By the Way Greta

by Marya Stones

  Behind the corner of the hotel there was a small grocery store that was open twenty-four hours a day. There she prepared to pig-out in her room: Chips, soft drinks (that were not available in Germany), ice cream, and all kinds of jelly candies. When she returned to her room, she took a shower, turned on the TV, immediately found a re-run of an old “Sex and the City” program, and found Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda as engrossing as ever. Tomorrow in New York, she wanted to be just as cool and stylish as they were. Finally, she felt better. Mike was simply a nice passenger – and that’s how it should stay. No more and no less.

  Just a little later Greta turned off the TV and fell fast asleep.

  Chapter 8

  Greta wakes up. It’s still dark outside. A shudder travels through her limbs. In the hotel corridor, directly in front of her room, two men are shouting at each other. English, curse words, drunken babbling in-between. Then a dull thud against her door. Greta sits up in her bed in one fell swoop.

  Did someone fall against the door? Oh, God, if they come in here! What will I do?

  More cursing in front of the door, door-rattling, and then an attempt to break down the door.

  Greta quickly turns on the light, and is now completely awake, dialing Reception on the hotel telephone. The phone is answered on the second ring:

  “Ms. Mayfield, what can I do for you?” a friendly voice murmurs.

  In the meantime, there’s wild, loud banging on the door again. Greta describes the situation that’s being played out in front of her door in somewhat hectic fashion. What luck that she speaks fluent English (she had spent a whole year in Boston after she finished school). She loses no time in finding the right words.

  The folks at Reception respond immediately. They assure her that help is on the way.

  Again, there’s a loud crash against the door, with such force that Greta is sure the door would break. The men are arguing at the top of their lungs - common language and drunken babble. In the meantime, Greta hears clearly what’s being said. The issue has to do with the right room number – after a very liquid and long respite at the bar, the men can’t find their room.

  So it’s not even half as bad as it seemed, but nonetheless they didn’t have to mistake her door for their own.

  Greta is perspiring and has pulled the bedspread up to her chin. The sweat is pouring from her armpits in separate rivulets.

  Oh, please, let Security come now and take these guys away. Please! Please!

  Once again she hears a fierce, and above all, loud exchange of words between the men, and then suddenly two other men’s voices.

  Security!Thank heavens!

  There’s a stormy exchange, back and forth among the four voices for about half a minute, then the voices distance themselves and it quiets down again.

  Is everything okay now?

  Shortly thereafter her hotel phone rings. Again, Greta jumps for fright and notices how stressed she still is. Security tells her that the “fighting cocks” have been removed and that she shouldn’t worry any longer. And that they wished her a good night’s rest.

  “Thanks very much,” Greta says, and hangs up.

  A good night’s rest ...?

  Greta looks at the clock for the first time. It’s 2:30 a.m. – oh, dear, that’s great.

  Oh, well ... – she gets up, goes to the toilet, showers away her cold sweat and turns on the TV.

  After she channel-surfs through fifteen TV-channels, she stops at “Casablanca.” Black and white, Humphrey Bogart, not exactly Greta’s type, but he was pretty cool in his own way. And then the magical, mystical Ingrid Bergman. Old films of this kind always tempted Greta to indulge, to become completely engrossed in the fates of the characters, to empathize and to lose herself and all track of time.

  In all this luxuriating, Mike was suddenly again on her mind. While she watched Ingrid Bergman and already anticipated the development of the film’s script, she thought: And what if Mike is my Humphrey? If I don’t go to breakfast tomorrow, and don’t call him, will I perhaps be throwing away my luck in love? Just as Ingrid does with Humphrey, when she doesn’t climb into the plane at the end? Oh, how dumb would I be. I can’t make the same mistake as Ingrid! I can still decide whether or not Mike is the cool guy that I thought he was.

  Well, she thought further, it is certainly uncool of him to bring “his friend” along. But who knows what lies behind that decision? Maybe I’m judging much too quickly. Maybe Mike’s friend is blind or has a terrible disease with little time to live or perhaps he helped Mike once when he was in need . . . . Well, Greta weighed the pros and cons in her mind while Humphrey and Ingrid fought for their love and their future in the film – maybe it’s a stroke of fate that the men in the hall awakened me and frightened me so badly. Maybe I was supposed to see Ingrid and Humphrey, in order not to make the same mistake as Ingrid.

  Such things do happen.

  Coincidences.

  After all, a coincidence is an incident that happens to someone – that’s what Nathalie would say in any case. Oh, yes, Nathalie! She would definitely say that I shouldn’t be such an ass and go.

  If it doesn’t suit me, I can always say that I have an appointment before the pick-up for the airport: Nail studio, personal trainer, or that I have to pick up an order at Dean & DeLuca, and disappear.

  I can always think of something . . .

  Okay . . .because of Ingrid and Humphrey, I’m going.

  Greta had snuggled comfortably back down into her bed, pulled up the covers, stuffed a piece of chocolate in her mouth, and was satisfied with her decision. “By the way,” she said aloud to herself, “you don’t really know what else is coming your way. Whatever happens is for the best.”

  Humphrey and Ingrid kissed on the screen, and Greta closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  Chapter 9

  At 5:00 a.m. Greta looked at the clock. She actually had fallen asleep again. Who would have thought!

  Perfect, now I’m actually fit for a date with Mike.

  She tested her gut feeling to see whether it still felt good to go on this breakfast date, and yes, it was still okay. It wasn’t a real date anyway, Greta thought. The friend will be there.

  Okay, what will I wear?

  Greta had showered, washed her hair, and shaved her legs and underarms, not because of Mike, but because she still had so much extra time, she told herself.

  And now, what will I wear? If only I had shopped in SoHo yesterday – now I have nothing with me and the shops are still closed.

  Hmm, she continued to think, then again into the jeans and the Chucks.

  But what will I wear on top?

  She decided on a second white T-Shirt that she had with her – the flowered blouse seemed too sweet and she would take her knit jacket along. Another quick look at the clock: 6:30 a.m. High time to get going.

  Greta was essentially a punctual person. Her job demanded it. Being only five minutes late checking-in for the crew meant that she wasn’t eligible for duty on that flight. The so-called “stand-bys” were immediately called in. Consequently, it was always good to be there a little early. Of course, that wasn’t true of a date. But it wasn’t a date, Greta told herself.

  Punctuality had not always been one of her strong suits. As a teenager and still just a few years ago, at twenty or twenty-two, she was a little more generous in her attitude regarding time – particularly other people’s time. She made others wait for her. Where she was concerned, it was as if she wasn’t aware that other people also adhered to schedules. Greta was always late and thought that it was cool to be so busy and involved. Other people could consider themselves lucky if she spent time with them and took an interest in their world. Shortly after her graduation at the beginning of her twenties, Greta thought:

  Here I come!

  The world has been waiting for me, of course.

  I just have to take what I have coming.

  It was an earlier, unattractive trait of hers. She was unaware t
hat she hurt her colleagues and her friends and acquaintances with this attitude. Not until she decided to go to the USA as an au-pair did certain changes occur in Greta.

  The Petersen family: Father John, late thirties, mother Barbara, late twenties, born in Hamburg, pregnant with her third child, and the two girls – Sarah, six years old, and Marcie, four years old. Suddenly it wasn’t any longer “Here I come! – I only have to take what I can!” Now the priority was to support the family, to raise the children and organize the household together with the mother.

  The Petersen family was basically an absolutely lovely family, decent, beautiful home, two little children and Barbara, the wife, who was completely overtaxed with American life and the children. This manifested itself in everyday chaos, a chaotic household and a mother who regularly suffered from attacks of hysteria. Out of the clear blue sky, Barbara began either to weep or scream – and for so long that she was completely overcome and ended up in bed. There was no planning, either for grocery shopping or cleaning, or for spending time at leisure, or meal schedules or bed-times. All of this was Greta’s responsibility. It was a true challenge that Greta absolutely wanted to master.

  Boston was cool, the American way of life was cool, and the freedom that Greta was granted despite the chaos in the family, was also totally cool. She had her own car, extra spending money and extra free time to go to school. She wanted to learn about the land and the people. She didn’t want any of this to escape her. She wanted to return to Germany and be able to say: I was in America for a year, in Boston!

  First, however, it was necessary to organize herself, the children, the household, and above all, Barbara.

  Since Greta lived in this chaos during the first six weeks, and experienced it, she knew she could only prevail if she started with herself. Other solutions seemed too misguided for Greta:

  Leave and travel through the USA on her own?

  That was too daring for her, and she lacked the courage.

  Give up and fly home?

  She was not a coward or a loser.

  Try doing nothing and become hysterical herself?

  That would be too uncool!

  Okay, then, to work!

  It began by organizing the day. Greta took it upon herself to get the children out of the house and take them to kindergarten and to school. She took over shopping for the family. She did the washing and cared for the household. As soon as the morning was organized, she planned the afternoons along with Barbara. This period became very important to Greta, and the topics of dependability and punctuality took care of themselves. But not everything always happened as planned, particularly in the beginning.

  Once, when Barbara and Greta did not specifically coordinate with one another in the early weeks, and the Petersen chaos was still in full swing, the two girls were forgotten. Both Barbara and Greta were under the impression that the other would pick up the children. About an hour after the regular pick-up time, Barbara was called by the kindergarten. Marcie was still waiting for her mother and Barbara was scolded by the teacher for the umpteenth time. It was not the first time such a thing had happened and didn’t she have herself in hand? In short: The feeling of guilt caused Barbara to have an hysterical attack, and Sarah and Marcie had to wait an additional two hours for Greta, since she couldn’t be reached by telephone while she was shopping.

  When Greta finally arrived at the kindergarten to pick up Marcie, and then twenty minutes later, also gathered up Sarah, she had two completely upset, frightened girls in the car. Marcie couldn’t say anything at all, wanted only to be held in Greta’s arms, and Sarah could only ask the question: “Why did you forget me?”

  To see the children so sad left Greta quite shaken and depressed. The children couldn’t understand that their mother and their caretaker had forgotten them. Mother was pregnant and the baby made her strange sometimes, as Greta had explained the reason for Barbara’s hysterical episodes to the girls. Both of them could grasp that, but that Greta had also forgotten them was a breach of trust for Sarah and Marcie. It was simply too much for their young psyches – too much to understand and too much to process.

  From that day on, Greta knew that in the future no one would have to wait for her again. It had to do with dependability, with respect, and not least with devotion, love, and trust. She never again wanted to see such infinitely sad, fearful and confused children’s eyes again.

  Her terribly guilty conscience and the feeling that she had failed, plagued her for weeks. Although the children had probably forgotten the incident, they hadn’t quite processed it. For Greta, however, it was a sea change in her relationship to time and her behavior with other people. To demonstrate appreciation of their worth, to build and maintain trust, to be authentic and credible, these were all qualities that intensified with this painful experience. Not to disappoint other people – adults and above all, children – who depend on her, would become a leitmotif in her life. And one of the little stones in the mosaic of living this way was punctuality, and with it, reliability.

  The remaining half-year in Boston flew by far too quickly. The birthdays of the girls, the birth of little Gerry Petersen, everything was in flux. And as the time neared for Greta to pack her suitcases to return to Germany, it became very difficult to come to terms with saying farewell.

  Barbara offered Greta a nanny-position. Both knew that this wasn’t the right thing for her, but Barbara was trying to find something to keep Greta with her for a while longer.

  Then John came up with a brilliant idea and surprise for everyone: A short trip for the two women to New York, only Barbara and Greta. He would take care of the children over the weekend himself and, as a finale, the women should “go for it.”

  In addition, all of them including John, would vacation in the Hamptons for three weeks. A summer home belonging to one of his colleagues was at their disposal.

  Greta and Barbara were thrilled and organized everything. It was to be the most wonderful weeks of their au-pair-time together for Greta.

  On this trip to New York, her love for the city was born: Shopping, musicals, bars, sightseeing, everything with Barbara, who had become, more than ever, a trusted “big sister” to Greta.

  The additional three weeks on Long Island brought a further surprise. John had engaged a nanny for the children: Louise Fink, thirty-two years old, experienced Montessori teacher, fluent in German because of her German parents, who had been living in the USA for fifteen years.

  Perfect!

  Sarah, Marcie, and little Gerry immediately took Louise into their hearts. Barbara and Greta were a little surprised, but couldn’t resist Louise’s Mary Poppins charm either. The “warm-up phase” lasted exactly two days, and then the ice was broken. The fresh pancakes with fruit and the vanilla-cinnamon yogurt every morning that Louise prepared, did the rest.

  For just a short moment, Barbara was a little skeptical. Where did John find Louise so suddenly? Don’t let her be a secret mistress – please.

  The answer became clear on its own. Louise was the nanny for the family of one of his colleagues at the Chancellery, who

  had been reassigned to Singapore. Louise didn’t want to accompany them there and the colleague’s children would no longer need a nanny in a year’s time anyway. So Louise was practically unemployed - until John approached her.

  By the way, Greta thought, whatever happens is for the best.

  Chapter 10

  Greta stood in front of the breakfast café where she was supposed to meet Mike. He and his heralded friend hadn’t appeared yet. But it was only 6:45 a.m.

  What should I do? Go in and reserve a table? Or should I walk around the block?

  What would Nathalie do?

  She would no doubt go inside and order a cup of coffee. Ooh, coffee—that sounds good right now—especially after all of the excitement last night.

  Greta stepped into the café, and a wonderful fragrance welcomed her barely a moment after she had opened the door: freshly ground c
offee beans, fresh bread and chocolate croissants, scrambled eggs with bacon and a divine fruit tart on the counter. She could have devoured everything at once!

  The furnishings were designed in a straightforward French style. Bistro-tables made of dark wood, each with four wooden chairs. Small vases of flowers on the table, and sugar bowls right out grandma’s time — everything charmingly arranged.

  Two of the six tables were already occupied – fittingly, by grandmas that matched the décor: Hats with little flowers, gloves, and coordinating handbags too.

  And then Carlos came out from behind the counter. Carlos, who was approximately 5’7” tall, sporting a pot-belly with a white apron, had a bald spot and dark Mediterranean skin. He greeted Greta with a hearty, “Good Morning, buongiorno, bonjour!” and asked her where she would like to sit.

  “I’m waiting for Mike and his friend,” Greta answered. Mike recommended this restaurant to me; you no doubt know him.”

  “Ah, then you’re Miss Greta,” replied Carlos. Greta didn’t miss his appreciative grin, nor the way he looked at her admiringly.

  “How do you know who I am?” she asked.

  “Mike stopped in yesterday and made reservations for today. Come over here, Miss Greta, this table is for you – perfetto!”

  Greta was certainly a little surprised, and also pleasantly touched by the fact that Mike had taken the trouble yesterday to reserve a table.

  “Then you must be Carlos,” Greta responded and found a chair.

  Carlos nodded and whistling, made his way to the counter.

  “Latte machiatto or café au lait?” he asked in passing.

  “Café au lait.”

  Just at that moment, Mike came to the door. A picture of a man, Greta thought admiringly, and realized at the same time how she was staring at him. But Mike looked simply great today: stone-washed jeans, the three-day stubble, a plaid shirt in faded aquamarine colors - the shirt flattered his lightly bronzed skin – and bare feet in linen athletic shoes without laces. In his hand, Mike held his leather jacket, which Greta had already noticed on the plane.