leather and polish, and Léonie’s hopes fell—how could they find anything suitable in here? An old man came to the counter. “Hello, Loulou, Bella,” he said cheerfully. “What can I do for you ladies?” They were frequent customers, as were all the girls in the cabarets.
“Our friend needs some shoes—gold ones—and not too expensive, please,” stated Bella firmly.
“Not too expensive, eh?” Hector had a twinkle in his eye. The girls always said the same thing. How did they expect him to make money? But they were so charming! He looked at Léonie’s feet, measuring with a practiced eye. “Mmm, larger than usual,” he said. “I’ve not much to choose from in gold … in fact, this is all I have.” He set the pair of little gold boots on the counter and they stared at them. They were narrow and shiny and soft, ankle high with laces up the back, and prancy little heels and two golden dangling tassels.
“Try them,” Bella urged, as Léonie eyed them dubiously.
Léonie eased the delicate boots over her clumsy woolen stockings and tied the laces with their little tassels. She stood up and walked around, testing them; the prancy little heels made her feel like a circus pony.
“Perfect,” said Loulou. “With the right stockings they’ll look wonderful. She’ll take them, Hector—if the price is right!”
* * *
Thursday seemed interminable, and Léonie counted the hours until six o’clock, when she would be free. Maroc was in on the adventure, and he watched her with concern as she paced the salon. She was so young, so unwise … he hoped she would be all right.
On the dot of six, clutching her new silk stockings, she flew home to the waiting girls, and sat uncomplaining as they tugged and teased her hair until it stood out in a golden cloud, like that of the girls in Renaissance paintings. Jolie touched a little bronze to her eyelids, a hint of peach shadow under her cheekbones, a faint glitter of gold dust along her slender shoulder blades. They forbade her to wear a chemise and Léonie pulled the dress nervously over her naked breasts, and Bella fastened the tiny buttons up the back. Loulou had lent her the proper frilly garters and at last she smoothed the red silk stockings along her legs, thrilled by their silkiness and guilty about their expense. She laced up her gold boots, tying a neat little bow so that the tassels swung at the back, and walked stiffly across the room allowing the girls to look her over.
“It’s no good , Léonie,” cried Loulou in despair, “you must stand up, pull back your shoulders, lift your rib cage. You can’t hide your breasts with rounded shoulders, just look what it does to the dress! Damn it, girl, you have the body for it, flaunt it a little—like this.” She stalked across the room, head high, chin tilted arrogantly, strutting elegantly on her high heels, and Léonie tried to copy her, lifting herself taller, shoulders back and down. Loulou was right, it wasn’t a dress to be worn cautiously, it needed confidence. She only hoped she would have it.
Rupert von Hollensmark almost didn’t go to Caro’s party. It had been a hell of a day. He’d arrived back from Munich at eight o’clock that night and it was bitterly cold with the threat of more snow in the air. He had been tired and hungry and wanted nothing more than a glass of whiskey and a bite to eat. The journey to see Puschi was really a chore, though it was always good to see her. He wasn’t in love with her, but she was nice and she was also fun—if he had to marry, then it might as well be to Puschi. Her father had the Krummer millions and his father had the title, and Puschi was madly in love with him. He would take good care of her, once they were married—they were such good friends.
With a sigh of relief, he stripped off his clothes and climbed into the tub, floating away the fatigue in the hot steamy water, sipping his whiskey. He was feeling better already, maybe he
“Our friend needs some shoes—gold ones—and not too expensive, please,” stated Bella firmly.
“Not too expensive, eh?” Hector had a twinkle in his eye. The girls always said the same thing. How did they expect him to make money? But they were so charming! He looked at Léonie’s feet, measuring with a practiced eye. “Mmm, larger than usual,” he said. “I’ve not much to choose from in gold … in fact, this is all I have.” He set the pair of little gold boots on the counter and they stared at them. They were narrow and shiny and soft, ankle high with laces up the back, and prancy little heels and two golden dangling tassels.
“Try them,” Bella urged, as Léonie eyed them dubiously.
Léonie eased the delicate boots over her clumsy woolen stockings and tied the laces with their little tassels. She stood up and walked around, testing them; the prancy little heels made her feel like a circus pony.
“Perfect,” said Loulou. “With the right stockings they’ll look wonderful. She’ll take them, Hector—if the price is right!”
* * *
Thursday seemed interminable, and Léonie counted the hours until six o’clock, when she would be free. Maroc was in on the adventure, and he watched her with concern as she paced the salon. She was so young, so unwise … he hoped she would be all right.
On the dot of six, clutching her new silk stockings, she flew home to the waiting girls, and sat uncomplaining as they tugged and teased her hair until it stood out in a golden cloud, like that of the girls in Renaissance paintings. Jolie touched a little bronze to her eyelids, a hint of peach shadow under her cheekbones, a faint glitter of gold dust along her slender shoulder blades. They forbade her to wear a chemise and Léonie pulled the dress nervously over her naked breasts, and Bella fastened the tiny buttons up the back. Loulou had lent her the proper frilly garters and at last she smoothed the red silk stockings along her legs, thrilled by their silkiness and guilty about their expense. She laced up her gold boots, tying a neat little bow so that the tassels swung at the back, and walked stiffly across the room allowing the girls to look her over.
“It’s no good , Léonie,” cried Loulou in despair, “you must stand up, pull back your shoulders, lift your rib cage. You can’t hide your breasts with rounded shoulders, just look what it does to the dress! Damn it, girl, you have the body for it, flaunt it a little—like this.” She stalked across the room, head high, chin tilted arrogantly, strutting elegantly on her high heels, and Léonie tried to copy her, lifting herself taller, shoulders back and down. Loulou was right, it wasn’t a dress to be worn cautiously, it needed confidence. She only hoped she would have it.
Rupert von Hollensmark almost didn’t go to Caro’s party. It had been a hell of a day. He’d arrived back from Munich at eight o’clock that night and it was bitterly cold with the threat of more snow in the air. He had been tired and hungry and wanted nothing more than a glass of whiskey and a bite to eat. The journey to see Puschi was really a chore, though it was always good to see her. He wasn’t in love with her, but she was nice and she was also fun—if he had to marry, then it might as well be to Puschi. Her father had the Krummer millions and his father had the title, and Puschi was madly in love with him. He would take good care of her, once they were married—they were such good friends.
With a sigh of relief, he stripped off his clothes and climbed into the tub, floating away the fatigue in the hot steamy water, sipping his whiskey. He was feeling better already, maybe he
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