Cherry Red Summer (Emely and Elyas Book 1)

by Bartsch, Carina

  I had two more lectures later, so I headed to the library to study for half an hour.

  After the third lecture, pretty much exhausted, I made my way back to my room. My wish that there would be a new e-mail from Luca went unfulfilled, so I used the time left before work to take a shower. I enjoyed the relaxation of standing under the hot water. Then I put on my work clothes. Although I should have left for work ages sooner, I couldn’t resist checking my e-mail one more time before going. I was disappointed again and spent my whole walk to work telling myself it didn’t mean anything. Luca undoubtedly had other things to do than sit in front of his computer all day answering e-mails from me. Still, it rankled me. I hadn’t heard from him since last night—a long time for Luca. And I was irritated that I was rankled at all. I was acting like a teenager. Worse, actually! So I pushed the whole topic from my head before I walked through the doors of Purple Haze.

  The cocktail bar where I worked was located in a hip area near downtown Berlin, in the basement of a corner building. Over time, the place had become a second home to me. Inside, there were several large fans hanging from the ceilings; the chairs and tables were simple in design and made of dark wood. The bar counter, which was one of my work areas, was the same dark wood and was one of the longest ones I’d ever seen. Behind it were ceiling-high shelves filled with every imaginable type of alcohol. In one corner of the space was a single pool table, which no one was using at the moment. Since it was midweek, there was hardly anyone inside, except small groups of teenagers occupying a couple of tables.

  We didn’t have uniforms, so I just tied a long black apron around my waist before saying hi to Eva’s boyfriend, Nicolas, and getting to work. Nicolas was the manager, and he’d gotten me this job by putting in a word for me with his boss. Nicolas was super-tall and lanky, with dark hair. Since I knew all about the physical demands of his lifestyle with Eva, I didn’t wonder about his lankiness anymore.

  I handled table service and the floor while Nicolas managed the kitchen and bar. Purple Haze focused mainly on cocktails, but the menu included some light food items—appetizers, salads, and baguette sandwiches—and someone needed to make them. Tonight that was Nicolas. Since it was a slow night, I had no trouble running the show out front by myself. The downside was that the hours dragged. The usual work was quickly done, so I mainly stood around idly or chatted with Nicolas, who paid me a visit now and again from the kitchen or behind the bar. I even entertained the thought of calling Alex and asking if she would come down to keep me company. I decided against that because hanging out with Alex once a day was plenty.

  By ten o’clock my feet really hurt as I stood behind the counter washing beer glasses. Nicolas had disappeared for the umpteenth time back into the kitchen, and the Latin American rhythms of the Orishas were playing from the speakers. I had kept Elyas’s and my conversation out of my head most of the night, but now my thoughts returned to Luca. I wondered if he had e-mailed back during my shift. God, I was so pathetic!

  “Hey dearest.”

  The all-too-familiar voice startled me, and when I looked up, I groaned. “Are you aware of the recently tightened antistalking law?”

  “Sorry? Don’t I get a hello kiss?” Elyas said, laughing, as he sat opposite me on a barstool.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I happened to be in the area and my sixth sense suddenly told me to go through that door,” he said, pointing to the entrance. He seemed extraordinarily pleased about this purely coincidental meeting.

  “Your sixth sense?” I snorted. “I’m thinking it was actually your third leg.”

  He laughed, and I wondered how the hell he knew where I worked. Alex—that monster, my best and soon-to-be-dead friend.

  “What do you want, Elyas?” I said impatiently. “I’m working.”

  “Hmm,” he hummed, taking a look at the drink menu. “How about a Coke? I have to drive.”

  God, I wanted to wring his neck. There had to be some way to shake him off.

  “If I give you a Coke, will you get out of here then?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What does ‘maybe’ mean?”

  He grinned. “‘Maybe’ means I’m staying until I’ve finished my glass. On the other hand, if you don’t serve me anything, I’ll stay until your shift is over.”

  “Is there a third option?” I frowned. He shook his head, beaming like the Cheshire cat. I muttered, “Fine” and filled a glass, which I slammed onto the bar in front of him.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said. I returned to my dishwashing, which, with my new company, suddenly seemed twice as much fun as before. I grumbled.

  “This is a nice place,” he said, looking around. “I like the music, too.”

  “Good for you.”

  “The only downside is that the work itself isn’t ideal: Isn’t it bad for your fingers to be plunging them in and out of dirty dish water?”

  “Unlike you,” I started, “I’m not being supported by my father. I have to earn my own money.”

  “My dad isn’t supporting me.”

  “If not Ingo, then who? You’re either on the go or on campus. I’ve never heard anything about your having to get to work.”

  “That’s true, I don’t go to work,” he said smiling. “I work at home.”

  “At home?” I repeated. “What, do you work for a gay chat line or something?” I was trying to provoke him, but he found my comment funny. Great. I guess I couldn’t accuse him of being homophobic, either. Most guys wouldn’t have reacted as self-confidently as he did. But . . . maybe he was gay? Hmm, interesting theory, which I didn’t have a chance to pursue any further because he interrupted my musings.

  “To the first part—yes. To the second part—no. Although I’m certain that would be a highly lucrative job.” He grinned.

  “What do you allegedly do instead?”

  He leaned forward. “As you know, I play the piano. I’m even pretty good at it. I compose a lot, and write jingles for ads and radio stations and things like that. Sometimes longer pieces, which I sell to movie or TV production companies. Lately I’ve been living off the shorter stuff.”

  I raised an eyebrow and took a closer look at him. After a thorough search, I found no sign he was pulling my leg.

  “Really?” I asked.

  He nodded. “It’s the truth. I’m not some famous concert pianist, but I’m good enough that I’ve been living off my music for a year.”

  I looked at him, absorbing this new, unexpected revelation. It was hard to get my brain around.

  “Would I recognize anything you’ve done? Like the Deutsche Telekom tune or something?”

  He smiled and leaned back. “How about the soundtrack to Pirates of the Caribbean?”

  My eyes bugged out. I loved that movie. He couldn’t have written one of the tunes from it, could he? Doo-doo dah dah, doo-doo dah dah, doo-doo dah dah, doo-doo dah started echoing through my head.

  Elyas burst out laughing. “No, no, that part was a joke.” My face went blank and I started silently cursing myself. How was I always, always getting taken in by him?

  “I don’t think people would recognize the stuff I’ve done,” he continued. “You may have heard something in passing, but I doubt you’d remember anything. If you want, I’ll play some of my work for you sometime.”

  “We’ll see,” I muttered, returning to my dishwashing.

  After a while, a customer motioned that he wanted to pay. I grabbed the waiter’s purse and walked over to him. After that, I returned to rinsing glasses.

  I just pretended Elyas wasn’t there. Outwardly pretended, that is, because inwardly I could feel his burning gaze on me. I didn’t understand what he hoped to achieve by sitting there staring at me. Every time we ran into each other, things got worse. Had it ever occurred to him that his games might be extremely unpleasant for me? But
that’s probably why he tormented me, just one tiny part of his expansive plot to plague me.

  “Are you going to ignore me the whole night?” he asked after neither of us had said anything for a long time.

  “Will you please drink your soda?” I said, annoyed he had hardly touched it.

  “Oh,” he said, grinning. “I’m actually not thirsty at all.”

  I gaped at his cockiness, and irradiated him with dark beams from my eyes. The subtle smile gracing his lips drove me back to rinsing the beer glasses in frustration.

  “Are you ignoring me again?”

  “That’s the plan,” I said. It was so quiet in the bar that I could hear him sigh.

  “I don’t get it. Why do you despise me so much?”

  I looked up at him as though someone had just poured a bucket of cold water down my back. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Why do you despise me so much?” he repeated. I tried in vain to read anything from his face.

  For God’s sake, what was he up to now? First he asks me to go out for coffee and then he throws this at me?

  “Elyas,” I started. “Whatever this new angle is you’ve dreamed up to annoy me, the fact is there is nothing you can say or do that’s going to convince me to jump into bed with you.”

  He cocked his head to the side and pouted. “No?”

  “No!”

  He sighed. “Too bad—but no matter. I still want to know why you despise me.”

  “My shift’s over in two hours. I’m afraid that’s not enough time to work my way down the list.”

  “Then give me the CliffsNotes,” he said.

  I groaned. “Why does it even matter to you?”

  “Because I don’t see any reason for it.”

  “You don’t see any reason?” I repeated.

  He nodded.

  “All right,” I finally said. “Let me give you the main reasons. You’re an insensitive, arrogant, superficial jerk.” Not to mention I hated him because of what had happened back then. I didn’t mention that, though, because he would accuse me of being vindictive, which in this case was true.

  “Apparently I’m not the only one here who’s a poor judge of character.”

  “I’m so looking forward to hearing why you don’t think you fit my description,” I said, crossing my arms.

  “All right, let’s start with arrogant. Yes, I might be a little arrogant, at least toward you. But have you ever seen me be arrogant toward other people?”

  I thought about it, and he was right: I couldn’t recall a time when he had acted that way toward other people.

  “Fine,” I said. “Then why are you that way toward me?”

  “Well,” he said, smiling. “First of all, I do enjoy teasing you. I don’t know why, but I like riling you up.”

  He paused, contemplating the stinkeye I was giving him, and grinned before continuing. “Secondly, have you ever thought about how you treat me? You act just as arrogantly toward me, maybe even worse.”

  I snorted. He was the one who had started that whole dynamic. “And thirdly?” I asked.

  He studied me for a moment. “There actually is a thirdly, but I’m not going to say it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have my reasons,” he said. “But no matter how long you prod me, I won’t tell you.” What was he hiding? “To your second point, why do you think I’m insensitive?”

  “Elyas,” I said, smiling. “I experienced that firsthand when we were in high school. Plus, I don’t think you know what love even is.”

  “Maybe I don’t have any long-term relationships to boast about, but why does that make me insensitive? I admit there’s a long list of women from the past few years, but that doesn’t mean that’s how I’m planning on living the rest of my life. I just haven’t fallen in love for a really long time. But why should I sit around twiddling my thumbs and not having any fun while I wait to fall in love again? I like sex—what’s wrong with enjoying it? It’s not like I’m hurting anyone, and even though I’m sure you assume otherwise, I’m not leading anyone on. The women I see know what they’re getting into; I explain that at the outset every time.”

  I couldn’t come up with a good retort to that, as much as I wanted to. What he said was logical, and though I didn’t view him any more sympathetically, it didn’t seem as easy to pooh-pooh his amorous escapades anymore—assuming it was true the arrangement was clear to everyone in advance.

  “And what you seem to be forgetting, Emely,” he continued, “is that I love my family. That’s a form of love, even if it’s not the one you think of first. The way I see it, people tend to reduce love to two people who are sexually attracted to each other. But the feelings someone has for friends and family are love, too. The only difference is that you don’t want to sleep with them—well, normally, that is.” He grinned.

  Though it pained me to admit it, Elyas was right. I was peeved to hear such sensible things coming out of his mouth.

  “And if that’s still not enough for you,” he said, looking into my eyes, still smiling, “then let me ask you this question: Could a cold, unfeeling person live with Alex for as long as I have without having killed her already?”

  Ugh, that was either the worst argument or the best argument of all.

  “See?” he said, smirking. “As far as your other point goes, all I can say is that I’m not superficial. I don’t judge people by the way they look or what they wear; I judge only whether I would sleep with them or not.”

  He stopped talking, and I looked into the water of the rinse sink I was working at.

  “So? What do you think?” Elyas asked, breaking the silence.

  I took a deep breath. “To be honest I find your arguments—apart from that last one—quite plausible. That doesn’t mean I’m just going to buy it all—hook, line, and sinker—though. Even if you’re serious . . . I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Somehow I still can’t stand you.”

  He looked at me and then sighed. “Wow, dearest. You’re a piece of work, huh.”

  I grumbled and glared at him before rededicating myself to the glassware. I found it conspicuous he had missed, or ignored, what I’d said about his insensitivity in high school. I doubted he had a good excuse for that, and right now would have been the perfect opportunity to offer a tearful—even if fake—apology. Maybe I didn’t like him, but I had no doubt Elyas was a smart guy. He was in medical school, after all. At least making a show of moving past all that baggage between us would have been a shrewd move. I was surprised he had let the opportunity pass.

  Elyas stubbornly sat there, sipping his soda, while I focused on my various tasks. Unfortunately I couldn’t avoid his questions, like “What are you wearing under your apron?” I answered that it wasn’t an apron, but a bandage I had to wear after my sex-change operation, but it didn’t have the intended effect. On the contrary, he was incredibly amused, and felt encouraged to continue his little games.

  I nearly lost it more than once, and he had only my self-control to thank that he was still among the living. I threw a lemon at him once, purely out of desperation. I smiled when it actually hit him, but frowned after it appeared to have had no effect.

  I still had half an hour until my shift was over, and even though the bar was almost empty, two customers were still hanging out, so Nicolas and I couldn’t close up early. Elyas was the third, and most annoying, guest.

  As I wiped down the bar, Elyas looked around the space and actually kept his mouth shut for all of five minutes. I can’t describe how pleasant I found the quiet. But like all things in life, this too came to an end.

  “Do you want to shoot a game of pool with me?”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m working.”

  He looked at the clock. “Not for long. Plus, it’s not like you’ve got anything else to do. This is the third time you’ve wiped al
l the surfaces down in the past forty-five minutes.”

  I froze. “Are you keeping track of what I’m doing?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got a couple lists going in my head. For instance, you’ve been to the bathroom three times. Evidently I make you nervous.”

  I snorted and then scrubbed the wood counter even harder. “Did you ever stop to think maybe I was puking in there?”

  He smiled. “No, I didn’t. Oh—that’s right. I’d almost forgotten. You’re going to make me a daddy soon.”

  I could only smile.

  “So how about it?” he asked. “You want to play a round?”

  “I don’t know. There are still two actual customers here.”

  “If they need you, we’ll take a time-out. I don’t see a problem.”

  He’d gotten me to seriously consider it. The critical argument in favor of it was that he wouldn’t be able to talk as much if he was busy playing pool. For children, they call that strategy keeping them occupied, and in Elyas’s case I couldn’t think of a more apt description. I’d long given up hope he would just go home, so why not make the best of my miserable situation?

  “All right,” I finally said, bringing a mischievous smile to his face. I wiped my hands on my apron. He hopped down off his barstool—much more casually than I could have—and took up a position at the pool table.

  I took the balls out of the tray next to the table and arranged them in a triangular pattern on the green felt. I noticed Elyas’s eyes following me. Jerk. I was sure his watching had nothing to do with whether I was arranging the balls correctly.

  “You want to play for something?” he suggested.

  I straightened up. “Forget it, Elyas. I’m not playing for sex.”

  He smirked. “Oh please. I would never bet on something like that.”