Chapter 15

“Yes,” she said. “But that was the period, too,” she pointed out. “The degenerate Weimar Republic, between the wars. Expressionism, Weill, celebrating all forms of nightmarish perversity.”

“Including homosexuality,” Pat replied, her tone dangerously neutral.

“Well, yes,” Olga said, looking uneasy, suddenly aware of the dangerous ground.

“We’re about fifty percent fags here, tonight,” Glendon said, eyeing Olga with malice.

“Why don’t you like Weill, Pat?” I asked, trying to get the conversation onto a better track. “Don’t you agree it’s great music?”

“Well, maybe,” she said. “But if you had to listen to it endlessly in residence—all though drama majors, wearing black.” She shook her head.

“Well, Germans arethe greatest composers,” Glendon said, still looking at Olga. To my surprise I saw her stiffen in response.

“Oh,” she said, still uneasy but evidently unwilling to be silenced, “but he wasn’t German—was he? I mean, ethnically.”