Chapter 25
1927
The outward passage from Southampton to New York—on what became my last round trip voyage—was rough. Many guests became seasick. Two of my shows had to be cancelled. I was grateful for calm seas on the return leg.
My programs varied with the passengers. Why shouldn’t I play music they preferred? This particular group wanted both the classics and modern tunes. To accommodate, I mixed Chopin, Liszt, and Mozart pieces with songs from Broadway shows and pieces from the uptown clubs that featured Louis Armstrong, King Oliver, Kid Ory, and Duke Ellington. Of late, I added Scott Joplin’s compositions to my repertoire.
“Do you know how to play ‘I Ain’t Gonna Play No Second Fiddle?’” a voice asked from behind me.
My head bobbed in surprise. Only someone up-to-date on the current music scene could know that song; it had only been out a month. I had just seen Bessie Smith sing this Perry Bradford song at the Cotton Club. I loved it so much I bought the sheet music the next day.
I looked to see who was so in the know about the latest music. Instead of the usual matron, a beautiful blond woman, barely into her twenties, gazed down at me. Her lips were dark red with a peaked cupid’s bow. Her rich brown eyes twinkled under her plucked brows. They were both sexy and appealing. She held a champagne glass by the stem. Her sequined dress shimmered. “I’ll play it if you sing it.” I don’t know what made me so bold, but I made the challenge.
With a giggle she laid her glass on the closest table. “Let’s do it.”
This goddess eased next to me. She nudged me to make room at the bench. Her scent engulfed me as I tingled from the warmth of her body next to mine. It was a miracle that I played a note. I eked out the first few bars and her sultry voice wrapped the words around the music in exotic delicacy.
I held the last note as long as possible to extend the magic.
My “regulars,” it was right to call them that after days at sea, exploded into a standing ovation. My mystery guest curtseyed. She then made a half-turn and extended her willowy arm to acknowledge me . . . her accompanist. When I rose, she took my hand and we bowed as one.
We played an encore: “Someone to Watch Over Me,” by George and Ira Gershwin. By the final chord, I was in love.
“Who are you?” I asked after the last congratulatory guest had left.
She tapped her glass for a refill. The guests at the front table had not finished their Dom that was still wedged into an ice-filled silver bucket. Enough remained for a glass of champagne for each of us.
Her lips parted to take a sip, displaying perfect pearly whites. I led her by the arm. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
When we emerged onto the nightclub’s small balcony, she asked, “The program says you’re Friedrich Richard. Is that a stage name?”
How do I answer that one?
“It’s my given name. Now your turn. What do they call you?”
“Does it matter, Friedrich? Here we are, a man and a woman standing next to each other on a brilliant summer night. The waves are dancing rhythmically in the moonlight. What could be more romantic? Don’t spoil it with trivial details.”
She inched closer. Our fingers touched, sending bolts of excitement through me. Her perfume addled me. My upper lip grew moist. “You’re playing dirty. I have all I can do to control myself. If I could, I would wrap my arms around you and smother you with kisses. Standing here, you are the most beautiful angel I’ve ever seen.”
She probed my face with eyes and lips that invited. “What’s stopping you?”
Our thighs brushed against one another. This was too much even for me. I jerked back and grabbed the railing. “When does a stunning woman approach a piano player, sing like a pro, and then challenge the man with looks that would melt an iceberg? It only happens in the movies.”
“Maybe that’s what we’re in. The camera is off to the side and we have our parts to play. Didn’t you hear him? The director yelled, ‘Action.’”
I didn’t need another invitation. Our lips met and our tongues teased each other. She arched into me. After a minute, I broke away. “Now really, who are you? Are you with someone? Why haven’t I seen you before? The trip is almost over. We’ve missed out on so much time together.”
“That can be remedied.”
We drew two deck chairs together until they touched. The light of the moon shimmered off the dark, black waters, causing the tiny waves to flicker like a thousand candles.
I could scarcely breathe. The mysterious woman flipped open a gold cigarette case, extracted a cigarette, and tapped it on her wrist before wedging it into a tortoise shell holder. I managed to strike a match and cup my hands around the flame with as much aplomb as I could muster. She leaned forward and smiled as she drew the flame to the cigarette, knowing her every move captivated me. She had a British accent yet spoke flawless German.
“My given name is Helene Lilian Muriel Pape. My mother is English, and my father is German. I was born in London. We were living in Magdenburg when the war broke out. My parents sent me to live with my aunt in Switzerland. I stayed there until the war ended when I joined them in Berlin. After high school, I studied dance and voice at the school of the Berlin Opera.”
“That explains your singing and why you have such a presence about you.”
“You don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Should I? What are you, twenty? Twenty-one?”
“Age is a state of mind. Besides you shouldn’t underestimate anyone just because they’re young. Look at the way you played the piano. You didn’t start yesterday. And you’re still young.”
“Point taken. From the sounds of it, you’ve accomplished much. But you still haven’t answered me: who are you?”
She pouted. “I told you my name.”
I loved how she pursed her lips. “Lots of women have the name Helene. Tell me the rest of your story.”
“Why do think there is any more?”
“No one stands up in front of a room full of strangers and is willing to sing unless they have a voice like yours and a story to tell.”
She drew on the cigarette. “My professional name is Lilian Harvey.”
I shook my head. “Still doesn’t ring a bell.”
“I’m not liking you anymore. You know how to hurt a girl’s feelings.”
“I’ve been at sea a long time. I’ve missed a lot. Please don’t take offense. Think of me as someone providing opportunities.”
Her perfect eyebrows arched. “Now who is teasing who? Anyone who knows ‘I Ain’t Gonna Play No Second Fiddle’ does not have their head buried in the sand.”
Both beautiful and bright . . . and not afraid to speak her mind.
“You got me. Let’s get past this. Tell me what I need to know about you so I can build a proper pedestal.”
“Nice comeback. You are officially on your way to redemption. I appeared in my first film three years ago. I was eighteen. I played a young Jewish girl in a movie called The Curse. That got me the lead alongside Otto Bebühr in The Passion. Then I did Love and Passion. Last year, I was cast in a movie based on an operetta composed by Jean Gilbert called Die Keusche Susanne. I played opposite Willy Fritsch.”
“That’s quite a résumé. Sadly, I haven’t seen any of them.”
She wrinkled her forehead in wonder. “Not even the posters?”
“They don’t have posters on ships. I assure you, had I seen any, I would have searched heaven and earth to find you.”
She took my hand. “You have now officially redeemed yourself.”
I brought her hand to my lips à la Wolf. I had never met a woman like this. While Anna was nurturing to the point of being motherly and Marta had a hard, sexy edge to her, Lilian—I liked the ring of her stage name—was by turns sophisticated, coquettish, alluring, mysterious, intelligent, and downright exciting.
I studied her as she took another drag. Her polished fingernails were the same color as her lips: fire red. The burning embers gave off a pungent aroma. She smoked Nestor Gianaclis. “I see you like Egyptian cigarettes.”
“They are still the best. When I was in New York, they had an imitation brand. What a laugh. They tried to make it appear Egyptian by calling it Camel. How ridiculous thinking that if they pictured a camel with a pyramid and a palm tree in the background, it could pass as Egyptian and not the imitation it was.”
“Were you in New York long?”
“Long enough.”
“For what?”
“Just long enough. They think they are civilized, but they are crude compared to the sophisticates in London, Paris, or Berlin. And you?”
“And me what?”
“Have you traveled?”
“Here and there.”
“Seems that we are both talking in riddles. Let’s start again.” Lilian extended her hand; I took it. “My name is Lilian Harvey. I am an actress between movies, taking a much-needed vacation. I decided to explore New York to see if there are any movie opportunities for me there.”
How could a studio turn this beauty down? “Were there?”
She frowned. “Just my luck. I am either too late or too early.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Too late because every movie studio in Fort Lee, New Jersey was shuttered. They all moved to this place called Hollywood.”
There was a burgeoning movie company in Queens. “What about the studio in Astoria?”
“You mean the Kaufman studios? They’re in the midst of converting to talkies. I should be good at them because of my singing, but they’re not ready for someone like me now. It’s all about timing.”
“They should’ve signed you on the spot. You’re a natural.”
“How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”
“I know talent when I see it.”
“Mister, you know a pretty face, that’s all.”
“That, too.”
We both laughed as we sized each other up.
“Since I was too early for the Kaufmanns and too late for Fort Lee, I’m returning to Germany for my next movie.”
“America’s loss is my gain.”
“Aren’t you taking a lot for granted?” She brought her glass to her lips. I barely breathed for fear she would say goodbye.
“Your singing created sparks tonight.”
She leaned until our faces were inches apart. “I sensed a lot of sparks tonight, too.”
I grew lightheaded; I had never felt like this. We kissed.
“I was never one for public displays, especially since someone might have seen one of my movies.” Then Lilian added, “But we’re safe here. No one on this ship has recognized me.”
“They will one day soon.” We held hands and enjoyed the moment. “I have a swell idea. There are three more nights until we reach port. Why not join me and sing for everyone? You saw how much they loved you tonight. Think of it as a way to advertise your next movie.”
“What would I sing?”
“I have all the latest sheet music. We can practice during the day. You’re a natural. Besides, I have no problem playing second fiddle to one so lovely . . . and talented.”
“Flattery, Herr Richard, will get you everywhere.”
*
Lilian was a hit. She sang Broadway show tunes, German folk songs, and then we cobbled together some of Al Jolson’s biggest hits: “California Here I Come,” “April Showers,” “Swanee,” “Rock-A-By Your Baby with A Dixie Melody,” and “I’m Sitting on Top of the World.” Furious applause followed each song, but when she dropped to one knee for, “My Mammy,” the room went wild.
The applause was loudest at our last show. Lilian and I turned sober watching the guests trudge out of the salon. None lingered knowing they had to prepare to disembark early in the morning.
“This show doesn’t have to end,” I said when the last guest filtered out. “Let’s continue to perform together.”
Her flawless lips turned into broken crescents. “As much as I want that, I start shooting a new film in three days. It’s called Vacation from Marriage. It’s about how war changes people.”
“It’s an important topic to explore.”
“I’m glad I am doing it. I don’t want to be typecast as a song and dance girl.”
“I’m sure you’re great in everything you do.” I grew melancholy. “Then this is our last night together.”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
“Neither. I don’t want to see you go.”
She took my hand. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m still here. Let’s make this night memorable and see where it might lead?”
The night was memorable yet taut with anxiety. At least for me.
*
“I need to ask you a question,” Lilian said. She wriggled until she could lean against the headboard, making no effort to cover herself.
“Don’t make it too hard,” I said. “All I can think about is you leaving the ship.”
She smacked me on the head. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
“Okay. This is it. We’ve been together day and night for almost four days. Almost one hundred hours, but who’s counting.”
“It was too short.”
She arched her brows. “Whether it’s been enough time or too much, save that for another discussion. What I realize is that you know so much about me and I know next to nothing about you.”
“You know plenty.”
She stuck out her index finger. “I know that you like to play the piano and could be a virtuoso. Two.” A second finger darted out from her closed fist. “You’re German.” A third finger sprang out. “Your scars tell me you were in the war. After that, Friedrich, I don’t know anything else about you.”
“What else would you like to know?”
“For starters, where are you from? Who are your parents? Do you have any siblings? Where did you go to school? I want to get to know you better.”
This was the moment I dreaded from the minute I knew she was the only woman I wanted. How could I possibly account for myself? Even my name wasn’t my own. What could I say: I don’t know anything about myself?
I was terrified the truth would drive her away. It had been nine years since the shell destroyed my memory. What could I say that made sense? Should I be transparent and confide that I knew nothing about myself? Could I even say that I was single? Maybe there was a family waiting for me? I was horrified at the prospect that the truth would drive her away. Knowing she would ask, I concocted a believable story.
“I grew up in a little village in Bavaria. I come from a family of farmers. They had their successes. My father was the buergermeister as was his father before him.”
“Were they Junkers?”
“The farm was large, but nothing that would qualify my family as landed gentry. My mother, on the other hand, came from Munich. Her father was a doctor. She was well educated. She met my father and they fell in love. Against her parents’ wishes, she married him and moved to our farm. She brought life to the tiny village.”
“Did that include a piano?”
I smiled as if nostalgic for the good old days. “That was part of my mother’s dowry. She taught me how to play. I preferred practicing the piano to manual labor.”
She tapped my arm. “You can’t fool me. Someone your size didn’t get your strength from only playing the piano.”
“Guilty as charged. I did my share of heavy lifting. Now you have the whole story.”
“I think not. You skipped what happened to you in the war. You still haven’t told me if you were ever married? If you have children? Brothers? Sisters? Are your parents still alive?”
How much more of this can I make up? Maybe it’s time to face the music and tell her the truth. Lilian is in the arts. If anyone could understand, she should. But . . . if I confess the truth now, it would reveal me a liar. I never thought I would find someone so special. I wish I had not started this.
I turned away. My voice a whisper. “I had a younger brother and sister. They died with my parents in the influenza outbreak at the end of the war.”
Lilian wrapped her arms around me. “I am so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Even these many years later, it is hard to talk about it.”
“What happened to the farm?”
“My uncle ran it for a couple of years and then he died. Now my cousins run it, if you can call it that. They sold off most of it to survive. There’s almost nothing left of the original farm.”
“That must be hard for you.”
Not as hard as this!
“When I learned that my family had been wiped out, I vowed never to go back. I’ve had a good run playing on this ship. Seeing new places. Having new experiences. And now meeting you has been the most special of all.” I squeezed her tight.
“This ship isn’t that old,” said Lilian. “You’re leaving out a few years after the war.”
“You got me. I was in the Freikorps with the troops that toppled the Communist takeovers in Berlin and Munich. Along the way I worked in a cabaret and even in a brothel.”
Her eyes widened. “What was that like?”
“I was fortunate to see a lot of great acts at the cabaret.”
She smacked my shoulder. “I meant the brothel.”
“The usual stuff.”
“Come on, Friedrich. Don’t spoil it for me. I want to know the kinds of things they do there. Is it just men tired of their wives or is there more to it? Like ménage a trois? Women with women? Men and young boys?”
“All the above and more. My job was to make certain no one got out of hand and that the girls were protected. It was not to know what sort of things went on there.”
She hung on my every word. “Did you ever have to step in to save a poor damsel?”
“What do you think?”
“I guess that comes with the job, doesn’t it?” She clapped her hands in glee. “Do you ever go back there?”
“I’ve visited for old time’s sake. I have good memories from when I worked there.”
She poked me in the ribs. “I bet you do.”
I wrapped my arms around her, wishing she did not have to make that movie. “Not what you think. Miss Kitty had a piano in the salon. I played it during slow periods. Mostly during the day. Sometimes, I played for the men waiting for their dates.”
“Which cabaret did you work in?”
“The Nightingale. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
“I’ve been there many times. I would’ve noticed you.”
“I left years ago. Went to Munich.”
“To work in another brothel?”
“Something that could not be more different. I got caught up in a new political party. The NSDAP.”
“Were you involved when they tried to take over the government?”
“I was.”
“I remember the party was banned for a while. Is that why you’ve been on the ship for the last couple of years?”
“You don’t stop asking tough questions, do you?”
“Should I?”
I kissed her on the cheek. “No. To answer your last question, my former boss at the Nightingale helped me get this job. Then, about two-and-a-half years ago, our Führer was released from prison and the party ban was lifted. When I’m not playing piano on the ship, I make appointments with wealthy donors during my layovers. That about fills in the missing gaps.”
“Not quite.” By now we were in our robes and seated at the lone table in the room. We could see part of the deck and the sea beyond through a tiny window. “I have a notion what you’ve done most of your life, but I need to know about the man. About your morality.”
“I love children and dogs and abide by the rules.”
“Good to know but that’s not what I’m talking about. Are you an anti-Semite?”
I made no effort to hide my shock. “Where did that come from?”
“Everyone in your party seems to be one. If that’s the case, there is no future for us.”
“I don’t subscribe to that part of the party platform. In spite of what others may say, Jews have every right to be here and live in peace.”
“So you don’t believe they should be expelled from Germany?” I shook my head. “I work with them, you know. Many, actually most, of my best friends are Jews.”
“Not a problem. Are there any more issues or questions I need to answer to win your heart?”
She grabbed my hand. “You’ve answered them all and passed with flying colors.”
I squeezed tighter. “Then when can I see you after the ship docks?”
“As soon as you’d like.”
“Where is your next movie being filmed?”
“Do you know the Hotel Adlon in Berlin?” I nodded, having stayed there with Wolf. “They take my messages even when I am not in residence. Call there first. If you can’t reach me, leave word at the desk. One way or another, I’ll get it.”
*
Lilian and I joined the departing passengers who stood at the railing as the SS Ballin eased into its berth. Lilian had a car waiting to whisk her away while I would take the rail link to Hamburg-American’s main office to collect my pay.
I watched her descend the gangway. Would she look back? Long strides carried her to a waiting car. She still had not turned. I prepared to leave the deck dejected when she stepped on the running board, turned, touched her hand to her heart, then to her lips, and sent me an airborne kiss. That painted my world in vivid colors of happiness.
Two hours later I stood in the shipping office.
“There’s a telegram for you,” said the paymaster.
I ripped open the letter.
URGENT YOU RETURN TO MUNICH AT ONCE.
STOP.
CRISIS.
STOP
TAKE A PLANE.
STOP.
BURN AFTER READING.
WILHELM FRICK AND RUDOLPH HESS
I stepped outside, lit a match, and watched the edges of the telegram turn into black curlicues. I waited until the last second before dropping it to the floor to ground out the embers. I reentered the building and asked the paymaster if he could send a telegram to Lilian Harvey, in care of the Hotel Adlon in Berlin.
EMERGENCY IN MUNICH.
STOP.
WILL CALL WHEN I CAN.
STOP.
MISS YOU ALREADY.
STOP.