by Heldt,Dora
Christine went red and noticed with surprise that Dorothea’s eyes had filled with tears. She made herself breathe calmly, reached for the bottle, and poured more champagne. Just don’t say the wrong thing, she said to herself, just stay calm.
She’d often felt guilty in the last few months, even though she had told herself she wasn’t lying to Dorothea, just omitting to mention a few things. But she hadn’t felt good about it.
“Are you angry because I’m seeing Richard again, or because I didn’t tell you about it?” asked Christine cautiously.
“Both. But I think I’m more upset that you don’t trust me anymore.”
“It has nothing to do with trust, Dorothea. Even I don’t know why I started it all up again. We met up at the end of March, and I was weak. It’s terrible, especially after the whole Christmas debacle, and I know that, too. I think I was ashamed to tell you that I’d slipped; I was worried about how you would react. I mean, I’ve been angry enough at myself; you can believe me on that.”
Dorothea shook her head. “You have no idea what I’d say. I really don’t care who you go to bed with, but I was really worried about you last winter. You seemed to get sadder, thinner, and paler by the day. Through it all I either cursed Richard along with you or encouraged you to go for it, depending on what you needed. And I did that for your sake. Friendship means openness and trust; it means you’re there for each other. And for me to find out through some stupid coincidence that my friend is living a double life, well, that borders on betrayal.”
Dorothea had talked herself into a rage. Uttering the last sentence, she noticed she was being melodramatic. She took a deep breath and searched for something to say that would soften her tone but not take back the strength of what she felt. Christine was looking at her helplessly. Dorothea stuck her chin out obstinately and said: “Well, it’s true.”
Her face betrayed a childish expression that took some of the harshness from her words. Dorothea wasn’t the type to bear a grudge; she just spoke up about what annoyed her. Christine had been shocked when she launched into her tirade, but now that it was finally out in the open, a feeling of relief had set in. She touched Dorothea’s hand gently.
“I’m sorry. You’re right, I can’t just cry on your shoulder when things are bad and then keep the rest to myself. But on the other hand, I do object to being obligated to share these things. I mean, of course trust is important in friendship, but when I have to constantly prove that by sharing everything right away, I feel under pressure, and I don’t like that.”
“I tell you almost everything, and I don’t do it because I have to but because it makes me feel better. You only talk about private matters when you’re prompted.”
“That’s exactly my point. When you tell me about something, it makes you feel better, relieved. You said it yourself. But it’s your decision to talk to me about it. I have to get things straight in my own head before I can talk about them. It’s nothing against you. Being open isn’t a straight swap, Dorothea, and you have to accept that.”
Dorothea thought for a moment. Perhaps this was the problem in lots of friendships.
“I always thought trust was a reciprocal thing. I tell you my stories, and you tell me yours. Otherwise it’s one-sided. And…”
Christine interrupted her. “Trust isn’t about I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours. Trust means I can tell you, but I don’t have to. Trust is the ability to be able to share with someone without being forced or expected to.”
Dorothea looked at Christine. “And? Can you with me?”
Christine smiled. “Of course I can, Dorothea. Don’t be silly.” She lit two cigarettes and passed one to her. “Come on, let’s smoke a peace pipe. And then I’ll tell you about Richard.”
Hamburg
Luise looked at her watch as she climbed the steps to the Italian restaurant. Seven forty-five, she was fifteen minutes early. Ruth had booked the table for eight p.m.; she wanted to discuss the progress of their detective work with Gabi and Ines. Luise smiled as she thought about what she had to share with the others; she was starting to find the search more and more exciting.
She found Gabi at a table by the window. She was lost in thought, playing with her lighter and staring out of the window. She jumped as Luise laid her hand on her shoulder.
“Oh, hello, Luise, sorry, I didn’t see you come in.”
Luise laughed. “So I see, you looked like you were in another world. Is everything OK?” She sat down, rummaged around in her bag for her cigarettes, and laid them on the table. “I thought I’d be the first to arrive again.”
“I came here straight from work. It wasn’t worth going home first.”
Luise looked at her as she lit her cigarette. “Are you feeling OK? You look pale.”
Gabi shook her head quickly. “No, no, everything’s fine, I’ve just got a bit too much work, that’s all. And I haven’t slept very well for the last few nights. Maybe it’s the full moon.”
Luise looked at her skeptically. But before she could probe further, the blond waitress came up to the table.
“Good evening, ladies. Would you like to order drinks or a small aperitif perhaps? We have a lovely Prosecco with elderberry syrup.”
Luise looked at her. “I’d like a large bottle of water and a glass of your house red.”
“Of course.” The blond raised her eyebrows for a second, turned around, and went.
Gabi watched her go. “I passed on the aperitif, too, and ordered an apple juice spritzer instead, which didn’t go down well. Somehow she always makes me feel a little nervous. One day she’ll actually manage to get me to order what she recommends.”
“Oh, Gabi, it’s ridiculous. In a minute she’ll be recommending a load of other things that aren’t on the menu and conveniently leaving out the prices. It really gets on my nerves.”
“Ruth likes it; she always orders the specials. In all the times that we’ve eaten here she’s never once looked at the menu.”
Luise laughed. “Typical Ruth, she has to be given the special treatment; otherwise she gets twitchy.”
Gabi didn’t bat an eyelash and stayed silent.
“What’s up? Are you having issues, you and Ruth?” asked Luise, bemused.
“Well, define ‘issues.’ Ever since Ruth was made editor of Kult, she’s been throwing her weight around a bit. She acts like a diva and treats other people as if they’re idiots. She expects us all to jump when she says so, and I…”
Seeing Luise’s shocked expression, she came to an abrupt stop. The words had just burst out of her; she hadn’t even wanted to talk about Ruth. After all, their problem had nothing to do with anyone else. Before she could try to salvage the situation, Ines came in. Luise looked at Gabi briefly.
“Let’s talk about it again when we’re alone.”
Then she turned to Ines, who was unwrapping herself from her hooded jacket and smoothing her hair down with her hands.
“Evening,” she said, sinking into the chair next to Luise. “I’m so thirsty; isn’t Ruth here yet?”
She looked around. In a shot, the waitress was by their table again.
“Good evening, can I get you a drink, perhaps a small aperitif, I have a wonderful…”
“Yes, a large beer, thank you.”
Ines didn’t notice the waitress’s raised eyebrows, distracted as she was by the other two, who could barely contain their laughter. She looked at them questioningly.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” snorted Luise, then pulled herself together.
“Ah, Ruth’s here.”
Ruth waved at them as she hung her white leather jacket up in the cloakroom. She walked briskly over to their table.
“Hi, sorry I’m late.” She leaned over to kiss first Gabi, then Luise on the cheek, then grasped Ines’s outstretched hand and shook it. “Ines! It’s so great that you’re joining us.”
She sat down and looked around. Her hair was tousled and her face glowing
. She threw Gabi a quick look and winked. Gabi looked back, not reacting, and cleared her throat.
“So, shall we make a start?”
Ruth shook her head lightly, her eyes still fixed on Gabi. Her voice was a little hesitant. “Sure, but I’d like to order first.”
The waitress was there in a second. She beamed at Ruth.
“Mrs. Johannis, how lovely to see you. May I offer you a small aperitif? I have a wonderful Prosecco with elderberry syrup; it’s really lovely.”
Ruth nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds great, I’d love one.”
Gabi and Luise grinned. Ruth looked at them. “What’s so funny?”
Luise bit her bottom lip before glancing at Gabi, who was fumbling in her purse, and quickly said: “Nothing. Shall we order the pasta for four and just be done with it?”
Ruth paused before agreeing, hesitantly, “If you like.”
Ines nodded. The waitress kept her notepad aloft. “Perhaps you’d like an appetizer?”
Gabi shook her head. “Not for me thanks. Ines? Luise? Ruth?” No one answered. “No, that’s everything, thank you.”
She watched the waitress walk—a little in a huff despite her partial success—back to the bar.
“Can I start? I’ve managed to find someone.” Gabi looked around her at the three curious faces. “I found Frauke. Her surname used to be Müller, but now it’s Jensen and she lives near Lübeck. I’ve already spoken with her on the phone.”
“How did you manage to do that so quickly?” asked Ines, amazed. “We didn’t even know her surname.”
Gabi laughed contentedly. “Sometimes you just get lucky. It was fairly easy. I went out for lunch last week with Christine. There were a few women at the table next to us, talking at the top of their voices about their daughters and which teen heartthrobs they had crushes on. Then Christine says to me that she finds it strange how women seem to forget about what they were like as girls as soon as they become mothers. She said she used to have a Bravo poster of David Cassidy on her bedroom wall, that she used to kiss his mouth every morning before she left for school. And that her friend Frauke Müller used to do the same thing.”
Ines gave a loud groan. “Yes, I have a vague memory of that. And then what? I mean, there must be so many Müllers that I’m not sure it helps much.”
“It was so easy. I just played dumb and asked when it was. Christine thought for a moment and said it was 1973; she was in seventh grade at Wentorf School at the time. So afterward, I phoned the secretary’s office at the school and spoke to a very nice woman there who faxed me the class lists. There was only one Frauke Müller. Her parents’ address hasn’t changed in all these years. Mrs. Müller could even still remember Christine and gave me Frauke’s telephone number.”
Luise, who had been holding her breath during the story, breathed out deeply. “Great! And what did she say? What was she like?”
“Really nice.” Gabi thought back to the conversation. “At first she was surprised. I mean, she hasn’t seen Christine in over twenty years. The last contact they had was a card she sent Christine when she got married. She was invited but couldn’t go because she’d just given birth to her third child. She married her childhood sweetheart and has, as I said, three kids. She works half days in her husband’s company; he owns a car salesroom. We didn’t speak for long. She gave me her address, and I sent her the invitation and questionnaire. And she’s coming to the party!”
Ines nudged Ruth, who had been uncharacteristically silent during Gabi’s story.
“That’s amazing. Ruth, all this was your idea, what do you say to that?”
Ruth looked at Gabi for a long moment, then reached for her purse. “Great work, Gabi. But I already have something, too.”
She pulled an envelope out of her bag and took a sheet of paper from it, which she unfolded on the table. Luise leaned over and pulled it toward her.
“That’s the questionnaire.” She picked it up. “From Marie Erdmann. And it’s already filled out. Great!”
Ruth watched her with a contented expression.
“It was easy. Remember you found that postcard in Christine’s apartment that Marie had sent her? She’s called Annemarie, by the way. Well, she’s still at that address; she took over looking after her parents’ house and lives there now. She was overjoyed to get the invite, filled in the questionnaire right away, and has already booked time off for the party in November.”
By now, Luise was waving the piece of paper excitedly.
“I have to tell you all about my success story. I was in Flensburg for business meetings, had to stop to use the bathroom, and ended up finding this small shopping center. There was a bakery there, and I got myself some lunch. I’d only just got back into the car and started to eat the sandwich when I noticed this on the napkin.”
She pulled the neatly folded paper napkin from her bag and showed it to the others. Ines was the first to catch on.
“Number one for years—Meyer Fine Foods, formerly Love Butchers. Love! I don’t believe it! Luise, that’s amazing!”
Luise looked at the others triumphantly. “I was so excited, I went straight back into the shop and asked the assistant about it. She was very nice but had no idea what had happened to the Love family; the shop has belonged to the Meyers for fifteen years now. But she had a colleague in another branch who had done an apprenticeship with the Loves. So I drove to the other branch to get her details. She’s almost seventy now, only works a little, and didn’t want to give much away over the phone. So I invited her to have a cup of coffee with me, and then she was really lovely. And then she told me: she knows Linda, too. She talked for ages and really seemed to enjoy talking about old times.”
“And? Is Linda Love coming?” asked Gabi impatiently. “That would be amazing.”
Luise shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Linda worked as a nanny in Canada after she graduated high school. She fell in love while she was out there and stayed. Now she’s called Lambert and lives in Vancouver. Hertha—that’s the apprentice—gave me her address, and I’ve already written a letter but haven’t had a reply yet. Hopefully I will.”
Ruth had been making notes in her day planner. She pushed her glasses back up and nodded contentedly. “So, we’re making great progress. I’m sure we’ll make the surprise party a success. We’ve already got three people. Now, who else do we still need to find?”
“Marleen was going to deal with Lena, the basketball player. But I haven’t spoken with her yet. She also sent the invitation and questionnaire to Dani, you know, Daniela—Christine’s old housemate.”
Gabi suddenly remembered something. “I forgot to tell you. Frauke told me on the phone about someone called Gudrun. She used to be friends with Christine, too. Frauke’s going give me her contact details.”
Luise nodded. “That’s right, Gudrun! Ines, do you remember? When we were at your house, Georg mentioned a Gudrun. She had a horse, and she and Christine used to go riding together.”
Ines laughed. “Please, horse riding? Christine hates horses. Well, it’s all getting exciting anyway. Look, our food is coming.”
After the waitress had put the dishes down on their table and given an elaborate description of the pasta, which no one but Ruth paid any attention to, Gabi raised her glass.
“So, my dears, to our continued success. Cheers!”
Hamburg
Christine was dreaming. She was sitting with Richard on a sun terrace. The stars were twinkling in the sky, the waves crashing below them. A golden band sparkled on Christine’s finger. Richard was smiling at her. She had an uneasy feeling she was forgetting something. She looked at the ring, then at Richard, and wracked her brains in desperation. Suddenly she realized what must have happened. She had married Richard. Her head felt hot, and she awoke with a start, feeling dizzy.
Christine opened her eyes slowly. Her head wasn’t just hot; it hurt, too. And where Richard had just been sitting, her wicker chair now stood, piled with her clothes fr
om last night. She had folded her jeans on the ironed crease. Christine groaned. She only did that when she was drunk.
Gradually, the pictures came back. She and Dorothea on the balcony. Two bottles of champagne and a big reconciliation. Then they’d taken a taxi into the city. In the first bar, they’d run into some of Dorothea’s colleagues. She couldn’t remember their names. Apart from an Alexander. Christine lay back down again. He’d kissed her at some point. There had been a lot of red wine, that she could remember. Then a taxi home, Dorothea had fallen asleep, and Christine hadn’t been able to string her words together well enough to tell the driver where they lived. It was so embarrassing. She pulled the duvet over her head. No more booze, no more nights out around the Kiez.
Someone rang her doorbell. They couldn’t be serious! She tried to decipher the number on her alarm clock. Eight fifteen in the morning. It rang again, this time for longer. Idiots. At the third ring she got up, sluggishly. All her bones ached. She had somehow managed to fall over getting out of the taxi. Oh God.
Christine picked up the receiver for the entry system and cleared her throat.
“Yes, hello?”
Her voice sounded drunk and hoarse. She tried to act like she had a cold.
A cheerful male voice answered. “Good morning, Frau Schmidt, ‘Wine Direct’ here, I’m here with your order.”
That had to be a joke. Or the rightful punishment. He’d have to just take it all away again; she never wanted to drink alcohol again. God, she felt awful.
“Hello, Frau Schmidt? Please press the entrance buzzer for me.”
Christine pressed the button and slumped down into a chair. On the dresser in front of her lay the delivery notice confirmation from the wine store. He was right.
Ten minutes later, five boxes of red wine were in her hallway, the attractive deliveryman had taken his leave with a cheerful “get better soon,” and Christine had gone back to bed.