by Strauss, Lee
Katja laughed. “Great name. I can’t wait to hear you play.”
“At small gigs like this, KH and I play as a duo. Next week our band plays at Alexandra’s. You should come.”
“I’ll try.”
To Karl-Heinz he said, “Katja and I are writing this wicked song.”
Karl-Heinz nodded. “Cool.” Yvonne rolled her eyes.
The server came to their table and Katja ordered a glass of wine, downing half of it the moment it arrived. It’d been a long time since she had a drink and she loved how it burned slightly as it went down and left a warm glow to her cheeks.
Maurice introduced the first player, a guy with a beard and a wool cap, and the room quieted. That was the nice thing about playing to other musicians. They all understood how important it was to respect the artist by listening.
He was good, and everyone cheered when he finished his two song set. The next artist went on stage. Katja finished her drink and ordered another. She felt relaxed and happy. She was in her element, in a room full of people who were like her.
She smiled at Sebastian and Karl-Heinz. Yvonne didn’t smile in return, but at least she’d stopped scowling. They were her friends.
She had friends.
She had another drink and then leaned across the table toward Sebastian. “When do you play?” She heard the slur in her voice, but it just made her giggle.
“I think we’re next.”
Sure enough, Maurice called them to the stage. Katja cheered loudly. She loved her friends!
She already knew from their songwriting session that Sebastian had a great rock voice, but it was even better in this performance. Karl-Heinz played a cool back beat to the song on a beat box. The song was new to her. It was fantastic.
Katja leaned toward Yvonne. “I’ve never heard this before. Did he write it?”
Yvonne raised an eyebrow Katja wasn’t sure why. Was she talking too loud? Yvonne nodded looking bored. She’d probably heard this song a zillion times.
When Sebastian and Karl-Heinz got off the stage, Katja threw herself at them, giving them each a big hug. “That was so great! You guys are so great!”
Sebastian laughed. “Katja! You’re a happy drunk.”
She wobbled on her feet. “I’m not drunk.”
He laughed again and helped her to her chair. “If you say so.”
She wasn’t drunk. Was she? She ran her hands through her hair and then rested her face in her palms, elbows on the table. Her face felt thick, and she was light-headed and woozy. Maybe she was drunk.
Oh, no. What would Micah think?
Who cared what Micah thought? He didn’t own her. He didn’t love her. She could get drunk if she wanted to.
“I’m going home,” she announced. She struggled into her jacket and waved goodbye, stopping at the bar to buy a bottle for the road. She wasn’t driving. It was okay.
Somehow she managed to stay on the sidewalks. Even this late at night, there were loads of people out and about. A lot of them walking with open drinks in their hands.
Hey, she was thirsty, and she had a bottle of wine in her hand. Thank God for twist caps! She opened the bottle and took a long swig. Somehow she found her way back to Micah’s flat. She was like a freaking homing pigeon! She didn’t even have to think and, voila, here she was.
She had Sebastian’s song in her head, and she sang it as she climbed the steps. The stairwell had great acoustics, and she belted it out.
Micah was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. The door to his apartment was open.He had his arms folded over his nicely chiseled chest and a frown on his pretty face.
“What’s wrong?” Katja simpered.
“It’s late. I don’t think the neighbors appreciate being serenaded in the middle of the night.” Micah guided her inside and closed the door. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going out? I was worried.”
“Oh, you were?” Katja leaned against him heavily. She stroked his face. “I’m so sorry, I worried you. Here…” she held up her open bottle. “Have a drink.”
Micah took the bottle and set in on the table.
“Wait,” she said, reaching. “I want more.”
“I think you’ve had enough.”
Katja furrowed her brow and stuck out her bottom lip. “You’re mad, aren’t you? I’ve disappointed you.”
“I think you should go to sleep now.” Micah walked her over to the sofa bed. He opened it and helped her to lie down.
She propped herself up on an elbow. “What are we Micah? What are we?”
“We’re friends.”
She pouted. “Just friends? I like you, Micah. And I know you like me.” She patted the spot beside her. “Come. It’ll be fun.”
Micah hesitated, then to her absolute delight, he slid in beside her. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that she smelled mint toothpaste on his breath, saw his chest rise and fall, noticed the gold flecks around his irises. She laid a hand over his heart and felt his heartbeat speed up. He shuddered as her finger drew the shape of a crescent moon along his ribcage.
His mouth brushed against her ear, and she shivered. “I’m sorry Katja,” he whispered. “This isn’t right.”
What?
He shifted back, avoiding her eyes, and swallowed. “I have to go.”
“No, wait.” Katja felt the panic that preceded imminent rejection. “Why?”
“Because you’re drunk, and… just because.”
Micah sprung to his feet and walked toward his bedroom. Katja threw a cushion, hitting him on the back of the head. “You’re such a party pooper.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Good night, Katja.”
Katja awoke the next morning to the aroma of strong coffee. The bright light pouring in from the windows hurt her eyes, and she whipped an arm over her face to shield them.
What happened last night?
Then she remembered everything—talking loudly and loosely at the Blue Note, throwing herself at Sebastian in front of his girlfriend. She groaned. Yvonne was sure to hate her now.
Oh, God. She came on to Micah. She’d felt so sexy and alluring, but now she knew she’d looked wrecked like a cheap drunk, slurring her words and stumbling over her feet. Ugh. She felt so stupid and embarrassed.
She dared to look around. The time on the clock above the stove told her that Micah had left for work long ago. She pulled herself to her feet and stumbled to the bathroom. Her stomach swirled and her head pounded.
She moaned when she saw her image in the mirror. Mascara smudged down her cheeks and around her bloodshot, hazel eyes. Her hair was a rat’s nest. She swallowed two Tylenol and took a long shower.
Once dressed, she made herself a cup of coffee. It was extra bitter and strong, but exactly what she needed to get her going.
How was she going to face Micah after her ridiculous behavior? Any chance of winning his affections and becoming more than friends was long gone now. The most she could do was make herself presentable and useful to have around.
To that end, she brushed and blow-dried her hair and applied a small amount of make-up. She cleaned the bathroom and straightened the living room. The kitchen was already spotless. Her half-empty bottle of wine sat beside the microwave. She almost dumped it, but couldn’t face pouring good money down the drain. She put it in one of the cupboards out of sight. Her stomach was ready for a little food, so she ate a piece of toast, washing her plate and knife immediately afterward.
Now what to do? Laundry? She could wash his clothes, but that would mean going into his bedroom, and she didn’t feel comfortable doing that. She dusted the TV and the end tables, pausing at the mystery door to see if it was still locked.
Yup.
She sat on the sofa and stared at the bare walls.
And she got an idea.
Taking her sketch pad and drawing pencils, she headed out into the spring sunshine, wearing a light jacket with her torn jeans. She planted her sunglasses firmly on her face. It was a s
hort walk to the park, where she claimed one of the few empty benches. She wasn’t the only artist to be found along the banks of the River Elbe capturing the landmarks on paper. After sketching out the skyline to her satisfaction, she walked across the bridge, pausing near the arched gateway to the old town to sketch a street musician playing the violin. Then she continued on, entering the city square that surrounded the Frauenkirche. A dog lying in the sun at its owner’s feet at an outdoor café caught her interest. She sat at a table across from them and ordered an espresso, and busily sketched the dog while sipping at it.
She had three sketches she liked when she headed for a euro store to buy frames and finishing nails. She knew Micah had a small tool kit in the bathroom beside the washing machine. It had to have a hammer in it.
When she got back to the flat she chose a bare wall in the living room and hung her three framed sketches in a cluster. She smiled with satisfaction. They looked good there.
It was almost six and Katja wanted to make dinner for Micah for a change. She cubed the chicken breasts she’d found, added a jar of curry sauce and simmered it on the back of the stove. She kept her attention on the task at hand. She didn’t want to burn or overcook anything this time. She made a pot of rice, timing it precisely, and prepared a salad. She grabbed a couple bills from the fruit bowl and raced to the bakery café around the corner. She bought a fresh loaf of bread and two slices of apple cake for dessert.
When she returned, she smelled smoke. Oh no! She should’ve turned the chicken down. She quickly moved the pan off the element and opened the windows. What was she thinking? Did she want to burn the place down?
This was not exactly the scene she wanted Micah to come home to. What now?
She dialed the number for the Thai restaurant down the street. If she hurried she could be back before Micah got home.
Somehow she managed to have the table set including a new bottle of sparkling water, when Micah arrived.
“Hey,” he said when their eyes met. His gaze moved from her to the dinner waiting on the table.
“Hey,” she said. She felt nervous and embarrassed. “It’s just takeout.”
Micah set his briefcase down and removed his suit jacket. “I’ll wash up first.”
“Okay.” Katja sat in what had become her place at the table. Micah returned wearing jeans and his dress shirt untucked. His top button was undone. No tie.
Katja gulped. He was so attractive, and she had to pull her gaze away from the triangle of skin that peeked out from the top of his shirt.
She managed to find a few words. “How was your day?” Okay, they were lame words.
“Good. And yours?”
God. They already sounded like a boring old married couple.
“Look, Micah,” Katja started. “About last night.”
Micah’s eyes glistened with amusement. “It’s fine, Katja. You went out. You had fun.”
“Still, I should’ve told you. I should’ve invited you. I don’t usually drink that much. I don’t know what got into me.”
He grinned. “It’s okay. You were cute.”
Katja’s jaw dropped. Did he really just say that?
Micah turned his attention to the meal in front of him and dug in. She wished that he’d keep talking, or at least ask her questions, but he seemed okay with the silence.
“I have something to show you,” Katja said after they were finished eating. He followed her into the living room, and she showed him the wall. Micah’s expression remained staid as he stared at her sketches. She worried that he didn’t like them, or worse that he was angry she’d taken it upon herself to hang art without asking.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed,” she mumbled.
“No, no. They’re great.” He turned to her, taking in her face. “You’re really talented. Not just with music, it seems.”
Katja felt her lips tug up. A compliment from Micah meant the world. “Thanks.”
Just when she thought their relationship might take a turn, Micah’s cell rang. His mother again. He disappeared into his room, and twenty minutes later he returned, turned on the TV and watched the news.
It was just like any other night. Nothing had changed.
The next morning, Katja sat at the kitchen table, her notebook opened up to a new page, her pen lying beside it. She picked out notes on her guitar and hummed, then she gripped her pen and started scribbling.
Friend, won’t you calm my mind
I feel like it will implode
The difference between you and I
Is like the sun and the moon
She nibbled on her pen, considering Micah and how different they were from each other. If she were smart, she would leave this place. If he were smart, he’d make her.
And you know, you should know
That to stop just means you should go
(I should go)
We live in different worlds
She quit when she noticed the time. She had a half-hour slot booked to busk in the square in the old town. It was her first time to get this location, and it was prime for busking with a lot of pedestrians, especially this time of year. She put away her notepad and packed up her guitar. It was a fifteen-minute walk, and her arms would burn by the time she got there. She needed to arrive with enough time to let them recover.
It was warm enough now that she no longer needed gloves, which made playing much easier. The strings didn’t go out of tune so quickly. She opened her case, dropping a few coins in, strapped the guitar on, checked the tuning and began to play. Most of the people kept walking by on their way to shop, or to work, or to sight-see, but some stopped to listen, and a few threw money into the case.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, and she felt happy to play for so many people, even if they weren’t exactly listening.
Then her gaze landed on a familiar face, and her heart stuttered.
Micah.
He stood there in his blue suit jacket, a white cotton scarf around his neck, and dress pants that hung perfectly over leather shoes. The breeze blew curls off his face.
How long had he been watching her?
And why did she care? Why did his presence make her pulse race? It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard her play before, but it was the first time he’d seen her in action on the street. This was her turf, and it was far from the wealthy, sterile world of banking.
What was he doing here?
Then she remembered he worked at a bank in the center of the old town.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on her song. When she opened them, he was still there watching. She looked for a sign that he enjoyed what he heard and what he saw, but his brow inched down and his eyes narrowed.
He didn’t understand her. He thought she was a fool.
Maybe she was.
He left before she finished, so she didn’t get a chance to talk to him. She bought groceries with the money she’d earned, and he made dinner when he got home, just like usual. She didn’t say anything about seeing him at the square. She didn’t think he would say anything either. Micah was consistently the strong, silent type, but that night he proved her wrong.
“Why?” he asked simply.
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this? I mean, I get that you like to play guitar and write songs, and you’re good, but making a living as a musician is obviously very, very hard.”
Obviously.
“So, you think I should be a secretary or a nurse or something and just do music for fun?”
Micah shrugged. “Why not? At least then you’d be able to support yourself.”
It was like a cement truck backed into the room and started dumping when he said that. Katja caught her breath. “I’ll leave in the morning.”
“No, I didn’t…”
Katja stood and started clearing the table. “It’s fine. I’ve overstayed my welcome. I get it.”
She felt a tug on her arm. Micah towered over her, his head tilting, a look of remorse on his
face. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Katja. I’m just trying to understand.” The melancholy he’d been masterfully hiding returned to his eyes. “Why did you leave home?”
She found his nearness intoxicating. She backed up, shaking it off. This quiet, sad man was not for her.
He ducked to force her to look into his eyes. “Help me to understand.”
She gave him a sharp look. “My stepfather and I don’t get along. Let’s just say he wants more from our relationship than I’m willing to give.” Katja blinked hard. She couldn’t believe she just blurted that out. That was private and none of his business.
Anger flashed behind Micah’s dark eyes. “I see.”
She turned. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does. Have you reported him?”
She hadn’t. It would only cause more trouble. Just another thing he couldn’t understand about her. “Can we drop it? I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
“Okay.”
She wanted to say something to remove the dark, heavy blanket that had fallen over them. “Come to my gig at the Blue Note.” Maybe that would help him to understand.
Micah’s gazed softened, but he didn’t quite smile. “I’ll be there.”
Katja told Micah she had to leave early to set up. It was true, but she also didn’t want him to feel like this was a date.
Maurice let her in, giving her a friendly, boisterous pep talk, and she set up her stuff on the stage. A guy named Holgar set up the house sound system and she tested the mic. The guitar sounds bounced off the walls, but that would fix itself when the room filled.
Hopefully, it would fill.
What if no one showed? No one but Micah? That would be so embarrassing and further prove his point that she should do something more responsible with her life.
She breathed deeply with relief when people started showing up and the seats filled. She recognized the regulars, including Sebastian and his gang, and waved as they walked in. She froze to the spot when Micah entered. He was dressed casually in jeans and a button-down shirt. He looked freshly showered. He drew a hand through his hair when he spotted Katja, messing it in a way that made her heart skip a beat.