Read The Girl Behind The Curtain (Hidden Women) for Free Online Page B

that it looked like a dish of profiteroles (having lived off just one meal a day for the past week, I am starting to see food everywhere). When I asked her where I might find Herr Schluter, she answered me in an extraordinarily deep voice. And when she looked up, I saw she had five o’clock shadow. I couldn’t hide my surprise.
    ‘Yes, dear,’ she said, in a bored sort of voice. ‘I’ve got it all.’ She grabbed at her crotch.
    ‘Well, er, I’m . . . sorry,’ I said. ‘If I seemed at all rude. It’s just that you remind me of my aunt.’
    The redhead chuckled.
    ‘She’s got a dick as well, has she?’
    ‘My father says he wouldn’t be at all surprised,’ I answered. The redhead grinned. I had the feeling I’d passed some kind of test.
    ‘Who are you looking for, my darling?’
    ‘I’m here to see Herr Schluter.’
    ‘Down the corridor,’ the redhead told me. ‘Better make sure you knock.’
    I hurried in the direction of Herr Schluter’s office. I was already sure I didn’t want any kind of job he could offer me but if I at least saw him, it might give me a little credit with Enno. Even a couple of days would be perfect. Mummy could write at any moment and then I wouldn’t need to work at all . . . Still I knocked, as instructed.
    I heard giggling in the room beyond. It was a little while before my call was answered by a scraggy-looking blonde, who waved me in and scuttled away.
    Herr Schluter, a tiny man with a head as bald as an egg, was sitting with his feet on his desk. He looked me up and down. He pursed his lips. ‘Enno told me you had tits,’ was his idea of a greeting.
    ‘Well!’ I crossed my arms over my chest.
    ‘Never mind,’ said Herr Schluter. ‘He was just trying to make sure I saw you. Tits are my thing, you see. But girls who look like boys appeal to plenty of people around here.’
    ‘I didn’t come here to be insulted,’ I said.
    ‘No,’ said Herr Schluter. ‘I understand you came here for a job. Have you worked as a waitress before?’
    ‘Of course I haven’t,’ I said.
    ‘There’s no “of course” about it, as far as I’m concerned. You’re living in the Hotel Frankfort and you haven’t paid your bills in three weeks. You’re in no position to play the society girl with me, Fräulein . . .’
    ‘Hazleton.’
    ‘Hazleton . . . So you’ve got no experience but I like your face. You seem quite plucky. If you want the job, you can start tonight.’
    ‘What do I have to do?’ I asked.
    ‘Wait tables?’ came the reply. ‘Anything else you do in your own time and well off the premises. I don’t want any trouble.’
    ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
    ‘You will,’ he said. ‘You will.’
    After that, thank goodness, Herr Schluter got a little friendlier. He gave me a tour of the club. I could tell he was proud of the chipped gold tables and the tiny stage with its red velvet curtains. Then he showed me the kitchen. ‘Where miracles happen,’ he said. A chef with a filthy apron was peeling potatoes for the evening ahead. I was glad I’d never eaten there.
    ‘Is this the new one?’ the chef asked of me.
    ‘I certainly hope so,’ said Herr Schluter. ‘English. A touch of class for the place, don’t you think?’
    ‘Heaven knows it needs it,’ said the cook, who was called Hans. Old Hans, to be precise. It differentiated him from Young Hans, the stagehand who works the Boom Boom’s curtains.
     
    After he had finished the little tour, Herr Schluter told me to ask the man-woman on reception to find me a uniform. Since I was going to have to work with him/her, I thought I’d better ask his/her name.
    ‘It’s Marlene,’ was the reply. ‘Like Dietrich. And I am always referred to as “she”.’
    ‘Katherine Hazleton. Kitty,’ I said, holding out my hand.
    Marlene looked at my gloves, once white, now distinctly grey. There was a hole in the tip of one finger.
    ‘Goodness me, you really do need this job,’ she