When we arrived at my place, I had to heave Nick out of the car and get him upstairs. He’d fallen sound asleep again, and it took me forever to get him awake enough to make it to the front door, and he sank onto the entrance steps as I was unlocking the door. I poked at him like he was a sick horse until he got up, swaying and with great effort. I was mighty happy that my super, who lived below me, was on vacation. I lugged Nick upstairs step by step, holding him under his arms. He was responsive again, though still very wobbly on his legs. I put him into my bed, and there he fell into a deep sleep. I was worried and felt his pulse. It was strong and regular and his chest moved with his even breathing. Relieved, I quickly disappeared into the bathroom, flung off my wet things, and allowed my trembling limbs a brief hot shower.
Wrapped in my bathrobe, I snuggled up tightly against Nick but couldn’t sleep for a long time. Horrifying visions kept flashing through my mind: Nick poisoning himself or speeding into a tree and me arriving too late. I had to have an urgent talk with him and get it through his head that he must never do anything like that again.
Chapter 10
Nick slept for nearly thirty straight hours. I’d Googled the pills, and fortunately they were weak, but swallowing the whole package could very well be fatal. Even if the pills didn’t kill you, if your stomach rebelled and you were dazed, you could suffocate in your own vomit. Nick had muttered that he was waiting for me. Did that mean he hadn’t taken them all at once because he wanted me to save his life? I was at my wit’s end. I loved Nick more than anything else, but he surely couldn’t be serious that I had to be responsible for his life. Would he take these drastic measures whenever we disagreed on any little thing? It bordered on emotional blackmail.
But when Nick awoke early Sunday morning, there was no trace of the desperate, broken man I’d found at the grove. He stretched and said he’d rarely slept any better. He was in superb spirits, and disappeared into the bathroom; as he showered I could hear his loud rendition of “Wonderful World.” Stunned, I stood at the kitchen counter with the teakettle whistling. Unfortunately, my yawning cupboards were empty. After all, I’d been living at Nick’s for weeks. My backup drawer yielded a few cans of vegetables and a jar of Nutella that I’d hidden there on my last diet (everything but carbs). I hadn’t dared go shopping all Sunday for fear of leaving Nick alone. Despite his deep sleep, I didn’t know when and in what condition he’d wake up. Finally, I’d found a bag of rolls in the freezer and thawed out two to take the edge off my ravenous hunger. I saved three for him.
Soon after he got out of the shower, we sat down at my tiny dining table, steaming teacups in hand. I wasn’t sure how to bring up the events from the other night. Since waking up, he hadn’t uttered a peep about the drama near the grove. He was still in a great mood and gave me a cheery smile. Nick slathered his roll with Nutella. Clearly, he’d recovered his appetite. And then he said something that almost knocked me off my seat and made me think he had some type of amnesia.
“Laura, let’s get married. As soon as possible. You’re the woman I’ve always been looking for.”
Under different circumstances I probably would have been in tears of joy and rapture at his proposal. But after the long, lonely hours I’d spent watching him sleep and puzzling over his behavior, my nerves were shot. I couldn’t just embrace his words and pretend nothing had happened.
I couldn’t hold back any longer but chose my words carefully. “Nick, do you even know why we’re here in my apartment?”
To my vast surprise he slowly nodded and regarded me with a mixture of regret and affection. He put down his cup and reached over the tabletop, taking my hands and squeezing them.
“Yes, you rescued me. I’m so sorry that I overreacted.”
Overreacted? Flipped out would have been a more apt term for his behavior. I decided to be more explicit.
“Nick, you didn’t just overreact, you took sleeping pills. Why? Just because I got out of the car and was mad at an unfair remark? Do you usually do that when you’re mad at somebody?”
He still looked amazingly calm and controlled. He slowly shook his head. “No, Laura. I honestly don’t know what got into me. I was cross that you brushed off my advances and talked about money instead. You were absolutely right to leave me sitting there after my dumb remark. I thought you didn’t ever want to see me again. I raced like mad to Grünwald to see if you were there. When I found the place empty, I grabbed the pills from the medicine chest in desperation. I drove around aimlessly, past your place, where it was dark, too, and ended up at the grove. Everything seemed pointless without you, and all I could think about was dying and finding peace. I got the first dose down with some water, and then found your text. And that’s when I knew you’d come and rescue me if I called you.”
He stood up, pulled me up from my chair, and kissed me with infinite tenderness. Then he brushed the hair out of my face, slipped my bathrobe off my shoulders, and carried me to bed. His movements and kisses grew wilder, blotting out for the time being my many questions. He was once again the passionate, loving Nick I’d gotten to know and love, and I repressed all the worries, doubts, and fears that plagued me, and gave myself to him wholeheartedly. I let myself go completely, felt his hands on my breasts, him inside me, and the fire in my insides as I mingled my screams with his groans, and we climaxed together. A bit later, he gently freed himself and shifted so my head was on his shoulder. I enjoyed his embrace, his hand tenderly stroking my back, and hearing his strong, rapid heartbeat in my ear.
“Darling, my question was serious,” Nick said. “Marry me, Laura. You’re the best thing that could ever happen to me.”
Two days before my response would have come in a second. Nick had saved me from myself, as it were, liberating me from my self-imposed isolation. He’d shown me what it meant to love somebody with all your heart, unconditionally. We had so much together. I loved sleeping and waking up beside him, laughing and talking with him, even buying clothes and jogging with him! I used to hate jogging, but Nick persuaded me to try it again, and now I ran all over the place all the time, like the Energizer Bunny. As I’d gotten into better shape, I actually began to feel that running together was fun.
But after Nick’s “overreaction,” as he euphemistically called it, I was anxious about marrying him. If we were married, I’d continually have to worry about losing him whenever that inexplicable urge to throw his life away swamped him again. Then again, if I said no, I’d lose him anyway. I knew Nick hated halfheartedness and was very sensitive. He’d equate my not wanting to marry him with not loving him enough. And what that would set off inside him, I didn’t dare think about. I wanted to be with him. He’d aroused me from my Sleeping Beauty sleep and given me back my natural self-assurance. I could no longer imagine life without him. And together we’d manage to exorcise the demons haunting him. I’d reached a decision, and I lifted up my head and gazed into his dark-brown eyes. His returning gaze was filled with love.
“I’ll marry you, Nick. But promise me you will never try to . . . to do such a foolish thing again. I can’t take being continually afraid for you.”
I searched for words to impress upon him how important his promise was to me. “Try to put yourself in my shoes. How would you feel if I didn’t exist anymore? I wouldn’t be able to bear the guilt and sadness if you actually did kill yourself. My life would never be the same.”
He promised.
As we drove back to his place, he stopped at the train station to pick up a newspaper. Back in the car he gave me his promise in writing, on a card attached to a huge bouquet of roses. The card affirmed he would never again do anything to alarm me. His gesture filled me with emotion and relief, nearly bringing me to tears.
Nick got in his seat and looked at me very seriously. “Sweetheart, promise me something, too, so I don’t have to be afraid.”
I took my nose out of the wonderfully scented dark-red roses, and
looked at him quizzically.
He responded with a smirk. “I beg you never to drive my car as roughly as you did the other night. Drive like that, and you’ll wake up the dead. I’ll give you a few lessons on the Corvette.”
I tried to restrain myself, but the corners of my mouth twitched and I gave in to the urge to laugh. He was unbelievable, even managing to crack jokes about that terrible night.
In the weeks that followed, I had no reason to harbor any doubts about his promise. He was charming, sensitive, affectionate, open, and had a great sense of humor—just the way he was when we met. More and more of my possessions wandered into his home. Like thousands of other young couples in love, we worked on weekdays and spent evenings and weekends together. We’d play sports, go to the movies, or take hikes, where we were generally able to walk unrecognized.
One day while walking along the bank of the Isar River, Nick directed me toward an iron bridge high over the water. He wanted us to go to the other side. I took a look at the covered walkway, which was laid with planks for pedestrians and cyclists. It looked infinitely long and the boards were not tightly placed together. You could see through the cracks directly down to the river below. I shuddered. Although there was wire fencing on top of the railings—I quickly stopped myself from thinking about why it was there—I declined.
“No way. I’m afraid of heights. I can’t even stand at a balcony railing without feeling dizzy. You can see down through the cracks in the floor. And what if a train goes over while we’re walking? Who knows how much that bridge would sway.”
I ventured a sideways glance. Disappointment darted over his expectant face. He fumbled around in his jeans pocket and all of a sudden there was a small object in his hand.
“What have you got there?”
He handed it to me without a word. It was a little metallic-red padlock with two keys. Looking more closely, I discovered our names and the date we’d met engraved on it.
“This,” Nick said solemnly, “is a love lock. My plan was for us to lock it together on the bars of this bridge and throw the keys into the water. With that, our love will be sealed for always and forever.”
Then he continued in a normal voice: “But the way it looks, I’ll have to risk it by myself while you stay here on safe ground and, hopefully, send me beautiful thoughts at least.”
I looked at the wall of the bridge and saw numerous little locks hanging from the bars. I gulped. I was moved—what a lovely gesture! And stupid cow that I was, my dumb fear had spoiled his delight over his surprise.
I decided to make an effort. “What about a compromise? We’ll go to the middle but only up to where the bars begin.”
It was only a few steps, and I could run back to the paved road very fast if I panicked.
I added one more condition to guard against all dangers. “And we’ll wait until the next train has gone over.”
Nick laughed and took me in his arms. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
A bunch of cyclists applauded, shouted, and whistled after we’d pushed the lock’s loop around a strut in the wire fence, thrown the keys into the Isar, and kissed passionately.
“Get a room!” was one of the least harmless remarks we got to hear.
Then a girl shouted in a high voice, “Hey, aren’t you Dominick Vanderstätt? Can I have your autograph?”
She was already dismounting from her bike, and the others also slowed down. We reluctantly separated. I silently cursed Nick’s fame and these fans’ tactlessness for screwing up this memorable moment and incredibly romantic scenario. I knew as soon as he started to sign all sorts of indescribable objects and answer all their questions, he wouldn’t pay any attention to me. He must have sensed my displeasure, and I saw his eyes flash mischievously before he slowly turned to face the cluster of bicyclists. His shoulders sagged and he put on a simpleminded face. He shrugged awkwardly, scratched his head thoroughly, and looked at the girl with regret.
“Yeah, well, me, I’m often took for that there guy. Me, I’m Brazeneder Ludwig. Fine with me, you want my autograph, OK, sure.”
The fan looked confused believing she must have misidentified him. She shook her head, got on her bike, and started pedaling along with the others.
Nick pulled me over to him, and we would have devoted ourselves freely to another kiss, but I was working mightily to suppress an uncontrollable urge to laugh until the cyclists were out of earshot. Nick said I didn’t seem quite passionate enough.
Thanks to his successful dissimulation, the disappointed looks on the bikers’ faces, and Nick’s pseudonym, we laughed all the way home. When I called him diverse variants of his new name, like Ludwig Brunseder or Lustwig Pratzeneder, he threatened to thrash me. I, however, negotiated other forms of punishment, which we both enjoyed once back home.
One magnificent Saturday morning, I drove with a high-spirited Nick to a little airfield in Altmühltal, where he met five others from his parachute club. I was quaking. Even though I intended to only watch him from the ground, I felt as if I was going to jump myself. I was pointedly silent on the way to the airport. Nick sensed my tension. I’d already confessed to acrophobia and my fear of flying. He was of course of the opinion that fears are there to be conquered, whereas I could very well go through life without monkeying around in the air. Driving down a small gravel road to the airfield, Nick took a hand off the wheel to put it soothingly on my thigh.
“You look like you were jumping yourself. Surely you’re not afraid for me?”
Yes, that’s exactly how I felt. I’d heard many times how dangerous the sport was, and even that a parachute occasionally doesn’t open. If that happens, the parachutist hasn’t the slightest chance of survival. Why couldn’t Nick get his kicks playing tennis, soccer, or golf, goddammit! Why did everything have to be a thrill or a challenge to fate?
When I said this, he just laughed.
“Laura, imagine how dreary it would be for you to root for me on the sidelines every soccer weekend, or cheer nonstop at the tennis court. It’s childish to play with balls at my age. And we can save golf for when we’re old and not in good enough shape for other sports.”
I could only hope we’d both make it to old age, given his constant longing for living on the edge. Besides, it seemed just as puerile to drop out of a plane like a fruit falling from a tree as it was to move a ball around with your feet or a racquet. But I didn’t say anything—I just shut my impertinent trap in order to keep the peace. I didn’t want to upset Nick before his jump. My sole consolation was that the frequency of his jumps was limited given his tight shooting schedule. He had little free time, so jumps had to be planned well in advance. A plane and a pilot were needed, as were a number of jumpers to keep costs down. Plus, the weather had to cooperate.
When we reached the airfield, we greeted the pilot and the other parachutists, two women among them. The younger one had a license and could jump by herself; the other was a fortyish blonde, who enthusiastically explained that she was on a tandem jump today to please her husband. He stood beside her with his equipment already on his back, his arm around her. I was infinitely grateful to Nick for not mentioning my cowardice or fear of flying and for not looking at me with reproach. He winked instead, whispered “Thanks,” and disappeared into the hatch. Once they were all aboard and we bystanders had wished them luck, the plane took off and climbed quickly.
I knew they’d jump at about thirteen thousand feet, and I felt sick as I watched them leave the plane, one by one. I strained my eyes looking up into the bright-blue sky, and was filled with relieved euphoria when Nick’s blue parachute finally opened and, gently swaying, came back to earth. Afterward, over drinks in the little bar in the hangar, the woman who did the tandem jump raved about it, her eyes aglow. I didn’t begrudge her a thing, but I wouldn’t dream of being part of this craziness. One adrenaline junkie in our relationship was enough. His shenanigans pushe
d my blood pressure way up time and again—why should I put myself in danger, too?
I got to know Nick’s film crowd and a few of his old school buddies in a beer garden on the Isar. They were a colorful crew of people. He rounded them up to introduce me and announce our engagement. Then he led me by the hand to the long table where they all were. A loud “Look who’s here!” erupted. I had to take some teasing about how I’d managed to snare him.
Nick’s good spirits rubbed off on me, and I teased back. “I pushed his hot rod into the ditch with my Mini, so he had to come over and talk to me!”
Huge laughter on all sides. Nick and I grinned at each other. Amazing how one of my mother’s favorite proverbial sayings turned out to be true: “Truth makes the best lies.”
“You finally nabbed somebody who sounds intelligent when she opens her mouth,” an impudent guy in his midthirties crowed. He wore his long blond-streaked hair in a ponytail and had on bilious green pants and a shocking-red T-shirt.
Nick countered with lightning speed, “Before I met Laura, there was no one I particularly wanted to talk to.”
I jabbed him playfully in the ribs but was pleased by the compliment.
Nick introduced us. Frank was a cameraman who’d worked with Nick for years. We got along immediately, and I liked everyone else just as much. It was a terrific evening. When we got back home late that night, Nick took me in his arms and pushed me toward the bedroom.
“Do you want to have a talk?” I asked innocently after his passionate kiss.
He had a glint in his eye as he began to undress me. “I’m letting my actions do the talking, sweetheart. Just close your eyes and enjoy.”
November Sky Page 10