from my past. I saved my earnings and ate most meals at Kitty’s. Unlike the girls at Max’s Nightingale that were paid to drink with the patrons, be available for a dance, but kept whatever they made off hours, Kitty’s women were pros. Pension Schmidt was a brothel, pure and simple. That meant keeping my hands to myself, if I wanted to keep my authority over the house.

I got to see Max on a regular basis . . . not at the Nightingale but at Kitty’s. He often visited Kitty in the early morning hours after his clubs closed and her clients left. While Max made no effort to hide his interest in Kitty, he remained secretive about his financial stake in her business.

One morning, when it was still dark, he showed up with a surprise: Marta. One look and we folded into a hug that sent sparks through my body.

“That’s enough, you two,” Max chuckled. “Have you no decency? Even if it is a brothel?”

We laughed with him, reluctant to pull apart.

“I hope you don’t mind me barging in like this.” Marta said. “I gave up waiting for you to stop by the Nightingale.”

I dug my hands into my pockets and looked at the floor. “I didn’t want to do anything to interfere with your relationship with Anna. Besides, I’ve been busy here.” When I raised my head I melted at the way she looked at me.

“You two should be alone,” said Kitty. With that, she grabbed Max’s hand and led him out of the salon.

“You’re such a fool,” Marta said. “Didn’t you know that I was always interested in you?”

“I had a sense, but you and Anna were friends. I was living with her in your apartment. You know how Anna is . . .”

“Shut up and kiss me. I’ve waited too long for this.” We kissed and clutched, neither wanting to let go.

“What about Anna?”

“What about her! Max told you I have my own apartment, didn’t he? You could’ve stayed with me instead of a brothel.”

“It didn’t feel right to see you as soon as I returned to Berlin.”

She stepped into me. “That’s time we could have been together. I left Anna soon after you did. She was convinced we were seeing each other behind her back. It didn’t matter what I said. I left to save my sanity.”

I kissed her again. “Didn’t you say that you wanted to show me your apartment?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

*

One afternoon, before the Pension opened, Kitty sent word she wanted to see me in her office. When I knocked she cracked open the door a sliver. “Please wait out there and make certain no one disturbs me. I need absolute privacy.” I could hear muffled voices but nothing intelligible. When the door opened, a man of slight build slipped out. His low-slung felt fedora and heavy beard obscured his face. As he passed by me, Kitty called me into her office.

Although before hours, she poured two glasses of cognac. “It kills me to give up ten percent of my money, but I don’t see another way. At least the Jews are honest.”

Kitty had developed a strategy. While inflation continued to squeeze every German, most believed their wages would rise with the escalating prices and that a rising tide would lift both. But Kitty was saving cash and understood her wealth in Reichsmarks was decreasing. The remedy? Change the marks into stable currencies to insulate from devaluation, and whose value in Germany would increase as the German mark declined. So Kitty changed her marks at black market rates into stable currencies: pounds, francs, and dollars. Every month or two, she haggled with Jewish money merchants to get the best exchange rate. On occasion, like today, she engaged one to transport funds to accounts held abroad.

I began to accompany Kitty when she made the rounds of Jewish moneychangers in Berlin’s financial underground. It was my job to protect her and keep her cash safe. While I asked for nothing extra, she always threw money my way.

We were in a dangerous part of town one day, when I asked, “I understand how clever it is to exchange money the way you do, but one thing puzzles me: how can you trust one of them to travel to England or some other country and not take the money for themselves?”

“Friedrich, darling, you’re right to ask and you’re right about not trusting strangers.”

“What do you know about the men you’re dealing with? They are never the same person.”

“The people I deal with are not strangers in the sense you mean. They’re Jews. I trust them more than all others, especially when distant banks are involved.”

“How could you, Kitty? There are so many warnings about not trusting them.” I blurted before I could stop myself.

She stopped in her tracks. “You, of all people, have no right to say that. Look what Max has done for you.”

“Max is not like the others. It’s just that . . .”

“Just what? When are you going to realize the world is made up of fools? As big as you are, Friedrich, you act like a newborn sometimes. There are times when you should have more common knowledge than you do and it surprises me when you don’t. This is one of those times.”

At that moment there was a commotion at the end of the alleyway. I held up my hand. I strained to see if it were two men arguing or a ploy to distract us. I checked behind to make certain we weren’t being boxed in. All was good but why take a chance? Without alarming Kitty, I edged her back toward the door we had just left.

“Let me ask you a question,” she said, oblivious to the two men. “You were in the army during the war. Correct?” I nodded, still vigilant though the men had stopped arguing and were leaving the alley. “Do you know how many Jews fought for Germany against the enemy?”

“Huh?”

“You were not paying attention.” She repeated her question.

Seeing that both ends of the backstreet were clear, I could now focus on what she was saying. “I don’t know. A handful, I guess. Fifty? Why do you ask?”

“You are in for a surprise. More than one hundred thousand Jewish soldiers fought for Germany during the war. That’s twenty percent of the total number of Jews living here.” She repeated it for emphasis. “Twenty percent. Would bad people fight for their country in such high numbers? Most Jews here are Germans first and Jews second.”

I spouted what Rosenberg, Frank, Feder, and others would have retorted. “And what did the other eighty percent do? They ran the banks that took our money.”

Kitty smacked me in the chest. “Are you as blind as all the others? Most of the Jews who didn’t fight were women and children, not to mention a number of men too old or too lame to fight. Granted there must have been some that evaded service, but plenty of Germans did that, too. On the whole, the entire Jewish population supported the war because they supported Germany. Jews are proud to be Germans.”

I could not get past the fact that they thought nothing of charging usurious rates. “Are you saying that you trust Jews with your money because they are patriotic?”

Kitty gave a laugh that started in her belly and rolled up to her shoulders. She needed to catch her breath before she could answer. “When it comes to money, the Jews are as trustworthy as my girls at Pension Schmidt. The money changing yids and the shiksa whores all operate with impeccable integrity . . . because they all want repeat business.”