Thursday, August 15, 2013

September 6, 1929

Margot-

Sometimes I don't know what I'm doing with my life. Every morning I wake up and I don't want to get out of bed, I don't want to go to work. Hoffman promised me that I would soon be taking photographs but all I've been doing for the past couple months is stand behind the register, smile politely, nod and say thank you.

I swear sometimes these NSDAP guys want me to bow down to them after I hand them their receipt. They stand there with their perfectly combed, slicked back hair which has so much paste in it that they look as if their heads could be the perfect home for a spider, waiting for her prey to land.

Unfortunately they have to wait for their turn to have their picture taken out front near me, and I have to pretend to find them the most fascinating men since Oscar Wilde. As if some middle-aged fuddy duddy with mommy issues, a paunch that dangles over pants which belong on a 15-year-old boy, who doesn't even know his Duke Ellington from his Paul Whiteman would stand a chance next to Oscar.

All they want to know is whether I have a boyfriend, if I prefer to cook or bake (trick question: I'm supposed to be an artiste at both) and whether I'm a good German.

Sometimes I just wish I could tell them that Germany could go to Hell, what has this boring, uptight country ever done for me? But I see it in their eyes. They all have that same look: like a wild dog just itching to jump on some unsuspecting creature. I suspect they would take a lot of pleasure in watching their victim squirm and squeal.

Margot, how I envy you and your family in Paris. Coco Chanel, Ernest Hemingway, Scott and Zelda, Josephine Baker! You have no idea how lucky you are and how much I wish I could come visit you.
All Munich has these days is Otto Geb├╝hr and he's starting to look like those NSDAP louts.

I'm trying to keep my spirits up but it's hard. I wish I could just run away. Maybe I'll save my money to buy a train ticket and come see you. Would you like that?

I hope you're doing well. Oh, and please send me some of your Paris fashion magazines!

Yours always,

Eva


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