November Sky (6 page)

“Love to another time. But I’ve got to be off. I have to shave and change, or Mira will lynch me. She makes a point of having me always look shipshape in public.” He rolled his eyes. “Image polishing and so on. Take care. I’ll be in touch soon.”

He took me briefly in his arms, pressed a little kiss on my cheeks, right and left, and let me go—much too quickly. I didn’t recognize myself. Until that afternoon, I’d rather have died than tell anybody about the appalling graduation-trip incident. And I never would have considered asking a man up to my apartment—nor would I have dreamed I’d wish he could squeeze me as long as possible.

I smiled at him and said, “Bye, Nick. Looking forward to hearing from you. Don’t drive so fast, get home safely, and thank you for the marvelous afternoon.”

I watched him drive away, slowly at first. He waved out the window. When I hurried upstairs, exhilarated by the wonderful day, it occurred to me that he was very vague about getting together again, and in a second my mood had plummeted into the cellar.

Chapter 4

That night and for days afterward I engaged in a futile struggle against my old familiar self-doubts and inner demons. They taunted me, saying I shouldn’t flatter myself that Nick was really interested in me. And it looked like they were right. I didn’t hear a peep from Nick the next day or over the weekend (how many days were meant by “soon”?), though my cell phone was charged and worked flawlessly. A more self-confident woman would, I suppose, simply phone him or at least text him. But that seemed too pushy to me, especially given his status.

I discovered a new tendency toward masochism when I yielded to an irresistible urge to Google him. I left my overdue paperwork in my in-tray as I trolled the Internet for information about him. I was both fascinated and horrified as I read the paeans of praise for his talent, the prizes he’d garnered, and the stars he’d worked with. He liked to jog and didn’t drink. His Facebook fan page had more than three hundred thousand likes.

I could see how vastly different our lives were. That hurt. He could just as well have come from another planet. But it was genuine torture to see the online gossip about his romantic affairs and the countless photos of him with all kinds of beautiful women. With an increasing fire in my gut, I studied every photo, noting how damn good he looked, and trying to tell from his expression whether there really was anything between him and any of the many women on his arm. But, of course, he was an actor, and the women were colleagues or well-known models—all well versed in presenting themselves. The second they were on camera, they could switch on their most dazzling smile and act their part. I didn’t succeed in separating wheat from chaff, the genuine girlfriends from the fake ones. In a deep gloom I turned off the computer and tossed and turned the whole night. It looked like he was a ladies’ man after all and that he’d slept with every one of those beautiful women—that’s how lovingly he beamed at every one of them.

A tiny voice in my head tried to speak up, though:
But he looked at
you
differently, more interested, more genuine, and never once with that exaggerated toothpaste smile.
But when I didn’t hear from Nick all that Sunday, I figured that my first impression was correct, and that little voice had only been a feeble attempt at self-deception. Presumably, he’d found in the last few days more exciting and willing company than mine. My lonely weekend was neither relaxing nor stimulating.

With a heavy heart, I got into my car Monday morning and thought during the entire drive to the office about what to tell Chris to save face. It was hard enough to admit to myself that for the second time in my life I’d fallen violently in love and had played the fool. So I acted blasé, as though Nick and I had only lunched together, that he’d admitted who he was, and that I’d made it abundantly clear that this was the end of our rendezvous.

“He’s of no interest to me. I told him to leave me alone from now on, and I behaved so nastily that it’s exactly what he’ll do.”

Chris didn’t believe a word. She was newly in love with her guy from Cologne—who wanted to see her again regardless of her announced intention to marry him—and had on her rose-colored glasses. In her hopelessly romantically transfigured world, there weren’t any idiotic, rational actions such as showing an idolized movie actor the door—certainly not if the admirer in question was Dominick Vanderstätt.

She pelted me with words of wisdom that I knew she’d never follow herself: “He’s not conceited at all. In fact, his behavior seems perfectly fine and natural. And his efforts to get you to go out with him on Thursday shows he’s caught fire. Laura, you’re pretty shrewd, considering your lack of experience. The more you give a man the cold shoulder—especially if women normally throw themselves at his feet—the more desirable you’ll be to him. I’ll bet you dollars to doughnuts he’ll be back.”

Yeah, great! Now I definitely knew why I hadn’t heard from him. My unusual blind confidence made it too easy for him. Now that he’d figured out that I found him appealing, that I’d confessed my skeleton in the closet, and that I’d said I looked forward to seeing him again, I was of no interest to him anymore. The male hunting instinct was dead.

I turned to my files in total resignation and tried to distract myself from my brief excursion into the celebrity sphere. That afternoon a new client demanded my full attention, and I plunged into pocket calculators and tables for a comprehensive analysis of her financial situation. But scarcely had the lady left the office when the phone rang. My silly heart stumbled when I heard the voice I claimed I wasn’t interested in. My inner watchdog growled, warning me not to fall yet again for a man who saw me just as a diversion.

Nick sounded contrite. “Laura, I’m so incredibly sorry it’s taken me this long to call.”

Several sarcastic comebacks to this sentence occurred to me, such as: Did his telephone provider cancel his contract overnight? Or had Munich’s Inner City suddenly become a dead zone? Or did his agent lock him up in a cellar after their dinner together so I wouldn’t hurt his image? Or was he so bored that he wanted me to bitch at him some more? Of course, I was gracious and said nothing. I waited to see what flimsy excuse he’d come up with, trying to ignore the agitated tingling in my stomach. It felt like an ant colony was doing the samba in there. Chris gave me a high five when she caught on who was on the other end, and her face glowed in triumph.

Nick sounded anxious. “Laura? Are you still there?”

I got out an icy, “Yes, I can hear you very well.” Given my tone, I might as well have said, “Fuck off.”

I regretted my negativism when he said, in a small voice, “I got food poisoning at that damn dinner on Thursday. Like an idiot, I probably ate some bad oysters and was completely out of commission for three days. I’ve only felt more or less human since this morning. Laura, I want to see you as soon as possible. When are you free?”

I just about shouted, “Right now, if you want,” but held back in the nick of time. I also had no intention of following my partner’s advice to give him the cold shoulder. Those little tricks weren’t my cup of tea. All the same I didn’t want him to know I’d been anxiously waiting for his call all these days.

But Nick smoothly put a crimp in my plan to put him off at least until the next day. Without waiting for an answer, he said, “How about tonight? Tell me when you finish work and I’ll pick you up. Then we can decide what to do.”

We agreed he’d pick me up at my place. I really wanted to change my clothes. I wanted to provide some guarantees that getting to know him better was not completely far-fetched. He’d first met me in a cocktail dress, and when he carried me off to the picnic I was wearing office clothes—a skirt and a twinset. Today, however, I was at my desk in ancient jeans, a plain white shirt, and no makeup. My lousy morning mood had prevented me from making more of an effort. Even I was too vain to be seen like that.

The prospect of actually seeing Nick in a few hours had me so excited that I could barely concentrate on my work. When I tried to clear my tray of consulting reports, I caught myself staring dreamily out the window at the spot where he stood last week. In addition, I filed documents for a client named Zenker under “N” as in Nick . . .

Chris looked at me in amusement over her computer screen, and then made a sharp snap with her fingers. “Wake up, Laura! You might as well call it quits for today—it’s not like you’re getting anything done while you dream about your actor.” She cut off my halfhearted protest. “Yes, yes, I know, he’s absolutely of no interest to you. You’re simply seeing him out of pity.”

Chapter 5

Pity was not at all what I felt when the doorbell rang and I rushed downstairs to the front door. I greeted him with a smile of delight. His charismatic presence overwhelmed me just as it did the last time we met.

Nick did indeed look paler than he had the week before. But even the dark shadows under his eyes did not reduce his appetizing impression one whit. Regardless, it was immediately clear his illness was not an invented excuse. There was no question about it. His tone seemed more muted, more serious and meditative. A tiny touch of melancholy lay in the corners of his eyes. I immediately worried whether he was sorry to be spending an evening with me. His power of empathy amazed me again, as he guessed my hesitation before I even said anything.

“Sorry if I seem a bit out of it. Three days of forced fasting didn’t hurt me too much, but I’m still not 100 percent back on my feet. If you’re hungry, I’d be glad to take you out, but I’ll stick to Coke just to be on the safe side. That and a box of saltines are all I’ve eaten today.”

I’d already made myself some bread and butter shortly before he arrived to avoid the embarrassment of having my stomach growl again, so I could assure him in good conscience that I wasn’t hungry. Instead of dinner, we decided to take a walk, though not in the Inner City, which was crowded because of the warm weather.

“I want to talk to you. If there are a lot of people around, there’s always the danger that somebody will recognize me and speak to me. Then I have to sign autographs and pose for cell phone pictures. Normally I don’t mind—it comes with the turf. But I don’t want it to be like that today when I’m with you. We’ll find a quiet place out in nature where we can walk undisturbed.”

So we drove out on the highway for a bit, and I was happy he kept exactly to the speed limit and stepped on the brakes and gas pedal gently and sensitively without my saying anything. But it was by no means just to protect my own skin. The thought that he could be in an accident with worse consequences than last week’s pained my heart. I gave him a sidelong glance and downplayed my worries so I wouldn’t be so damn schoolmarmish and smart-alecky.

“Nick, please promise me that when you’re alone in this car that you’ll never drive so recklessly ever again. The mere thought makes me uneasy. It would be a real shame if the world lost a good actor and a nice person like you before your time.”

His mouth twisted into a half smile, but I thought I saw an indefinable expression in his eyes. Without taking his gaze off the road he replied, “Thanks for the compliment, but this world has already lost several remarkable people at a young age, and it didn’t fall apart. I don’t flatter myself that I’m irreplaceable. And as I said, I’m not afraid to die, since I believe in life after death.”

I found this an odd remark from so young a man. Then again, what he said sounded very mature. He went on, “Do you know Antoine de Saint-Exupéry? In his book
The Little Prince
, the prince says at the end, ‘I’ll look as if I’m dead, and that won’t be true.’”

He went silent and gave me a reassuring look before adding, “But if it’s really important to you, in the future I will always drive as if you were beside me.”

My irrational heart leapt joyfully at this casual remark.

We parked at the edge of a little grove, where I’d often been on my bicycle. In view of our budding romantic affair, I thought it tactful not to mention to Nick that this place was nicknamed Murderer’s Grove. Two bodies had been discovered there in the last three years: a man who’d hanged himself and a woman stabbed several times, the victim of a tragic romance. Nevertheless, the wooded area was still a favorite destination for cyclists, hikers, and joggers because of its idyllic situation and the well-kept pathways. We headed for the path on the edge of the woods. I filled my lungs with the spicy forest air—a mixture of wood, new leaves, resin, and mold—and I was delighted to see delicate new greenery shooting forth from trees, bushes, and fields. Nick quite naturally took my hand after we got out of the car. Fortunately, we didn’t meet anybody who could take Nick’s undivided attention from me—except for a gray-haired dog owner walking his two darlings. The off-leash dogs—a sheepdog and a small mutt—galloped straight toward us. I stopped in my tracks. I was uncomfortable about the unfamiliar dogs bearing down on us, particularly as I could see they weren’t trained. They totally ignored their distant master’s shouts.

Nick felt me hesitate and gave me a quick sidelong glance. “Nothing to be afraid of. They just want to play.”

I was skeptical. A friend of mine was once jogging on a farm road when she was forced to stop by a dachshund that circled her, barking and growling. She heard the exact same words from its mistress just before her frisky pooch sank its teeth into my friend’s ankle.

At least these two beasts weren’t making a ruckus. The sheepdog had a stick in its mouth. Nick let go of my hand and instructed me to stay behind him. He went toward the animals without the slightest sign of fear. They stopped just in front of him, and I was relieved when they jumped around him, wagging their tails and letting him pet them. They weren’t taking any notice of me, so I ventured nearer. I admired Nick’s fearlessness in grabbing a stick and having a playful tug-of-war with the larger dog until he finally threw the stick into the field. The two animals ran after it enthusiastically and completely forgot us. Their owner joined us in the meantime and gave a friendly nod. Nick grasped my hand again—to my delight—and we carried on. He talked about the collie named Cora he’d had as a kid.

“We were inseparable for four years. When I was fourteen, she ran out a door that was left open and onto the street and was run over.”

I visualized that distraught boy and could relate to his grief when I thought of our run-over barnyard cats.

“My parents offered to buy me another dog. But I didn’t want one. Cora was irreplaceable.”

When he saw the concerned look on my face, he squeezed my hand. “It’s OK, I’m over it. But let’s talk about something not quite so sad.”

Nick’s melancholy behavior, which I’d noticed when he picked me up, gradually gave way to a more relaxed mood. He vividly discussed his fascination with Saint-Ex, as he called the
Little Prince
author.

“He always referred to himself as a scribbling pilot, but I’ve read all his works and think he was a gifted philosopher. His most famous saying hits the nail on the head: ‘You only see well with the heart. The essentials are invisible to the eye.’”

Then he let go of my hand, slipped his arm around my waist, and synchronized his steps with mine.

“Your self-image is completely inaccurate because of your rotten experience with that heartless jerk,” said Nick suddenly. “You doubt that I find you desirable. But from the first moment I saw you, I had the inexplicable feeling that we belong together. I’ve never felt anything like this with a woman before. Let me have a chance to show you I’m serious.”

Yeah, sure! And the earth is flat.
But I didn’t blurt out my thoughts; instead, I remained silent. Meanwhile we’d come back to the edge of the woods where we’d parked. I felt Nick’s hand on my hip drawing me closer to his body, and I savored his irresistible scent in spite of my subversive mental reservations. I found Nick enormously attractive. The protective wall against men I’d carefully built up over the years began to crumble and collapse.

Being close to him, I felt like a completely new Laura. His approving gaze, his smile, and his evident interest made me feel attractive and extraordinary for the first time in many years. When we finished our walk and stood in front of his flashy car, he beamed at me as enthusiastically and intently as he did during our first hike—right before that wretched kiss.

Without thinking, I said aloud what was going through my head. “I Googled you.”

His eyes twinkled roguishly as he shook his head in exaggerated despair. “Oh, no. I meant to warn you by all means not to do that. At least half of what you read there is completely fabricated. Particularly where my numerous relationships are concerned.”

Laying his hand on my arm, he implored me. “Laura, if I had had something going with every woman I’m connected to in the papers, I wouldn’t have time to eat, work, or sleep. I’m no saint, and it goes without saying that I’ve had girlfriends. But believe me, none of them has impressed me as much as you have.”

I wanted to believe him, but my inner spoilsport threatened to ruin things.
Oh, sure, because you’re such an exceptionally fascinating beauty. Forget it! You only appeal to Nick because you don’t drool all over him like everyone else. He’ll drop you like a hot potato after he gets you into bed—which is all he really wants
.

This time, I furiously silenced the killjoy part of me that always prevented me from having a little fun, joy, and passion in my life. I decided to risk disappointment. Nick saw how conflicted I was and took me gently in his arms. And then he kissed me. His movements were much slower and more intense and tender than Tim’s impetuous fumbling and greedy kisses on the beach. Back then I felt I was in a tornado and just let it all happen, but now I felt passion rising within me. His mouth caressed my lips, and I automatically opened them to allow his tongue in. His expertise released an eager reaction in me. I turned hot and cold as if I had a fever, and heat suddenly gathered in the center of my body. I wound my arms around his neck, pushed tightly against him, and responded to his passionate kiss. Even though I lacked experience, I thought I performed quite skillfully. His hands slipped under my shirt and stroked my bare skin. I indulged in the frisson of lust that ran over me and sent hot flashes directly to my private parts. Nick pulled his lips away from mine and gently held me away from him.

“For heaven’s sake, Laura, if we don’t stop now, we’ll become a public nuisance. Besides, I think this is moving too fast. I want to give you more time, as hard as that is for me. There’s no way you should feel you’re being exploited. When we sleep with each other, then I want it to remain a beautiful memory, one that will expunge that old semi-rape and will really be your first time.”

I was in seventh heaven. He couldn’t have said anything more beautiful. I would rename this wonderful natural setting—now so rich in memories—the Grove of Love.

We drove to his place shortly afterward. Unfortunately, his fame didn’t permit us to simply stroll through the city uninterrupted or go to a beer garden like other couples. So he asked me if I wanted to see his parents’ house, and I readily accepted. I was pleased that he trusted me.

“I’ll tell you right now. My parents are in their house in Spain. But Hanna is there. She took care of me while I was in bed sick. And I promise not to exploit the situation.”

I felt perfectly secure in his presence and knew for certain that he wouldn’t shanghai me, not even in the seclusion of his home.