entire faculty is stupid? Do you think this entire town is blind? I’m not the only one who’s seen you leaving this house, dressed in chiffon with your hem hiked to here, and enough rouge to make Henny Porten herself blush. I’ve seen a hundred girls just like you, fräulein. And let me assure you, girls like you never come to any good.”
If she’d struck a blow to my face, I couldn’t have been more enraged. It was true that I dressed with flair, but only because I had better clothes. And the professor—was she insane? He was married, with children. And at least twenty years older than me. He gave me high marks because I worked hard. Never once had he—
That one. You should see her eyes. Such eyes!
Frau Arnoldi’s smile cut across her mouth. “It seems you’re not entirely without shame. That is as it should be. Men may do as they please when their wives look the other way, but when an unmarried girl does the same, it is another matter entirely.”
I took a furious step toward her, even as Bertha hissed, “Marlene, no.”
Meeting Frau Arnoldi’s glare, I said slowly, with deliberate menace, “You must not worry my mother. She will think that you, Hausmutter, have been remiss or tell lies. She’ll resort to compensation from the conservatory itself.”
That did the trick. The last thing Frau Arnoldi wanted was the conservatory inquiring about her premises. She got a stipend from them for her boarders, in addition to our weekly rate.
Her jaw clenched. “Sweets,” she said through her teeth. “You bring sweets into this house. And tobacco. And heaven knows what else. It is verboten.”
“Then I won’t do it again.”
“No. You will not.” Turning about, she barked at the others: “Out. Now.” Throwing another glare at me over her shoulder as she herded the girls out, she left me with no doubt that financial concerns aside, she had set her eye on me and I was now on probation.
Bertha and I set the room to rights and sat facing each other on our twin beds. We should have laughed. Frau Arnoldi couldn’t do any harm. Her purse strings didn’t allow it. But it wasn’t funny. I was so disturbed that I eventually said, “Is it true? Do they talk about me and the professor?”
Bertha sighed. “Of course they do. You’re the only one who doesn’t know.”
“Know what?”
She went quiet, kneading her hands.
“What?” I persisted. “What don’t I know?”
“How you are. How you look. How you move. There is something about you, Marlene. You are different.”
“I am not,” I declared, bristling at once. Different meant bad, as Mutti would have informed me. Different meant I was not being a well-bred girl from an upstanding family, and I did not want to be that. “How can you say that? I’m not different. I’m just like everyone else.”
“That’s only what you want to think.” She tried to smile. “Some girls just have it, like a flame inside them. It’s not your fault. You can’t help it. You attract attention.” She paused, her voice lowering. “Have you truly never . . . ?”
I didn’t know what to reply. I recalled my passion for Mademoiselle. She, too, had told me I wasn’t like other girls, and though I’d been too young at the time to understand, as I grew older I began to wonder if perhaps I might prefer women. I wasn’t ignorant. Mutti had never instructed me on the facts of sex, but her warning had stayed with me, and living in the boardinghouse provided ample education. I’d heard stories of girls who’d been sent home in disgrace and knew some of the girls here were more than friends, their giggling and sharing of clothes turning into furtive explorations. It didn’t bother me. But neither had it incited me to join them. Oh, I liked to dress up and sway my hips. I liked the way my body had bloomed and enjoyed admiring myself in the mirror, cupping my breasts and extending the length of my legs. I knew I was pretty. I could see it. But I avoided
If she’d struck a blow to my face, I couldn’t have been more enraged. It was true that I dressed with flair, but only because I had better clothes. And the professor—was she insane? He was married, with children. And at least twenty years older than me. He gave me high marks because I worked hard. Never once had he—
That one. You should see her eyes. Such eyes!
Frau Arnoldi’s smile cut across her mouth. “It seems you’re not entirely without shame. That is as it should be. Men may do as they please when their wives look the other way, but when an unmarried girl does the same, it is another matter entirely.”
I took a furious step toward her, even as Bertha hissed, “Marlene, no.”
Meeting Frau Arnoldi’s glare, I said slowly, with deliberate menace, “You must not worry my mother. She will think that you, Hausmutter, have been remiss or tell lies. She’ll resort to compensation from the conservatory itself.”
That did the trick. The last thing Frau Arnoldi wanted was the conservatory inquiring about her premises. She got a stipend from them for her boarders, in addition to our weekly rate.
Her jaw clenched. “Sweets,” she said through her teeth. “You bring sweets into this house. And tobacco. And heaven knows what else. It is verboten.”
“Then I won’t do it again.”
“No. You will not.” Turning about, she barked at the others: “Out. Now.” Throwing another glare at me over her shoulder as she herded the girls out, she left me with no doubt that financial concerns aside, she had set her eye on me and I was now on probation.
Bertha and I set the room to rights and sat facing each other on our twin beds. We should have laughed. Frau Arnoldi couldn’t do any harm. Her purse strings didn’t allow it. But it wasn’t funny. I was so disturbed that I eventually said, “Is it true? Do they talk about me and the professor?”
Bertha sighed. “Of course they do. You’re the only one who doesn’t know.”
“Know what?”
She went quiet, kneading her hands.
“What?” I persisted. “What don’t I know?”
“How you are. How you look. How you move. There is something about you, Marlene. You are different.”
“I am not,” I declared, bristling at once. Different meant bad, as Mutti would have informed me. Different meant I was not being a well-bred girl from an upstanding family, and I did not want to be that. “How can you say that? I’m not different. I’m just like everyone else.”
“That’s only what you want to think.” She tried to smile. “Some girls just have it, like a flame inside them. It’s not your fault. You can’t help it. You attract attention.” She paused, her voice lowering. “Have you truly never . . . ?”
I didn’t know what to reply. I recalled my passion for Mademoiselle. She, too, had told me I wasn’t like other girls, and though I’d been too young at the time to understand, as I grew older I began to wonder if perhaps I might prefer women. I wasn’t ignorant. Mutti had never instructed me on the facts of sex, but her warning had stayed with me, and living in the boardinghouse provided ample education. I’d heard stories of girls who’d been sent home in disgrace and knew some of the girls here were more than friends, their giggling and sharing of clothes turning into furtive explorations. It didn’t bother me. But neither had it incited me to join them. Oh, I liked to dress up and sway my hips. I liked the way my body had bloomed and enjoyed admiring myself in the mirror, cupping my breasts and extending the length of my legs. I knew I was pretty. I could see it. But I avoided
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