by Marya Stones
Greta turned away and tears again ran down her cheeks. She didn’t want Mike to see them under any circumstances, and started off again, still disoriented. But now, more than ever, she just wanted to get to her hotel as quickly as possible.
Mike followed her, caught up, and tried to put his arm around her. Greta pushed him away.
“Please, Mike, leave me alone. I really think it’s better if you let me go. I have to get back to the hotel as fast as I can for the pick-up!”
Mike looked at her sadly. Suddenly, he seemed to have given up.
“Should I have your purchases sent to your hotel? You left them at the deli.”
Oh, rot! My shopping!
“Yes, Greta replied, “but I don’t want to see you again. I’m at the Marriott Hotel by Grand Central. You can have the bags delivered to Reception there. I don’t think we have anything else to say to each other.”
She turned away, hailed a taxi, got in – and turned around a final time.
Mike had disappeared into the mass of people. He too had turned away from her without saying good-bye.
Chapter 12
This New York trip was really a flop! Greta decided, as she sat in the bus on the way to JFK-Airport, and not only because I left all my shopping lying there. The purchases didn’t arrive in the lobby on time. Maybe Mike didn’t send them over?
But also, all the time that I pissed away!
I’m tired as a dog, and am now supposed to endure a night flight that’s probably over-booked. And all that for absolutely nothing!
How could I be so wrong?
Am I stupid, or what? Fxxx.
To fall for such a pretty boy?!
Why me?!
The return flight was completely over-booked, as expected –first class was also very crowded. At least she couldn’t brood, but had to work hard and steadily, and the hours on board passed quickly.
After landing in Munich everything was routine: Arrival at the terminal, saying good-bye to the passengers, baggage- and passport inspection, then on to Lufthansa’s Operations Center, the home base of the flight crew, to check her letter-box and then straight home.
Greta again felt a little as if she were operating on remote control. The routine was second nature and she really didn’t have to concentrate. Consequently, her thoughts turned to Mike again and again and to the conversations that she had with him. She had been very attracted to Mike - his sensitivity regarding her job, his candor regarding his mother, his humor, his style, his appearance.
Suddenly her thoughts were positive. The anger and the hurt had almost disappeared. Maybe she shouldn’t take it so seriously. Surely she was just super tired now and the exhaustion after the night flight dimmed her memory and her senses, Greta thought.
First a few hours of rest, some sleep, and then a chat with Nathalie about all this; then I’ll see a little more clearly how to proceed.
By the way, whatever happens is for the best!
With this thought Greta felt pretty good again and tried to suppress any further musings.
When she arrived at home and opened the door, a small envelope lay in the entry. Someone must have pushed the envelope under the door. She recognized the handwriting: Marcel.
Oh, how nice, Greta thought. Just exactly what I need now. She opened the envelope and he had written in large letters:
WHEN YOU’RE RESTED, RING MY DOORBELL; I AM HERE AND WILL MAKE TEA FOR US. MUST SPEAK TO YOU URGENTLY! ‘TIL LATER, M.
There were a number of messages on the answering machine: Greta’s mother – she could call her back later. Nathalie – she’d call her back as soon as she could. Naturally, Nathalie would want to know if the vintage-shop had been any good. And then there was also an invitation to breakfast from a colleague whom she hadn’t seen for quite some time: Stephanie was half-French, married to a business consultant, and lived in Starnberg.
How nice, Greta thought, I come home and am not alone. Who needs a Mike! Or a man!
Greta unpacked her suitcase, made herself a cup of cocoa, turned on the TV, and took a shower. Then she wrapped herself in her super-warm and -soft terrycloth robe and snuggled into bed. She channel-surfed quickly through the morning programs and after fifteen minutes, her eyes were tightly closed.
It was afternoon when she awakened. Time to call everyone back. Greta scrambled around, sat on the bed with her phone, the TV on mute, and dialed the numbers.
A short call to her mother: “Everything’s okay – I’m back safely – love you – I’ll call you soon.”
A message for Stephanie: “Yes, I’d love to come – perfect – many thanks – should I bring something? I’ve got a lot to tell you – I’ll see you the day after tomorrow at your place – looking forward – See ya.”
A call to Nathalie: “I’m back – everything is okay – the vintage shop was super – found super separates – yes, I was at Macy’s too – left everything behind . . . –“
“What did you do?” Nathalie blurted out. “You left everything BEHIND?”
“Yes,” Greta said softly, as she tried not to show that something had happened.
“How come, Greta?” What’s up?
“I met someone.”
Nathalie was silent. Greta became uneasy. “Nathalie, are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m coming over right now. We have to talk. You’re at home now, right?”
“Yes, I’m at home. Okay, ‘til then. I have to go over to Marcel’s later.”
Twenty minutes later Nathalie rang the doorbell. She had croissants and her face was beaming.
Greta opened the door.
Nathalie’s first question, before she came in the door, was: “Why aren’t your eyes alight?”
“Why should they be?” Greta asked, taken aback.
“But you said that you had met somebody. You forgot your purchases . . . that happens only if you’ve fallen in love.”
That’s not at all how Greta saw it. In love? No, certainly not.
“Just because of that - I’m not in love by a long shot. First, come on in and sit down. What are you drinking?”
“Your delicious cocoa,” Nathalie said briskly.
Greta prepared the cocoa in the kitchen and put the croissants on a plate while Nathalie stood in the door and watched her.
“Well, you really don’t look like you’re in love,” Nathalie said after a while.
“I’m not,” was Greta’s answer.
“So what’s happening?” Nathalie wanted to know.
“I don’t know.”
“So tell me, what did happen?”
The two of them sat down on the couch, croissants in one hand, cocoa in the other. Greta told Nathalie everything in great detail. The story with Mike and the “Ingrid and Humphrey episode.” And also why she then went to keep their date.
Nathalie listened and didn’t say anything – until the point when Greta reported how Steve had verbally assaulted her.
“He spoke to you like that in front of his brother? And Mike didn’t say anything?”
Uh, huh, that’s right.
Greta stared thoughtfully into her cup of cocoa.
“Yes, a little strange, don’t you think?” Greta murmured. “From that point on, the worm turned. I got up and left. But not before I had given Steve a piece of my mind. Yes, and then I left all my shopping bags there, and ran out of the deli. Mike caught up with me on the street, of course, but I was so furious and disappointed. I simply couldn’t talk with him any longer.”
“So he did run after you?” Nathalie kept chipping away at the story.
“Yes, I just said so.”
“Then he really does want something from you, that’s very clear. If you didn’t matter to him, he wouldn’t have followed you, right?”
Greta shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t really know.”
There was a pause.
Both of them chewed their croissants, until Greta went on: “He said that he was sorry and since the accident his brother was n
ot the same as before. Since then he always reacts like that to women in Mike’s life. After Steve’s stay in Jamaica, Mike had hoped that he would have overcome this tendency. I felt so stupid, Nathalie, like a dumb little girl, naïve, used, betrayed. Can you understand that?”
“Yes, of course. Nonetheless, he wants something from you. I don’t mean sex – or maybe that, too.” Nathalie smiled seriously, not slyly. “He answered you with total candor. He ran after you!”
“Yes, that’s right,” Greta mumbled. “He then said that he would send my purchases to the hotel, but they didn’t come before our pick-up. Maybe he didn’t send them at all?”
“Oh, you pessimist. Your shopping bags were probably sent via courier and hung up in traffic. So what? Come on – you were attracted to him and he to you. Call him.”
Greta stared at Nathalie, wide-eyed: “NO!” Absolutely not!”
“What are you really afraid of, Greta?” Nathalie asked after a short while.
Greta couldn’t look her friend in the eyes. She looked at her cocoa and put the half-eaten croissant back on the plate. Then she leaned back on the couch.
“I don’t know exactly,” she said slowly. “I don’t want to be hurt any more. I’m afraid that he’s the right one – Mr. Right. I don’t want a Mr. Right like Carrie in ‘Sex and the City,’ who loves Mr. Big and has to go through hell because of him.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you can’t prevent that now. You’re smack in the middle of it, and that’s life.” Nathalie gave her a hug. “Life is full of surprises. And yours is in the Big Apple. He’s probably trying to figure out how to get in touch with you. Definitely!”
Greta turned toward Nathalie and they both hugged one another again. Greta didn’t let go until she was sure that she could look directly into Nathalie’s eyes.
“It could be that you’re right,” she said seriously. “I have his number, but I can’t call him right now.”
Nathalie raised her eyebrows and looked at her inquisitively. “What are you planning to do?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I’m going to do something. First I’m going over to Marcel’s yet today, and let him spoil me and distract me with his gossipy stories. And then I’ll decide.
And besides, as you know: By the way, whatever happens is for the best!”
Nathalie got ready to leave a little while later. She realized Greta wouldn’t make a decision now. She knew her friend very well and left her to her own thoughts.
“Let’s get together this evening,” Nathalie said as she was leaving. “I promise I won’t sift through the Mike situation with you any more, okay?”
Greta agreed. She was glad to be alone now since the noise in her head was like a Turkish bazaar. A thousand voices at once: back and forth and forth and back.
What should she do?
Call him?
And say what?
“Hello, this is Greta.”
Um, yes, why not.
What else?
Okay, I’ll call him. Good. But not now! Not today! Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps.
Greta took a deep breath. Good, she had decided. Chosen her next step. Now she didn’t want to think about it any more. It was all too exhausting – these men.
Always these decisions.
Always this fuss and bother.
Always something.
Always complicated.
Can’t it ever be simple?
She decided to get dressed and go down to Marcel’s. Then she had to go to buy a few groceries – milk, bread, honey and some fruit – and later go out with Nathalie. The afternoon and evening were planned, no time to think about Mike.
Thank God!
The time at Marcel’s flew by. Marcel gave Greta a thorough update on all of his inside stories, his acquaintances and dates, the newest restaurants and bars that were part of the gay scene, and who had recently managed to pull off what.
Marcel understood how to lead Greta’s thoughts down another path, how to make her laugh, and how to entertain her. He was a dry, witty, and amusing story-teller. It was impossible for Greta not to imagine Marcel’s stories live in her mind’s eye, and it often seemed as if she had been there herself.
Marcel was sensitive enough to perceive Greta’s mood. He asked what was going on, but Greta played down the reason for her brooding.
“Oh Marcel – men! – you know what it’s like.”
Marcel studied her briefly. “Oh, yes,” he said, “but you know where I am if you want to unload something on me. And yes – men are difficult – you don’t have to tell me!”
Marcel and Greta giggled and cackled for another hour and drank their favorite chilled Prosecco, which Marcel always kept in the house. Today Greta gladly accepted a second glass. The carbonation went directly to her head, but the lightness that accompanied it was okay. Mike was now very far away.
And that’s just fine.
A little tipsy, Greta bid Marcel good-bye so that she could buy her urgently needed groceries. The fresh air on the way to the supermarket around the corner helped clear her head. Loaded down with two shopping bags, Greta was again on her way home, with a little time before she had to get ready for her evening with Nathalie. What were they actually going to do? Had they determined where they were going?
She wasn’t at all sure.
Greta decided to plug in her Notebook and text Nathalie on Facebook to ask about their plans for the evening. Nathalie was almost always online. Surely she would respond right away.
Greta typed in her password and saw twenty-five new messages on her page, two new requests to be friends, and an invitation to a concert from Joss Stone. Greta wanted first to write to Nathalie, then use the remaining time to check the news on Facebook. Mission accomplished. As expected, Nathalie answered promptly: “I’ll be at your place at eight o’clock, then drinks and supper – let me surprise you – wear heels. ‘Til later, n. xxx.”
Okay!
She still had a whole hour to tinker, a word she remembered from her childhood, which meant to rummage around, straighten a little (or pretend to), look through some drawers to see what might be hidden there, in short: to spend a little time with oneself. And that could also mean going on Facebook.
And who were the friend solicitations from?
Greta opened the appropriate file and one name hit her in the eye like a bolt of lightning. Almost blinded, she read the name again:
Mike Sloan.
That can’t be true! Not now! I’m just now calming down. Should I be happy or not? The unmistakable likeness on the profile photo was that of Mike, whom she had met in New York just twenty-four hours ago.
Man, he looked good!
What do I do now?
Accept?
No.
Greta hesitated.
Or should I?
Then quickly – before she decided to the contrary, again began brooding, or weighing the pros and cons once more (no, she had done that enough!)she accepted the invitation and subsequently stared spellbound at the screen.
Will I get an answer immediately?
Or will the screen go black?
Or did someone see it and post something right away?
Oh, man, Greta! she reined in her thoughts. You’re not a teenager any more. What is this drama playing in your head? “Monkey-jumping in my head,” the Americans say. Yes, that hits it right on!
Enough already!
But she could send Mike a message, no? What did he actually write?
In her rush to reply, she had completely forgotten to read what Mike had written her in the invitation to friend. Now she read the message with her mouth half open:
“Super that I found you here. At least I believe that you are the G.M. who just vanished from my side here in NYC. I don’t only have some purchases that belong to you, but also what is far more important to me, incredibly much to say to you. I hope we’ll soon find the opportunity for that. Take care and all the best. M.”
Did I do the right thing – or not?
It was too late, anyway, to un-friend him. If she were to do that now, he would see it. No, she didn’t do anything wrong! Or did she? Greta simply couldn’t get rid of these little doubts.
But it was okay this way – soon she would have the opportunity to learn a great deal about him.
Yes. That’s what she wanted.
Why didn’t he have her purchases sent to the hotel?
Maybe he couldn’t because of Steve. And then perhaps it was too late.
Or maybe he wanted to hold on to them to have another reason for us to see each other?
Man, you certainly aren’t conceited at all – said Greta’s inner voice.
But then why not?
Should I send him a message now? And what will he be able to see on my Facebook page?
Greta decided not to send him a message; it was simply too stressful. And what he could read on her page was limited. As she read and answered the rest of her messages, and wrote mail to her friends, her mind was steadily occupied by these diversions. And finally she did allow Mike unrestricted access to her Facebook profile.
Again, she heard her inner voice: You’re making everything accessible? For him?
Oh, what the hell.
Nathalie also said, what do I have to lose? He can’t take anything away from me!
Okay, he can hurt me.
But I won’t break.
Nathalie’s words again came into her mind: “If you don’t open up, you’ll never find Mr. Right. You’ll never experience how beautiful it is to discover one another. If you keep listening to that voice in your head: Leave it alone – think about it beforehand, otherwise it’ll do you in -- nothing will happen, Greta. But if you consider what you could gain – what then?”
“Okay, what then?” Greta asked.
“Everything,” Nathalie answered. “Love, happy hours, which no one can ever take away from you. Common interests, intimacy, bliss. And surely so much more, about which we two don’t even have an inkling. You can’t possibly allow that possibility to be taken from you, can you?”
Greta nodded to herself. Nathalie was an inexhaustible source for faith in good things.
But Greta stayed with her decision not to message Mike and logged out of her Facebook account.