A wry, excited smile played at her lips. “Hot,” she shuddered.
“Ow,” whined the owner of the hand she then released. He knew despite his overwhelming buzz that he’d have to get those fingers looked at. He also knew better than to complain when the waitress left without taking their next round of orders.
* * *
Around the corner from the stalls in the well-appointed ladies’ room sat a small cushioned bench. After assuring herself that she was alone, Brigitte sank down onto it.
Fraulein Sofia strolled arm-in-arm with the commander of the camp the last time Brigitte saw her. She wore a fur coat that Brigitte was almost certain was her mother’s. She laughed often.
They occasionally toured the camp, or at least the less appalling portions of it. Brigitte’s memories of Fraulein Sofia and the Colonel were all of the two of them towering over her as they passed. Everyone towered over her in those memories. She was on her knees so much, scrubbing and scratching at spots on the floors and the walkways as if her life depended on it.
In those days, it had.
Fraulein Sofia disappeared one night. So did the Colonel. Eventually a new one took his place. He was somewhat less efficient, which to Brigitte’s thinking at the time made him somewhat less cruel. The camp slowed slightly but noticeably. That did not make her grateful, of course, but she wondered once in awhile how few of her people would have lived to see the Red Army arrive if the Colonel remained until the end. Perhaps none.
It was difficult to say. Time had little meaning in those endless days. It was hard to remember how long the Colonel had been there or how long she lived in the camp after he vanished. Perhaps Fraulein Sofia hadn’t been there long at all, either. Nothing marked the date for her or the others. The worst part of the camps, after all, was the sense that it would just go on forever until they were all dead. Had anyone known when it would end, had they known the course of the war as it unfolded, perhaps those who expired through hopelessness and sorrow might have been able to hang on.
Brigitte wondered about that and about so many other things as Fraulein Sofia joined her in the bathroom. Brigitte refused to cower. Not now, not after so much time, all her old instincts be damned. Not after all these years of prosperity and joy.
She was taken by surprise when Fraulein Sofia, clearly stricken, knelt in front of her and bowed her head. “I want to apologize for what is unforgivable,” she said in German.
Brigitte said nothing. What could there possibly be to say to this? She was, however, no longer in doubt about this woman. There was no explanation, but in the moment, Brigitte needed none. The question of how just didn’t matter.
“I came only to punish Jurgen,” she said. “The Colonel. I brought him to his death. His closest officers were removed from their posts because of what followed. They were put on trial and executed. For corruption and dereliction of duty,” she added, her voice recognizing the bitter irony. “The SS were not kind.” She looked up, sorrow and remorse plain in her eyes.
“I apologize to you because I see only now how much more I could have done. How much more I should have done, and what was more important than punishment. I could have done more. I could have gone beyond destroying a single man. I believed I laughed in the camp to make Jurgen and his men feel comfortable with me, but the truth is I did not feel at all. I know that now. I could have and should have done so much more. I would have, were I something better than what I was.”
Brigitte looked as if she might weep, but did not. Her tears had all been shed a long time ago. They were long gone. Fraulein Sofia, though, obviously had a few. They fell as Briggite spoke. “What are you now?” she asked. “Something better?”
“I hope so. I am so very sorry,” Lorelei answered, “and perhaps that much makes me a little better, yes. I am so very sorry.”
“You are a bit late for Yom Kippur,” Brigitte observed after a long moment’s consideration. “But not by so much, I think.”
* * *
The text message from Jason said, with his usual eloquence, “Sup?”
Alex responded: “Dinner date. Epic fail.”
“Why dat?”
“Ambushed by Godwin’s Law.”
“Good times,” read the response. Alex frowned, thinking as he put the phone back in his pocket, Who says text messaging lacks tone? Jason seemed to have that part down.
A familiar, welcome touch slipped over his shoulder as Lorelei passed him on the return to her seat. He noted an emotional recovery. “Thank you, Alex.”
He looked up at her curiously. “For what?”
“For giving me the chance to become someone better than I was,” Lorelei answered.
Alex glanced over his shoulder to see the little old lady return to her seat with her family. She looked to be in better spirits. Then, remembering his manners, he got up out of his seat and pulled out Lorelei’s chair for her. She hadn’t expected it. The small courtesy resurrected her smile.
He realized as he sat down that he felt pleased all of the sudden on some instinctive level. He glanced back to the large family and then asked, “You talked to her?”
“I did.”
“You know I didn’t expect that of you, right? I didn’t mean anything by what I said.”
“It wasn’t about you,” she nodded. Her hand came out across the table to take his. “But you gave me a chance. I never would have thought to ask for it.”
They looked at one another until Alex said, “I’m going to have a hard time eating with only my left hand.”
* * *
“How do you figure he swung that?” Thomas asked, nodding at the table from his seat at the bar.
“Money. Gotta be. Rich kid, rich kid’s date. Maybe Daddy rented her for him for his birthday?” muttered Richard. He took another gulp of his Jack amp; Coke and looked on with no small amount of open, casual jealousy.
“I dunno, man,” Harold frowned. “I’ve seen professional escorts before, but she’s a cut above even that. Something fishy, though.”
“Seriously,” Thomas agreed. “What’s she doing with him?”
“Falling in love,” said the waitress behind the bar. She didn’t look at the three finance office chums. The blonde appeared mostly fixated on the bartender’s cheat sheet for mixed drinks.
“Get outta here,” Richard huffed. “With him?”
“Fuck yeah,” she nodded.
“He’s like my kid nephew! What’s he got that’s so special?” Harold asked.
“He’s hot,” the blonde said. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she inhaled deeply as if breathing in some intoxicating fume. “Hot like redemption.”
The three men openly gawked at the stunning blonde, utterly mesmerized by her now as she indulged in the moment. They hadn’t noticed just how beautiful she was until she spoke. Nor had they ever seen anyone’s face so erotically charged right in front of them.
Harold’s mouth hung agape. “Uh. That’s hot?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she nodded. Her eyes closed and her posture weakened. “I’m afraid to actually look,” she admitted breathlessly. “I don’t know if I can control myself.”
Swept away by the sight, they were all surprised when that look of transcendent arousal shifted to sober, scowling distaste. “Aw, shit,” she muttered. Her eyes turned toward the entrance. She set the ingredients to whatever she’d been fixing down behind the bar.
“Hey, wait,” Thomas urged. She paused to look up to him quizzically. He wasn’t sure what he meant to say apart from wanting that angelic face to stay with him. Quickly, he grasped for anything to keep her attention. “Aren’t you fixing that drink for someone?”
Rachel glanced down at the drink. “Oh, whatever. It’s not like I work here.”
* * *
Lorelei sensed the arrival just as it occurred. She had been laughing with Alex, explaining to him after handling the check how tacky it was to pay with cash in a restaurant like this. That laughter fell away almost instantly. The look in her eyes, like a predator whose territory had been intruded upon, was unmistakable.