Never Trust a Callboy

by Birgit Kluger

  "You don't know anything else about it?" My tone is pleading, urgent. I would like to know as much as possible about this woman. Maybe she committed the murder, maybe Ron is covering for his lover although I can’t imagine that. So far Ron has only done things for himself.

  Emilie misconstrues my pensive expression for pain, awkwardly patting me on the back, she says: "It will all be all right. You’ll see. In a few weeks it won’t be so bad." If she only knew how bad it really is, and how much worse it can still get.

  Gradually she wants to get rid of me. I notice how she’s becoming more and more nervous, how her fingers itch with the desire to reach for the telephone, and spread the latest scandal.

  40

  Satisfied with my performance I make my way back to Frankfurt, I can't wait to tell Christian about the conversation. About how well I acted and how Emilie took the bait. Soon, everyone in our circle of friends will know all about Ron's relationship. I wish I could see his face when Ron learns that everyone knows his secret.

  I whistle a silly melody and open the front door with the key Christian gave me. I call for Christian but get no response. Strange. There’s no trace of him upstairs either.

  No one is at home. My good mood deflates like a balloon when the air escapes. He probably has to work again. With an annoyed kick I launch a tennis ball across the room. Oops. Hopefully nothing is broken. This hope is not long lived, because I soon notice that the ball has destroyed a paper lamp shade. A Japanese floor lamp that looks expensive. Damn.

  I consider whether I should repair it with scotch tape, but in the end I leave it, otherwise I might ruin it even more. I’ll just have to buy him a new lampshade. Why does he even have tennis balls lying around his apartment?

  My good mood is totally gone, and I don't know what to do. I could read a book or watch TV, but somehow I'm missing the calm needed to do so. Also there’s never anything good on television at this time of day. Actually, why am I paying Christian if he’s working for other women?

  I stare rigidly ahead for a while, waiting for a key to finally turn in the lock and for Christian to come back.

  If he has free time right now, he’s definitely not spending it with me. The idea sneaks uninvited into my head. I can't say that my mood is better as a result. If it is at all possible, it becomes even worse. I have to get out of here. This waiting is driving me crazy. Christian can do what he wants, I don't have time to wait for him anyway. I will implement the second part of my plan, alone.

  This decision leads me to the main shopping center. I hope that Ron’s thugs won’t be in a place that is nearly every man’s nightmare.

  I have decided to take pictures of Ron and Madeleine, photos documenting their affair. I need a camera that provides usable shots, without a flash, and in the dark.

  Fortunately it doesn't take long before I find a camera that meets all my requirements. Actually, I should go back to Christian now, because I promised him I wouldn’t go alone to Ron's. But he's still not home. Okay. Nothing bad is going to happen. Ron has no idea where I am. In addition, he knows nothing about my transformation into a long-haired blonde.

  In Bad Soden I park at the riding stables and go up the mountain across the street. I lose myself in the small alleys and make my way, bit by bit, to Madeleine's house. It doesn't take long before I’m standing in front of the building next door. The only trouble is, I have to go through the middle of the garden to get to her house.

  I decide to act completely normal, or as normal as possible, when you’re about to enter a strangers private property unauthorized. With a wildly beating heart I put my foot on the manicured lawns. I don’t have the nerves for this. How do burglars succeed in doing their jobs without having a heart attack from fear every time?

  With bated breath, I cross the green surface which lies wet and shiny before me. Just a few meters. I hope no one sees me! Finally I arrive at the back of Madeleine's house. Of course, there’s a fence, what a surprise. She looked like the kind of person who would give nothing away, keep everything to herself. Then it occurs to me, we fenced off our property too, but of course it was Ron's idea.

  Right now I have other problems, because I have to overcome this obstacle somehow. With a frown, I inspect the green wire mesh. Climbing it shouldn’t be a problem, I just hope it can handle my weight.

  I land on the other side with a thud. Ouch. I've miscalculated, the fence didn’t look that high. Damn it. I look around nervously. Hopefully no one heard. I wait a few seconds, but everything remains calm. Now onward, I would like to put this whole thing behind me as soon as possible.

  The orchard that must have been planted decades ago by an owner who loved fruit trees, now protects me as I slowly move towards the house. Here the living room leads out to the garden. The terrace doors are open, because it is a balmy, warm summer night. I can look directly into the room, and hidden behind the trunk of an apple tree, I feel relatively safe. No trace of Madeleine or Ron.

  Then she comes into view wearing a light summer dress. She looks good, I register annoyed. Given that her husband has disappeared, she looks far too happy.

  She makes a phone call, walks up and down in the living room and finally falls back onto the large white couch, her gaze lands directly on the terrace, on the green lawn and the fruit trees, behind which I’m hiding. My heart is beating hard. Has she seen me? Madeleine continues speaking undisturbed, there is no sign that she has noticed anything unusual, but maybe she's a good actress. Maybe she’ll rush at me and punch me in the throat, and I’ll bet she won’t hold back.

  Does she know that her husband is dead? She laughs and snuggles up comfortably on the couch. Maybe she’s talking to Ron.

  Suddenly he’s right in the middle of the room, and I almost drop the camera in fright. He sneaks up behind her and for a long moment I think he wants to kill her. But then he bends down towards her, and as she sees him she laughs and lowers the handset to kiss him. At least I'm alert enough to take a picture of it.

  I have the first picture of the two of them, and the evening is still long, who knows what I can capture a photo of next. Madeleine finishes the conversation, while Ron's hands wander over her body. I take more pictures, even if it’s not comfortable for me. It's weird to watch while your ex caresses another woman.

  Tears well up in my eyes, but I continue blindly pressing the shutter button. After a while, I put down the camera to wipe my nose. Idiotic, the whole thing. By the time I’ve pulled myself together again, the living room is empty. I don’t need much imagination to know where they went.

  The lights are on in a room on the first floor. The bedroom. It’s my chance to take even better pictures, pictures showing the two of them in bed. Even though I'm not exactly eager to see Ron in action with another woman, I have to, the more pictures the better.

  The question is, how to do it. The damn room is situated on the first floor. Dubiously, I look at the tree I've been hiding behind. The branches look strong enough, I just have to get up there. Which is not so simple because the lowest branches are pretty high up. There is a folding chair on the terrace. A pretty puny chair; I wonder to myself why she has something so cheap out here.

  A few seconds later I’m balancing on the wobbly thing and climbing up into the tree. In position I can look directly into the bedroom, as if I were sitting in a theatre box. I can hardly believe how good the position is, almost as if it were made for me. They are lying on the bed and are so preoccupied with each other that they probably wouldn’t even notice if I jumped up and down in front of the window.

  Determined, I pick up the camera, look through the lens, and wait until you can clearly identify both of them. Unfortunately she kisses Ron's chest, her long hair covering her face, while Ron stretches out and enjoys the whole thing.

  After a while, finally, Ron also becomes active. He strokes her, and I pray that they will both finally look in the camera, but Ron takes a long time getting to the point.

  They both stop fondling a
nd fumbling at the same time, lifting their heads to listen. Ron says something and stands up. He goes directly to the window in all his naked glory, while she stays behind him on the bed, her head resting on her hand, watching. Finally the perfect picture! There, he’ll have a hard time explaining that it was a purely platonic friendship now.

  Ron bends down, picks up his pants and rummages around in the pockets to pull out his phone. I have an idea who it could be at this hour. The jungle drums have taken a little more time than I thought they would to reach him.

  In any case, it is not a pleasant call, because it doesn't take long before Ron begins to argue, gesturing violently and pacing up and down in the room. After a few minutes, he stops talking abruptly, he says something to Madeleine and begins getting dressed. The fun part of the night is probably over.

  It’s high time to get out of here!

  With baited breath I climb down as quietly as possible. I search with my foot in the dark for the chair. It’s shaking. The damn thing! But then I have solid ground under my feet again. I retreat hastily to the rear of the property and climb over the fence. I run through the neighbor's garden and out onto the road. I have almost reached it as my heart stops with fright.

  "What are you doing here?" asks the woman blocking my way. A legitimate question and not one I'd like to answer truthfully.

  "I... Uh... I'm looking for my cat?"

  The woman takes a step closer to me, eyeing me skeptically. "Looking for your cat with a camera?" Does she have nothing better to do than harass other people, the nosy cow? This time I don't stop to reply, but shove her aside and push past her.

  "Stop! I’ll call the police, stand still!" She screams so loud that you can probably hear her in Frankfurt.

  I run as quickly as I can and arrive at the car panting, open the door and start the engine as soon as I've squeezed myself behind the wheel. Slowly now, I don’t want to be conspicuous. Finally, Bad Soden lies behind me. I breathe easier as I pull into the left lane and speed along the road to Frankfurt.

  41

  "Where you have been?" Christian asks angrily.

  "I could ask you the same question. Where were you when I came back from Emilie? If you had to work, you could at least have left me a message."

  "And if you listened to your messages regularly, you would know where I was.”

  "Oh." Guiltily, I dig into my handbag. Christian’s right, the icon which displays new messages is flashing.

  "This damn phone only tells that I’ve received a voicemail hours later," I defend myself. "But I thought you were working just for me. That’s what I pay you for after all," I attack him, to avoid admitting I made a mistake.

  "I thought I was allowed to go out at night, or have you booked me day and night?" He looks at me with a sarcastic smile.

  "Yes, no, I thought..." Great, now I have transformed into a stuttering idiot.

  "Just for your information, I was with my father in a casino last night."

  "Until five o'clock in the morning?" The words slip out indiscriminately. Why can’t I just think and then talk?

  "Yes, my father is a passionate player, is that enough for you for now, or do I have to provide a detailed statement?"

  "Forget it." Angrily I turn around. My stupid behavior is bad enough, but Christian's sarcasm makes me crazy. "It’s time to get out of here anyway. I’ll pack my stuff and go to a hotel."

  "Wait." Christian gets up and grabs me by the arm. "Don't be angry. I'm sorry."

  I hesitate, my heart torn. On the one hand I want to stay, but I have the impression that our life together is only going to get more complicated.

  "You're not safe in a hotel. Ron is looking for you. I followed him this afternoon. He was watching a house in Bad Homburg."

  "A house in Bad Homburg? It doesn’t happen to be on Tannenwaldallee?"

  "Exactly. Do you know who lives there?"

  "My mother." I need to sit down. I don't like that Ron has been watching my mother's house, "What did he want there?"

  "I think he’s restless. He can’t find you. He probably hoped to find out something from your mother. He stood in front of her house for about two hours, then he drove back to Bad Soden." I nod. I know exactly what Ron did in Bad Soden.

  "He parked in front of Madeleine's house, and I came back to Frankfurt. I was worried because I couldn’t reach you." Christian looks at me prompting. It is apparently now my turn to tell him what I did with the rest of the day. Somehow I get the impression that he is not going to take this news particularly well.

  And I’m right...

  "Have you taken leave of your senses? What if he discovered you? We do everything we can so that Ron does not know where you are, and then you've got nothing better to do, than to hang around in his girlfriend’s back yard."

  "You weren't there," I'm trying to justify myself, but I don’t get far.

  "Yes, and...? It's not as if the pictures couldn’t wait a few more hours. It doesn't matter whether you got them today or tomorrow. The only thing that matters, is that he will kill you too."

  He may be right. But still...

  "I'm sorry, but I can’t sit around here and wait for my life to fix itself. The last few days have been hell for me, you say it doesn’t matter if I have to wait one more day, but I get a panic attack at every shadow on the wall, my ex may be a murderer, I am hunted and I live with a callboy. Do you think I'm having fun?"

  Instead of an answer, Christian sighs and runs his hands through his hair. I regret my last sentence, I didn’t meant it. Actually, yes I did, but I didn’t mean to throw it at him like that. Not least of all because I'm happy to be here.

  "If you don't mind, I’ll watch some TV," I say finally because the tense atmosphere is gnawing at my nerves, and also because I don't know what else to say. Actually, I should apologize, but I don't know how. I can’t say I didn’t mean it, because that would be lying.

  "Make yourself at home," retorts Christian and watches me with a weird facial expression. I feel uncomfortable. If I didn't know better, I would think he was interested in me. In me as a woman, but that’s nonsense. He helps me because I pay him to. No other reason. So I get up and go into the living room, then flick through the programs until I discover a movie I want to see; Gladiator, with Russell Crowe.

  A short time later Christian joins me, puts his feet up on the coffee table and stares at the screen. Although he’s paying no attention to me, after a while I have the impression that the air is electrically charged. The fact that half-naked men fill the screen most of the time is not helpful. More than once my gaze has drifted over to him. I still remember how good he looks without his t-shirt. He can easily measure up to Russell Crowe.

  After a while, I can tell Christian has had enough of the movie, because he takes a magazine from the coffee table and starts to read.

  "Does the TV not bother you when you’re reading?" I ask him after a few minutes. It hasn’t escaped my notice how he repeatedly stops reading, stares at the screen, then continues reading. I can't blame him: I would rather look at the screen too if I were reading The Global Economy Journal. I’m just surprised it doesn’t put him to sleep.

  "What?" Christian looks at me irritated. Apparently he’s been concentrating hard. "No, the TV doesn't bother me. I always do this."

  "You read while watching TV?"

  "Yes, that way I don't miss anything. As long as the TV is running, I can look up any time something good comes on. That way I see all the good stuff."

  "Why not just buy a TV guide and choose the movies you want to see?"

  Christian shrugs. “Then there’s no surprise.”

  "If you say so. And what is so exciting in the global economy? Especially when you could be watching Gladiator?"

  "I like staying up to date," he replies and once again hides behind his magazine. He doesn’t get away from me that easily. Since I was in his office the question of why a callboy would be interested in these subjects has been burning away at me.


  "Do you need it for your work? I mean, are there tips in there on how you can better treat women? Something under the title The latest erogenous zones or how to get to the first orgasm with financial manipulation?" That was somewhat sarcastic, but I have the impression that I must draw Christian out if I want to learn more. Also, I'm curious; very curious.

  "No, there’s nothing like that. Why? Do you think I should improve my skills? You did look completely satisfied with me."

  It’s so stupid that I can’t remember anything. "It was quite okay," I say, as if I know what I'm talking about. I can only hope that the night with him was not a disaster. "That still doesn't explain why you are interested in that magazine,” I note to move the conversation back in a safe direction.

  "I used to study it, that's all," he mumbles and probably hopes that will satisfy me; actually, he should know me better.

  "You did business studies? But you didn’t finish, right? Or did I sleep with a callboy who knows something other than how to make women happy?" The last question was not meant seriously, but the sarcasm passes without a trace.

  "Why not? It’s more interesting than the latest changes in tax law, don’t you think?"

  "Next you'll be telling me you have a PhD, but you're too young for that." I stare at him critically. Something about his expression irritates me. You could almost think he was amusing himself at my expense. "Please tell me that I wasn’t in bed with a doctor of business studies."

  "Would it bother you?"

  "Would it bother me? Paying a boring business studies doctor to have sex with me?"

  "I didn’t have the impression that you were bored." Christian looks at me with one of his looks that are designed to attract women. He smiles amused. I preferred it when he was looking at the screen. It’s time to get away from this topic.

  "How can you have a doctorate? You're a callboy!"

  "What can I say?" Christian spreads his arms. "A little education never harmed anybody."