by Levia Ortega
Val picked up her chair and dropped into it like a limp rag. We were quiet, each trying to come up with a solution.
“Becca!” Val suddenly yelled.
I slapped my forehead. “Yes! Why didn’t I think of it?”
Val and I smiled at each other knowingly. As in, we knew that Becca simply knew everyone. And in the unlikely event that she didn’t know, she knew who to ask to find out. But, I didn’t want to reveal my experience to Becca and be at the mercy of her prying questions. It was all still too new for me, and I had no idea yet how to proceed.
We decided that Val was going to pretend this magical encounter had happened to her, and to tone it all down a bit. It would take care of Becca’s curiosity without causing too many questions. She’d be happy to get fresh gossip without asking for too many details, since it was Val and her usual daydreaming after all.
Val wasn’t too keen on this solution when I first suggested it. But her hurt feelings vanished quickly and she agreed, with a big smile on her face. My puppy eyes, her joy about my experience, and the prospect of what may develop from it had convinced her in the end.
I did my best to describe the object of my affection and the other women with her. I tried to recall striking features and clothing or possibly tattoos. It felt similar to giving a witness statement, and I focused on delivering the perfect composite sketch.
Val called Becca to pass on the information. I pressed my head against the backside of the receiver, straining to hear Becca’s replies. Once in a while Val pulled the phone away from me or pinched me to stop me from pushing too hard. At several points in her story I shook my head and motioned wildly to change the description she was giving.
Becca must have thought Val had lost her mind, considering the number of times Val interrupted and corrected herself, trying to decipher my sign language.
I was glad nobody was watching us. Anybody seeing us doing our spiel would not have hesitated to lock us into a loony bin.
Unfortunately, Becca was unable to provide any information. At least, she could not come up with anything right away. “I’ll do what I can. I have an idea about whom to call. Do you remember the woman I talked to last night? She may know. She claims she knows ev-er-y-thing.”
Of course, don’t ever admit somebody may actually know more than you, I sent mentally across the phone line.
Val and I made plans on how to proceed. Her snooping instinct, no, correction: her romantic scheming was on full alert. She came up with the idea to drive back to Sappho and ask Clara, who knows almost every woman who ever stepped foot into her establishment.
Before we left the apartment, I grabbed a beanie and pulled it over my hair.
A few hours later we were both sitting on my sofa. Val with knitted eyebrows, deeply absorbed in her thoughts. I with hanging shoulders, swirling around in the doldrums. Clara didn’t have the faintest idea who we were talking about. She had noticed neither the mysterious stranger, nor the women who had been with her.
When my phone rang, Val picked up. I could hear Becca on the other end, clearly having expected to find Val still at my place.
I looked at Val eagerly, but she shook her head. Becca had been unable to find out anything. But she promised she would keep her updated about her inquiries. Three strangers nobody seemed to know anything about had clearly piqued her curiosity.
Val stayed with me the rest of the day, and she went to pick up pizza at our favorite Italian, getting two bottles of red wine, too, just in case.
She put everything into trying to distract me, but my thoughts always returned to the same topic: to ways and options to find my stranger. Sometimes I heard her snigger next to me and realized she had caught me staring into my glass and ignoring the Sunday-night movie.
Val left late that evening, and as she was hugging me encouragingly, she said: “We’ll go back to Sappho as often as necessary, until she shows up again. We’ll manage to find her, somehow. At least one of us has to find the woman of her dreams, even if it means I have to set up camp at Sappho.”
I tried to keep it together, but a small sniffle escaped my nose. Val promised to not leave me alone in this, the sincerity in her face emphasizing her words.
My eyes filled with tears. How did I deserve such a great friend?
Two Months Earlier
We went to Sappho as often as we could possibly squeeze in. Right after work and on our free weekends we settled down at the far end of the bar, in the curve that gave us a perfect view of every woman who entered the club. We met our friends and acquaintances, chatted with them and learned about the newest gossip, without ever losing sight of the entrance.
Whenever I felt we had reached the final dead end, Val encouraged me to just hold out a bit longer. She was into it wholeheartedly and got especially enthusiastic whenever there was a big party at Sappho. She kept hugging me excitedly, grinning like a Cheshire cat, while I was dissolving into a nervous puddle. She was beside herself, because her dream had come true, and it didn’t seem to matter that it had come true for me and not for her.
Every night, in my bed, when I replayed the events of that fateful night in my head, I saw the face of my mysterious stranger again and relived the feelings it stirred up inside me, and I had to agree with Val.
Sappho had always been our favorite hangout, but at one point Clara voiced her surprise about the frequency with which we were recently visiting. In the beginning she just had thrown inquisitive glances in our direction, clearly assuming we were on the hunt. But when she noticed that we never talked to anybody we didn’t already know and always went home by our lonesome selves, the expression on her face changed to suspicion. One day, she apparently had enough of us and threatened to kick us out unless we told her everything.
Val volunteered joyfully. Before I even had time to open my mouth, she had jumped up and launched into a report. She talked and talked, enhancing every detail so much with her own romantic ideas that I wanted to be swallowed up by the floor.
She waved her hands through the air, and her eyes sparkled like the North Star. I slumped deeper and deeper into my chair, eyes fixed on my folded hands lying on my knees. The more Val talked, the redder I felt my face grow. My neck were surely covered with red spots, and it felt as if my earlobes were about to catch fire.
Val finished, took a deep breath, fell exhausted onto her barstool, as if she’d just run a marathon, and emptied her water glass in one big gulp.
When I felt Clara’s questioning glance and raised my head to nod and confirm everything Val had described, she let lose a gravelly laugh, shook her head and simply walked off to tend to a customer.
Since Clara seemed suitably interested to find out how it would all develop, we concluded we were allowed to stay.
Val emailed Becca every day to ask if she had found out anything yet, but every day she replied with a curt “No.” At first Becca was deeply involved, but then it just annoyed her. She lost interest when she realized she was unable to make a discovery. There were far juicier stories to gossip about. This apparently unsolvable puzzle was taking too much of her time and effort.
I was close to yelling at her: “How do you think I feel? My nerves are totally raw!” But, after all, she didn’t know it was about me.
At one point, Becca seemed to have decided it was just one of Val’s typical flights of fancy, and that was the end of it for her.
One evening, Val and I were sitting in our usual seats at the bar when Viv joined us. She hadn’t heard anything about my fateful encounter, much less about our plan to wait for the reappearance of the stranger.
She kept glancing over, but refrained from asking me anything. I had no alcoholic drink in front of me, nor was I interested in dancing. And she could see me nervously scanning the room at regular intervals. I must have appeared like a startled hen, wildly throwing my head from side to side.
Viv was now openly staring at me, but I knew she’d never ask. She always waits until you are ready to share with her. But
finally I had enough of her silent attention and decided to reveal my secret.
When she had heard me out, she nodded, now knowing why I had been so strange on the way back that Saturday evening.
I told her about Val’s plan to involve Becca, but also that Becca had given up wanting to help us after just a few weeks.
The desperation in my voice was so great that Viv gave me a big hug and whispered in my ear: “It’ll turn out OK.” Her voice was so full of conviction I wished I still had a fraction of it myself. Because in that moment, when I realized how optimistic Val was, I also realized that I didn’t really have any hope left in me.
It must have shown in my grimace that was supposed to pass as a smile, because Viv turned instantaneously somber, but didn’t say a word.
By the time we left to go home, late in the evening, I had come to a decision. Dejected and exhausted from the past few weeks’ events – or rather non-events – I fell into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning, I called Val and invited her over for breakfast. When I heard how excitedly she agreed – considering we spend the larger part of each day together anyway – I felt a slight pang of guilt, because I was planning on telling her about my decision.
Once we were sitting at the table, I explained to Val why I couldn’t continue searching for my stranger.
I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. My nerves were worn out. It was simply too grueling. How long was I supposed to keep going? What if I’d never find her again? Was the search for this woman supposed to occupy the rest of my life? It didn’t make sense. And if something doesn’t make sense, aren’t you supposed to stop it? My sanity was on the line and I had to pull the brake. I had to stop chasing my dream.
Val listened intently without interrupting once. She understood. We called off the search.
One Month Earlier
The following week I was in a daze. I knew I had made the right decision but it just didn’t feel like it.
The first few days, I drove home straight from work, got something out of the freezer, ate in front of the TV while watching something irrelevant, went to bed and repeated the same routine the next day. In short: I functioned. I didn’t feel like going out with the girls. No matter how much Val tried to drag me along to Sappho, I vehemently refused.
After two weeks Val had enough and she read me the Riot Act. “Sanity, my ... gluteus maximus! You’re self-destructing. Pull yourself together! Either take up the search again, or return to your old self. This is no way of dealing with it. If you won’t, you force me to call my mother and tell her everything. And you know what’ll happen then!”
That was all it took. The one convincing argument to make me get my act together. I knew Val’s mother’s recipe for broken hearts: food. Not just any old stew or something similar. No, at least a three-course menu. Loads of cold appetizers, then the main dish, or rather dishes, usually a selection of different meats and fish. Followed by desserts.
That in and of itself wasn’t actually that bad, but she would take over my apartment to cook it all there, while loudly spewing her theories on love and why it hadn’t worked out for me this time.
It would even be okay if it were just a one-time performance, but it would likely turn into a long-term engagement. And Val’s mother would start early in the morning. She would cook and fry and talk until she was satisfied I was doing better. Only, it would take a lot to convince her. One time she took up camp at Val’s place for a whole two weeks, until Val asked me for temporary asylum. Which I granted her, of course.
So, I decided instead to get my act together. It was hard, but Val was right. I had to chase away the blues and put things behind me. Over and out.
The following days, I tried to find my old self again. I put an effort into joking with Val and even promised her to go out the next weekend. But I still felt off.
However, when Friday afternoon approached, Val was in a noticeably bad mood.
“Miri wants to visit me in two months,” she finally burst out.
“That’s great! Aren’t you excited?”
Miri and Val. Always good for something. They had grown up together and even back then were a walking chaos. Every time they met, the weirdest things happened. On their own, each was fairly harmless. Well, as harmless as Val could ever be. But as soon as they met, fate decided to play tricks on them, and the funniest things happened. It had always been that way.
Val gave the impression of not being very keen on meeting Miri this time, though.
“Have a guess whom she’s bringing along,” she huffed.
Uh-oh. “Sabine, by any chance?” I asked
“Ugh. Yes. Got it in one! Why is she bringing her?” Val was genuinely upset now.
Nothing good would come of this. Sabine, or Biene, how most people called her, was Val’s arch enemy – and Miri’s best friend. I had never heard Val use her nickname, and that means a lot. On the contrary, she typically emphasizes every single syllable of that woman’s name.
Nothing had ever happened between the two of them that could’ve explained this animosity. Val typically described Sabine as an “arrogant, stuck-up, straight bitch. She knows she has all the features of a model. She’s tall, thin, has long blond locks and bright blue eyes. She thinks she’s the cream of the crop, and we’re all below par. The world has just been waiting for her. Bruja!”
Usually, Val is a people person. Way back, when Miriam told her about her new best friend and that she was coming along to Hamburg with her, Val had been looking forward to meeting this woman. There’s always room for one more when she’s having fun or simply a good conversation.
But when she and Sabine had met for the first time, the blood in my own veins froze when I saw Sabine’s vile expression, full of contempt, cruelty and disdain. Val’s interest had vanished instantly. Sabine also liked to send verbal barbs into Val’s direction, who, in turn, had to bite her tongue to keep herself from returning the favor. She tried to play along as best she could, for Miri’s sake. Whenever the two of them came for a visit, Val tried to be on her best behavior. I was the one having to endure her angry outbursts once they had left again.
“Oh no. I’m going to get us some coffee. It seems you could really use one just about now,” I said and left immediately. I also was in need of a good, strong cup of coffee, and the brew from our own machine wouldn’t do.
At the café, I joined the line to patiently wait for the magic potion. When my mobile phone vibrated, I checked it and saw that Val had sent a text, saying she wanted the same as I always got.
“The usual, Christine?” asked Tom, the young barista.
“Yes, times two, please.” I paid and walked around the counter to wait for my order.
I stood there like I did every week and all the years before, as if nothing else had ever happened, reminiscing about these routines of mine. When I was eighteen, it was the pizza place where everybody knew my name, and I was excited about it. Now, just the memory of it made me feel embarrassed. And yet, these days, it was the café. Everything in life stays the same, just the details change.
Still hanging on to my musings, I turned around slightly – and there she was.
I couldn’t believe it; I was speechless. I have given up, so what is she doing here?
I could see only her profile, as her attention was drawn in a different direction. My knees were getting weak and my stomach staged a munity, as if I had just stepped off a rollercoaster. I grabbed the counter and held on to it.
There she was, at the little table with the sugar, milk, stir sticks and all the other stuff.
What is she doing here?
Oh, Christine, am I really supposed to answer this question? I’m really losing patience with you, my mind reprimanded me.
She had, of course, a cup of coffee in her hand and was just getting a few small bags of sugar. I scrutinized her as if she were an apparition. I was in complete shock and paralyzed, unable to react in any other way than simply gawk at her in disbelief.
>
That’s it, I resign, my mind announced.
“Excuse me, but are these two here yours?” the man next to me broke into my thoughts, pointing at the cups.
“Thanks,” I said, my voice breaking.
I took the two coffees and hurried out of the café, past my mystery woman. I stopped as soon as I had made it through the door, squinted up into the sky and took a deep breath. Then I hurried back to the agency, gaining speed with every step I took.
When I flung open the door to our agency, Val looked startled. I was out of breath, pearls of sweat were running down my face and my cheeks were bright red.
She didn’t dare say anything, didn’t even blink.
I set one coffee in front of her, put the other one on my desk, hung up my jacket and literally threw myself into my chair, all without saying a single word.
Val never stopped watching me. Somehow, she was fully aware something had happened. Though, of course, she couldn’t know the extent of it.
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply several times. When I opened them again, I saw Val’s extremely concerned expression and silently shook my head. Then I told her.
Val’s eyes grew wider and her jaw fell open.
Silence settled over the room once I had finished my story. We both had to digest what had happened.
Finally, Val shook her head in apparent wonder. “Fate,” was the only word she uttered.
“What do I do now?” I couldn’t think. My mind was completely empty.
Val jumped up, arms raised to the ceiling. “No problem! If she doesn’t show up at Sappho this weekend, you’ll darn well go to that café every single day, from Monday to Friday. And always at the same time as today.”
“What? But don’t you think –“
Val interrupted me: “Why are you still hesitating? Fate has brought you two together today, don’t you get it? There’s no way around it. You are meant for each other.” She was standing in front of me now, with her arms akimbo and an expression on her face indicating she would not tolerate any arguments.