Inseparable

by Heldt,Dora

  “She was the biggest bitch from our dance school days. Who found her? And why did she even come? She wasn’t even friends with Christine.”

  She couldn’t hold the giggles back any longer, and before long Gudrun’s shoulders were twitching, too. Luise, confused, tried to catch Ines’s gaze. But at that moment a couple came over to the table, both very tall; she had short blond hair and he was very dark. Both were wearing jeans and blazers. Before Ines could stand up, Dani cried out: “Lena! How wonderful. And Jürgen, hello, how are you both?”

  Their answers were lost in the orchestra of voices. Ruth had another three glasses brought over and poured the champagne. Once everyone was seated, she tried again, raising her glass and clearing her throat loudly.

  “So, I’d like to say something.” Ten pairs of eyes looked at her expectantly.

  “My name is Ruth and this was my idea. I’m really pleased we found everyone we were looking for. So, first of all, welcome.”

  “Thank you for the invitation,” called everyone at once, knocking on the table loudly, so that Ruth had to call for order again.

  “While we were sitting by the Alster back in April—and by we, I mean Gabi, Luise, and I—talking with Christine about the subject of female friendship, the idea came to us of organizing this party. To start with it was just an idea, but then we started the search in earnest. It got more and more exciting, and by the end even the last skeptics were convinced. Isn’t that true, Luise and Marleen?”

  Both nodded and laughed.

  “And now we’ve got almost everyone together, and the best thing is that Christine still doesn’t have the faintest clue of what we have in store for her. She’ll be picked up by Dorothea in an hour and still thinks she’s walking around the corner to her favorite Italian restaurant to have a meal with her brother, sister, and three or four friends. We’ll be waiting for them in Indochine. I also wanted to…”

  Ruth was interrupted by Luise, who had suddenly jumped up. “Oh, shit, Ruth, I forgot something. Christine invited Mathias and Sven as well. I completely forgot about them, and they’ll be on their way to the Italian place. Have you got Mathias’s cell number?”

  “Why Mathias? And who’s Sven?” asked Ruth, confused.

  “It doesn’t matter, but we’ll have to call them right away. Have you got the number?”

  Ruth fished her cell phone from her bag and looked through her contacts. The murmur of voices set in again. Ines leaned over to Marleen.

  “Who’s Sven? The guy from Sylt? The one Christine went out to dinner with a few times?”

  “That’s the one,” Marleen whispered back. “Hmmm…then it seems a few more things must have happened since then.”

  Ines grinned. “Good for her!”

  Ruth had stepped aside to make the phone call in peace. She held a hand to her ear and spoke so loudly that everyone else heard.

  “No, we canceled the table…in Indochine…yes, exactly…No, of course she doesn’t know about it; it’s a surprise…You can head out now; we’re leaving in a moment, too…Luise just thought of it…No, all the others know…What?…Are you crazy? No, Dorothea is picking her up right now; everything’s organized. OK, see you soon.”

  She came back to the table and put the phone back in her bag.

  “Heavens, Luise, you could have remembered that earlier. And why did she even invite them? Is something going on with this Sven guy?”

  Luise tried to sound noncommittal. “No idea, they all spent an evening together on Sylt back in the summer, so maybe that’s why.” She looked at her watch. “It’s almost six o’clock. We should start to make a move.”

  “Good, I’ll pay for the champagne quickly; then we can set off. My treat.”

  Ruth stood up, pulled her jacket on, and went to the bar. Ines looked around; all the others were talking all at once. She knocked on the table.

  “Ladies…and gentleman, time to go. You’ve got the whole evening in front of you to catch up.”

  Ten minutes later, all the witnesses of Christine’s old life were on their way.

  Christine stood there for a long while, stunned. Eventually, Dorothea gave her a nudge forward into the room.

  “Come on, Christine, say good evening.”

  As if in slow motion, her gaze swept over the faces. Everything looked quite normal at the first table: Luise, Ines, and Georg. At the second table was Marleen, next to someone who looked like Dani. But it couldn’t be. Then more familiar faces, Mathias, and Sven, a happy sight. The third table: Ruth and Gabi, then two faces who seemed familiar, one of whom looked like the mother of an old friend of hers, Gudrun. Next to her was—although it couldn’t really be, surely—Frauke, but a grown-up version. As she looked at the fourth table, her knees started to tremble: Lena and Jürgen. Both of them. And they were smiling. Christine pushed her arm through Dorothea’s.

  “I feel dizzy. What’s going on here? Am I dreaming?”

  And suddenly, they all got up and came over to her. As Dorothea pressed a glass of champagne into her hand, Christine stood there, still in the middle of the room, undecided as to what she should do first. But the decision wasn’t hers to make; everyone started to hug and kiss her.

  Ines and Ruth directed the waiters to serve, and soft jazz played in the background. After a while, everyone went back to their seats, and the conversations and laughter at the tables started back up. Marie ran from table to table with a digital camera, telling the guests to look lively.

  Christine sat down next to Frauke and looked at her for a long while.

  “You haven’t changed in the slightest, Frauke. I’d have recognized you anywhere. Tell me everything, what you’re doing, how you are.”

  Frauke updated her on everything, laughing and nudging Christine in the side at the exciting bits, just like the old days.

  Gudrun, who looked like her mother had at the same age, laughed loudly at one of Gabi’s jokes, and then turned back to Christine.

  “Look,” she said, pulling a photo from her bag. “Can you still remember this?”

  The photo showed Gudrun and Christine sitting behind one another on an ancient pony. Christine looked just as unhappy as the gray horse did.

  “The horse was called Käthe,” explained Gudrun, “and we were pretending to be Butch Cassidy’s sisters.”

  Christine could remember it well. “Well, you were pretty convincing, but then the old nag went and bit me.”

  “Horses don’t bite.” Gabi looked at the picture. “God, you were both so young.”

  “Twelve,” answered Christine. “And Käthe did bite.”

  Jürgen came over and took Christine’s arm, leading her to their table. “So, come and have a sip of wine with us for a bit.” Lena fetched a glass for Christine and put it in front of her, while Jürgen poured. They toasted one another. Christine looked at them both, one after the other.

  “I really feel I should say something about what happened between us back then.”

  Lena shook her head. “What for? That’s all over and done with. Silly things like that always are, so let’s stop wasting time. By the way, we’ve bought you a ticket for a handball game next week, HSV against Kiel. It’s here in Hamburg on Wednesday. Can you make it?”

  “Of course, I’d love to.”

  “Great,” said Jürgen, smiling. “Then we’ll pick you up. We’ll get to the stadium an hour early so we can fit in a hotdog first.”

  Just like the old days, thought Christine, as someone tapped her on the shoulder.

  Next she sat down with Dani for a while, opposite Sven and Mathias. Mathias told the story of their meeting on Sylt, exaggerating hideously about the amount of alcohol they had consumed and smirking about his storytelling. He was also flirting outrageously with Dani. Christine felt Sven’s foot nudge hers under the table. She looked at him and had a warm feeling; he was smiling at her and looked as if he were in love.

  Recognizing Dani’s perfume, Christine leaned over to her and said, under her breath: “Stil
l Boss Woman?”

  Dani nodded. “That’s right; you bought it for me once, and I’ve worn it ever since.” She looked across the table. “Do we have any water left?”

  Sven stood up. “I’ll get some more. Mathias, will you come with me?”

  “You’ve got two hands.”

  “Mathias. Please!”

  “Fine, OK.”

  Dani watched them go. “Well, they’re discreet, aren’t they! Come on, is there something going on between you and Sven? He seems head over heels for you.”

  Christine watched Sven as he stood at the bar waiting for water. “I’m not sure yet what will come of it. But it feels good.”

  Dani pressed her hand. “Just go with it. I’m really happy I’m here. I never was that good with my private life until I discussed things with you.”

  Christine laughed. “Your private life always a bit chaotic. Whether you talked to me about it or not.”

  Dani looked serious. “But it’s getting more so now. Hey, is Mathias involved with anyone?”

  Christine kissed Dani on the cheek and stood up. “You man-eater. I think he’s single at the moment. Enjoy!”

  Dani laughed and raised her glass. “Thanks.”

  Frauke joined Christine at the bar. She started telling her about her children and her job at Gunnar’s garage.

  “…and then my daughter said to my son that I used to be a real bombshell, and that no one would recognize me now. It was a real wake-up call to me.”

  Christine gazed at her. “But, seriously now: you’ve hardly changed. You look amazing, by no means a frumpy mother.”

  Frauke smiled shyly. “You have no idea how good it is to hear that. But it was hard work.”

  Marie’s camera was pointing at them. “Give me a smile, ladies, thank you.” Then she disappeared. Frauke watched her go.

  “She’s so ridiculous.”

  Christine shrugged. “Well, perhaps you have to be in that job. I find it more ridiculous that Ruth or Gabi or whoever hired someone to take photos. It must have cost a fortune, and it’s not like it’s my eightieth birthday.”

  Frauke looked at Christine, amazed.

  “Hired? You don’t mean you don’t know who that is?”

  Now it was Christine’s turn to be confused. “No, I mean, I did wonder why she hugged me, but I’ve got no idea.”

  Frauke burst out into loud laughter, which sounded exactly like it had in the classroom thirty years ago. With tears in her eyes, she crumpled over, stammering her words and laughing hysterically. The people around them watched in amusement as Christine doubled over, too. Then Frauke whispered something in her ear, making Christine laugh so much that she lost her balance.

  As they saw Ruth coming over to them, they stood back up. Frauke wiped her made-up eyes carefully and gasped for air.

  “Heavens, what must I look like? Have I smudged my makeup?”

  Ruth looked at them both questioningly. Christine was about to say something, opened her mouth, then looked into her uncomprehending gaze and snorted with laughter again.

  “Christine didn’t recognize our dear Annemarie Erdmann,” wheezed Frauke, before starting to giggle again.

  Christine, who was trying to stop the onset of another fit of laughter, said apologetically: “Well, we were never friends, but it’s nice to see her again all the same.”

  Both of them doubled up with laughter again. Ruth, on the other hand, didn’t have the slightest clue what was so funny.

  By now the buffet had been laid out, and one of the waiters was speaking quietly to Ines. She nodded and beckoned to Ruth.

  Christine, who had calmed down by now, was watching. She passed Frauke a tissue and asked Ruth: “What’s happening now?”

  Ruth took a champagne glass from the bar and linked arms with Christine. “Now, sweetie, we’re having the speeches. Sit down at the table, take giggly old Frauke with you, and listen up.”

  She pushed Christine in the direction of the table Marleen and Dani were sat at. Frauke followed her. “Oh God,” she whispered, “we always used to go into hysterics during speeches. I think I’d better sit next to Gudrun; if I even look at you it’ll get me going again.”

  She pressed Christine’s hand and went to the next table. Christine watched her go; then Marleen pulled her down to her seat.

  “Come on, birthday girl, sit down. Is your glass topped up?”

  Christine held her empty glass out. “No, but I think I’m going to need some wine if there are speeches. That’s awful, what on earth are they doing?”

  Marleen poured the glass full and looked at Christine sympathetically.

  “Come on, you have to grin and bear it. How are you anyway? Did we do good?”

  Christine let her gaze wander around the room. Everyone had come here for her; it made her feel proud. She gave Marleen a quick hug.

  “It’s unbelievable. I have no idea how you guys pulled it off, but I’m very happy you did.”

  At the same moment Ruth clinked a spoon against her glass. The room quieted down a little, and all faces turned toward her, standing in the middle of the room with a few sheets of paper. She looked around until the last of the chatter had died down.

  “Before we open the buffet, I’d just like to say a few words. Don’t worry, it won’t be a long speech; I know you’re all hungry. So, dear Christine, dear friends, dear guests, most of you already know how this evening came about, but for the others, and especially for Christine, just a short explanation: Christine, do you remember when I told you about my friend’s wedding, back in April when you, me, Gabi, and Luise were sitting by the Alster? Well, you seemed a little dismissive back then. We got the feeling you didn’t have much trust in the concept of having a best friend for years and years, and we wanted to show you that it can work. That’s how the idea was born. Ines, Marleen, and Dorothea helped us in the search for your long-lost friends, and I’d like to thank them now. I was actually planning to read out a poem about friendship, but then I realized I had something even better. Christine, do you remember this?”

  Ruth unfolded one of the pages in her hand and waved it in Christine’s direction, who looked at her uncertainly and shook her head.

  “No idea. What is it?”

  Ruth smoothed out the sheet of paper and walked over to Christine’s table.

  “Oh God, is that the rough draft of my article? Where did you get that from?”

  “It fell out of your folder in my office when you brought the ‘Linda Love’ column to me. Can I read it out to the others?”

  Christine laughed. “Oh, Ruth, it’s not like I can really say no. I’m not even sure what I wrote anymore. It was just for me. But fine, I only have myself to blame, and it doesn’t matter now.”

  As Ruth walked back into the middle of the room, she kept on speaking:

  “On that day in April, I asked Christine to write a column with the title ‘My Best Friend.’ Thanks to Luise the title was changed to ‘My First Friend,’ something I wasn’t as happy with. Christine told me that she tried to do both, but she preferred the ‘first friend’ one, so ‘Linda Love’ was the one we printed. But she left this draft behind by mistake and I kept it. And now, listen to the thoughts that Christine had about ‘my best friend.’”

  “My Best Friend”

  My editor wants me to write a column about my best friend, and now I’m sitting here at a loss. Because—and I know this might sound ridiculous—I don’t actually have a best friend. It’s even more ridiculous, in fact, because I now have to research by calling women I know, my sister, my cousins, my neighbors, my colleagues, and all because I’m supposed to write about what it’s like to have a best friend, something I don’t have. I hate research like this; it takes up too much time and it’s no fun whatsoever.

  I don’t suppose men ever get asked about their best friends: primarily because we assume that they’re either lone wolves or travel in a pack. (Why do the gay penguins from the Bremerhaven Zoo suddenly spring to mind?)


  Women, on the other hand, clearly can’t get through life without a best friend; they need symbiosis. Preferably through a husband and a best girlfriend. Both of whom need to like each other. But not too much. Anyway, I’m veering off the topic. Why don’t I have a best friend? Could it be because I’d rather be a lone wolf or travel in a pack?

  I do have a very nice pack, by the way. I have one wolf for the sauna, one for work, one for holidays, one to get drunk with, one to cook with. Everyone’s there, just not a best one.

  My friend Karola would probably say we’re too old for best friends. We used to have them, years ago. But they made fun of our Barbie dolls, got good grades in math without letting us copy, got honorary certificates at the Federal Youth Games rather than our measly participant’s one, had less pimples, bigger breasts, stole our boyfriends, and got their driver’s licenses before we did. Those are the kind of things that drive you apart. And all that happens before you’ve even truly grown up. Once you are, the problems really kick off: if your best friend marries the wrong man, gets too big a house, or if her children are too fat. Because she’s only doing it to annoy the best friend. That’s what they’re like. Just mean.

  Writing this, I’ve just remembered that all my friends had bigger breasts than I did, which wasn’t difficult to achieve, to be honest. And we did our driving tests at the same time. And only one girl ever got the honor certificate, and she was pretty dumb anyway and never my friend. I didn’t have pimples, and my boyfriend, who was rather dumb himself, was stolen away from me by the honor girl. Looking back now, she was welcome to him.

  So what does all this tell us? Nothing. That we should have several best friends. But we do. So maybe the myth about the best friend will finally give up the ghost.

  Dear Editor, dear Ruth, as you can see I’ve messed this up: all I can think of is nonsense. So I have decided to write about Linda Love after all. Such a lovely girl. The one I never heard from again. Even though she was my best friend.