Tenenbaum barely spoke English when she first arrived in Rapture. She was welcomed by Andrew Ryan himself, the man who had provided her with a luxurious home and the necessary resources to make her dreams come true. She had heard much of him and his ideals, and wished she could express her gratitude more profoundly than with a "thank you, very" and what she hoped was an affable smile. As a woman of Jewish ancestry, she had never before been treated with what she initially deemed as respect; although the Nazis had allowed her to work for them after discovering her potential, she had ultimately been a prisoner, so she soon felt at home in the world of opportunity Ryan had created, somewhere beneath the sea.
Her first few weeks, researching and conducting experiments in the lab, were frustrating, to say the least. Tenenbaum required a translator, who attempted to convey complicated concepts and instructions from the other scientists with much difficulty. Despite her aptitude for genetics, she fell behind in her work and was usually the last to leave the lab. Communication was vital, and as she refused to neglect her daily work, she spent many hours in the dead of the night (although for all she knew it could have been daytime above the surface), practicing her English.
Months passed, and with the improvement of Tenenbaum's second language came the grim realisation that the other scientists did not regard her in high esteem. She, naturally, had sensed their impatience whilst she lagged in her experiments, but was taken aback upon learning that they blamed this not on her poor English, but her gender. They often made rude comments about her in her presence; she was unsure if they assumed she still could not understand them, or if they simply did not care if she heard.
No matter how determined she was to actualise her theories, she found herself losing motivation. She felt lonely and unappreciated, and (to her great surprise!) missed the sunshine.
Perhaps coming to Rapture had not been the answer.
After much internal debating, she finally resolved to speak with Ryan himself about the matter. After all, it was he who had employed her, so it only made sense to turn to him for advice. Surely he could do something about her colleagues' harassment?
However, she didn't want to make a big stink about it (that would probably only serve to exacerbate things), so she figured she would make the situation less "official" and see Ryan in a more relaxed setting. Feeling uncomfortable at the thought of approaching him in his home, one night she decided to take a table at a club she heard he frequented, Eve's Garden. Maybe chatting with him over a few drinks and bringing up the topic casually would open his eyes to her concerns?
The posters hanging around Fort Frolic of Jasmine Jolene ("Andrew Ryan's Favourite Gal!"), her naked body covered only with a sign bearing her name, should have been indicative that Eve's Garden was in fact a gentlemen's club, but Tenenbaum had entered anyway. She cursed herself for her naivety as she took one of the only available tables (furthest away from the strippers, thankfully) and allowed the waiter to serve her a scotch and dry. She gladly would have left had she not seen some of her colleagues seated at tables, worrying her immediate departure would only make her appear like the foolish little girl they thought her to be.
She tried to ignore the array of probing eyes turning from the twisting, voluptuous bodies of the strippers to her own forlorn form, but found it impossible when a man whom she recognised from Fontaine Fisheries approached her table.
"Didn't think you'd be the type, Tenenbaum," he smirked, taking a seat.
She did not look up at him, fumbling with her glass as she quietly asked, "How you know my name?"
"Talk is how," he answered with a smirk, "Word is you're quite an interesting woman... used to work for the Nazis, didn'tcha? Aren'tcha a doctor of some sort?"
"Genetics," she said plainly.
He raised a bushy eyebrow at her accent, eyeing her with what she thought was suspicion... or perhaps only drunkenness.
"Explains the name, mm..." he paused in thought before continuing, "Name's Peach, anyway. Care for a drink?"
She simply raised her three-quarter full glass in reply, not wishing to converse with the greasy man who smelled slightly of brine.
"Not sayin' much. Hard day at the lab, eh? Or... Hey, do you know the language, yet?"
"Yes," Tenenbaum sniffed, "I speak little English, now, but I not fluent."
Peach took a large gulp of his drink and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
"I'm not really one for foreigners, love, but you'll do for me."
Tenenbaum arose from her table abruptly, knocking her glass to the floor with a shatter. She rushed out the door before Peach had a chance to inquire about her price. To think that he had thought she had come to...
The nerve of him!
She felt her face flush as she walked hurriedly away, before gasping in horror as she realised he had followed her. Whipping around, her face contorted in the glow of the neon signs, she faced him.
"H-how dare you!" she found herself stuttering in her rage and embarrassment.
Peach didn't seem to care, though, as he wavered closer towards her and made to grab at the skirts of her dress.
"Leave from me, drunk pig!" she cried, "You know I not--"
But before she could finish he pulled her to him, the smell of fish and alcohol strong as he breathed down her neck, "Doesn't mean you don't a fancy a fuck. 'Sides, the boys at the lab have already spread the word 'bout you spreadin' your legs."
She was just about to slap his face before an unfamiliar voice spoke aggressively, "Hey, Wilkins, what the hell!?"