Marlene (22 page)

It was my first standing ovation.

Much like a magnet, it seemed indifference did indeed draw an opposing reaction.

RUDI MUST HAVE KNOWN I WAS UNFAITHFUL
. I came home every night, but often so late he was already asleep. In the mornings as I dashed about, gulping coffee and selecting outfits for the day, he didn’t ask where I had been and I did not volunteer it. I reasoned that as long as I didn’t rub his face in it, there was nothing to say. As he had pointed out, it was the business. And we’d settled into a routine. I went to work while he stayed home with our child and his new occupation: raising pigeons on our rooftop and selling them as delicacies to local restaurants. He did all the cleaning and cooking now; he took Heidede to the park and the bakery for cakes and chocolate. She was happy and plump. He seemed content. But we no longer had much of a sex life. And while he sometimes took a temporary assignment as a production assistant or script manager, I could see his heart was not in it. He did not want a job that took him away from home, constantly fretting over Heidede, though his assignments only lasted
a few weeks and we left her with Mutti, who adored her and instilled the same practical upbringing that my sister and I had.

I couldn’t begrudge him. I was earning money and our daughter needed a parent; I missed her, too, when I had to work, but I was too restless for constant motherhood. I wanted the very best for her, but I wanted the same for myself, even if Mutti groused, “It’s not how things were done in my day. Men worked while their wives stayed at home. You have it upside down.”

From 1926 to 1928, I made nine pictures and did numerous plays, with some roles bigger than others, some dramatic or comedic. Then I had the good fortune to win a part in the film
The Café Electric.
It was shot in a studio in Vienna, a beautiful city with magnificent scenery
.
My leading man was Willi Forst, Austria’s top male star, who proved as seductive off the set as on it. He relished flaunting himself in café society with pretty women. I was amenable, for it earned me extra press. The picture was a lurid yarn in which I played a dance-hall girl who falls for Forst’s pickpocket. But my legs and wardrobe were given ample screen time, and our canny director had Forst and I perform at night in a revival of America’s hit play
Broadway,
thus gaining double attention. Our affair (designed more for the press than an actuality, though we did sleep together a few times) became an item, reported in all the scandal sheets.

I did not expect Rudi to notice. Until he arrived unannounced at the studio.

“Enough,” he said, barging into my tiny dressing room as I prepared for my next scene. He had a newspaper rolled in his hand, which he flung at my feet. “Look at the entertainment section. Pictures of you and Willi Forst all over the place! It’s gone on long enough. Will you make me a cuckold before everyone we know?”

Ignoring the newspaper, I took a cold look at him, disheveled in his rumpled suit, as if he’d raced from the train station without pausing to comb his hair. “Where is Heidede?”

“With your mother of course. Unlike you, I care about her safety.”

Fury singed my voice. “Are you accusing me of being a bad wife or a
bad mother? Because,” I warned, “I’ll admit to the one charge, but God help you if you dare make the other.”

“Which one?” He stared at me. “Which do you prefer? They’re both true.”

I bunched my fists. “You have a nerve. I’ve tolerated your inability to keep a job and raise Heidede while I pay our bills. But I will not stand for this.”

“You only tolerate it because it suits you. You tolerate it because it’s what you want. You love being the center of attention, even if it means breaking our marriage vows in public.”

“If I broke my vows, it’s only because you’re a pathetic excuse for a husband,” I lashed out, and then, trembling, realizing it was the first time I’d insulted him, I turned to my dressing table for a cigarette. “You’re being ridiculous,” I said. “Go back to Berlin. I’ll be home soon enough.”

“No. I will not let you make a fool of me.”

He stood before me with a ham-fisted defiance that was oddly reassuring. He’d not lost his pride, at least. Yet I was struck in that moment that much as I appreciated the gesture, it came far too late. I no longer cared. “You always did think too much about appearances,” I said. “I’m still your wife. Willi Forst is not going to change that.”

“I should hope not. He’s also married, like you. Or have you forgotten?”

“Careful, Rudi. I don’t respond well to threats.”

He snorted. “You respond well enough when it’s in your best interest.”

“Yes, and if you continue to badger me, it’ll be in my best interest to stay in Vienna longer than I intended.”

I saw despair overcome him then. His eyes, which had lost their smile, brimmed with tears. I was repulsed. If he started to cry, I thought I would leave him, though the very notion was anathema to me. We had a child. We had a comfortable life. I saw no reason to end our marriage, which had thus far been agreeable, over something that meant nothing.

“Rudi,” I said. “Everyone is unfaithful, more or less. It’s not as if I’m in love with him.”

He sank onto a stool, his face in his hands. “But you’re not in love with me.”

I went still. I couldn’t lie. There was no point. He knew the truth. I wasn’t in love with him. Looking back, I probably had never been. I’d been in love with the idea of him, with his charm and nonchalance, with the illusion of security he seemed to present, not with the man he had turned out to be. I was stronger than him. I hadn’t known how much so until now.

A knock came at the door, followed by the production assistant’s nervous request, “Fräulein, you’re expected on the set.” My dressing room walls were nylon thin; no doubt everyone within earshot had overheard us shouting.

“Look at me.” When he did, I said, “We are husband and wife. We have a beautiful daughter. What more do you want? To return to work? Do it. We’ll hire a maid, arrange our schedules so one of us can stay home when the other is working. We can do both—”

His bitter laughter cut me off. “You don’t see it. You think it’s just a matter of hiring someone or rearranging our schedules. But it’s more than that. I never expected you to . . .”

“What? Just say it. What did you never expect?”

“This,” he whispered. “All of it. I thought you’d pursue acting for a time, but you’d eventually grow tired of it and come home. I thought it would pass. I thought you’d give up this obsession with becoming as famous as possible.”

“You thought I’d give up?” I stared at him. “You were the one who told me you wanted to make me the most famous woman in the world.”

He sighed. “I meant it at the time. I thought it was what you needed to hear. If I hadn’t promised, you wouldn’t have married me.”

I curbed my anger, stamping my cigarette out in the ashtray. “Well. I believed you. I can’t stop now. And I must go to work. We can talk more when I return home.” As I started to move past him, he abruptly thrust out his hand, detaining me. “I’ve met someone,” he said.

“Oh?” Though I pretended to be amused, a pit opened in my stomach.

“Her name is Tamara. She’s Russian. A dancer. She worked as an extra on my last job and she likes me. I like her. But we must sneak around because of Heidede and your mother. I didn’t want to cause you humiliation, but if you’re not willing to do the same for me . . .”

A lump rose in my throat. I hadn’t anticipated this. For a second, I wanted to hit him. He’d come all this way to accuse me of adultery, to force a confession that in reality hid another motivation. All those nights when I’d tiptoed home with my shoes in my hands, determined to never let him sleep alone, he’d been betraying me. But I held back because I understood how hypocritical it would be to berate him for something I had done and would no doubt continue to do. It was inevitable; I had no one to blame but myself. He loved me. I could have prevented this if I only submitted, as so many women did, shoving him out the door to go work instead. Perhaps he had needed it more than he ever let on, for me to be like my mother and hand him his marching orders—the ever-efficient hausfrau, reminding her husband of his proper place.

“And if I told you to not give it another thought?” I said at length.

“Then I won’t. But I’m warning you, Marlene, it could be the end of us. I’m not like you. I can’t give myself to whoever catches my fancy and then walk away.”

“I suppose we’ll have to risk it. As I said, everyone is unfaithful, more or less.”

His expression underwent a bewildered change. “That’s it? It’s over between us?”

“That depends.” I softened my voice. “I’m not like other women, Rudi. Perhaps it’s not very feminine of me, but I’m not.” I reached down to brush his unshaven cheek with my fingers. “I’m not in love with you but I will always love you. Compromise isn’t part of who I am.”

He shuddered. “Do you want a divorce?”

“Not unless you do. I’m content to stay as we are. I’ll try to be more discreet,” I said, with a slight smile, “but I can’t promise it. If you’d rather we lived apart, it can be arranged. And if you decide in time that you want to marry someone else—well, we can discuss it then.”

He nodded, though he seemed irresolute. “Yes. I think it’s best if we lived apart.”

“Very well. I’ve this picture to finish, then the play. We can arrange it afterward. Now, please go home. Heidede must miss you terribly.”

I left him sitting there. I thought I’d feel pain, sorrow that what had begun with such hope had turned out to be another disappointment. I wanted to feel it. It was the end of my marriage, even if we never divorced. The line had been breached; we could never again recapture that heedless moment when we’d believed we had our entire lives together as one.

Instead, as when Gerda left me, I only felt an unsettling sense of liberation. I didn’t have to pretend anymore, treading a fine balance between my career and my marriage. The less that bound me, the more I had to give, to my work and to myself. I was free to pursue whatever and whomever I pleased, even if I had to do it alone.

Or that is what I told myself.

XI

I
n early 1929, after having extended my stay in Austria to give Rudi time to adjust to our new circumstances, I ended my affair with Willi Forst and returned to Berlin. I’d acquired a new skill. While waiting on set for lights to be adjusted or a camera change, an extra had taught me how to play the musical saw. I found it amusing, coaxing a bow across a toothless narrow plank of flexible steel held between my thighs, while it emitted mournful vibrations. I hadn’t picked up another violin, but the saw might prove useful; it kept my wrists nimble if nothing else, and upon my arrival home, I regaled Rudi with a few Gypsy tunes I had learned.

“See?” I said. “I didn’t just make a scandal. I can play a new instrument.”

“I’m sure Willi Forst would agree,” he replied archly. “But at least it’s not his organ.”

I laughed. I was determined to ease the bitterness between us. As he appeared to be enamored of his Russian dancer, there was no reason for me to look the other way. I insisted on arranging a time to meet her, alone. It was the civilized thing to do. Moreover, she would have contact with our daughter and no doubt my mother, too. I had to get a sense of her character.

Tamara Matul was pretty, poised, and very thin, with a long face, red-
gold hair, and hazel eyes. She was in dire need of a decent meal. I soon learned she hadn’t had much luck forging a career in Berlin. By now, we had Russian ballerinas by the dozens, all fleeing the Marxist bloodbath. I admired her candor as she related her trials—she confessed she didn’t have the talent to compete with Bolshoi-trained rivals—and admired even more her respect for me.

Over coffee and strudel, she told me she had no wish to usurp my place, and in a touching gesture, handed me a small package wrapped in tissue. When I opened it, I found an exquisite icon, the kind Russians revered, lacquered and beautifully detailed, fit to grace a church.

“Oh, no,” I said, trying to give it back to her. “This must be worth something. You should pawn it. Have you seen the price of shoes these days? Eight hundred thousand marks for a pair of simple black heels.” I laughed to offset the moment; I’d glanced at her feet when she first sat down and she was wearing soiled ballet flats. On the street in winter.

She smiled wanly. “It’s my gift to you.” She paused. “Have you seen the secondhand bazaars these days? Every Russian in Berlin is pawning their belongings. You could buy a dozen icons like this one—and for less than your simple black heels.”

I liked her. Destitution aside, she had class. “Then I will treasure it. And you mustn’t worry. Rudi and I have agreed to separate.”

“Not because of me?” she said in alarm.

I flicked my wrist, calling over the waiter. “More strudel,” I said, and then I leaned to her and pressed her little hand with its blunt cracked nails and visible chilblains from whatever garret she’d been holed up in. “Because of me.” I winked, bringing a flush to her pale cheeks.

She promptly moved in with Rudi, while I rented an apartment nearby so I could easily visit Heidede. Mutti expressed predictable dismay, haranguing me for throwing over a good man for “frivolities,” as she deemed my career. But Liesel had suffered a recent miscarriage and she was more concerned with nursing my sister back to health than with wagging her head over my deplorable modern ways.

I took some time off to devote to Heidede, who at first didn’t under
stand why I was no longer living at home. I couldn’t explain the reason to a child, so instead I tried to distract her with trips to the ice cream parlor and to the zoo, to buy new clothes and visit Uncle Willi and Jolie. She was now a sturdy four-year-old, lacking for nothing save my frequent presence, and guilt over my separation from her father made me overcompensate, lavishing her with kisses until she pushed me away with a headstrong pout.

“How can you be my Mutti?” she demanded. “No one has two Muttis”—reminding me of how much time she now spent with my mother, which didn’t please me. I resolved to be a better parent, but my pursuit of new opportunities subsumed my dedication, as my Vienna frolic with Willi Forst and all its attendant publicity had suddenly made my name recognizable.