“I’d hoped you would remember it by yourself, but I don’t think you will, so I’m gonna have to tell you. When you hear this, though, you might not wanna go ahead with our deal anymore.”
That sounds serious, so I look very closely at the photograph. It’s a picture of myself. The ten-year-old me. It’s an old picture, but I do recognize myself as a young child. I’m not looking into the camera, but admiring a flower that I’m holding up. I see I’m sitting on the shoulders of a young man who is looking into the camera. Is that Cowboy? He looks so different ... he has short hair and is much less built than he is now. Amazed, I look at him, waiting for his explanation, but he remains silent. With his chin, he points at the picture, willing me to continue studying it. He strokes my back, giving me time to consider what I’m seeing.
I return my focus to the picture. Is that really him with me? I hold the picture closer to the lamp hanging over our table and recognize the feather tattoo on young Cowboy’s upper arm. In the picture, he’s smiling, a big smile ... I haven’t seen him smile so widely up till now.
The picture was taken in the backyard of our house in Palermo, I can see that right away. I remember my mother used to have plants in the borders, where little white flowers would grow in the spring that spread a lovely sweet scent throughout the entire neighborhood. They were star-shaped flowers, and were sacred to my mother. She always told me to stay away from them, because they were so small and fragile that even a strong gust of wind could make them fall apart. How could I not have made that connection before? This explains Cowboy’s fascination with these little flowers and why he calls me Stellina.
A hundred questions pop into my mind, but I don’t need to ask them, because he starts explaining on his own account. “I knew your parents, Stellina. I’m a good friend of your Uncle Francesco in Chicago. Your parents had trouble arranging their immigration to Holland. This was back when Francesco’s health was already deteriorating. He was too ill to fly to Italy, and that’s why he sent me in his place, to help you. He knew you wanted to immigrate to Holland and he also knew that, with my Dutch background, I would be able to help you with everything that needed to be arranged.”
Banana hammock macaroni... how is this possible?
“So, you knew my Uncle Francesco?”
“He was like a father to me. He’s the one who picked me up off the streets after I ran away from home. Shortly after I returned from Palermo, he died of lung cancer.”
“Yes ... I can remember my dad flying to Chicago for his funeral. But I never met Francesco myself and I was hardly aware of his illness and death.”
Oh my gosh, I can hardly believe this. It’s a small world after all, isn’t it? Who would ever have expected this?
“So, you also knew my father? And my mother?” I ask, still studying the picture. I just can’t stop staring at it. Part of me hopes I will remember things, something from that time, something about the old Cowboy. But alas, if he hadn’t shown me that picture, I guess I never would have believed him.
“Before that time, I had never met your parents, but we became friends after this whole immigration thing, and we stayed in contact for years.”
I’m still struggling to believe all this. I decide to interrogate him further. “So, did you also meet my other uncle in Italy, Uncle Matteo?” I have to force myself to take my eyes off the picture, so I can look at Cowboy, hoping to find answers in his eyes.
“Yes, I met him. I spoke with him only once back then, together with your father. Matteo wasn’t happy about you guys leaving. He was against it.” The way in which he tells me this, the caution with which he weighs these words, tells me that he knows more than he’s letting on. The fact that he knows so much, that he experienced a piece of my life back there in Italy, brings him a bit closer to me. He knows me. He knew my parents and my uncles. He knows the Nina from back then.
“Is that why you know so much about me? Were we friends?”
“You were ten and I was twenty, Stellina. To what extent can a ten-year-old be friends with a grown man?” It sounds as though there is a slight edge in his voice when he says this, as if he hoped that there was more. As if our friendship meant more to him than it did to me.
I need a minute to let this sink in. I’m having a hard time believing it. How is it possible that I don’t remember anything?
“You only spoke Italian, I only spoke English and a little bit of Dutch, but you didn’t back then. That made communicating a little hard. But I grew very fond of you. You were so warm and friendly, you loved to cuddle and you were so free. I remember that I was jealous of you, that I wished I could be that free and happy.”
“You weren’t free and happy?”
“No, Stellina. Not back then.” He seems to struggle a bit now. His eyes are tearing up and I can tell there is a lump in his throat he’s trying to swallow. Then he takes the picture from me and puts it back in his chest pocket. He pulls me in and hugs me hard, so hard the air is pressed out of my lungs. I give him a little kiss on the mouth and hug him back before he slowly releases me. The glow appears to be returning to his eyes.
“Does this mean we still have a deal?” The careful way in which he asks me this, confuses me a bit.
“Yes, we still have a deal. Why would this information have any influence on that?”
“I thought that the fact that we have a history together might scare you off.”
I need a minute to think about that. What does it all mean? Should this shock me?
“Well, I admit that all of this is very weird, especially since I can’t remember any of it, but I feel it creates a bond.”
“Yes, we do have a bond,” he confirms, very determined.
Then it hits me. “Then this is no coincidence, is it ... you and me sitting here together. Right? This cannot be a coincidence?”
“No, Stellina, it’s definitely no coincidence. This is something I have been working on for two years. To be here with you.”
“Two years? You are saying that you have been working on being with me ever since my parents died?”
“Yes, ever since I found out you started working for Audi in Germany. That’s when I started working for Audi in the States.”
“But ... why all this trouble? Why not simply come to see me? You wouldn’t have needed Audi for that, would you?”
“I needed to get my life on track first. Not just for myself, but also for the girls. And especially for you. To be the man you need me to be.”
“Oh,” I say. What a stupid word. But I simply don’t know what else to say at this point. Luckily, I don’t have to, because he quickly explains.
“It didn’t need to be Audi, it could have been any other company. We wanted a good job with a decent salary. An honest job. I chose Audi because it would bring me closer to you. Strike two birds with one blow, so to say. It’s a long story, a story I will tell you if you want me to. But not now. Just let of all this sink in for now. You have to decide for yourself whether this is a deal-breaker. Whether you still want to go through with our deal.”
His story does explain a lot. The pieces of the puzzle are starting to fall into place. But the more the pieces fit, the bigger the puzzle appears become. It feels as if for every answer he gives me, ten new questions appear. In a weird way, that doesn’t scare me at all; it only increases my curiosity. I want to know more about this man.
“No”—without a trace of doubt—”it doesn’t scare me at all.”
His smile is one of relief. What a beautiful sight when this man smiles. He hands me a glass of champagne and takes one himself.
“To our deal.” Those eyes of his, look straight through my soul, not letting me out of sight for one second, while his glass touches mine.
“To our deal,” I repeat, smiling. The champagne is great, but I’m a bit too greedy: a large drop trickles from the corner of my mouth down my chin. He wipes the drop away with his thumb and gives me a possessive look while he puts that thumb into his mouth.
Jesus, this man is gonna be the death of me.
If my life were a highway, I wouldn’t have known the starting point until now.
Chapter 16 – Smart buy
NINA
Sitting in the back of my parents’ Mercedes, I look at the raindrops decorating the window. The radio is on. Good, because I don’t want to listen to my parents arguing. They do that all the time, it never ends. They don’t care that I can hear everything. Every small detail is a reason for them to start blaming each other so I try to concentrate on the music. My parents just picked me up from the gym and there is a musty air in the car. It must be the rainy atmosphere combined with my sports socks. Or maybe it’s my parents’ failed marriage that stinks?
It’s a happy song on the radio and I sing along softly. Suddenly, the music starts to slow down and sounds a bit off-key. The sound of an engine starts getting louder. A scary feeling trickles into my stomach.
Looking in the direction of the noise, through the rear window of the car, I see a huge truck coming at us. In the vehicle, I spot myself sitting behind the wheel! I’m sitting in the truck, loudly singing along with the song. “Is it too late now to say sorry!” The Nina sitting in the driver’s seat is laughing and petting her dog sitting next to her. That Nina has no idea she’s heading towards us with too much speed. She’s gaining ground. Her dog starts barking louder and louder. He tries to warn her of the danger, but she’s oblivious. Then, an explosion. A loud bang and a squealing, crunching sound hurts my ears.
In slow motion, I see pieces of glass flying around everywhere. The out-of-tune music stopped playing and it’s become quiet. The small pieces of glass floating around in the air, glimmer and flicker in the light of the streetlamp. In awe, I admire the spectacle; a certain serenity covers me, like a warm blanket. A sense of relief. The arguing has stopped.
I wake up, startled and sweating. Gnocchi licks my face and makes a squeaky sound. My heart is pounding in my throat and I realize I’ve had another nightmare. Grandma bursts into my room.
“Another one, right? About your parents?” She comes to sit on my bed and holds me tightly.
“I killed my parents. I killed my parents. I killed my parents.”
All I can do is cry.
LATER, WHEN I’M ON my way to Rotterdam, I can’t help but think about last Saturday. I’m happy and excited about the recent developments. Honestly, I have never been this happy, or excited and fascinated by a man before. I feel like I’m in an episode of some action movie. So much has happened in such a short time.
The more I learn about Sebastian, the more I want to know. Add to that the fact he knows so much about me ... it makes me happy. Isn’t that weird? Anyone else might feel intimidated. He knows me back from when I was only ten, but some things he knows about me, he’s not supposed to at all. The only way he could know these things is by stalking me. That’s the only explanation.
For example, the sexcapades. That’s a word only Tiger and I use, so how could he possibly know about that? But I don’t mind. I kind of like that he took the effort to find out things about me. It means he’s genuinely interested and he likes me. He wants me to get to know him better. He wants me to like him. He’s saying all of these things and he’s proving them to be true with his behavior; not just with words, but with actions as well. Especially with actions.
He sends me flowers. Not just any flowers, but flowers with a deeper meaning to them.
He comes to the dance club especially for me.
He puts effort into finding out all kinds of things about me.
Those are actions and they say more than a thousand words.
The discussions I have with this man are also fascinating. For instance, our conversation on WhatsApp this morning made me smile.
S: What are your plans for these next two weeks?
Me: Work and getting to know you better.
Me: What are your plans for these next two weeks?
S: Getting to know you better, and work.
Me: When will I see you again?
S: Are you free on Wednesday?
Me: I have salsa with Booty Boy on Wednesdays.
S: Booty Boy?
Me: Long story, will tell you later.
S: Can I come? To your dance class?
Me: Sure. But you will have to dance too, not just watch.
S: Sure. Where’s the fun in just watching?
He never bores me. Every conversation we have is fun. He never says or does what I expect him to do. For instance, I never would have expected he would actually want to dance. Most men are afraid to dance. And did you notice how he switched the priorities? First, he wants to get to know me better; that is the priority for him. Work comes second, is less important to him apparently.
Once we’ve arrived in the port of Rotterdam, everything is mere routine for Gnocchi and me. We know exactly where we need to be and where to park the truck. Before we deal with the paperwork in the little office where we report for duty, I take Gnocchi for a quick walk.
While the forty-foot container is loaded, I have a nice cup of coffee and fill out some forms. Shortly, I will also need to inspect the truck. The brakes, the brake lines, the tires, cooling fluid, and the oil level—everything needs to be checked. Do the window wipers work? The lights and the direction indicators? After all of that is checked, we’ll be on our way to Germany.
But until then, I have some time, so I decide to call Anita. Normally, she always calls me in the morning, but I feel like hearing her voice. I haven’t talked to her since yesterday evening. I need to talk about the recent events with her.
“Hi, Tiger! Good morning! Any new gossip?”
“That depends on you, Trucker Girl. You were gone so suddenly yesterday. Are you okay?”
“Positive! More than okay, actually! I’m dying to tell you everything, but you must swear that you will keep it to yourself.” Quickly, I decide I won’t tell her everything. Not yet. She doesn’t need to know Cowboy already knew me from when I was ten. I’m still processing that one myself. I mean, it explains a lot, but I’m still not sure how I feel about it. I want to decide that for myself before I tell anyone else about it.
“Okay, so no new gossip then. You sound cheerful. Does that mean you had a good talk with the American God? Had some American dick as well?”
“You and your dirty mouth. I thought we had an agreement, no sex talk in the morning! Anyway ... speaking of agreements, I wanted to catch you up on the deal I made with Cowboy yesterday.”
“Cowboy? Is that how we’re calling him now? Because you let him ride you whenever he wants to?”
“I wish! No, I’m afraid I will not be mounted this week.”
“Now who’s talking dirty? You and no sex for one week? With anyone? Or just not with Cowboy?”
“With no one. But after this week, if we still like each other, we’ll go for it big time. I’m counting on Cowboy saddling me up nice and good by that time, if you know what I mean.”
“Sounds like a solid plan.” She goes quiet, which is weird for her.
Then I remember there’s something I wanted to ask her. “Tiger, did you ever mention my sexcapades to anyone?”
“Your sexcapades? No, why on earth would I talk about your random fucks with anyone?”
“Oh okay, I thought as much. Cowboy knows about them; he referred to it once. So, I was wondering how he could possibly know. He used the word sexcapade too, which I think only you and I use in that particular way. That’s why I wondered where he picked it up.”
“No, girl, not from me. Besides, I’ve never actually spoken to Sebastian in person. It does sound kind of weird. This whole situation is weird, come to think of it.”
“What is weird?”
“I mean, this deal you made with him. On the one hand, I’m happy for you, because you sound really thrilled. On the other hand, however, I don’t understand. What happens after these two weeks?”
“Duh! Then he’ll return to the States, you know that
already.”
“Yes. And then what?”
“What do you mean, and then what? Then everything will turn back to normal, and I will have had a nice little adventure with a very sexy, very nice American Cowboy.”
“So, it’s just about the sex? Are you so desperate to fuck him that you are willing to invest two whole weeks in him? Come on girl, I’m not buying it!”
“I’m not trying to make you buy anything. It is what it is.”
“So you’re going to use him? Make him think he has a shot at a long-term relationship with you, just to have sex with him?” I don’t like the tone she uses when asking me that.
“You make it sound like I’m a heartless slut. How is that any different from what I usually do? It’s always an investment, isn’t it? I present myself in a certain way. I tell them what they want to hear. I spend time with them, make them laugh, make them feel good about themselves. All of that in exchange for the most exciting sexual adventures. It’s just a game. The only difference is that this is an investment of two weeks instead of a couple of hours. In return for it, I’ll get an entire week of sex.”
“Very rational of you, girl. Good, if you’re buying that yourself, but I’m not. You like him, don’t you? Why not start a real adventure? Why not be open to love for once?”
Ugh, love ...
“Love is fleeting. Love is wasted time and energy. Love is disappointment. Love is for suckers. For zombies. Not for me. I just want to play.” I’m very certain of my case. “I don’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s happiness,” I quickly add.
She goes quiet again for about five seconds before she speaks again. “And what about your own happiness?”
“I’m happy enough like this. I couldn’t be happier,” I say casually.
“My dear, you wouldn’t know happiness if it smacked you in the face.” That makes me angry right there, that little condescending tone of hers. Nobody tells me what I do and don’t know, not even my best friend.
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