Marlene Dietrich by her daughter [antikvár]

SCHONEBERG HE MUST HAVE BEEN GORGEOUs! Ramrod Straight, the deep blue of his perfectly tailored cavalry uniform taut across the muscles of his fencer's back, elegant face, its high cheekbones emphasizing eyes glinting clear blue behind hooded lids. "Bedroom eyes" had not been invented yet, but it would have suited Louis Otto Dietrich perfectly. He looked exactly what he was: a Prussian officer, born to class and privilege. He had removed his spiked helmet, his red-blond hair - the world would one day report its color as being "Titian" when describing his daughter's - caught the glint of the afternoon sun as it filtered through the Victorian lace curtains of his father's hbrary. An acknowledged rake, Louis Dietrich was used to tongue-lashings from his long-suffering parent. "Once and for all, if you don't stop with these whores of yours, you will be sent across the sea to be scalped by Indians!" Louis had been threatened with banishment to far-off America and its Indian hordes so often, he remained silent, at attention in front of his father's desk, waiting for the usual lecture to run its course. It was a well-known threat that neither man took seriously. As only the second son of an aristocratic family, Louis knew he had little to look forward to, even less to lose. An automatic military commission assured him the elegance of a suitable uniform and a steady supply of drinking and gambling companions. Courtesans belonged to this life as much as the shiny dueling sword at his slender hip. Having recently distinguished himself in all regimental protocols required, he felt his mihtary credentials were henceforth ones that the Fatherland could be justly proud of; his duty done, he now deserved to