The Berlin Connection Read Free Page B

passed), when it was said of me in Hollywood that I was a drunkard. What was said then was that I had been drinking for twenty years, since I could not get any work.
    The talk had died down during the past two years. No one now could say I was drinking. No one had ever seen me drink, not even Joan, not even Shirley. I had been drinking more than ever these last two years—^but secretly, only secretly. I hid the bottles so well no one could find them. I knew Joan and Shirley mistrusted me, had been searching for my whisky for years, simply because they could not believe my abstinence. They were not looking any more. Now they were proud of me for having broken this habit.
    Whenever I traveled I carried my black bag. A store in Boston had made it for me according to my design. There were partitions on either side which could be locked. Whisky and soda bottles fitted into those partitions pre-

    venting the bottles from moving, rattling, breaking. The bag had as well a large thermos bottle which I filled with ice cubes. Even if I ordered only one single drink I could always get sufi&cient water and ice.
    I was always well supphed: on trains and planes, cars, motor boats, hotels. This way I could drink more than ever.
    The bag was an integral part of me, and it never left me. I always had to keep it locked, especially in hotels. The employees were always rummaging through everything. But not through my bag. No, Peter Jordan did not drink any more.
    I opened the zipper. Two empty soda bottles, an empty thermos, an empty whisky bottle. During the night I had drunk everything.
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    Immediately I felt the fist again. If I didn't get any whisky—^whamm!!!
    I was freezing, my teeth were chattering. It seemed to me as if the storm was becoming louder, terribly loud. No one could bear this, this awful storm, the terrible fist, this empty bottle of Scotch.
    There was still a half-filled glass on the bedside table.
    I left the open bag and walked to the bed, yes, I could walk now, and gulped down the warm flat whisky. It stayed with me only a few seconds. I just reached the bathroom.
    Gasping, I stood before the mirror, rinsed with mouthwash and, trying to splash Eau de Cologne on my face, dropped the bottle. It broke in the washbasin. I saw myself in the mirror. The black hair soaked with perspiration stuck to my head. The face was a dark purpUsh color; brownish rings circled the eyes. Breathing heavily, I sud-

    denly turned deathly white and patchy. The lips remained black. Sweat ran into the eyes, the mouth gaped, the tongue was blue. No imagination could conceive of a worse face than this face, which belonged to me: me, once the Sunny Boy of the New World, the most celebrated and famous child star of all times.
    PETER JORDAN, AMERICA'S UNFORGETTABLE CHILD STAR.
    No, there was nothing now to link me with this laughing character on the magazine frontpage, with this handsome dashing man and his cheesecake smile, his playboy beauty. To think that the face in the mirror had made millions, untold millions a quarter of a century ago!
    The fist rose. It stopped at the second pair of ribs.
    I went back to the drawing room. I opened the door and pressed the bell for the floor waiter. Then I closed the drapes in the bedroom. He must not see how I looked. I switched off the lamps, too. The light in the drawing room and bathroom was sufficient. I pulled the covers up to my neck. There he was already.
    "Come in."
    He entered the drawing room, smiling and young, the best trained employee of a luxury hotel. He stayed by the door, didn't look at me, looking into space, spoke politely without emphasis, "Good morning, Mr. Jordan. Would you like to order breakfast now?"
    Third pair of ribs. Second pair of ribs. Third pair of ribs. I could not talk. But I had to. "Breakfast.. . yes . . ."
    "Tea or coffee?"
    Second pair of ribs. Third. Second.
    "Cof . . . coffee ..."
    "A five-minute egg?"
    "Yes . . ." No one must know that I was ill. My secret. Or I would