I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

When the exquisite fashion magazines—Vogue, Elle, and Harper’s Bazaar—were laid out on the coffee table, the air in the living room seemed to freeze.

The four ladies’ eyes went wide, as if they had just seen some incredible treasure.

"Are these...?" Mrs. Bergman reached out a hand, yet didn’t dare to actually touch them. "Fashion magazines... from France?"

"Fashion magazines from France and the United States," Werner said in a low voice. "They’re all this year’s latest issues, featuring the newest spring fashions and lifestyle articles."

Mrs. Fisher couldn’t hold back any longer. She reached out, picked up a copy of Vogue, and carefully opened it to the first page.

The magazine’s paper quality was excellent, the color-printed photographs sharp and vibrant. Every page exuded a rich, foreign allure.

"My heavens... look at this dress!" she exclaimed, pointing at a photograph. "This color, this cut... It’s so beautiful!"

The other ladies couldn’t help but gather around.

Mrs. Wagner picked up Elle and flipped to a perfume advertisement, a look of longing in her eyes. "Chanel No. 5... My mother used to wear this brand when she was young."

Mrs. Schmidt chose Harper’s Bazaar. She turned to the fashion section and carefully studied the exquisite photographs of the clothing. "Look at this hairstyle... It’s so much more elegant than the styles popular here."

However, not everyone was completely lost in the excitement.

Although a flicker of desire showed in Mrs. Bergman’s eyes, her expression was far more cautious.

"This... this is all bourgeois nonsense," she said, even as she flipped through the magazine more meticulously than anyone else. "But... it certainly allows us to... understand the decadent Western lifestyle."

"Mrs. Bergman is right," Mrs. Schmidt immediately chimed in. "As the wife of someone in the cultural department, I really do need to understand... these expressions of bourgeois culture. Only by understanding them deeply can one critique them effectively."

It was a clever statement, one that both satisfied their desires and cloaked them in a veneer of political correctness.

Mrs. Wagner joined in as well. "My husband often says that understanding the enemy’s ideology and lifestyle is a crucial part of the ideological struggle."

But the young Mrs. Fisher clearly didn’t share their concerns. "I don’t care what ’-ism’ it is!" she said excitedly. "These clothes are just so gorgeous! Look at this evening gown. If I could just have a dress like this..."

"Shh!" Mrs. Bergman immediately silenced her. "Quiet down! The walls have ears!"

She glanced around, and after confirming there were no outsiders, she lowered her voice. "This stuff... we should just look at it amongst ourselves. We absolutely cannot let word of this get out."

"Of course, of course," Mrs. Schmidt hastily nodded. "This is all... research material."

Just then, the soft sound of footsteps came from the next room. Everyone tensed up.

"It’s the maid, tidying up," Mrs. Schmidt explained, but she quickly gathered up the magazines all the same. "Still, it’s better to be careful."

The small interruption reminded them all that even in a private space like this, they couldn’t completely let their guard down.

In East Germany, the political climate could turn any "inappropriate" behavior into a problem at a moment’s notice.

"These magazines... how much are they each?" Mrs. Schmidt asked cautiously.

"Fifty Marks each," Werner quoted.

The price was twenty times that of a local East German magazine, but considering their rarity and the risk involved, it was perfectly reasonable.

"I’ll take them all," Mrs. Schmidt said with almost no hesitation. "This... research material... will be very helpful for our understanding of Western culture."

"I’ll take a few as well," said Mrs. Wagner. "Especially that copy of Elle. The lifestyle section has great... research value."

Although Mrs. Bergman was still muttering about "bourgeois decadence," her actions were honest. "I’ll order a few, too. Mainly to understand... the enemy’s ideological trends."

Only the young Mrs. Fisher was direct. "I don’t care about any ’-isms’! I just like the pretty clothes!"

"Shh!" the other three ladies hissed at her in unison.

"Young lady, you need to learn... to express yourself more tactfully," Mrs. Bergman instructed her like an elder. "We are conducting cultural research, understand?"

Mrs. Fisher stuck out her tongue but nodded anyway.

Watching the ladies’ complex performances, Werner was inwardly pleased.

This was the typical characteristic of East German high society: on one hand, the need to maintain a politically correct facade, and on the other, an irrepressible craving for Western popular culture. And he was the perfect middleman to satisfy that contradictory demand.

"In that case, we could form a... scholarly exchange group," Mrs. Schmidt proposed. "To regularly share this... research material."

"A splendid idea!" Mrs. Wagner agreed. "We can circulate them among ourselves and conduct in-depth research on the... cultural expressions of the Western bourgeoisie."

"But it must be kept absolutely secret," Mrs. Bergman stressed gravely. "This kind of... academic research... cannot be known to outsiders."

She looked at Mrs. Fisher. "Especially you, young lady. You can’t let your driver or maids see these things. If word gets out that we’re looking at decadent Western publications, we’ll be in trouble."

Mrs. Fisher nodded forlornly. "I know... I’ll hide them well."

"I have a safe at home," Mrs. Schmidt said. "We can keep them at my place, and everyone can come over when they want to look at them."

"That would be safest," Mrs. Wagner agreed.

Werner seized the opportunity. "Ladies, your arrangement is very wise. In truth, these magazines are nothing special in the West, but here... one does need to be especially careful."

"Indeed," Mrs. Schmidt sighed. "Sometimes I truly miss the days before the war. Back then, we could buy these magazines freely, and no one would say a thing."

"Before the war, my mother would buy Vogue every month," Mrs. Bergman recalled. "Her wardrobe was filled with custom-made dresses based on the styles in the magazine... Life was so elegant back then."

"We can still be elegant now," said Mrs. Wagner. "We just have to be... a bit more discreet."

They continued to flip through the magazines as they spoke.

Even while talking, their eyes refused to leave the beautiful images.

Werner noticed that Mrs. Fisher was already clutching a copy of Elle to her chest, as if preparing to sneak away with it.

"Mrs. Fisher," Mrs. Bergman said, having noticed this sharp as a tack. "What do you think you’re doing?"

"I... I wanted to borrow it to look at it at home..." The young woman blushed. "Just for one night. I’ll bring it back tomorrow."

"Absolutely not!" Mrs. Bergman said sternly. "These things can’t just be taken outside. What if someone sees you on the street? What if your maid sees it?"

"But... but I really want to look at it..." Mrs. Fisher was on the verge of tears.

Seeing her looking so pitiful, Mrs. Schmidt’s heart softened. "How about this: you stay here at my house today, and we’ll look at them together. It’s the weekend, anyway. Isn’t your husband working overtime?"

"Really? May I?" Mrs. Fisher’s eyes lit up.

"Of course," Mrs. Schmidt smiled. "We can drink coffee while we study this... cultural material."

"I’d like to stay, too!" Mrs. Wagner said immediately. "It’s not often we get such a... scholarly exchange opportunity."

"Then I won’t be leaving either." Although Mrs. Bergman was still verbally emphasizing "academic research," the desire in her eyes betrayed her true feelings.

Seeing how invested all four ladies were, Werner knew the deal was halfway done. But he had bigger plans.

"Ladies," he began at just the right moment, "besides fashion magazines, I can also get my hands on a few other things."