Never Trust a Callboy

by Birgit Kluger

  In any case, maybe Ron packed the shirt in his suitcase before he left. I have to stop with such suspicions. Although it is understandable that my nerves are not at their best, I can't expect Ron to tolerate such thoughts. Particularly when he doesn't know why I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

  Despite these considerations, my hands have begun, as if by themselves, to go through his jacket pockets. Of course, I’m just making sure no important documents go through the wash, I justify to myself. I trust Ron. I know he would never lie to me. The thought that he could sleep with another woman in a hotel is totally absurd. Unthinkable. Ridiculous.

  My fumbling hands freeze. A hotel bill!

  For several minutes I dare not look at it.

  Ron would never do that.

  He loves me.

  He wants to marry me.

  My fingers tremble as I finally unfold the paper and flatten it out.

  Everything is okay.

  Ron is true to me.

  Just like he said.

  Except, that’s a little strange, the hotel bill issued by the Spa Hotel is for a double room. Mr. and Mrs. Krämer.

  12

  Ron lied to me! And I believed him, like an idiot. Although I would prefer to hide under the duvet for the next three years crying in self-pity, I force myself to do something. I shouldn’t grieve in any case. I should be angry. But how do you transform a howling misery into a powerful fury?

  Perhaps, by doing something. I mumble incessantly to myself while I randomly yank any clothes out of the closet and stuff them into my suitcase. I carefully put Ron’s gun in there too. The safety is now on, because I had the conscience of mind to look it up on the internet. I want to feel sure I can defend myself. Nevertheless, I feel like a criminal.

  I have to go. Right away. Out of this house. Out of Ron's life. The lock on my Samsonite snaps shut with a loud click. Shortly thereafter I drag the heavy piece of luggage down the stairs, toss it in the trunk of my car and drive.

  "Honey, I am so sorry for you!" Nana eyes me with a look full of worry and awkwardly pats me on the back. I fled to her, just as I did as a child when I had a fight with my mother. But I have also often visited without the need for refuge. I love her fervently and intimately and unconditionally.

  “Yes. Me too," I mumble and unsuccessfully try to suppress the tears that have steadily flowed since the discovery of Ron's hotel bill. You'd think that they’d have to stop at some point. Especially when you consider that this son of a bitch does not deserve my grief. It happened again: he never loved me. He was only interested in me, because I come from a rich family. A family that has connections.

  "Believe me darling, I know how hard it is when you can’t trust anyone, because you come from a wealthy family. What you need now is a glass of champagne!" Nana jumps up, without waiting for a reply. Years ago Nana had a butler, but since he was put to rest several years ago, she hasn’t found a new one. "It's an outdated tradition," she said at the time. I have to say I think she’s right, but still I miss Edward. He belonged to the family. Since he's been gone, I feel like I’ve lost an uncle. These thoughts feel meaningless now. Just as meaningless as the entire romantic nonsense I've been embroiled over the last few years! Edward only did it for the money after all. Like them all. Maybe he didn't even like me.

  “Here. Have a drink, and you'll feel better in no time," encourages Nana.

  "There’s nothing to celebrate," I say and feel infinitely tired suddenly. Tired and empty.

  "Nothing to celebrate? That's a laugh. Of course there something to celebrate! You're rid of him. This devious, dishonest, nasty..."

  A reluctant smile creeps onto my lips. "You're right," I allow. "I'm glad it's over." The lie comes slowly to my lips, and I wonder whether I will ever actually be happy about it.

  "How could he do this to you? Four weeks before the wedding! The next time I see him, I'll show him that even a septuagenarian knows exactly where men are most vulnerable," says Nana enraged. Her anger over Ron's behavior is good for me. At least there is one person in this world who loves me just as I am.

  "Believe me, you deserve better than that," Nana interrupts her tirade.

  I nod and take another sip of champagne. A toasty warm feeling unfolds in my stomach while Nana continues to be annoyed on my behalf. With a sigh I let myself sink back into one of the thick pillows scattered on the grass-green couch like little moss islands. It's so cozy here, so... decadent.

  My grandmother loves luxury and everything connected with it. At her home in Königstein she has established her own jungle in the two hundred and forty square meters and approximately seven meter high entrance hall. Okay, there are no lions but a plethora of rare birds and iridescent butterflies for which Nana has a special affection. A small pond sits in the middle with colorful fish in it, and of course a waterfall. The waterfall alone ensures that the pulse is slower in this paradise. This oasis acts as a balm to my soul. I always liked it here, but today it feels to me as though all the plants and animals that inhabit Nana's artificial tropical forest are turning my own world into an iridescent bubble that flies high up into the canopy and dissolves there in the shimmering sunlight.

  My gaze glides over to my grandmother, who is still outraged on my behalf and pulling Ron to pieces. The alcohol has worked peacefully on me, Nana's words meld together with the murmur of the waterfall like a long forgotten fairy tale. My brilliant Nana is the fairy godmother in this charming jungle. A contented glow emanates from her, almost as if she were in love.

  Nana is happy.

  The realization hits me unprepared. So far I've always assumed that she is satisfied with her life, and yes, that she was happy. But I've never seen her like she is today. I sit upright and look closely at my grandmother. Fleeting images run through my head: Nana’s racehorse winning at the Baden-Baden Grand Prix, my grandmother as grand lady holding a summer festival every year during my grandfather's lifetime for the crème de la crème of the Frankfurt society, not forgetting the countless celebrities that as a child I found horribly boring and conceited.

  Despite her success in all these years she never looked so happy as she does now!

  Although upset about Ron's behavior, she cannot hide it.

  She's in love.

  My grandmother has a lover. I should ask her, I think again of my mother's accusatory voice ringing in my ear, but I can't.

  Not now. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of Nana's voice and the sound of the waterfall. The beguiling effect that emanated from it, is suddenly gone.

  And me? What do I have? Nothing but a lying, unfaithful ex-fiancé. Apparently, my grandma has more sex appeal than I do!

  13

  My brother Reinhard begins the conversation with "Sis, I have bad news for you." I wait for him to continue talking without saying anything. After all that I’ve witnessed in the last few days, Reinhard would have to tell me that World War Three had broken out to shock me.

  "It looks as if Ron..... I think you should reconsider, whether you really want to marry him."

  "Excuse me?" Even though I know exactly what Reinhard is alluding to, I can't believe what I’m hearing. How has my stepbrother heard of Ron's infidelity?

  "It's just, father and I, we’ve been considering whether to take Ron on to the Board of the Bank. But I think he might be involved in illegal activities. At least it looks that way, but we have no evidence yet."

  It takes a moment before I understand the meaning of his words. Reinhard isn’t alluding to Ron's girlfriend.

  "How you did find out?" I ask the question that concerns me the most.

  "We routinely check everyone who qualifies for such a position. Of course, Ron had to agree to the review. Apparently he thought that nobody could prove anything, but the investigations indicate that something fishy is going on. I don't know anything specific, but I'm worried about you. I don't want you to marry him, only to then find out what kind of person he really is. I know it's not a good time so shor
tly before the wedding, but still..." Reinhard inserts a pause. Even over the phone line, I hear his regret for having to give me such news.

  "Don't worry, Reinhard, I'm not marrying Ron."

  "You? What? ... Why?"

  "He cheated on me," I answer the question which I know Reinhard was trying to say, but couldn’t in his surprise.

  "Oh. So... I'm sorry. Honestly."

  "Yeah, me too."

  "But why didn't you tell me? I didn’t know..."

  "I only found out today myself."

  "Sis, I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. Not, that you won’t be marrying him, because that’s the first piece of good news today. But that he could do something like that to you! The next time I see him, I’ll break every bone in his body, I promise."

  "That's not necessary, anyway, he’s not worth the trouble. I'll get through it."

  "You want to come over? Tina certainly won’t mind, come to dinner. Tomorrow we’re flying to the Seychelles, and I’d like to talk everything over before we go."

  "Reinhard, that's sweet of you, but I need a little rest. And your sweet marital bliss is a bit too much for me at the moment. Give me some time, okay?"

  “Alright. But Tamara, I'm serious. If you need a shoulder to cry on, then come over. Even though I have no idea what to do with a crying woman."

  "Okay, I’ll hold you to that," I reply, and smile. The idea, of my brother sitting helplessly with a woman crying on his shoulder, is worth its weight in gold. I know Reinhard well enough to know that would be one of his worst nightmares. He’d rather face a whole pack of angry board members.

  After our conversation my mood is a little better. Maybe I've never had a boyfriend who really loved me, but at least there are two people in this world who accept me as I am: Nana and Reinhard.

  It's late as I finally arrive at the Mainhatten Hotel. The brightly-lit hotel is like an oasis to me, so happy am I that I can take refuge here. From now on, I will concentrate only on the positive aspects of my money and my origins, I decide as I walk through the sliding doors and over the black marble that dominates the entrance. Shortly afterwards, I find myself travelling upwards in the lift and am released onto the twenty-sixth floor. The first thing I do when I arrive in the suite is to slip out of my shoes. My feet sink into the expensive carpet which feels as smooth and soft as moss.

  Despite my depressed mood, the skyline spread out before my eyes pulls me into its spell. The city is beautiful at night. The roads are winding through the canyons like glittering ribbons, everywhere the lights of homes and street lights sparkle like jewels. For a long time I am immersed in this vision. Gradually the tension of the last few days starts to fade.

  If only it could always be like this! Why can’t I turn back the clock to last week? Back then my life was all in order. I was in love with Ron and had no other worries than planning our wedding.

  He should burn in hell! The ugly thought destroys my calm. I had actually planned to enjoy this evening and shake off all thoughts of Ron and his infidelity. I have to forget the dead body as well, and the fear that has accompanied me the last few days. But it's not as easy as I thought. The conversation with Reinhard has once again pushed me into an abyss of doubt and fear and confronted me with the sad realization that I have no idea what kind of person Ron is. For a moment, I think about whether I should get my trusty little helpers out of my handbag and escape into the unconscious fog of sleeping pills. But then I reject the idea. Never again! In the future a herbal tea will have to do when I can’t sleep.

  And how could I have been so stupid? Why did I want to go through with a marriage, whose preparation has already made me so stressed it necessitated the use of drugs? If anything I should have been lying in bed sleepless with joy!

  "Ron, you fucking son of a bitch!" I turn away from the window. He has turned my life into a rollercoaster ride. And then there’s the dead body! I'm now sure that Ron had something to do with this drama. There are too many inconsistencies, too many strange events. Even though I understand very little of what has happened in the last few days, one thing is clear in all the chaos: my ex is not the person I thought he was.

  The water flows into the bath tub with a quiet murmur. Steam rises, enveloping me and obscuring the mirror image, which showed a sullen-looking woman. I enjoy the delicate fog which is making everything unreal, and which also helps make the feeling of being at sea that much stronger.

  For the bathroom the Mainhatten has come up with something really extravagant. The entire room is designed so that it looks as though you are on a beach in the Caribbean. Real Palm trees bend over the huge tub which sinks into the ground. At first glance, the floor looks like a sandy beach. All body care products are displayed on either coconut husks or banana leaves.

  And then the view! It is not the ocean stretching before me but rather a city which is enveloped in a sparkling coat of lights. All of Frankfurt lies at me feet. And yet I'm still tense like a too taut bowstring. In an effort to let something resembling calm enter my mind, I close my eyes and lean my head back.

  But even that doesn't help. The longer I think about the events of the last few days, the more angry I get. Ron with his hypocritical posturing. His phony questioning on how I could think something so terrible of him!

  Ha! I can think much more about him, and none of it is positive.

  I want revenge! Why should he get away unscathed, while I have to deal not only with his infidelity, but also with the stranger, who was somehow killed in our house without my knowledge?

  Maybe Ron killed the man; just as the night before this idea makes me hesitate. Yesterday I scribbled it on a sheet of paper, without consciously thinking about it. Maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me something. Maybe I know more than I think I do? Either that or I'm going crazy.

  But that doesn't matter now. What’s important is that I want to get back at Ron. I'll cheat on him too, even if it is pretty much too late for that, given the fact that, as far as I'm concerned anyway, we're no longer a couple. And if he has already found the hotel receipt, which I glued to the front door, he at least has a clue that our relationship is down the drain.

  Frustrated, I swipe through the bubbles with my hand. I have failed across the board. Why did I never want to admit how important success and wealth are to Ron? I know that he is enormously ambitious. That he always wanted to climb higher. What could be better for him than to marry me? Daughter of one of the most influential bankers in Germany. And not only that. My father owns the De Beer Bank, now lead by my brother. Reinhard is just my half-brother, but nevertheless, he is following my father's footsteps, not me.

  For a moment, I lose myself in the past. I see the disappointment on my father’s face when I tell him I want to study art instead of business. Only a week later he responded by announcing that Reinhard, the son of his second wife, would become his successor. Although I would have gladly continued the family tradition, I had to free myself of my father, shake off his dominance over me. Since then I’ve used my mother's maiden name, because I wanted a visible sign. After our now cancelled wedding I was planning to start a new job as Assistant to the Managing Director in a renowned Frankfurt art gallery. A fact which has irritated my father no end and led to many sarcastic comments.

  Despite these differences with my father, Ron was hoping he could perhaps lead the Bank one day by Reinhard’s side, and it would appear he had almost reached this goal. The son of a bitch!

  Even Nana has more success with men than I do. I continue this dark train of thought. Nana! I thought my mother had exaggerated as usual, but after our meeting this afternoon I am convinced, she's right. Nana is in love. And even if she's not in love, she’s most definitely having more fun in bed than I am!

  "If you have any sense whatsoever, you’d follow her example and enjoy yourself, instead of sinking into melancholy," I admonish myself loudly.

  An idea settles in my head. An impossible, unimaginable... Before I can reconsider, I reach for the ph
one and dial reception. A young man answers.

  "Get me a callboy. In my suite, in an hour."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Don’t act stupid. You do it for the men who stay here all the time. Earn your commission and send someone who is good to me. The best." With these words, I hang up and sink with a deep sigh into the foam. The sigh is joined by a moan, as I realize what I’ve just done. What was I thinking? A callboy! I must have completely lost my mind.

  I spend the next few minutes wandering aimlessly in my suite. I try to tame my hair, to create some semblance of order and to decide whether I should wear something and, if so, what. Unfortunately, I'm not very good at multi-tasking, and so I stop with the pointless tasks and focus instead on the most important question: what should you wear when you receive a professional lover?

  I’m still standing perplexed in front of the wardrobe, staring horrified at the wild conglomeration, as someone knocks at the door. Damn it. That was quick. Now, at least the dress question is settled. I'll open the door in a bathrobe.

  My heart beats in my throat as I cross the room to let in the stranger. It isn’t beating too uncomfortably, but I would rather be relaxed and ready. As if it were an everyday occurrence, paying a man to spoil me in bed.

  With a deep breath, I open the door.

  "Hi, I'm Christian," the Adonis who stands before me greets me. Dark brown eyes look at me amused. He has dark blonde hair and a slim, toned figure. Everything about him is just right. A smile creeps on to my lips.

  He's wearing a pair of jeans that are just a little bit shabby, it looks sexy. He’s also wearing a white T-Shirt that’s almost as white as his teeth.

  "May I come in?"

  Oh! I realize only now that we are still standing in the doorway with me staring at him, as if I had never seen a man before.