Chapter 39: The First Date...

"I'll have the New York steak, medium well, and I guess I'll go with the potato and grilled vegetables. Thank you."

"I'll have the light garden salad."

Alex looked across the small candlelit table at Lorelei with a smirk. "You're not really gonna do that to me, are you?"

"Hm? Do what?" She was handing off the nicely-bound menu to the waiter as she looked up at her date innocently.

"You waited for me to order a big dinner and then you're going to have a tiny little salad so I'm sitting here eating like a pig in front of you? Isn't this topic in every stand-up comedian's repertoire?"

Lorelei was then in on the joke. She opted to play through. "But I told you, love. I really just don't eat that much," she explained with feigned innocence.

The waiter, not wanting to presume too much, stayed where he stood with a curious and amused look on his face.

Alex snorted. "Look, I know I said I wanted to go out and have a real date with you, but you don't have to try so hard to fit the stereotype."

She relented, sharing his grin. Lorelei's eyes turned up toward the waiter. "I'll have the shrimp scampi instead," she said, adding with a teasing glance toward Alex, "but only the half order."

It was an expensive, sophisticated restaurant, the kind without prices on the menu. The lights were low and there was a live piano player. Many of the patrons were themselves dressed to impress. Ultimately, though, it was all just scenery to the both of them.

They continually found themselves locked in an electric gaze. Alex stretched one hand out on the table until Lorelei's gloved fingers interlaced with his. "We are different now," she observed with quiet, controlled excitement. "Can you feel it?"

"Yeah. I can." He was silent for a moment, just looking at her. The choker gave her an extra bit of allure, but that wasn't what really held his attention. "Y'know, when you look at me like that it hardly matters if you're wearing clothes at all."

Lorelei's grin only tightened. "Your own expression is only slightly less pleasing than your touch," she replied.

Alex cocked his head curiously. "I've got to ask... you're so interested in me, um, being with other women." His voice dropped a bit, and he glanced around. They had plenty of space between them, and the restaurant had the sort of plush décor that seemed to absorb sound. "Is that actually better for you than being with me yourself?"

"No," Lorelei said, shaking her head subtly. "No, it is not."

"Then why not keep me all to yourself? You know you could. All you have to do is ask. I can control myself." It was only idle curiosity now that motivated him to ask. He had abandoned all resistance just as he had told her.

"I know," Lorelei said. "You could, and you would. That is part of why I encourage you. I feel no jealousy in part because I know that there is no cause. But consider, my love..." Her voice fell as well, skillfully measured after endless experience with intrigues and flirtation. "Which do you prefer? My mouth, or my cunt?" There was a wink in her voice, punctuating her deliberately dirty word choice. "You have both. Would you choose one to the exclusion of the other?"

"It's that good?"

Her grin had turned naughty while remaining undiminished. "Oh, yes, my love. It is."

************

"They really can't take their eyes off one another," observed Frank. He was seated at a table not far away, clad in his best suit and accompanied by his wife for a private anniversary dinner. "Were we ever like that?"

Peggy glanced over her shoulder again, hoping not to look too obvious but quickly realizing that it didn't matter. The two really were completely wrapped up in one another's gaze. "She's got to have ten years on him at least," Peggy remarked, "but yeah. We probably were."

As they spoke, a waitress came over with their plates, both of them covered.

Peggy looked back at Frank knowingly. "You can stop staring now," she said. He blinked, and she smiled a bit. It was good to put him on the defensive from time to time. "I'm a little cold. Do you think you could go grab my shawl out of the coat check, honey?"

"Sure, baby," Frank stammered. He got up without hesitation, wanting to demonstrate that he wasn't going to ignore his wife.

As he rose, however, Peggy was already glancing around to the eye-catching couple again -- until she realized the waitress was blocking her view. Her eyes turned up toward the face of the stunning young woman. Her face was a portrait of innocent beauty. What she had to say didn't quite match with it.

"You made a promise before God to forsake all others for your husband, who still loves you," the waitress deadpanned. "Go home with him tonight. Make love with him. Stop blowing your personal trainer behind his back like you did this afternoon. And quit fantasizing about his dick," she added, tossing her head back just enough to make plain that she was referring to the dazzled young man seated several yards behind her. "Because the first blonde that's gonna ride it is me."

With that, she strode away, leaving Peggy feeling very small, exposed, and desperately aware of how much she wanted and needed Frank in her life.

She didn't notice right away that the waitress had delivered entirely the wrong dishes.

************

"Next thing you're going to tell me is that 'Gladiator' is full of historical inaccuracies," Alex chuckled.

Lorelei laughed openly. "You mean other than the entire plot and its premise? Or the fact that you see four hundred years of fashion over the course of the film?"

Their hands were still clasped at the center of the table. Their eyes were still mostly fixed upon one another's bright, happy expressions. And Alex was learning that among Lorelei's most surprising skills was the ability to make small talk.

"I didn't expect you to watch a lot of movies," he mused. "I figured that'd be boring to you."

"I am closer to human than you might think," Lorelei shrugged. "Everyone likes stories. The world grows smaller, but the variety and scope of the stories grows."

"So you're not going to tell me that things were better in the distant past and today's world is soulless and vapid?"

"There has always been vapidity. There have always been the soulless. But no. Those who claim the world is less now than it was long ago have the luxury of ignoring broad swathes of waste and mistakes and sorrow. They see through filters and the comfort of distance and detachment."

"So there aren't times you miss?" Alex asked.

"I wasn't doing anything with those times that compares to what I have in the present," Lorelei pointed out affectionately.

"Yeah, but it wasn't all... work, right?" Alex asked, unsure of how else to say what was by its nature quite indelicate. "It sounds like you've always had time to yourself."

She nodded. "Indeed. Plenty of time. Speed was rarely my goal, and thus laying out plans left me with wide gaps of time to fill on my own. Nor was I... recalled by my superiors very often, or for very long. So no, it was not all work. Far from it. But I was largely inclined toward solitude, or distance from others at best. Spending so much time around the most reprehensible of mortals does take its toll." She paused before finally admitting, "It never occurred to me before this week how lonely I have truly been."

Alex squeezed her hand, but it was clear that neither of them were really in the mood for deep introspection. "So you have hobbies?"

Her smile returned. "I sing."

He grinned back. "Do you now?"

"I have always indulged in many of the arts, but music has always kept my attention over the years. I am an excellent musician, if I say so myself. And I've played for quite a variety of audiences, high and low. Just not among my own kind, as it were," she shrugged. "One can't expect a very pleasant reception among those who only know malice."

He reflected, only momentarily, on how lonely a demon's life might actually be. Again, he resolved not to drag their mood down. "I'm a fan of music," he said idly.

"I've noticed." Her smile was knowing and teasingly patronizing. "Your tastes are good, if very narrow. That seems normal for your age and this society, though."

"Hey, I'm pretty open-minded."

"Name for me a single performer or composer represented in your collection that pre-dates rock'n'roll."

He thought hard. "Metallica's got a song with an intro that's supposed to be derivative of one composer or another," he offered with a self-deprecating grin.

Lorelei softly shook her head with amusement. She laughed. "Oh, the luxuries that await you."

"Fraulein Sofia!" a voice gasped. Alex blinked. Lorelei's eyes went wide for a moment before her cool self-assurance reasserted itself. They both turned to look toward the voice, which repeated as if in shock, "Fraulein Sofia."

She was old, of course. The woman wore a matronly, respectable dress in light blues, with hat and gloves and a small purse. Her face and stature and the slight shake in her arms showed the kind of age that could only be borne with an indomitable spirit much larger than most would ever know. In truth, for all the years shown by her body, her only real sign of frailty lay in that she was looking at a ghost.

The woman had others with her. Younger, all of them, though one man was old enough to be Alex's grandfather. "Imah, come," he said. Alex knew the word; he'd had a friend who spoke Hebrew growing up. The old man's height made the notion that he could be her son seem a touch comical, almost, were it not for her grave expression and his obvious concern. They were all much taller, though, Alex realized. Much taller and healthier. Raised in dramatically better times.

"I'm sorry?" Lorelei asked, blinking in confusion.

"You could be her twin," the elderly woman mumbled, still in shock. "You look so much like her. Just like her, touring the camp... with that laugh..." Alex realized after a moment that there was more than surprise there. The elderly woman's voice trembled with fear -- or at least the echoes of it.

"I am sorry," her apparent son said. A younger woman, probably his granddaughter really, took the elderly lady's wrist and tugged, gently, trying to get her to come with. "I'm sorry once again, it's just a misunderstanding," the man added reassuringly.

"No apologies necessary," Lorelei shrugged, showing her own face of concern and compassion. She looked down, though, as they led the woman away to their large family table. When her eyes came up to see Alex's face again they did so with reluctance.

She saw understanding there, and sadness. For the first time ever, he seemed very far away from her. Somehow in all of this their hands had come apart. "Alex," she began softly.

"You don't have to explain," he said, his voice quiet. "Her gloves didn't go up all the way on her wrists so I could see the numbers." As he spoke, their waiter arrived with their dinner. Alex only nodded his way through the man's perfunctory questions, waiting until he left to speak again. "They had a survivor come speak to my school when I was in eighth grade." He frowned, picking up a fork and nudging his steak with marked disinterest. "History was always one of my better subjects," he mumbled.

Lorelei's lip quivered. She didn't know what to say. "Alex," she whispered, "I never had any part in what happened to --"

"I believe you," he nodded, still very quiet. After a moment's silence, he shrugged and looked up at her. "I believe you," he repeated. "Like Cordingly, right?"

"Yes." The glimmer in her eyes had changed. Before, it was happiness. Now, the light merely shimmered against their moistness.

Beyond Alex, Lorelei saw the woman rise from her table. She brushed off the offers of help, needing nothing more than her cane. She said something in accented Hebrew about not needing help to go to the bathroom. She moved off, not looking back at Lorelei.

"You were there to punish someone, right?" Alex asked.

"I was." Lorelei's voice seemed to have fled from her.

After a moment, Alex said, "I'm not judging you, Lorelei." She blinked, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he just shrugged again. "I wasn't there. You weren't who you are now. I know most of your life was ugly, and I just... I don't see the use in being mad at you for what went on before. I don't want to be mad at you, Lorelei. Holding onto the past when we can't do anything about it just doesn't seem..." He lost that train of thought, and shook his head. "I want us to be happy, Lorelei."

As he said this, Lorelei feared their happiness had already vanished. "I am so sorry," she said.

Alex shook his head. "You don't have to apologize to me."

Silence hung for another long, difficult moment. She understood, of course, that there was no implied message meant in what he said. Still, she said, "No. Not to you. Would you excuse me, Alex?" She waited for him to nod before she got up and headed for the restroom.

As Lorelei walked towards the bathroom, she passed a table with several men who were enjoying drinks after a successful day's sales meetings. The blonde waitress was collecting their empty glasses, having to bend at the hips a bit to reach the furthest of them.

"Hey, honey," the man on the end seat slurred, "c'n you bring us another round? I'ss kinda bottoms up time f'r us." In his current state, he figured that was witty. He also figured she'd be flattered to have his hand grab at her ass.

An instant later, he figured he should really, really not cry out as she crushed his fingers together with an iron grip and said, "This ass doesn't belong to you." She stood up straight, still holding his hand but otherwise ignoring him as she looked after Lorelei until the dark-haired beauty slipped behind the bathroom door.

A wry, excited smile played at her lips. "Hot," she shuddered excitedly.

"Ow," whined the owner of the hand she then released. He knew despite his overwhelming buzz that he'd have to get those fingers looked at. He also knew better than to complain when the waitress left without taking their next round of drink orders.

************

The ladies' room was well-appointed and spacious. Around the corner from the stalls was a small cushioned bench. After assuring herself that no one else was in the room, Brigitte sank down onto it.

The last time Brigitte had seen Fraulein Sofia, she had been arm-in-arm with the commander of the camp, wearing a fur coat that Brigitte was almost certain was her mother's. Laughing.

They would occasionally tour the camp, at least the cleaner and less aesthetically appalling portions of it. Brigitte's memories of Fraulein Sofia and the Colonel were all of the two of them towering over her as they passed. Everyone towered over her in those memories. She was on her knees so much, scrubbing and scratching at spots on the floors and the walkways as if her life depended on it.

In those days, it had.

Fraulein Sofia had disappeared one night. So had the Colonel, and eventually a new one took his place. He was somewhat less efficient, which to Brigitte's thinking at the time made him somewhat less cruel. The camp slowed, slightly but noticeably. She had wondered, once or twice in the past, how many fewer of her people would have been there to see the Red Army arrive if the Colonel had been there until the end. Perhaps none.

It was all difficult to say. Time had retained little meaning in those endless days. It was hard to remember, really, how long the Colonel had been there or how much longer she was in the camp after he was gone. Nothing really marked the date for her or the others. The worst part of the camps, after all -- even the awful years before it -- had been the sense that it would just go on forever until they were all dead. Had anyone known when it would have ended, had they known the course of the war as it unfolded, perhaps those who expired through hopelessness and sorrow might have been able to hang on.

Brigitte was wondering about that and about so many other things when Fraulein Sofia joined her in the bathroom. Brigitte looked up at her, instinctively refusing to cower -- not now, not after so much time, all her old instincts be damned after all these years of prosperity and joy.

But she was a bit taken by surprise when Fraulein Sofia, looking quite stricken, knelt in front of her and bowed her head. "I want to apologize for what is unforgivable," she said in German.

Brigitte said nothing in response. What could there possibly be to say to this? She was, however, no longer in doubt about who this woman was. There was no explanation, but in the moment, Brigitte needed none. The question of how just didn't matter.

"I came only to punish Jurgen," she said. "The Colonel. I brought him to his death. His closest officers were removed from their posts because of what followed. They were put on trial by the SS and then executed. For corruption and dereliction of duty," she added, her voice clearly noting the bitter irony in that. "The SS were not kind." She looked up, sorrow and remorse plain in her eyes.

"But I apologize to you because I see only now how much more I could have done. How much more I should have done, and what was more important than punishing wicked men. I could have done more than inflict vengeance. I could have done more important things...I believed I laughed in the camp to make Jurgen and his men feel comfortable with me, but the truth is I did not feel at all. I know that now. I could have and should have done so much more, were I something better than what I was."

Brigitte looked as if she might weep, but did not. Her tears had all been shed a long time ago. They were long gone. Fraulein Sofia, though, obviously had a few of her own. They were falling now. "What are you now?" Brigitte asked. "Something better?"

"I hope so. I am so very sorry," Lorelei answered, "and I think that much is better, yes. I am so very sorry."

"You are a bit late for Yom Kippur," Brigitte observed after a long moment's consideration. "But not by so much, I think."