X-Calibre Trilogy: Long Hard Road Out of Hell

Mister Heidelmann, who kept insisting I call him Erich, was the pinnacle of gentlemanly conduct. He treated me like a proper lady consistently and treated me to the finest of creature comforts from the beginning of our association. I was escorted to his car the next morning and taken from the camp to his rented flat, where I was able to bathe in luxury. I’d never had a bubble bath before, so I drew one and soaked in the rose-scented suds before wrapping myself in a soft cotton robe. When I emerged from the bath I found a small assortment of dresses waiting for me on the bed with a note asking my forgiveness if they were not quite the proper fit. I found everything else I needed to wear in the drawers of the bureau beside the bed and dressed, commenting to myself that the fit wasn’t bad even if it weren’t absolutely perfect. I dined with Mister Heidel—Erich that night before boarding the aircraft. It looked as though I were the only civilian on the flight, but no one commented about it within my earshot.

Erich, it turned out, was part of the aristocracy and so lived in a very large house that sat on a very pretty lawn in the best neighborhood in Berlin. This was his regular residence; he described airily his vacation houses that were on the coast of France and in the Swiss Alps. I wondered why anyone would need so many houses when there was such a nice one as this at his disposal, but I kept that sentiment to myself. It was during my second day at this house that the tailors and dressmakers arrived – I’d been given a day to adjust to the time and settle in – and they kept me occupied all day long. I was fitted with every garment imaginable: delicate and frivolous underclothes; night clothes; casual dresses for everyday wear; dresses for working in the office; gowns for dancing . . . just when I thought it was over, I was shown all manner of accessories. Handbags, hairpins, jewelry, shoes. It went on and on until I wasn’t sure if I were awake or dreaming. Every so often Erich would be shown in to see me in a particular outfit, on which he would express his opinions about style or color before leaving again to do whatever it was that kept him occupied.

The next day was much the same except it was now hairdressers and make-up artists who came to fawn over me. The first thing they did was cut my hair (“Tch! So many split ends!” the woman with the scissors cried several times) and apply some sort of balm that required sitting under a dryer for nearly an hour. Then they combed and pinned and curled until what remained of my used-to-be-waist-length hair fell ittlittle curls around my shoulders. The cosmetics ladies, I felt, butchered me too. The first thing they did was to wash my face, scrub it, and slather clay on top. Next they tortured me in a manner that involved both my eyebrows and a pair of tweezers. Then came the make-up, which was more involved than I ever would have imagined. I was powdered and rouged and had my eyes and lips lined and filled with colors. They were not amused when I asked if they were painting me by numbers. All the while yet more people were shaping and painting my finger- and toenails. When it was finally over and they had me all made up and dressed in one of my everyday dresses, Erich was brought in to see the final product. His eyes lit up and he expressed his delight at my new appearance.

“Why, you’re gorgeous, Miriam!” he beamed, taking one of my hands in his. “What’s wrong, don’t you like it?”

I flushed. “I appreciate it, but it’s just that I feel like—“ the phrase “painted whore” almost slipped out, “—well, like it’s unnatural.”

He smiled and led me to a full length mirror and stood behind me. “It’s not unnatural, Miriam. Look at yourself. Your natural beauty is shining through! All they did was to help it come out, to enhance it.” He gently touched the ringlets framing my face. “You’re like a diamond, liebchen. All they’ve done is take off the rough edges and polish you until you glow.”

I stared into the mirror at the stranger staring back at me. She was very beautiful with her artificially fair skin and peach-pink cheeks and rose petal lips. The permed ringlets were piled loosely on top of her head, held back with combs sparkling with little jewels and spilled down her shoulders and back. Her jewelry caught the light and twinkled; her dress accentuated the swells of breasts and hips and showed off her stockinged legs, which had grown shapely from so much cross-country walking. The heels made her taller so that she stood to the reflected Erich’s shoulder; they changed her posture into one more seductive, more enticing to the opposite sex. The reflected Erich bent his head to take in the scent of her perfume, burying his face in her curls as if she were an exotic and heady flower.

“You’ll grow more comfortable with it in time,” he said softly in my ear before slipping away again.

I didn’t share his confidence and continued to stand and stare at myself in the looking glass.

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I was a guest in Erich's home for about a week before I was handed a set of keys that unlocked the doors to a flat in downtown Berlin; he insisted that people would get the wrong idea if I didn't have my own residence, and so he'd arranged for the rent until I could draw my own salary. As with everything else he's lavished on me, Erich made sure I had stylish but comfortable furniture throughout the apartment, pretty decorations scattered here and there, and a nice view out of each of my windows. I was granted three days to settle in, and then I started my job at the Ministry of Intelligence.

I didn't expect to be given access to anything requiring a security clearance and I was not to be surprised – the bulk of my work consisted of answering Erich's phone calls, transferring memos to the office or internal post, filing documents, typing letters . . . it was interesting enough, but it didn't tell me exactly what it was he did for the Code-breaking Division. All I could gather was that he was a manager of sorts, an overseer, and that some of the people working under him were in English-speaking areas – my bilingualism came in very handy here, as I was also responsible for translating back and forth. I worked at things for several weeks, my dull sense of unease growing by the day. He'd said he also wanted my company as an escort when he went out after work, but he'd not called on me for that. Waiting constantly for the other shoe to drop was keeping me on edge.

I was in Germany for just over a month when Erich called me into his office for a private meeting. I swallowed nervously, fretted over an imaginary wrinkle in my skirt, and answered his request. I'd been in his office before, but only briefly as I deposited a report or a handful of notes on his desk. Now I was sitting in one of the chairs before that desk and watching Erich pour himself a drink.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like something, Miriam?" He smiled at me with an expression that probably made most women swoon.

"Ice water would be nice," I buckled. He handed me the requested beverage and I murmured my thanks.

"How are you enjoying your work?" He leaned against a corner of his desk. "Is it stimulating enough for you?"

"Yes," I sipped at my water, "it's a good position. Do I need improvement?"

"No, you're doing just fine," he smiled. "I'm quite pleased with you. You're courteous, discreet, organized . . ." He regarded me thoughtfully. "But alsservserved, perhaps sad. Is everything okay for you?"

"It's all a big change for me, that's all." I tried to smile. "It's a different world from what I'm used to."

"Is there anything I can do to ease your adjustment?" Erich swallowed some of the amber liquid in his glass.

I blushed. "Well, you did mention that you want me to go to public functions with you. I must say it makes me nervous to not know when this will happen."

"I apologize, my dear. I was postponing those engagements because I didn't want to overwhelm you!" He chuckled and set his drink down on the blotter. "I did receive an invitation to have lunch with some family friends later this week. I think that would be a good way to make your introduction, actually."

"I don't think I understand . . ." I swallowed another sip of water.

"Oh, it's a bit stupid, really," Erich sighed and gestured dismissively. "One does not simply show up to formal events with someone unknown to the other attendees. It's improper, so anyone from outside needs to be introduced in an informal setting to create the right impressions and get the right gossip going."

"Is that possible given the difference in our backgrounds?" It seemed like an obvious question to me – it wasn't like it would be easy to ignore a string of numbers ending in a large blue star should anyone see my arms. Then I remembered that all of my formal gowns included long sleeves or gloves in their design. My informal clothes were a different matter though.

"Certain perceived inequalities can be glossed over," he answered with the same ease. "To do so is my responsibility; you don't need to worry about that."

Translation: I'm his property, so as long as I'm pretty and proper no one will say anything rude. I resisted the urge to vomit.

"Shall I block out that time for you?" I smiled sweetly at him.

"Yes, please. We will be taking lunch at my father's house on Thursday afternoon. Free up our schedules between the hours of eleven and one."

I nodded and scratched this down on the little notepad I'd learned to keep with me – Erich frequently had things for me to jot down on a second's notice, and I'd grown used to it. "Is there anything else, Erich?"

"No, you're free to go." He smiled again.

I blushed, although I'm not sure why, and rose from my seat. I'd turned the doorknob and was half-way into the hall when he called me back in.

"Miriam? Why don't you wear that adorable green dress on Thursday, the one with the white accents? It brings out your eyes so well." He swirled his drink so that it made a miniature whirlpool in his glass.

"Certainly," I said, blushing deeper before retreating to my desk.

When I got home that night I pulled out the dress to which Erich had made reference, laid it flat on the bed, and stared at it as though it were the enemy. It wasn't that Erich was wrong about the dress, it did flatter me, but the fact that he'd requested this one specifically meant he'd be eying me more so than usual as soon as he saw me in it. He was still a perfect gentleman; he never leered at me or made inappropriate comments, but I could feel his eyes on me when he knew I couldn't see him. I was especially self-conscious about the way my hips swayed as I walked in my heels because I knew he was watching appreciatively. I shuddered, closed my eyes, and turned my back on my bed and the dress to walk into the kitchenette and wash my dishes from dinner. My eyes stung as I rinsed the plates under the tap. I hated feeling like a piece of meat. I hated that I was in Berlin, and I hated that I was trapped inside this gilded cage. A car passed by in the street, its headlamps shining through the darkness outside to twinkle on my windows; I looked up with a quickening of my pulse, for I was reminded instinctively of Nightcrawler's eyes. I realized my mistake and wilted even more, my tears heavy on my lashes. Oh God, I missed him. It was the worst at night. I'd sometimes sit at the window and look up at the stars as I recalled our time together and the direction things had begun to turn. I felt relatively sure that he'd try to find me; he'd possibly have gone inside the Westchester compound if he had enough to track me. But Berlin? I tried to weed out that hope each time it took root. There was simply too much against it . . . he'd have to know I was taken away and not killed. He'd have to know where in Berlin to start looking – the city was sprawling and very crowded. Then there was the matter of getting across the Atlantic somehow. All of that was contingent, of course, on whether or not I was worth that much to him. I had my doubts . . . it was one thing to kick someone's ass to bail me out of trouble. It was entirely something else to face a very real threat of death to rescue me when we barely knew each other.

I set some water to boiling and got out a cup, saucer, and tea bag. As the water heated I went back to my bedroom to hang up the dress and change into my nightclothes. I blindly grabbed the first slip I could find and covered myself with my robe, padding through the apartment in bare feet. I sank into the armchair with my steaming cup of tea resting on the table beside me and picked up the novel I was reading. I couldn't focus on the words though and finally laid it pages-down on my knee, head bowed in sorrow. I felt hopeless, trapped, and completely forsaken. I talked to God as I wept, asking for some sign of hope or meaning beyond being an aristocrat's meat puppet. I was answered by silence and a deeper feeling of being a hollow shell; I fell asleep in the chair with salty tracks drying on my face and a full cup of cold tea next to me.

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The lunch date with Erich's family went well enough, I suppose. No one asked me any awkward questions about my tattoos, although I was the focus of a lot of attention. The ladies present commented on my dress, complimented me on my purse, and claimed to admire my dusky skin. I smiled nicely and made similar comments on their appearances, taking mental notes on who each of them were and any importance and connections they had. The men congregated together to have a drink and talk about whatever it was they bonded over. I wasn't able to hear much but I gathered that they were following some sort of sporting event. Lunch was served outside on a screened-in porch, with ceiling fans lazily stirring the air about so that the scent of Mrs. Heidel's 's flowers permeated every breath we took. I ate sparingly because I was so nervous I was afraid I wouldn't be able to keep much of it down and after dessert was finished I excused myself to use the water closet because I felt like I would scream if I didn't have a moment to myself to string my facade back together.

"Miriam, dear?" One of the ladies called through the door as she rapped softly on the wood. "Are you well?"

I glared wide-eyed at the reflection of the door, my painted lips pressed tightly together in exasperation. Really, it had been less than five minutes! Surely cultured ladies occasionally required time for the baser bodily functions the same as anyone else! Not that I was so engaged, but still . . .

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you. I'll be out in just a moment." I capped my lipstick tube and stuffed it back into my purse, fluffed my curls, and tried to calm down. I hoped she was still outside – I wanted to add to my mental notes which of the ladies it was so that I made sure to never use the facilities in her presence again.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Elizabeth," I apologized for nothing as nicely as I could and tried to make my way back to the porch. I stopped in my tracks when Elizabeth gently touched my left arm, the one with the marks.

"Be careful," she said in a very low voice, her eyes serious.

"About what?" I blinked and tried to stay just vapid enough to fit in.

"He gets bored easily. As soon as he loses interest in you, your life will be forfeit," she let go of me but stayed where she was.

I turned to face her fully. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I get the impression that such concerns are not yours."

We stared into each others eyes for a moment before she broke the silence between us. "I've seen the look behind your eyes before, you know. It burns, doesn't it? To know that there's nothing but walls around you, and that there's nowhere to go even if you could escape?"

I felt my jaw trembling and checked my desire to launch a punch at her. What the Hell did she know about that?

"How would you like to stick it to him for every time he sticks it to you?" Elizabeth's smile had slowly grown a bit cold around the edges, her eyes hardening so slowly that I didn't see it until now.

"Go on . . ." My eyes narrowed as I regarded her shrewdly.

"There you two are!" Mrs. Heidelmann's voice trilled through the house, her heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floors as she neared us.

"So sorry Margaret," Elizabeth went from ice queen to twittering pixie in .2 seconds. "We lost track of ourselves; do forgive us."

"Of course!" Margaret cried, escorting us back to the party.

"But as I was saying, Miriam dear," Elizabeth picked up where she'd never left off, "I'll be more than happy to send over a sample of that facial masque."

"Oh yes, Elizabeth finds the most wonderful things, doesn't she? You'll love it; I always have such a glow when I use it." The elder woman beamed at us both before we resumed our seats. Erich and the other men had lit cigars and their wives were inhaling from cigarettes, chatter going in all directions. I was offered a cigarette but declined politely, citing an imaginary case of bronchitis that always seemed to flare up when I smoked; that got me off the hook nicely and bypassed an explanation of the real reason that undoubtedly would have come out the wrong way – the Torah admonishes to preserve our bodies and not knowingly do harm to ourselves. We were brought out a pot of coffee and a tray loaded with sugar, cream, and enough cups for everyone. I sipped at my coffee and listened carefully to everyone around me, providing answers to their questions when I was addressed directly. Erich smiled at me from above the lip of his mug, his eyes twinkling happily as he regarded me.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked me once we were in his car and heading back to the Ministry.

"No," I smiled demurely, "it wasn't. Your parents seem very nice, and I enjoyed the other ladies."

"Good." Erich attacked me with the swoon-inducing smile again and reached across the seat to caress my jaw with the backs of his fingers. "Everyone was rather taken by you, you know. My father especially liked you, and he's a hard man to please."

"I take it all the right gossip will be making the rounds now?"

"I should say so."

A lump formed in my throat when Erich moved closer, his eyes never leaving mine. Elizabeth's words haunted me and I decided it was time to take some sort of control over my fate; I decided I wasn't going to lose his interest and took a gambit. My fingers traced over his as I shifted so that we were closer still, and I darted my tongue over my lips.

"Hmmmm . . ." He seemed pleased that my lips were pressing against his and he kissed me back, his thumb brushing against my cheek. He nipped gently at my lower lip and quickly kissed the same spot, moving his attention to my jaw and down my neck.

I sighed and pulled away, apologizing for being so forward as I straightened my dress. I lowered my eyes and had the good grace to blush deeply as I said that we should try to remain professional while in public. Erich agreed reluctantly, his eyes betraying that he had other things besides work on his mind as he straightened his clothes and removing all trace of my lipstick from his skin. Moments later he was back in his office and I was back behind my desk, contemplating the magnitude of what I'd just started.