Flattery Will Get You…Somewhere, Chapter 3
by Mistress V
Disclaimers as in Chapter 1. Some explanatory notes will follow the chapter.
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Dress rehearsal Thursday dawned bright and clear, with the entire camp anticipating a festive Saturday night to come. Friday was to be given over to the final fine-tuning of acts, sets and props. In Barracks 2, the mood was less than eager, though no one had dared confront the obvious. Yet. Plans were being discussed, and straws being cut, however.
Schultz burst into Klink's office as soon as the mail arrived, a brown-paper wrapped parcel under his arm.
"I left orders not to be disturbed," Klink began, annoyed. He was still deciding on what he would perform for the event.
"Forgive me, Herr Kommandant," the guard sputtered, "this parcel has arrived for you! Express, from Hamburg---"
Klink snatched the box before Schultz could finish his sentence. "I can see that, Sergeant," he replied non-committally, his hand raised in a salute. "Dis-missed!"
"But Herr KommanDANT!"
"I *said*, 'Dismissed!' Go rehearse with your fellow Herrenfrisreur, before I think of some other way to put your copious amount of free time to use. Now, out!" He gave a menacing wave of his hand towards the open door.
Klink once again left orders not to be bothered unless it was an emergency, latched the door, drew the shades and then began unwrapping the present he'd bought himself.
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"So what are you doing?" Wilson asked Carter.
"Making the water heavy. No, not heavy. Thicker." Carter continued adding salt and a few other harmless ingredients to a bucket that sat on the table, stirring as he talked. "Otherwise, the liquid will spread out too thin when it hits the window. We want to see a drop pattern like rain, and this'll give it to us."
"What's in that?" Hogan was curious.
"The same salt we use to keep the ice from getting too bad during the winter. Schultz got me some from the supply barrack. Plus a few harmless extras, to make it stick. That reminds me, Newkirk, I need to coat the windowpanes with some stuff too. Can you get those for me?"
"Sure thing, mate. I'll pop 'em out this mornin'. Now 'ow're you makin' fog again?"
"Oh, that." Carter gave a smile of triumph. "I convinced Klink, well, Colonel Hogan did, that a small order of dry ice was needed for any Kommandant's party supply closet. Next wingding he throws, I'll make the punchbowl extra festive. And in the meantime, we get a foggy day in London town as a fringe benefit."
"I say, you really are quite clever, old chap," Langdon said in admiration. "We could have used you 'round the quads at Cambridge, set the mood for some of our little soirees."
"Stand still," LeBeau ordered, checking the hem of the trench coat he and Newkirk were hemming for the corporal's solo.
"Speaking of soirees, I'd better get over to Klink's office and find out what he's doing so I can tell the boys at the print shop. They need to start on the programs." Hogan opened the door, clearing his throat as he did so. He began crossing the yard, his voice stubbornly trailing behind him, right back into the barracks.
"The leaves of brown came tumbling down, remember…"
"Mon Dieu," LeBeau snorted. "We cannot let it 'appen. Tonight, we draw straws. And tomorrow, whoever wins 'as to explain it to the Colonel as, how do you say, diplomatically as possible. "
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Hogan came into the Klink's outer office and was surprised to see not just Schultz at the keyhole, but the normally pedestrian Unteroffizier Schmidt as well.
"What's up---?" he began, only to be shushed by both men. They scurried to take up their normal posts.
"OK, is this better?" Hogan asked again, whispering this time. "What's going on in there? Klink interviewing secretaries already?"
"Nein, not yet," Schultz said with a dismissive shake of his head. "But Herr Kommandant has received a package this morning, of the utmost importance."
"Oh?" Hogan tried his best not to look too intrigued. He addressed the younger man. "So why's that news? He gets mail all the time. Did Helga send some of that marzipan from up near where she's staying?"
"No, it is far more interesting."Schmidt lowered his voice conspiratorially. "The return address was from Hamburg. Just the street number, but I know precisely which establishment. It is from-"
"Friedirich's von Hamburg!" Schultz finished theatrically. "And you KNOW what they are famous for!"
"You don't say?" Hogan did know of the prominent supplier to the entertainment industry. "Well, I'll just go in and see what I can see and let you both know, how about that? "
"It is VERBOTEN!" Schultz whispered even more loudly. "The Kommandant has left strict instructions. No one may enter."
"Well, I didn't get those instructions. Besides, it's official business, I have to get the details so he'll be listed correctly in the program." Hogan prepared to knock. "And get me your information, too, I'm going to the print shop next."
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Hogan knocked once and opened the door, as he usually did. He looked over the room, noting the drawn shades and a recently opened parcel on the desk.
"Hogan, I said I was not to be interrupted, now what are you doing here?" Klink glowered at his unexpected visitor, fumbling with a desk drawer at the same time.
"I'm sorry, sir." Hogan sat down and made himself comfortable. He pulled out a list and ran his finger down the columns. "You see, the boys over in the print shop need to get cracking on the program for Saturday. And you haven't told me yet what you plan on performing." He paused, sniffing curiously. "You've been for a ride this morning, eh? How's the fitness program going?"
"What fitness program? And why would I have been near a horse? I don't like the creatures." Klink knew this was a lie, he'd done cavalry training in his youth and still enjoyed a good canter.
Hogan also knew Klink wasn't being truthful, so he prodded a bit more. "It's just kind of horsey in here. Don't get me wrong, though." Hogan inhaled deeply. "I like horses myself. Nothing quite like the smell of a stable."
Klink's face was falling by the microsecond. "Smell?" he replied. "Is it that…obvious?"
"Oh, so you were riding? Good for you. Now, about your number." Hogan changed tactics, knowing the further he moved from the topic, the more likely Klink would be to spill his guts.
Sure enough. Klink gave a surreptitious glance down, then spoke. "Hogan, I need your help on a very important task. It directly relates to my appearance. But first you must promise me that word of it will not leave this room."
"I'd like to promise, sir, but what if I can't help…and someone else can? What precisely is this project?" Hogan's curiosity was in overdrive. He'd had a good idea what was coming, but now it sounded ominous.
Klink drew out his recent purchase and placed it on the desk. "This, Hogan. I ordered a hairpiece…and I am not certain how to apply it, let alone what to do about styling. The listing was 'the Baron', but that is all I know. The instructions are so complex." Klink now produced a small pamphlet. "Have you any experience in tonsorial matters?"
Hogan picked the strange looking object up, inhaling as he did so. "Is this *horse*hair?" he finally asked.
"Ja." Klink nodded a little sadly. "With the war and all, most of the company's finest offerings have gone to those wounded in need of toupees during recovery. This was an older model, I presume. But as we say, I must make do. Hogan, can you help me?"
The man's morose expression worried Hogan. He'd never believe that he didn't need such an accessory in his present state of mind. Images of a stern, overly nosy secretary filled Hogan's brain. One who'd think nothing of ponying up to Burkholter, no Hochstetter, if she suspected something was amiss.
"I can't help you exactly, Colonel," he replied. "But don't worry, I've got just the man who can."
TBC
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Toupees have been around almost as long as people have been losing their hair.
There is not a Friedrich's von Hamburg that I know of---the word is a play on that infamous postwar naughties store, Frederick's of Hollywood (they have sold wigs, though their specialty is outrageous lingerie). Hamburg's Reeperbahn is, and has been, home to numerous cabarets, featuring performers of both sexes---often in drag. They needed hairpieces (and other, er, props). Such a company might wish to make itself appear squeaky clean during Nazi rule, so offering their products to the wounded would be one way of doing so (of course, they could still supply underground needs too---drag shows still went on during the war). Customers like Klink, unable to get the more realistic models produced by, say, Max Factor in Hollywood, had to make do. With horsehair---which has been used in hairpiece manufacture. Think of the toupee Sam Drucker trots out in "Green Acres" now and then and you'll get the idea of what Klink ended up with.
The pioneering work of movie makeup experts Max Factor and his son, where individual strands of hair were hand-sewn to a light lace under piece, would likely not be allowed under the Nazis--- Hollywood was the symbol of all that was wrong with the world, and Factor's family was Jewish.
I am not going to discuss the issue of hair taken from concentration camp prisoners here---not only did it not (as a rule) find its way into wig manufacture, this is meant to be a funny story. Thanks.
My Cpl. Langdon is a more upper-class Brit than Newkirk. I have him leaving Cambridge after his first year to enlist in the RAF. He thinks planes are rather quite spiffing, you know.