by Wolf Wootan
Now, how did I fuck that up? I was sure I had her. I must be slipping!
• • •
Two nights later she appeared at his piano at 10:00 P.M. She was dressed more casually in a blue blouse and a gray skirt. The blouse was very sheer, but this time she wore a black bra.
Still sexy as hell! he observed to himself.
She sat down with her drink and smiled at him. Her straight, white teeth sparkled when she smiled.
“I told you I would see you again. I could not come last night. I was working. Could you give a girl a light?” she asked, putting a cigarette to her lips.
She pronounced “working” like a German, “vorking.”
“Well, I am glad you’re back tonight! What can I play for you?” he asked, lighting her cigarette for her.
He felt a pang of unwarranted jealousy. He could see her vorking—some lucky embassy consul looking at her naked body, playing with those pert tits, fucking her, while she hoped for some secret tidbit to be dropped! The consul was probably playing her for a fool, just so he could get laid by such a petite beauty!
She named a German song that, luckily, he knew and he started singing it for her, although his thoughts were elsewhere.
How can I get her into bed? If I were a stupid embassy employee, she would come after me! She has me really turned on now. I have to change plans. Friggin’ James Bond never had this kind of trouble. Maybe for him it was the martinis. Shaken, not stirred. Or was it stirred, not shaken?
When the song was finished, he looked into her blue eyes. She did not avert her gaze. Something seemed to pass between them.
“Can I buy you a drink, Kat? Perhaps a martini?” he asked her, wondering if this was the right approach.
“No! Not a martini! If I start drinking those at this point I may really get too tipsy and do something not ladylike,” she giggled.
Exactly!
“Then another wine,” he compromised, motioning for a waiter.
The corners of his mouth arched up into a small smile as he remembered the Limelighters song Have Some Madeira, My Dear?
He decided to try a different tack.
“I get off at two. Would you like me to take you home after I finish here?” he asked.
“That would be nice, Bob Kelly. I would very much enjoy staying here with you until then. Is it allowed that I sing a song with you?” she asked hesitantly.
“Of course, Kat. That’s what a piano bar is all about. Everyone chips in. What would you like to sing?” he replied.
“Do you know a song called Indian Love Call? It is from an old American movie I saw years ago. It was with Jeannette McDonald, I think. I have never forgotten that song.”
He was surprised at her choice. It was not something the average bar singer could handle.
“How’s this?” he said, running through the melody on the piano. “Is that the one you mean?”
“Yes, that is it! Please play it for me. Key of F,” she exclaimed.
She started singing in a bell-like soprano which surprised him. She could have starred with him in one of his college musicals. She was very good! At the appropriate places he came in and harmonized with her. A crowd formed around the piano, some pulling up extra chairs, others standing. When they finished the song, there was enthusiastic clapping and cries for “More!” from the crowd.
They continued singing various songs, her some, him some, and some together. He could not believe it when 2:00 A.M. arrived. It had been a great deal of fun for both of them. He closed the piano and stood up.
“That was great fun, Kat! You have an outstanding voice! And knowledge of American show tunes. I don’t know where the time went,” he said enthusiastically. “But let’s get our coats and get out of here.” He had wicked thoughts on his mind. All in the line of duty, of course.
They retrieved their overcoats and he helped her into hers. He shrugged into his, wrapped a scarf around his neck, and they went out into the weather. It was snowing lightly, and the flakes were large and wet. A few taxis were lined up and they grabbed one. She gave her address to the driver and the taxi sped away. He reached over and took her hand in his. She did not pull it away.
When they arrived at her apartment building, he got out, then helped her out. He told the driver to wait, hoping silently that he would be down in a few minutes to tell him to leave.
“I’ll see you to your door,” he said gallantly.
“Thank you. That would be nice. This is not the best part of town,” she apologized, still holding his hand. It seemed to him that she was so small and fragile next to him. They entered her building and took a groaning elevator up to the sixth floor. She used her key and opened her apartment door. She turned and faced him.
“Thank you for such a pleasant evening, Bob Kelly. I would kiss you, but I do not kiss on first dates,” she said coyly.
“But Kat! This wasn’t even a date!” he blurted.
“You are right! Then lean down here, so I can kiss you!” she said, running her tongue over her lips.
She stood on her tiptoes and he leaned down and took her into his arms. She put her soft, damp lips to his. He felt her small, hard breasts against his chest. Then she pulled away.
“Thank you again, Bob Kelly. Maybe we will sing again, nein? Goodnight.”
Then she entered her apartment and closed the door. He heard the locks snap into place.
“Shit!” he muttered to himself in a low voice. “So much for James Fucking Bond! It has to be the martinis!”
• • •
A few days later on a Sunday, Katerina came to the bar around nine o’clock. This time she wore a black leather miniskirt, black boots, and a tight lime green blouse with a low scoop neck that revealed the tops of her breasts. He inwardly gasped when he saw her walking across the room. She took his breath away. Most eyes in the bar followed her as she approached the piano.
“Hello, Bob Kelly,” she smiled as she sat on one of the stools and crossed her legs, drawing leers from several men close by.
“Hello, Katerina Klaus. Am I allowed to say that I think you look gorgeous?” he answered bluntly, still in awe of her appearance.
The pale skin on her cheeks started to turn red with a blush.
“Well, thank you. Yes, you may say that. Women like to hear such things, but most men are afraid to say something,” she said, a little embarrassed, however.
She continued, “May I, too, say that I find you to be a very handsome man? Would that be too forward of me?”
Her “w”s again sounded like “v”s. For no good reason, he found that to be sexy.
“How charming of you to say that, Kat.”
He was wearing black shoes and pants, and a gray turtleneck sweater; to most women he had a dashing, sexy look. Handsome would do for now.
For an hour, they did a repeat performance of their previous songfest, although they used different songs. The crowd was delighted again. At ten o’clock, he took his usual break. When he returned from the Men’s Room, without making his usual stop at the kitchen, he took her to a table and they sat next to each other. He had to force himself not to stare at the copious amounts of bare legs and breasts that were available for viewing. They both took out cigarettes, and he lit both of them with his trusty Zippo. She was sipping a white wine and he nursed his usual weak bourbon and water.
They chatted for a few minutes about some of the songs they had sung, the weather, and other meaningless, harmless subjects.
“What did you do today, Kat? What do you do on Sundays?” he asked, curious as to why she was dressed as she was.
“Normally, I clean my apartment, and do some shopping. But today they called me into work. So I get to be off tomorrow instead,” she replied.
“Ah, what a coincidence! I always have Mondays off. Why don’t we have a real first date tomorrow? We can spend the whole day together—get to know each other better,” he asked with excitement in his voice. “What kind of food do you prefer? American, German, Fre
nch, Italian? You can get it all in this city.”
“You are asking me for a date?” she asked shyly, her blue eyes opened wide.
“Of course I am! You’re gorgeous, I’m handsome! We belong together, nein?” he laughed.
She laughed with him.
“I guess if you put it that way, we could try a first date. But you remember I do not …”
“… kiss on a first date,” he finished, wagging his finger at her.
“And I must still clean my apartment, since I did not do so today,” she pouted.
“Well, you clean it in the morning, and I will pick you up at noon. I’ll plan a great day for us. Now how about the food you like?” he said, referring to his previous question.
“Anything except German! That is all I ever eat. I especially like American food, but I cannot afford it,” she moaned.
“Then, leave everything to me; you’ll have a wonderful day!”
“Very well, Bob Kelly. I will try and be ready at noon tomorrow. Do you remember how to get to my apartment?” she smiled.
“Of course I do!”
“I must leave now. I have much to do before noon tomorrow.”
She touched her fingers to her lips, then put her fingers on his lips.
“Auf wiedersehen. Until tomorrow,” she said and stood up, smoothing her leather skirt. Then she left, walking with a slight swish of her butt that had the men watching her again. He went back to his piano and sat down.
Cage those eyeballs, assholes! She’s mine! Christ! I’m as excited as a teenager on his first date. I’m only trying to get into the pants of a beautiful enemy spy. Why these feelings?
He played the rest of his set with gusto, but his mind was on tomorrow and what she might look like naked.
Chapter 3
West Berlin, Germany
Monday, December 12, 1983
9:00 A.M.
Hatcher got only six hours sleep that night, and was up at 9:00 A.M. making plans and phone calls. By eleven-thirty he had made lunch and dinner reservations, and had booked a romantic horse-drawn sleigh ride through some picturesque woodlands in the afternoon. He dressed in gray slacks and a Navy blue turtleneck shirt. He pulled a bright, multicolored cable-knit sweater on over the shirt, grabbed his overcoat and scarf, and went out to the taxi he had called. He arrived at her apartment five minutes early, so he had the taxi driver circle the block so he would be exactly on time. As the taxi stopped in front of her apartment, he got out to go get her, but she stepped out the front door. Evidently, she had been waiting for him in the foyer. She wore black boots, a black overcoat, and a red knit cap over her blond curls. Her exquisite body was hidden from his view. She sprinted through the lightly falling snow and he helped her into the taxi. She scooted over so he would not have to go around to the other side. He jumped in beside her and the taxi sped away.
“Good morning, Kat. How are you today?” he asked cheerfully, filled with anticipation.
“Good morning to you, Bob Kelly. I feel wonderful! I hope it is all right for me to wait for you in the foyer. That elevator is so slow, and I did not want you to waste so much time coming up to my apartment, and then down again,” she said excitedly, her cheeks red from the cold weather.
Or you didn’t want me in your apartment? Don’t be so cynical, Hatcher. Maybe she really is just excited.
“No, that’s fine, Kat. But I really wouldn’t have minded coming to your door to escort you down. Enough of that. We’re going to have fun today! If anything I have planned doesn’t suit you, just speak up and we’ll change things and do exactly what you would like to do. OK?”
“Oh, I am sure what you have planned will please me greatly! I never do anything or go anywhere. I am already having fun just being with you!” she said with fervor.
They chatted amiably for the half-hour it took to get to the restaurant he had chosen for lunch. It was called the Blue Angus and was a steak house that catered to American tastes and eating habits, but the richer Germans came here often to enjoy what they considered real American food. The driver stopped in front and the doorman opened the taxi’s door for them. They jumped out, and as she dashed for the safety of the canopy over the entryway, he paid the driver.
Once they were in the warmth of the foyer of the restaurant, they knocked the loose snow off their boots and shed their overcoats, giving them to the coat room attendant, a buxom blond German girl. He now observed that Katerina wore tight, black pants and a bulky red and black sweater, buttoned to the neck. Delicious!
“I hope you do not mind me wearing pants instead of a skirt on our first date. My legs get so cold, and I did not know for sure what you had planned. Am I dressed all right for here? I do not embarrass you?” she asked, a frown on her pretty face.
“You are dressed perfectly for anywhere I go! I wouldn’t want your lovely legs to get cold; although, I admit that I love looking at them,” he answered, smiling at her. He could not tell whether her cheeks got redder or not.
The maitre d’ took them to the booth he had reserved for them when Bob Kelly had called earlier. They sat side by side, rather than facing each other. She had not objected when he slipped in next to her.
“This is such a nice place!” she exclaimed. “I have never been to a place like this before. I thank you so much for this treat, Bob Kelly!”
She seemed so sincere, Hatcher got a twinge of conscience.
What a wicked web I weave! If she keeps on like this, I’ll feel terrible when I finally get her into the sack. She is awfully naive for a Stasi agent. I wonder where those embassy guys take her. Straight to bed?
“You can drop the Kelly, Kat. And it’s my pleasure to be able to bring you here. Your wonderful company is my reward,” he responded, wondering if he was laying it on too thickly. But she went right on, bubbling about everything. They both ordered steak sandwiches, French fries, and a salad. He ordered a Heineken and she red wine. He did not try the martini thing again—he thought he would save that for dinner.
After lunch it was snowing heavily, so they decided to cancel the sleigh ride. She suggested that they go ice skating instead. At least they would be inside and out of the snow. Hatcher had skated before, but skiing was his best winter sport—as in tracking your prey across a snow-covered mountain. He went around the rink tentatively at first, trying not to fall down and embarrass or hurt himself. Kat was quite accomplished, skating backwards, doing double toe-loop jumps and various spins. He was entranced and amazed.
Too bad she doesn’t have one of those skimpy skating costumes on. I could enjoy her legs better!
They laughed a lot, and generally had a very good time. He even forgot for a while that she was a spy, and he was a spy whose goal was to bed her. After a while, Hatcher sat and had a cigarette while he watched her and the others skate. His ankles could take no more. It was very pleasant sitting there and watching her have so much fun. After she had skated her fill, they ambled over to a cozy tavern across the street to get warmed up. They sat on a couch in front of a large fireplace and drank a hot rum drink suggested by the bartender. She was glowing, and prated on excitedly about how enjoyable a day she was having. Hatcher had to agree with her. As it had turned out, he had really felt very comfortable with her all day, and found her easy to talk to about a variety of subjects.
By the time they were into their second drink, they fell into an easy silence and just sipped their drinks and watched the hypnotizing flames of the fire. She took his left hand in her right and rested their clasped hands on her right knee.
“You know, Bob,” she said wistfully, dropping the Kelly, “you cannot imagine what today has meant to me. For a short time I was able to imagine that I was not a poor, working German girl and you were not an affluent American trying to impress me so I would go to your bed.”
Not as naive as I thought! And she speaks her mind!
“Now, Kat …” he interjected.
“Do not interrupt me, please! Let me try and finish. I am not a stupid
woman. I know what men want of me. But for today, it was as if we were just a girl and a boy on a date, enjoying each other, and having fun! I was able to forget my problems, the plight of my family. I have never enjoyed the company of a man as much as I have enjoyed yours.”
She stopped for a moment and squeezed his hand. She looked at him and he saw that her eyes were moist. He squeezed her hand back, but did not dare say anything yet. He felt like a complete shithead.
“Before you say anything,” she continued, “do not insult me by trying to deny your intentions. All men have such intentions. But if you will have patience, and learn to enjoy my company as I do yours, and do not rush me, I have a feeling that you may get what you want—in time. I feel a strong sexual attraction to you, but I must be more sure of how you think of me before I can act on these feelings. Do you understand me, Bob?” she said very softly.
He did not say anything right away. He knew she was right. Most, if not all, men had one goal in mind when they pursued a woman. And he figured most women knew that. He had never heard a woman say it before, however. At least, not in such blunt terms. Why was she choosing this time—before the date was even over—to dump on him? And why him? Or did she lay this load on all the men she went out with? He was baffled. What is her purpose? She could have waited until he bought her dinner before doing this, so he did not understand this at all. His normal reaction would be to get angry, and tell her to stick her feelings where the sun doesn’t shine and storm out. But, first of all, she was right. He felt ashamed, not angry. He had lived his entire adult life as a predator. He had to if he were to survive. Had this predatory instinct taken over his entire being to the point where he could no longer relax and just enjoy someone’s company? Had he allowed himself to be stripped of his basic humanity and decency? Whatever this woman’s job was—and his, for that matter—she was still a human being and he had treated her as prey. And she had called him on it! She took his silence to mean he had not understood what she was trying to say. This was partly true, of course.