Mama Magda Braun's massive frame bumped into her bouncer, but she didn't acknowledge him. She was talking loudly to a small man who was following her, clutching her poodle. "I am sick to death of those ugly bastards, I don't wanna see those bitches stealing my girls' jobs. The smell of them! Emptying the store shelves, bringing crime and bad taste, I hate them! Everything used to be under control, now, Jesus Christ what a mess!"
His high-pitched lisping voice squeaked behind her. "Now, Magda, the shops are doing a roaring trade, you know it, I know it."
He was referring to Magda's sex and porn shops in East Berlin. She was making money hand over fist, but hated it when the girls from the East tried to come to her clubs in the West. Magda was the biggest porn shop owner in the West. Now with the wall down, she had been quick to identify the new market; the sex-starved Easties, as she called them, needed an injection from the Westies, and she was giving them what they wanted — but they didn't have to come swarming over into her clubs. Magda Braun owned four nightclubs, she was a multimillionairess.
Magda's peroxide curls turned bright pink in the red light, her diamonds glittered, as did the large beaded necklace dangling over her huge bosom. She gave a bad-tempered look around at the few customers. It was early, but she hated it when it was empty. This was her main club, the one in which she had her small, cramped office. Eric, her diminutive husband, called out to the girls, waved to a few couples, followed Magda to a door marked private. The effort of walking across the small dance floor had exhausted what little breath she was able to squeeze through her nicotine-polluted lungs. Her chest heaved, and she gave a phlegmy cough. She could still be heard coughing as the door closed behind her.
Magda checked the day's earnings on the computer, a cigarette in her crimson-painted lips. Years of smoke had tinged yellow one side of her jowled face. "Our take is down again this week. You think those bitches are at it again? I tell you Eric, you have to watch them like hawks, give me a barman any day, I trust men better than those tarts..."
Eric was peering through a small peephole. "You seen the class act at the bar?"
Magda paid no attention, continued working on the accounts. The boys handling the girls over in the East were shortchanging her, she knew it. They'd have to be taught a sharp lesson.
"I'm gonna check what the deal is with this woman, be back in a minute."
Magda picked up a pencil and dialed, hooking the phone under her chin. "It's Magda, can you get over here, send a couple of the boys, yeah?... Yeah he'll do, no!.. Give me another." She listened and agreed to three of the names supplied by the caller, then she replaced the phone, sighing. They never learn their lesson, they should know you don't get to be near eighty and rich without learning every trick in the trade.
Eric scuttled back, gestured for Magda to come to the spy hole.
"She's asked for water, just sits there, she may be a fruitcake—
you want to take a look? She's wearing good jewelry, that's sable on the edge of her wrap. Magda?"
"I don't give a fuck, if she's paying, then what's the problem?"
"That's just it, she's been here for over half an hour, says she's got no money, just wants to sit. She didn't pay at the door, the bouncer wasn't on duty... Magda!"
Magda shoved him aside and peered through, her heaving breath seeming to stop suddenly. She straightened up. "I just seen a ghost... fuck me!"
She laughed, and sank down into a wide cushioned seat. "Eric, bring me a bottle of champagne, good stuff, and ask the lady to come in."
"You know her?"
Magda nodded. "I know her, she may look like class now, but honey, believe you me, that was one hell of a whore. You know something, Eric? They always come back... one day, they come back, maybe to see where they came from, or how far they've gone... but they always come back to Mama. Get her in, this one I've been waiting for so long now I can hardly remember."
Eric crossed to Vebekka, asked if she would join Madame Magda for a drink. He pointed to the office, the door left ajar. Vebekka hesitated, looked toward Magda, who was smiling, gesturing for her to come in, but Vebekka shook her head.
"Thank you, no... I don't speak German."
Eric asked if she was English, she told him she was French, and he attempted to repeat his invitation in French.
"Ruda! Come in here, Ruda!"
Suddenly Vebekka felt strange, a little faint, as the fat woman kept calling, waving her over. She slid from the stool. "Excuse me, I must go..."
Eric ordered champagne, took Vebekka by the elbow. "Please, you come."
"No, thank you, no..."
"Ruda!.. Ruda!"
Eric insisted, holding her arm firmly, as one of the girls carried a tray with a bottle of champagne and two glasses across to the office. Vebekka was ushered into the small room, and the big woman held open her arms. "Come here... Come and give me a kiss!"
Vebekka stepped back, repelled. Eric pushed her further into the room, the waitress squeezed out, and Magda waved Eric away. "You, too, get out..."
Disappointed, Eric walked out. He went to the bar and ordered a martini. He noticed she had left behind her purse.
Magda poured the champagne and handed Vebekka a glass, but she shook her head. "No, I don't..."
Magda smiled and set the glass down and lit a cigarette from a stub, offering the case to Vebekka. She took one, and Magda flicked a Zippo lighter across the desk. "You look very good, I didn't recognize you at first..."
Vebekka remained standing. "I am sorry, I don't understand, I don't speak German."
Magda smiled, shrugged her plump shoulders. "What then?"
Vebekka spoke in French, introducing herself as Baroness Marechal, asking if they had met before. Magda looked steadily at Vebekka, she observed her heavily made-up eyes, the mascara so thick the lashes were spiked. "You want to speak in French, Italian, Spanish, that's okay by me... you been away so long, huh?... that long?"
"I don't understand, I am so sorry, but I think there is some misunderstanding. I don't think we have ever met!"
Magda leaned her fat elbows on the desk. "Okay, I'll play, have a drink, sit down."
Vebekka eased herself onto the proffered chair; she felt very uneasy, but she sipped the champagne. Magda suddenly reached out and took Vebekka's left wrist and turned it over. Vebekka tried to withdraw her hand, but the old woman, for all her heavy breathing, was as strong as an ox. Her long nails scratched at Vebekka's wrist, turned her palm upward, and traced the fine skin graft with the tip of her nail. She let go, and smiled.
"Why did you do that?" Vebekka rubbed her wrist.
"So I know for sure. Drink, drink — it's good, the best money can buy," Magda answered in French.
Vebekka sipped the champagne while the old woman scrutinized her. Magda said that the work was good, she looked good, looked young. She asked where she was staying, why she was in Berlin, and Vebekka said she was with her husband.
"And you couldn't resist it? Had to come back and see Magda? And now you are a what? A baronness? Well, well — face changed, name changed, what did you call yourself? Vebekka? What kind of name is that?"
Vebekka smiled, a sweet coy smile, and sipped more champagne. Magda picked up her vodka, drank heartily. "I still take it neat, with ice, but now I have a warehouse full! Times change, huh? Times change, Ruda... little Ruda, just look at you, and married to a baron! Does he know you're here?"