A quiet house greeted Petra that evening and she locked the doors to insure no one could enter Ein Kaiserringstrasse. A quick shower was followed by a quicker dinner through which she kept wondering what Sean was doing on Mittelweg. This morning the American’s helplessness had rekindled a long-forgotten spark of empathy for a man. This weakness had to be exorcised or else her revenge might be jeopardized in an unforeseen manner. He should have meant nothing to her. The American was merely a Sonderboch for Kurt's scheme. but she picked out MIDNIGHT COWBOY, TAXI DRIVER, and MEAN STREETS from Lukas' videos to watch these films of New York.
Several hours later she threw the tapes in the trash. New York was only a bigger version of Hamburg and the American the same as any man in Germany.
A man and the derelict house on Kaiserringstrasse seemed emptier than usual, as Petra lay in the giant bed upstairs.
With sunrise only a few minutes away she was no closer to sleep than when she had first put her head to the pillow, but she was glad to see the light of dawn. The day was always much easier to get through than the night, then she heard a noise downstairs.
Petra reached for the wartime Luger in the bed table. She could have purchased a lighter and more modern weapon, except the old automatic looked, as if it had killed someone before.
Petra put on her robe and descended the stairway.
She held the gun before her with the safety off.
The studio was lit and a window was open. Lukas was sleeping in a chair, his head on a table. At least he had been decent enough to leave her alone and she would do the same, however as she tiptoed out of the studio, Lukas sat up and blinked his eyes several times before saying, "A vision of beauty, that is what you are, my dear."
"What are you doing here?"
"Finishing this painting." The aristocrat rose to his feet and walked over to the painting. It faced away from her. "I didn't think you would be here."
"And why not? This is my home." His secretiveness puzzled her, as he had never hidden anything from her before, but her anger swiftly overwhelmed any urge to fathom his purpose.
"I thought you might be with your new boyfriend, Herr Coll. I heard the American was a real hero last night."
"Getting beat up by SS Tommy is hardly heroic." Petra lowered the pistol to her side.
"My dear, everyone was talking about it as well as you two going home together. You stayed at his place, yes?" Lukas played his hand over the painting.
"I did, because he had a concussion." Petra was unsure why she was making excuses to her slave, then again in Sado-masochistic relationships there is a continuous exchange of roles.
"And did you two fuck?"
"That is none of your business."
"Oh, yes, it is."
"How so?"
"Who pays your bills? Me, so that means I have a business interest in whatever you do. Did you or did you not sleep with him? You can tell me the truth."
Anytime a man had said that, they usually meant the opposite. Even if she did tell him the truth, he would think she was lying. She was a whore and whores are supposed to lie, if only to make their customers feel better.
"We made love several times this morning."
"You did?"
"Yes." Petra hoped he could not see through her lie.
"You know I love you?"
"Lukas, you can't love anything. Not even yourself."
"That's not true. I love you because you are more like me than anyone else in Hamburg. Someone who can't love anyone. Almost like two negatives making a positive. That is our chemistry. The Physics of our beings. This American is nothing and you know that too."
"Maybe all that is true for you, but not for me." Petra grasped the pistol tighter. "I haven't felt anything for anyone in a long time."
"And you do for this American?"
Petra said nothing.
"So why aren't you with him now?"
"I don't know." The gun trembled in her hand.
"Maybe to meet an old girlfriend." Lukas hobbled over to the Sony SL-F1 Betamax camera in the corner and focused the lens on Petra. "Damned leg has gone to sleep."
"Leave."
"Leave just when we're having fun." Lukas observed the TV, while he massaged his left leg. "Oh, that is the look I love. Fury in the flesh."
"I am not up for this, Lukas." Petra placed the gun on the fireplace mantle, not trusting herself with the Luger anymore. It would be so easy to kill him or any man, but his death would do nothing to blunt her thirst for revenge.
"I just want to put the final touches on this painting and I'll go."
"No." Petra didn't trust Lukas. He wanted more than a painting.
"It'll only take a few minutes. Promise." Lukas picked out a brush, daubing a streak of white on the hidden painting. "I'm your slave. I'll do whatever you say as long as you give me this."
"Three minutes."
"Thank you, please, take your place, Petra." Lukas motioned for her to approach the platform matching that of the tableau. "You want me to get on my knees and beg?"
"No, you like that too much."
"A few stroke are all I need to capture the real you on canvas." Lukas pleaded like a spoiled boy desperate for an ice cream cone. "Just stand there and be you, while I will be me."
Instead she picked up the pistol and walked to the hallway. "Lukas, go."
"If not for Art, do it for the money." Lukas threw several thousand Marks at her feet.
"No." Petra had never refused him before and she felt a glow of rebellion.
"What happened to that bitter woman I worshipped?" Lukas grabbed the money from the floor and trailed Petra down the hallway. "This is not you. You love money. You want revenge. You took revenge on me. Now one night with an American and that woman is gone. I can't believe it."
"And why not?" Petra stopped at the foot of the stairs.
"People don't change. Not at our age. This is just a phase for a day or two, then you'll revert to your old self."
Lukas posed the Sony SL-F1 Betamax video camera on his shoulder. It was connected to the TV. The wire was at its limit.
"Please just three more minutes. 5000 marks for 180 seconds."
The smell of rancid liquor was on his breath, which was another reason to get Lukas out of this house. Lukas rarely drank, but when he did, he could get violent.
"You can’t buy me." It would be so easy to shoot him.
"No one can, my dear Ziege."
Petra ignored the vulgar nickname.
"Five minutes and you go?" Petra understood that holding Lukas to a promise was as elusive as catching the wind, but she wouldn't get any peace he was finished his painting.
"Three minutes is all," Lukas reinforced his offer by holding out the money.
Petra took the money before letting the bathrobe drop off her shoulders to the floor. "If we do it, let us do it."
"Thank you, my dear. I will remember this always."
Three minutes later Lukas stepped away from the painting and inspected his handiwork.
The portrait of a woman tortured once.
Every little scar sculpted into her flesh was recorded in oil.
One more stroke, a little cobalt under the eye.
It was Petra.
His Blue Angel.
"You may look now, Ziege." Lukas waved her over to the easel.
Petra dropped her arms from their posed position. The blood returned to the starved capillaries, stinging her nerves' endings. She didn't like the look in his eyes, but couldn't stop from wanting to see he had painted.
Photos and paintings can lie, but this portrait flawlessly captured the cruelty in her eyes and the damage to her face as well. He had also revealed her soul to be a charred husk forged through fucking men for money.
The horror of this painting was not that this was how Lukas saw her, but that she recognized this monster as herself. Tears ran down her cheeks and fell on her breasts. She wiped them away with the back on her hand, seeing the scars portrayed in the painting. Petra turned to Lukas and asked, "Why?"
"And 'cut'." Lukas shut off the video camera and took out the cassette. "I knew you would come up with the classic line. Only a star could do that."
"What are you talking about? What about the painting?"
"The painting is yours. You can destroy it, if you want."
Petra stared at him without comprehension.
"I was only after the video. After this much time together you should know I worship the moving image." Lukas collected the other cassettes scattered on the table and put them in a leather bag. "There are hundreds of hours on these tapes. I will edit them into a masterpiece."
"The painting means nothing to you?" Petra examined at the bizarre image of her swimming within the brushstrokes and her throat tightened, as if someone was throttling her neck.
"That painting is the mirror image of your soul. Destroying you is more difficult than destroying the painting. Believe me, I have tried to erase myself, but it was impossible. I am who I am. The same goes for you, my dear. You should remember that the next time you see your American." Lukas Von Hausen stepped out of the overalls. He appeared regal in his immaculate tuxedo. The drunkenness had been an act to capture her priceless expression upon seeing herself the way others saw her. "You think you can live without me, Petra. You think this American will fall in love with someone as ugly and evil as you. You are mistaken. You are a whore."
She covered her breasts with her arms and crumpled to the floor in tears.
"Remember that. When you do, I will come crawling back to you." Lukas straightened his tie and left the house in a good mood, because he was back from the dead and soon so would be the Von Hausens.
No comments:
Post a Comment