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Before Sally officially starts work at the Kit Kat Klub, she learns one rule: you do not ask the Master of Ceremonies any questions.
On the day that Sally is to begin rehearsals, Max takes her on a tour of the Klub. He shows her the dressing rooms and the lounge, which are sparsely decorated with mismatched, battered furniture. The dingy wallpaper is faded and peeling, and the whole place smells of smoke and mildew. Still, underneath the veil of neglect, Sally imagines the Klub must have once been quite glamorous.
They continue their tour until they reach the stage. It is in a similar state of disrepair if the layer of grime that coats the floorboards is any indication. But something else catches Sally’s attention. Across the room, a lone figure sits hunched over at the bar. Their long, black coat allows them to blend into the shadows almost perfectly. A shiver runs down Sally’s spine, as though she is staring at a ghost. But before she can say anything, Max calls out to the strange figure.
“Herr Emcee, guten Tag. Bist du schon betrunken?” he asks with a laugh.
The Emcee straightens their posture but does not respond. Max seems to take this as enough of an invitation to approach, and Sally follows his lead.
“Allow me to introduce Fräulein Sally Bowles, the new cabaret girl I was telling you about.”
That seems to pique the Emcee’s interest, and they rise to greet Max and Sally. Max’s earlier observation had been correct: the Emcee does indeed appear to be drunk. They lean unsteadily against the bar, their eyes dull and unfocused. Still, they greet Sally warmly, an impish grin spreading across their face.
“Ah, Frau Sally Bowles. Enchanté.” They draw out her name as though they are savoring it on their tongue.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Sally stammers slightly, shaking the Emcee’s outstretched hand.
She is so uncertain of what to make of the person standing before her that she barely manages to get the words out. Their leather coat is open in the front, and underneath they wear trousers and a loosely fitted corset. The remnants of last night’s makeup decorate their angular face, which is framed by long, unkempt hair. Sally isn’t sure whether to be amused or shocked by this whole picture. The Emcee notices her discomfort and rescues her from the awkwardness.
“Gin?” they offer, holding up a half-empty bottle.
“Well, if you insist!” She smiles, the tension broken.
They step behind the bar and pour Sally and Max a drink before refilling their own glass.
“To Frau Bowles! Prost!”
“Prost!” Sally and Max chorus, raising their glasses.
They all sit, the Emcee practically collapsing back into their chair.
“You know,” Sally turns towards them after a moment of hesitation. “I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t think I caught your name.”
They arch an eyebrow, looking down their nose at her as though she has just said something very foolish.
“I am the Emcee. The Master of Ceremonies. The host.”
“Well, yes,” Sally replies, rather embarrassed now, “but what is-”
They abruptly cut her off with a sharp flourish of their hand. “Oh, you may call me whatever you like. Just please don’t ask me any more boring questions.”
They lean back in their seat melodramatically. Max rolls his eyes, stifling a chuckle.
“You must forgive him.” Max says dryly. “Our dear Emcee can be a little peculiar when he’s drunk.”
“Yes,” the Emcee agrees with a laugh, “I suppose I can be a bit queer.”
Max scoffs, rolling his eyes again. From there, the conversation drifts into mundane topics. They speak briefly of Sally beginning work at the Klub, and then they discuss business. Sally is excluded from this due to her poor German, and what little she does understand isn’t particularly interesting.
Besides, she is far too preoccupied with trying to make some sense of the Emcee. There is something undeniably magnetic about them, and she can’t help being drawn in. But who is this odd person in makeup and a corset who won’t tell her their name? They are simultaneously enchanting and intimidating. Garish and refined. They are a puzzle, and she decides on the spot that she must solve them. However, this proves to be much easier said than done.
She begins rehearsals at the Klub that evening but, as the days tick by, she learns nothing about the enigmatic Emcee. Whenever she sees them, they seem to be just out of her reach. They flit amongst the performers and patrons, never settling anywhere for long. On most nights, they slip away as soon as the show is over, with a companion or two at their side.
Sometimes, when Sally is meant to be backstage, she sneaks out into the audience to watch them perform. Once the spotlight hits them, they truly come alive. They are no longer the ghost that lurks by the bar. They are full of fire, their lithe body moving with ease and precision. The usual din of the Klub quiets as soon as they step on stage. Everyone is under their spell.
All of this only serves to deepen Sally’s curiosity.
One day, she is lounging in the alley behind the Klub, smoking and chatting with Texas. The two bonded quickly due to their shared fluency in English, although they have little in common beyond that. During a lull in their conversation, Sally suddenly speaks up.
“This is probably a silly question,” she says with a nervous smile, “but do you know the Emcee’s name? It’s just the funniest thing: when I met him, he absolutely refused to tell me.”
Texas lets out a hoarse, dry laugh.
“I don’t think anyone here knows his name. Not anymore, anyways.” She pauses to take another drag on her cigarette. “He’s been here longer than any of us. I think he was here before Max owned the Klub.”
“How mysterious.”
Texas shrugs. “He’s an odd one. But he’s decent enough. At least he treats me better than a lot of other bosses I’ve had.”
The conversation moves on, and Sally is left just as befuddled as before.
Weeks pass and Sally settles into a routine. She begins to resign herself to the fact that the Emcee will always remain a distant mystery. Besides, she has far more pressing concerns to deal with. She had always been aware that Max was not a particularly kind man, but it seems that the longer she lives with him, the more his anger grows. One particularly awful day, she finds herself running frantically down the stairs, away from Max’s flat above the Klub. Tears stain her face and the sound of Max’s furious shouting reverberates down the hall. She makes it to the girls’ dressing room, slamming the door behind her.
To her great relief, Max’s voice soon fades, and he does not seem to be pursuing her. She leans against the door, catching her breath and trying to quiet her racing heart. Eventually, she makes her way over to one of the mirrors, flicking on the lights that border it.
She winces at the reflection that stares back at her. Streaks of makeup run down her cheeks, and a large bruise is already blooming under her eye. Her hands are trembling, but she does her best to wipe away the ruined makeup. Then, she attempts to cover the rapidly darkening bruise. Much to her dismay, her hurried efforts only seem to draw more attention to it. Before she has time to try anything else, there is a knock at the door. She freezes, silently cursing herself.
“Fräulein Bowles?” the Emcee’s voice calls out.
Her first instinct is to stay silent and pretend she isn’t there, but that would only delay the inevitable.
“Yes?” she replies, as nonchalantly as she can manage. “Do come in.”
The door creaks open and the Emcee enters. Reluctantly, she turns towards them.
“What has happened to your face, Fräulein Bowles?”
“It’s nothing, honestly.” she says, although the false cheeriness in her voice is unconvincing. “Just Max and his temper. I’m sure it’ll all blow over soon.”
The Emcee’s lips curl into a frown, and they furrow their brow disapprovingly.
“This will not do.” they say. “Come with me.”
Sally hesitates. Are they angry with her? Is she in trouble? She can not afford to lose this job. The Emcee sees her trepidation and their expression softens. They extend their hand to her.
“Come. Please.”
She accepts their offer. They lead her out of the dressing room and down the hall, towards the Emcee’s own dressing room. For a moment, Sally’s troubles are overshadowed by her curiosity. There seems to be an unspoken rule that the Emcee’s private dressing room is entirely off-limits. The door is always shut, and she has never seen anyone go in or out. Nonetheless, here they are. The Emcee opens the door with a flourish and ushers her inside.
The room is dimly illuminated by a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. An old piano with yellowed keys and chipped varnish sits in one corner, next to a small side table with a phonograph on it. Against the back wall, there is a small chaise with several throw pillows. It all feels very comfortable and lived-in.
“You may sit.” they say.
She does, sitting down on the chaise. Then, she looks at her host expectantly, still uncertain of why she is here.
“I do consider Max a friend, but he can be quite cruel.” the Emcee says, taking a seat on the piano bench. “He should not have hit you.”
“Oh, he’s not so bad, really. And at least he gives me food and a place to sleep. And anyway, I’ve had much worse.”
“I don’t doubt that.” There is a hint of genuine sadness in their voice. “But no matter. Max will not come in here, and you are welcome to stay as long as you would like.”
Sally knows she ought to politely decline. Max will only grow angrier the longer she tries to avoid him. Besides, there must be some ulterior motive to the Emcee’s kindness. But she has no real desire to leave. It is so quiet and peaceful here, and there is nothing good waiting for her back in Max’s flat.
“I think I would like to stay. Just for a little while.” she replies quietly. “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course, Liebling.”
They look her over for a moment, deep in thought. Then, they practically spring to their feet, as if struck with a brilliant idea. Rummaging through the drawer of their dressing room table, they produce several tins and bottles.
“You know,” they say, glancing over at a rather puzzled Sally, “we really must fix your face. We can not have you going back out there looking like that.”
She catches herself in the mirror. The remnants of mascara around her eyes and her failed attempt to hide the bruise do make her appear somewhat ghoulish. She can’t help but be a little amused at how absolutely pathetic her reflection looks.
“Yes, I do suppose you’re right.”
“You will allow me?” asks the Emcee, motioning for her to join them.
She takes a seat at the dressing room table. The Emcee opens a small tube of greasepaint and dabs it onto a makeup sponge. They take her face gingerly in their hand, turning her towards them, and begin to apply the makeup over the bruise. The carefulness with which they touch her face nearly makes her start crying all over again. It is such an unfamiliar tenderness and intimacy. She doesn’t realize that she has been holding her breath until they pause to reach for a tin of setting powder.
When the whole process is done, the Emcee stands back to assess their work. Sally looks at herself in the mirror again, and the transformation is remarkable. Her face still aches, but any sign of the bruise has vanished.
“That is much better, ja?”
Sally nods. “Thank you. It looks perfect. But, you know, you really don’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”
“It is not any trouble at all.” They dismiss her concern with a wave of their hand.
Then, settling back down on the piano bench, they produce a pack of cigarettes from their coat and offer one to Sally, which she readily accepts.
“I’ve often thought of leaving him.” she muses, “But I was very nearly out on the street before I met him, and I suppose that’s worse than the occasional black eye.”
The Emcee lets out a large puff of smoke. “There is much evil in this world. We are all just doing our best to survive it.”
The two of them smoke and drink and talk, and Sally quickly loses track of time. In fact, time hardly seems to exist at all in this room. Eventually, their idle chatter lapses into an easy, comfortable silence. She is aware that she has stayed here far longer than she intended to, but she still has no real desire to leave.
After a while, the Emcee rises and looks through a stack of records by the phonograph before selecting one. They place it onto the turntable and delicately lower the needle. A crackling hum fills the room, which gives way to slow, melancholy instrumental music.
“Sally Bowles, would you care to dance?” A mischievous grin lights up their features.
That smile is contagious, and Sally finds herself grinning as well.
“Of course I would.”
And so they dance. They move in slow circles around the room at first. But soon, they are hardly moving at all. They simply sway back and forth in time to the music. Then, they are completely still. Sally rests her forehead against the Emcee’s chest, and they put their arms around her.
When she finally looks up again, she realizes it is time to go.
Reluctantly, she bids the Emcee goodbye and thanks them again. But, before she leaves, they take a scrap of paper and scribble something down on it. An address.
“If you ever fear that you will be out on the street again, you may come find me.” they say, folding the paper and handing it to her. “If you have no other choice.”
She nods. There is nothing else to say.
Now, she is outside the dressing room, breathing in the air of the real world again, and wondering if the last few hours actually happened.
But it was not just imagination. As the weeks go by, a strange camaraderie forms between Sally and the Emcee, and she spends many more afternoons in their dressing room. She takes to simply calling them “Em”, which they find amusing but do not object to. They remain as aloof and mysterious as ever, and yet she cannot help but feel a deep, growing affection for them.
The closer she grows to Em, the more her relationship with Max deteriorates. It’s not that she has been unfaithful. She hasn’t. At least not physically. But Em listens to her. She has confided things to them that she would never dream of telling Max. She almost wishes that her transgression was physical. That, at least, would be much simpler than the limbo she finds herself in. As it is, every time she leaves Em’s dressing room to go back to cold, uncaring Max, it becomes increasingly unbearable.
Inevitably, things reach a boiling point. It is late one night, after the Klub’s patrons have all trickled out, and even the cabaret girls and boys have gone home. Sally makes her way up the stairs to Max’s flat, only to find Max himself standing in the stairwell, blocking her path. Upon seeing the look on his face, she almost turns on the spot and hurries the other way. But she hesitates too long. He launches into a nearly incomprehensible tirade about how she’s been spending too much time with the customers and how he’s certain she’s been cheating on him. Her ears ring as she feels a bitter combination of fear and anger rising inside her.
She tries to back away from this storm of vitriol, but Max catches her by the arm. On pure instinct, she violently jerks free of his grip and shoves him back as hard as she can. He only stumbles slightly, but the sheer unexpectedness of it stuns him long enough that she can bolt down the stairs. He is not far behind. But he only pursues her as far as the Klub’s entrance before grabbing a nearly empty bottle from the bar and hurling it after her. It smashes harmlessly on the pavement.
Sally reaches the end of the block before she slows down. As the adrenaline subsides, she begins to shiver. It is freezing, and her paper-thin dress does nothing to keep the cold at bay. For a moment, she considers walking to a nearby payphone but quickly decides against it. It must be well past three in the morning, and she can not think of any friends or acquaintances who would take her call.
There is only one option.
She takes a folded piece of paper from her garter. Em’s address. Mercifully, it is only a short walk away. Even so, her fingers and nose are already numb by the time she reaches the building.
As she approaches Em’s door, she is struck with a pang of anxiety. Perhaps she shouldn’t be here. Perhaps Em had only given her their address out of pity and didn’t actually want her to use it. But it is too late to think about that. She is already standing in front of their door. Gathering her courage, she knocks.
There is a small commotion inside, and then silence. Finally, the peephole opens, followed shortly by the click of a lock.
The door swings open and there stands Em, dressed in a floral robe. Beside them, a wealthy-looking young man hurriedly puts on his coat.
“Ah, Sally Bowles. What a pleasant surprise.” They turn to the man beside them as an afterthought. “This is Peter. He was just leaving.”
Peter opens his mouth to protest, but a harsh glare from Em makes him reconsider, and he brushes past Sally and is gone.
“I didn’t mean to intrude.” Sally says, somewhat flustered by the whole situation. “It’s just that-”
“Nonsense. Peter is very dull, and I am glad for the excuse to be rid of him. Now, come in or we will both freeze.”
She hurries inside, and Em shuts the door behind her.
“Please, make yourself at home.”
In stark contrast to Em’s dressing room, this place is dark and barren. A stove that looks as though it should have been replaced years ago rests in one corner. There is a bed, a couple of chairs, and a steamer trunk that has been repurposed as a makeshift table, but there is little else. It’s clear why Em spends so many of their days at the Klub.
Sally pulls one of the chairs close to the stove in order to restore some circulation to her extremities.
“So, I suppose Max has kicked you out?” Em asks. “It must be worse than usual for you to show up on my doorstep in the middle of the night.”
“Yes, he has. Though I imagine he’ll have forgotten all about it when he’s sober again.”
“And you intend to go back?”
Sally frowns at that. She honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead, and the idea of having to face Max again is highly distasteful.
“I suppose so. What other choice have I got?”
Em merely shrugs.
“But would you mind terribly if I spent the night here? Just while I figure out what to do?”
“Of course. How could I refuse Sally Bowles?”
Sally bounds to her feet, her melancholy mood evaporating.
“Oh, Em, you really are divine. I promise I’ll find some way to pay you back.”
She throws her arms around them, and Em lifts her off the ground, spinning her around. She laughs giddily.
“I assure you, your company is payment enough.”
Once again, Sally’s heart is torn. The happiness she feels now will only make the sting of tomorrow that much worse. However, the glass of gin that Em offers her soon takes her mind off of that.
As she drinks, Em walks over to a large basin of water and goes about washing the makeup off their face.
“Em,” Sally asks, staring intently into her glass, “have you ever thought about settling down? About leaving the Klub and all that behind?”
Em laughs. It is a strained, bitter laugh.
“Me? Sally, can you imagine me settling down?” Then they pause, their shoulders slumping ever so slightly. “You know, if I am honest, there was a time I thought of leaving. When I was very young and foolish, I thought I might end up in London. Or Paris. But c’est la vie. I fear the Klub would crumble to dust now if I left it.”
They take a rag, drying their face and wiping away the last stubborn remnants of makeup.
“Why do you ask me this?” they continue. “Are you thinking of leaving?”
“No.” she replies. “But, the way I’m living now...I know it can’t last forever. And I worry I’ll be completely lost once it’s all over. I won’t know what to do with myself.”
“Ah, Sally, you’re young and full of life. I am certain that you will find your way in the world.”
Sally takes another sip of gin, steeling herself for what she is about to say.
“Suppose I did leave. Suppose I left the Klub and left Germany altogether. Would you ever consider coming with me?”
An almost imperceptible flicker of surprise flashes across Em’s face, but they quickly subdue it.
“Who knows.” they reply with a shrug, “Anything is possible.”
They pull up a chair, joining Sally by the stove. She realizes that she has never seen them with a clean face before, and is struck by how different they look. More than anything, they look exhausted. Dark circles rim their eyes, and their cheeks are pale and sunken. They seem fragile.
She leans against them, resting her head on their shoulder. They put an arm around her, holding her close.
Sally decides it would be best to move the conversation towards less serious topics, and the rest of the night passes pleasantly and quickly. Too quickly. As the sun creeps above the horizon, her fantasies of leaving Max and leaving Germany fade away and, as always, reality sets back in. She says goodbye to Em and prepares herself to face the world again.
She is correct that Max has mostly forgotten the previous day’s fight, especially after she swallows her pride and apologizes to him. All is back to normal. This cycle may have continued indefinitely if it weren’t for a strange, young American showing up at the Klub one night. A certain Clifford Bradshaw.
This miserable routine has gone on for far too long, and Cliff presents the perfect opportunity to break it. So, Sally does exactly what Max had accused her of on so many occasions: she flirts with Cliff. She talks to him for far too long. She even invites him upstairs to Max’s flat. And she makes absolutely certain that Max can see this all unfold.
Her attempt to upset the status quo works all too well.
Surprisingly, Max is not particularly angry. He is just cold. He informs her that the two of them are finished, and then fires her on the spot. She does not protest much.
Later that day, Sally collects her few belongings from the flat and the dressing room and walks towards the exit of the Klub with her suitcase in tow. She almost escapes with no complications. Almost.
As she makes her way through the tables and towards the door, she sees Em. Much like the first time she met them, they are hunched over at the bar. They glance in her direction, although they do not turn to face her.
“So, I see it is true.” Their tone is flat and emotionless.
“I’m afraid it is. Max has finally sacked me.” she replies. “Oh, you mustn’t think so badly of me for trying to sneak out. It’s just that I can’t stand goodbyes.”
“Then I will not say goodbye. Good luck, Sally Bowles.”
For quite some time, it does seem as though that is the end. Sally goes months without seeing or hearing anything from Em. She still speaks to several of the cabaret girls and boys on occasion, but never Em. She makes all sorts of excuses for this to herself. If Em really wanted to speak to her, they could find her easily enough. And they had only given her their address in case of emergencies. Surely it would be rude to show up without a reason.
But that is not the truth. She avoids Em because she knows that she would leave Cliff and go back to them.
She honestly wants her relationship with Cliff to work. He had quickly agreed to take her in after Max kicked her out. He is warm and friendly, not prone to Max’s violent outbursts. He is even a writer, which she finds quite intriguing. But, no matter how fond she is of Cliff, she can not subdue the persistent feeling of dissatisfaction that gnaws at her.
Still, she stays with him through winter and most of the spring, and she begins to think that this is how the rest of her life will look. She will eventually go back to America with him, they might even raise a family, and she will be safe and secure. She will, as Em had said, find her way in the world. She does try to convince herself that this is all a good thing, but she still cannot quite manage it.
Then, she finds out that she is pregnant.
The situation is all too real now. Cliff expects her to raise this child with him. To give up everything she knows and start a new life with him. She can no longer hide from the truth. This is not what she wants. It will never be.
When Bobby and Victor, two of the cabaret boys she had kept in touch with, show up out of the blue and tell her that Max wants her back at the Klub, she says yes without hesitation. They assure her that there are no strings attached. The Klub is struggling and Max is desperate for performers, nothing more.
This is to be her fate. Not Cliff. Not America. Not a baby.
Of course, Cliff is bitter about her return to the Klub. She simply watches as their relationship hurtles towards its conclusion. Any ties that still bind the two of them are severed after her abortion. Cliff leaves, but not before striking her across the face. He was never so different from Max after all.
It is always the same, and it is always inevitable.
Sally’s first few days back at the Klub pass in a blur. She had managed to scrape together enough money to stay in Cliff’s flat. Fräulein Schneider had let her have the room for practically nothing, partially out of pity and partially because Fräulein Schneider is desperate to not be alone. Sally sleeps most of the day, goes to the Klub at night, and does little else.
There is one silver lining. Em. She was afraid there would be some awkwardness or distance between them after her long absence, but there is none. They pick up where they had left off with surprising ease. Much as Em had distracted her from her tumultuous relationship with Max, they now help her forget everything that had transpired with Cliff. Life is not exactly happy, but it is manageable.
However, even this brief comfort is doomed to fall apart.
All of the girls are gathering their things and preparing to go home for the night, and Sally herself is on her way out. As she walks down the hall, something peculiar catches her attention. There is light flooding out from under Em’s dressing room door. Odd. Em is nearly always the first to leave. Even when they do stay late, they are out mingling with the dancers and patrons.
On most nights, Sally would dismiss this as slightly out of the ordinary but not alarming. Tonight, something compels her to linger and investigate. Perhaps she just wants an excuse to talk to Em rather than go home and face her own thoughts. She brings up her concern to a couple of the other girls, but they brush it off and are soon gone. Before long, she is alone.
Before she has a chance to talk herself out of it, she walks towards Em’s door and knocks. There is no reply. Maybe they had just forgotten to turn the light off when they left. She is about to turn away when she hears them call out.
“Lass mich in Ruhe.” Their speech is slurred and unnatural.
Sally hesitates. If they want to be left alone, she has no right to intrude.
“Fine, I’ll leave. I just wanted to know if you were all right.”
She listens again. Em mutters something unintelligible, and then there is a loud thud and a muffled cry. There is now no doubt that something is terribly amiss. She opens the door.
“Oh, God.” she gasps, rapidly trying to make sense of the scene in front of her.
Em lies face down on the floor. On the nearby dressing room table, there is a wooden box with several glass vials in it. Next to that is a roll of gauze and a syringe.
She kneels next to Em, calling their name. Nothing. She turns them onto their back. They blink slowly, but their eyes stare straight through her. Her mind races as she struggles to think of what to do. First, she decides that she must get them off the floor. She puts her arms under their shoulders and attempts to lift them. The sudden movement temporarily brings them back to reality.
“Go. Leave me be.” they snarl.
But they are too weak to put up any fight, and she lifts them fully onto their feet, propping them up as best she can. They are wearing a thin dress, and Sally can feel each of their ribs through the fabric. They had always been thin and gaunt, but it seems as though the past months have been particularly unkind to them. She feels guilt bubbling up inside of her. How had she not noticed until now?
Gently, she lays them down on the chaise and they drift back into unconsciousness. Their arm hangs down over the edge, and it is marred by fresh track marks. Sally sits down at the dressing room table and frets. There seems to be no other viable choice except to wait and see what happens. Occasionally, Em seems to wake up, and they look over at her as though they want to say something, but no words come out. Their breathing is labored and shallow. Sally does not leave her chair except to fetch water and to drape their coat over them when they begin to shiver.
She had not intended to fall asleep, but she suddenly finds herself jerking awake. She is still in the chair and there is a terrible crick in her neck. Em is sitting up now. Their eyes are half-closed and they barely seem able to hold their head up, but at least they are awake. A cigarette dangles from their lips.
“Em, I-”
“I told you to go.”
At that, Sally’s worry gives way to anger.
“You idiot!” she snaps, “Do you have any idea how much you scared me? You could have killed yourself.”
Em laughs, which devolves into a bout of wheezing. Once they recover, they look up at her, suddenly very serious.
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
Sally rises to her feet now. “What the hell are you talking about?”
They lean their head back and close their eyes, and it takes some time for them to speak again.
“It’s all...everything is falling apart.”
“What do you mean?”
They shake their head. “You should have left with Herr Bradshaw. You should have gone to America when you had the chance.”
“I couldn’t just leave all this behind.” She sits down next to them on the chaise. “I didn’t want to leave you.”
They turn away and shake their head again. With a grimace, they snuff out their cigarette on the back of their hand and toss the butt on the floor.
“Em,” Sally says tentatively, “if everything is falling apart here, we could both leave. You could come with me.”
“It’s too late.” they retort bitterly, “At least here I have the Klub. What would I have in London or Paris or America? I would starve on the street. But it is not too late for you.”
Their breathing sounds strained again, and they scratch at their arms, digging their nails into their flesh until blood pools at the surface. Sally feels completely helpless. Finally, she can’t stand it anymore and grabs their hand, clasping it in her own.
“Em, please. Just look at me. Try to breathe.”
Slowly, they turn their head towards her. As soon as they do, it is as if every last bit of willpower that had been holding them together disintegrates. They collapse forward, clinging to her as a child might cling to their mother. She is taken aback but quickly puts her arms around them. Their shoulders heave and she realizes they are sobbing, although no sound escapes.
The two of them stay that way for what might have been an eternity, their bodies intertwined. Em’s ragged breathing gradually steadies, and they are both perfectly still. Sally wants to believe that they can stay this way forever. Nothing can touch them as long as they just don’t move. But Em pulls away.
Their face is covered in a mask of smeared makeup, and the effect is both tragic and terrifying. They truly look like a ghost now. For the first time since Sally has known them, they appear to be at a loss for words. After a long silence, they stand up, putting their hand against the wall for support.
“You should not have seen me like this.”
“Em, I-”
“Don’t.” They warn, silencing her.
They take their coat from its hook and manage to put it on with some difficulty.
“At least let me walk you home.” she pleads, although she already knows what the answer will be.
Their voice softens. “I will be fine, I assure you.”
They do not give her a chance to argue before they open the door and leave.
Sally does not sleep much that night. Her worrying does not subside in the morning or as the day drags on. Despite her trepidation that Em will not want to see her, she finally decides to go visit them. She just needs to know that they made it home. That they are still alive. When she knocks on their door, they do not seem particularly surprised.
“Come in, come in.” they say, almost sounding amused. “And what brings you here this time?”
She decides to be honest. “I just had to be sure you were alright. After last night, I mean.”
They let out an exasperated sigh. “Really, Liebling, you ought to worry more about yourself and less about me. I am very capable of managing on my own.”
She bristles at that. After everything they went through last night, how can they brush aside her concern so flippantly? How can they act as though nothing happened? But she knows that confronting them would only cause them to recoil, and so she holds her tongue.
Em does truly appear to be back to their usual self. They saunter about with confidence as they talk, their face is clean, and the track marks on their arm are hidden by a long-sleeved shirt. Everything about last night has been erased.
“You will stay, ja?” they ask. “I would hate for you to have come all this way for nothing.”
She agrees, and neither of them bring up that incident again.
But all is not well.
Em had said that everything is falling apart, and now Sally begins to see it as well.
At the Klub, an ever-increasing number of red armbands glare back at her from the audience. It seems silly at first: how strange to advertise your politics on your arm. As the sea of red grows, the joke dies.
Em puts on the same show as always, but every night the mask slips a little bit more. Their playful quips and jabs become increasingly vitriolic and their sarcasm more biting. On one occasion, they grab the arm of an unsuspecting patron and rip his armband off, before fastening it on themself and parading around the stage with it.
“Is this the new fashion?” they ask with mock naivete, “I think it goes very well with my evening dress.”
They bat their eyes for added effect. Some of the audience erupts into peals of laughter. Some do not.
After that particular show, Em and Max get into a terrible shouting match, which ends in several broken glasses. Sally does not stick around to hear much of the fight, but it is plain enough that it has to do with politics.
And then, on an otherwise unremarkable night, Em pulls Sally aside.
“Come. I must speak with you.”
Slightly perplexed, she follows them to their dressing room, and they shut the door behind her. They do not bother with offering her a seat or any other pleasantries. When they speak, their voice betrays no emotion.
“Listen to me. You should go home tonight and you should not come to the Klub tomorrow. You should not come back to the Klub ever. Do you understand?”
Sally is so taken by surprise that she stands stock-still, gaping like a fish.
“What?” she finally manages, “What are you talking about?”
“Do you understand?” Em repeats.
“No, I-of course I don’t understand! What are you going on about?” she says, panic rising in her voice.
Em says nothing.
“Is the Klub closing? Has something happened?”
“Do as I say and you will be safe.” they reply with a note of finality.
She doesn’t budge. “Couldn’t I come home with you? If something bad is going to happen, I’d rather be with you than worrying about it alone.”
“That would be very unwise. I fear I am being watched.”
“Watched? By who?”
Em shakes their head, takes their coat from its hook, and prepares to leave.
“Watched by who?” Sally demands.
She has a feeling she already knows the answer but is desperate to be proven wrong.
“You’re not blind, Sally. You can see that this place is crawling with Nazis as well as I can.” Em replies bluntly, not turning back to look at her. “It was only a matter of time before this all came to an end.”
They walk towards the door. In vain, Sally tries to stop them, grabbing the sleeve of their coat.
“Don’t be ridiculous. What would those thugs want with you? Or any of us? We’re all just a bunch of nobodies.”
They pull away from her and open the door. “You have no idea who I am. Stay home, Sally Bowles.”
And they are gone. She calls after them. She begs them to stay. To explain what is happening. They do not speak another word to her. They never speak another word to her. Looking back at that night, Sally often wonders if there is anything she could have said or done that would have changed the course of events.
The next day, Sally takes Em’s advice and does not go to work. She intends to avoid the Klub altogether, but she grows so consumed with worry that she can not manage to stay away. So, careful to remain inconspicuous, she makes her way towards the Klub and stops a safe distance away.
Even from a distance, the picture is far too clear. The door has been hastily boarded up, and several posters emblazoned with swastikas are plastered on the brick wall.
Sally doesn’t feel anything. Her feet are rooted to the ground and she can neither look away nor move forward. Everything is quiet and numb.
Then, she sees Max.
Max is standing in front of the Klub and speaking to two uniformed officers. He smiles. He shakes their hands. Sally is not numb anymore. She is certain, at this very moment, that she could kill Max with her bare hands. She could slaughter him and leave him lying in a puddle of blood as red as the Nazi posters that now adorn the wall.
She does not.
Instead, she turns and runs as fast as her legs will carry her. She runs towards Em’s flat. It is already far too late, and she knows this. But it doesn’t matter. She keeps running.
The door to the flat is broken, hanging off its hinges. Everything is in disarray. Chairs tipped over. Papers strewn about. A single, bloody handprint clings to the doorframe.
She wanders away and sits down on the curb, too stunned to cry or scream or do anything except stare at her feet. As she, looks down at her distorted reflection, there is only room in her mind for one thought.
Em was right. She didn’t know them.
For so long, she had wanted to figure out who the Emcee was. To pull aside the veil of mystery that shrouded them. But she had failed. Nothing had changed since she first laid eyes on the ghost at the bar. She didn’t even know their name.
In the end, maybe that is for the best. With no name, she can never go looking for them. She can never know their fate. They were there before she arrived at the Klub, and they will be there long after it crumbles to dust.