Text for You

by Sofie Cramer

  Clara is so excited that she doesn’t feel at all hungry. Not that this would stop Beppo, who has already started bringing out various delicacies on giant white porcelain platters. And right at this moment, almost as if she could sense that the food was being served, Katja comes tiptoeing around the corner. But rather than walking up and joining the large group at the table right away, she waves Clara over to her.

  “Hey, babe, let me hug you. I wish you all the happiness in the world. You’ve really earned it!” Katja singsongs in her ear, hugging her so tight that Clara doesn’t catch every word. She’s still got a lump in her throat all the same, but she fights back the tears.

  “Thanks! But now tell me, where are the surprises?” Clara draws herself up in front of her friend, eyebrows raised and arms crossed over her chest. Given all the crazy ideas that Katja has already come up with, she fears the worst. But there’s such a radiant gleam in her friend’s eyes that Clara can tell she must have something really wonderful up her sleeve.

  “They’re both just around the corner here.” Katja turns around and calls out, “Andy? You can come out now!”

  Mouth agape and eyes goggling, Clara stares at the incredibly attractive man who now walks in holding a large, flat box wrapped in brown paper in his left hand. He offers his right hand to Clara with a winning and slightly embarrassed smile.

  “Happy birthday! I’m Andreas. Actually we kind of know each other already from that speed-dating event. Katja just dragged me here with her, so I’m totally innocent in all this and hope it’s all right with you that I’m here?”

  Clara gives Katja a meaningful look and replies, “Of course it’s all right. I have no idea how we’re ever going to manage all this food. Have a seat, you two!”

  “In a second, but I have something else to say first,” Katja proclaims ceremoniously and looks around the room, inviting the group’s attention. She grabs a glass of prosecco off the tray that the quick-thinking waitress has just brought over. Then she clears her throat.

  “My dearest friend! All of us here know that this day can’t be easy for you. Which makes it all the more important for you to know how happy we all are to see you smiling again. What I couldn’t manage to do in countless attempts to cheer you up, you manage to do all by yourself with these paintings of yours! You sit down, grab your brushes, start mixing paints and other materials like a madwoman, and out comes this!” Katja gestures toward the canvasses, whose full colors create a warm atmosphere. The gentle light of the countless white candles in the room enhances the mood even further.

  Karin starts to applaud, and all the others immediately follow her example and join in. Then Katja continues.

  “In any case, your painting puts this wonderful smile on your lips, and you should be incredibly proud of your talent. But in order to ensure that all this doesn’t just continue to be a nice way to pass the time and that you start making some real dough from this hobby of yours, I, in consultation with your grandmother, have found a studio for you in the Old City. You can go see it first thing Monday morning. And for a little insurance, just to make sure you don’t back out, I’ve got a nice little present here for you.”

  She signals to Andy and he hands Clara the flat package. Clara feels like she’s in a movie that’s playing in slow motion. Now Beppo, his wife, and the server have also appeared in the wide doorway and are watching with curiosity. Just like the others, they’re anxious to see Clara rip open the thick paper.

  A light gray acrylic sign comes into view, with large, silvery-blue cursive lettering that reads: “Art and Praxis.” Just like they’d come up with on one of their last brainstorming nights.

  Clara can’t believe it—she’s speechless. She hugs Katja and Andy in quick succession. The others cheer and clap their hands.

  If she could, Clara would just stop time to preserve this special moment. Then maybe she would be able to take in all the wonderful things that are happening all at once: her first exhibition, which could well lead to many more in galleries and cultural institutions, and now her very own studio in Lüneburg’s Old City. She trusts Katja’s expertise. What’s more, she has the necessary start-up capital and already has a fabulous sign. And the first buyer has already approached Beppo, a person who is prepared to pay an unbelievable 270 euros for a painting by her. Plus apparently a reporter was asking about her. But above all it’s the many generous people around her who have helped turn this day that she had so dreaded into something wonderful.

  Clara can really feel the prosecco going to her head. Cheerfully she smiles, half in a daze, and clinks glasses with every single one of her guests before finally digging into the delicious food.

  sven

  Curious, Sven looks down from his roof terrace at the flocks of people here for the neighborhood street festival and the many cars that crawl along at a snail’s pace, trying to squeeze through the narrow streets around the pedestrian zone. Whenever he sees a driver looking in vain for a parking space, he silently congratulates himself—so far he’s gotten along quite well in his life without a car.

  But last night he deeply regretted not having one at his disposal. Otherwise he would definitely have mustered the courage to drive back down to Lüneburg. True, over the course of the last week Hilke had offered to let him use her car about twenty times. But he didn’t want to take advantage of either her readiness to help or her curiosity and find himself driving the Opel—or even worse, the Opel and Hilke—back to Castello. The last thing he wants to do is to just waylay Clara on her birthday or to try to force a meeting in some other contrived way.

  Not really knowing what to do with himself last night, he called his father. And he’s very happy that he did, because the two of them had a really relaxed evening together.

  Sven had to grin when his old dad offered to take him out to an Italian restaurant of all places. Contrary to his expectations it turned out to be a totally nice evening. They even talked a little about Sven’s mother—what would have been her seventieth birthday was coming up soon.

  But this Sunday is going to need a little work if there’s to be any hope of salvaging it, thinks Sven. Not even the intense workout this morning was enough to settle him down.

  Like an insufferable teenager he keeps losing himself in fantasies of what it might be like when Clara finally called. It strikes him as almost ironic, as though fate were continuing to play its little games with him, that he’s long had the mysterious Lilime’s phone number but nevertheless can’t contact her, because officially she only knows his work number and email address.

  Still, Sven had gone to the trouble of setting up call forwarding so that he would receive any calls to his work phone on his cell. And he had also linked his personal email account to his work account so that all his work emails, which he normally wouldn’t even glance at in his free time, would reach him at home.

  But so far there was no word from Clara. Sven is ardently hoping that this Beppo character didn’t forget to pass on his business card. He figures it would have been yesterday at the latest, when she was at the restaurant, that Beppo would have let her know. And if she’s actually interested in having a conversation, then really she should be getting in touch first thing next week.

  But what if she’s not at all interested?

  “Oh, man!” Sven pounds the steel railing with the flat of his hand and shakes his head. He just can’t believe that his thoughts are back on Clara again. He has to get his mind off her.

  Just when he’s decided to ask David if he feels like grabbing a beer at one of the stands down on the street, his phone dings.

  It’s a text from Clara! Now of all times, thinks Sven. After such a long break, she apparently feels the urge to talk.

  I’m now completely determined to strike out on my own and be an artist. You made it possible! Thank you for the wonderful birthday present. Love, L.

  Right away Sven is in a bet
ter mood. Clara seems significantly more carefree than she did just a short while ago. He’d really like to tell someone about it.

  David doesn’t answer, unfortunately, so he sets himself up with a beer on the terrace and thinks about other ways he might be able to get in touch with Clara.

  No matter what, tomorrow morning at the Monday editorial meeting he’s going to propose the “young freelancers” topic to his boss again. After all, he’d already done some research on the market for freelancers a short while ago. All he’s missing is the most up-to-date numbers and two or three potential interview subjects. What with the recession, though, he’s confident he can convince Breiding to give the go-ahead for an article on such a highly relevant topic.

  * * *

  • • •

  When he gets back to his desk the next morning after three tedious hours stuck in the editorial meeting, Sven is pleased: Sure enough, his proposal met with interest. Hilke, however, meets his optimism with skepticism. “Well?” she asks him. “Anything of note happen this weekend? Any word from the Lüneburg art scene?”

  Sven rolls his eyes with annoyance and just lets out a loud sigh.

  “Just be happy you’ve got somebody thoughtful like me to concern herself with your well-being,” Hilke responds angrily.

  “Well, thank you very much,” Sven replies sarcastically. He sits down in his chair and tries to change the subject. He quickly pushes to the back of his mind the mild disappointment he feels that there’s been no word from Clara yet. No way does he want to encourage Hilke’s laughable interpretation of his supposedly more positive recent attitude by giving her cause to believe there’s a whiff of romance behind it.

  He moves his mouse and the screensaver gives way to the desktop. His email client is indicating that he has seventeen new messages. He clicks to open it and a small thrill suddenly courses through his body—in the middle of the unread emails he finds one with the subject line “Responding to Your Inquiry” from sender “c.sommerfeld@artandpraxis.de.”

  While Hilke comments on how the editorial meeting went, Sven tries to casually open the email and not let anything show.

  “Yeah, yeah, we’ve got the topics for the next few months. It’ll come together one way or another,” Sven mutters vaguely, as if he were about to fall asleep—while on the inside he’s electrified. Filled with excitement, he reads Clara’s email:

  From: c.sommerfeld@artandpraxis.de

  Subject: Responding to Your Inquiry

  Dear Mr. Lehmann,

  Mr. Ventorino from the Lüneburg restaurant Castello gave me your card and passed along your request that I contact you.

  I’d be happy to speak to you in connection with the article you’re researching. You can contact me any time at the number below.

  Yours sincerely,

  Clara Sommerfeld

  Sven reads these lines at least three times in quick succession and then just stares at his computer screen, clearly dumbstruck. Seeing him, Hilke asks, “Everything all right? You’ve got this weird look on your face.”

  “Oh, yeah, yeah. I’m just reading. But we men are no good at multitasking, you know that.” He flashes her a brief smile and then turns his full attention back to his inbox. He can’t possibly call Clara right now. Hilke would be breathing down his neck trying to make sure she caught every word. Sven follows his impulse and clicks Reply instead.

  He himself doesn’t really understand it, but in a strange way this email simply overwhelms him, even though it’s so much more dry and businesslike than everything else she’s ever written. Maybe it’s the fact that he now knows for certain that he’s actually going to meet this woman face-to-face one day. And this day isn’t at all far off either, he thinks. After all, I’ve got to have a four-thousand-word article written in just two weeks.

  Sven takes his first crack at a reply:

  From: Sven Lehmann

  Subject: RE: Responding to Your Inquiry

  Hello Ms. Sommerfeld—

  He tries again.

  Dear Ms. Sommerfeld,

  Thank you for your quick reply.

  At the moment I’m working on an article for the magazine on young freelancers—

  Sven deletes “young” and can’t help grinning all of a sudden.

  “What are you smiling about?” Nothing escapes Hilke; she seems to be watching his every move.

  “Oh, just some raunchy joke email from a buddy of mine. You’d just get all worked up about it if I showed you.”

  “Men!” Hilke groans and disappears behind her computer screen.

  Then Sven continues:

  I’d like to interview you about your transition into self-employment, and if you’re willing, I’d also like to include a short profile of you in my article as a way of providing our readers with an example of someone working in your field.

  Though I realize it’s short notice, I’d be grateful if you could come to our offices for an interview in the next few days . . .

  Sven ditches the last line—immediately upon writing it he imagined the awkward situation that would arise if Hilke were around when Clara showed up.

  I’m happy to come to Lüneburg if you can find the time and know of a suitable place to meet.

  Thanks very much and warm regards . . .

  He replaces “warm regards” with “best regards,” types his name at the bottom, and hits Send. He sneaks a look over at Hilke, who at that moment stands up to go get some coffee. Immediately she asks, “What is it?”

  Sven shrugs his shoulders and says airily, “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

  clara

  If this week gets any more exciting I won’t make it to my next birthday, thinks Clara as she looks in the mirror and puts mascara on. On Monday, she went and saw the wonderful, marvelous, yes, simply perfect studio. On Tuesday, she signed the lease and got a call from Beppo with the good news that two more paintings had been sold. Yesterday, she finished putting together a brochure with the help of Sandra, the agency’s copywriter. And today, she was meeting with this journalist. Clara has no idea what to expect, and it shows in how nervous she is.

  But hey, the guy came to her. He wants something from her and not the other way around. She’ll just have to answer a few questions, that’s all.

  So calm down and try to look forward to a nice evening, she admonishes herself. If nothing else, Mr. Lehmann is coming down from Hamburg specially for this interview, so it would be very impolite to cancel now at the last minute. Katja would give her a kick in the ass, if not something worse, if Clara let this opportunity for free PR slip away just like that. Clara finds a small amount of reassurance in the fact that he agreed to meet at Cheers. Ben is especially close to her there. He’ll protect her from anything upsetting.

  * * *

  • • •

  But by the time Clara is headed to Cheers on her bike about thirty minutes later, she’s really freaking out. What if she can’t come up with a single substantial or interesting answer to any of his questions? She herself doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing. Like all the legal stuff that she still has to find time to sit down and study. And the financial stuff, too. According to his business card, this Lehmann guy is a reporter for the business section; he’ll be an absolute expert and will immediately realize that he’d picked the wrong person.

  Anxiously Clara gets off her bike, locks it up on a rack, and realizes angrily that it’s right in front of the window. Mr. Lehmann has probably been here for a while already and can see her from inside. But when she walks in, there’s not a single customer in the place. Clara figures Mr. Lehmann to be in his midfifties, a bit overweight, more on the unattractive side, but polite and impeccably dressed. That’s what she imagines a business reporter at an important magazine would look like, anyway.

  She walks to an empty table in the back right corner of the bar, sits down where she can keep an eye o
n the door, and orders a latte macchiato.

  I’m early. I’ve got time to prepare a few clever lines before he gets here, the kind that’ll make me sound super-casual and confident, like a real tough-as-nails businesswoman, thinks Clara. But inside she feels completely different, more like a little schoolgirl about to take an exam that will decide whether she advances to the next grade or gets held back a year.

  She takes out her phone in case Mr. Lehmann tries to call. He ought to be here any moment, she thinks. She reaches into her purse to look at his business card again. She studies it and tries to keep herself calm.

  But Clara keeps anxiously looking at the door. Just like that day years ago when she was keeping an eye out for Katja, who, as always, was late. Ben was sitting at the table next to her and asked, half cheeky, half polite, if she’d been stood up. Since he had also been waiting for a friend who never showed up, eventually he just slid his chair over and joined her. The night turned out to be surprisingly fun. Ben didn’t waste any time: “You’re not from Lüneburg, are you? No way, you can’t be—I’m sure I would have noticed such a pretty face before!”

  Right as Clara feels her eyes filling with tears at the memory of how she and Ben first met, her phone rings.

  sven

  Such bullshit!” Sven curses to himself. This damn train picks today of all days to actually be on time for once!

  He got to the platform just in time to see the train pulling away. For a second he considered whether he should come clean to Hilke about his date and ask her to borrow her car again. But she’d no doubt be pissed that he kept quiet about it for days, even lied a little to cover it up. Plus if he waited and took the next train to Lüneburg he’d still probably make it there faster than if he were to take the subway from Altona out to Hilke’s place in Winterhude and then have to deal with rush-hour traffic on the highway. But the next train won’t get me to Lüneburg on time, either, thinks Sven—and he just can’t believe that after searching forever for a pay phone, the one he finally manages to find is out of order.