Greta Again! Page 8

  “Oh, Nathalie, when you hear what happened with me and Mike in New York, you won´t believe it . . .” Greta didn’t know if it was a good idea to tell Nathalie about the restroom.

  “Wait just another second, I’m not quite finished. So . . . after the second night together, he had to leave, unfortunately. He went back to Capetown because he had appointments there. But when I arrived at the second lodge with Claude later that evening, the lady at the counter asked me: Are you Miss Nathalie? I said: Yes, why? You can only imagine how stupidly I gaped at her. Why is she asking about me? We have this bouquet of flowers for you. Unfortunately we couldn’t get lilies. I hope that you like sunflowers too. I was completely moved. A bouquet of sunflowers so large that I couldn’t get them through the door of the room. They gave me a bucket as a vase for the flowers. Marc actually wanted to surprise me with my favorite flowers, lilies. That’s almost too good to be true, isn’t it? It’s a love story, isn’t it? It’s almost better than a movie, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, Sweetheart, there’s something to that. The guy isn’t completely kosher, but he certainly seems to be a gentleman in every way; one has to give him that. And then? What happened then?”

  “Well, we SIM’ed almost the whole night through and it was yet another night with him without sex – but this time because of the distance. I felt like a teenager. He had really knocked my socks off. Marc is a man who has values, who has a sense of humor. He looks good, has a good job. For me, he’s really Mr. Right! The next evening, I was in Capetown again and had only one more day before my flight back to Munich. Of course, we got together. And now, I have to tell you, I was completely prepared to commit to him. I have never met such a man. I would be ready to go to South Africa. And we talked about that.”

  “Nathalie, don’t give me that bull. You mean to tell me that you want to emigrate? You can’t simply move to be with him, bold as brass!?”

  “Wait, I’m still not finished.”

  Greta took a deep breath, wrinkled her forehead and upset as she was, could hardly sit still any longer.

  “On the last evening together, we spoke very openly with one another. I told him that it wasn’t the distance – Munich – Capetown – that stands between us. That’s all fiddle-faddle, nonsense. If we really want something, nothing can stand in our way. What does come between us is his faith! He replied only: Yes, I know. Then we spoke about the limits that each of us felt about the other, what a relationship can tolerate, and what kind of expectations we had of one another. In the course of the conversation he took me in his arms. I did almost everything I could to have more of him, but he said: The woman that he would marry, who would share his life, who would carry his name, bear his children should accept his faith without reservation and with all its consequences. Pooh! . . .Then I first thought: Sure, if it’s true love, then it would be easy, then I would do all of that happily. I would need to do it. But despite that, I hesitated.”

  “Nathalie, listen: The guy isn’t normal. I said it earlier. He’s really different.”

  “Yes, I know. But nevertheless.”

  “What now? What do you mean, nevertheless? You’re going to South Africa?”

  “I’m not quite sure yet. I would almost be ready to take the gamble. He’s a man for life.”

  “Just a moment, Luv. It’s very clear that he’s demanding that you give up a part of yourself. And what will he give up? There are two people in a relationship. If you take part in this, then you willingly hand over the control over a great part of you to him. And what does he bring to the table?”

  “Yes, yes, we talked about that too. Of course, I can’t guarantee anything. There are no certainties that assure happiness. It would be very naïve to believe that love functions that way. He agrees with that. But we both want it to be so much. I wish so much that it’s not over at this point. Can you understand that?”

  “Oh, yes, m’Luv. Who could understand that better than I? You don’t know yet what I did in New York. I am probably every bit as much a dodo as you. But first, back to you. Where did you leave it?”

  ”Basically, we already said a little bit of a farewell to one another. I told him that I was in love, that I had never experienced anything like this with him. In the same breath, however, I also told him that I have my own life, that I’m a person with a history that I can’t and won’t deny. There are limits that I can’t cross over because it would destroy me. Where these limits literally are and if he would ever try to cross them neither of us knows. It’s up to us to find out. Then he took me in his arms and kissed me. And it was heavenly. The next day, he couldn’t take me to the airport – appointments. I don’t really know exactly what will happen now. We’re talking on the phone and on Skype. But a date to see each other again hasn’t been determined.”

  “Pooh, . . .you know, honestly, I’m already a little worried that one of these mornings you’re going to send me a message: I’m in Capetown. We’ll see each other again at Christmas. Or something like that! I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “I know. Now you.”

  Greta got up off the couch, completely caught up in Nathalie’s story. She took a very deep breath. Then she took a bite of the delicious croissant and began to talk. To Nathalie, Greta’s story sounded every bit as crazy as her own. Being stranded at the airport upon arrival, no messages, drugs, and again the lame-brained brother, and then the scene in the bar. Incredible!

  “Well, you don’t need more to understand, do you? He really outdid himself. You haven’t had one like this before. Hopefully, he’s passé.”

  “Hey, I’m not finished yet, either. “ Greta smiled. “You’ll enjoy what I’m about to tell you now. And, moreover, I’m sure for you it will again be direction from high above.”

  “And what would that be? You can’t have made another date with him after all that? Please don’t give me any bullshit. More piled onto the heap is inconceivable.” Nathalie truly couldn’t understand.

  “No, I didn’t go to meet him. No date. Nothing of the kind. I was really done, finished. But a story on the Internet brought me back. Actually, it was so endlessly sad, but it gave me strength and all of a sudden, I was grateful just to be able to be there. And in New York, too. I wanted especially to light a candle in a church, but didn’t have a map nor did I know where there was one nearby. Somehow I bumped into a small, unremarkable church. I lit my candle, said my prayer in my thoughts – and there he was, standing in front of me.”

  “Excuse me . . .? You don’t mean the Mike, do you? It can’t be true. I don’t believe it.”

  Then Greta told the rest of the story – Jamaica and the Rasta episode, up to the chauffeur to the airport. She still hesitated whether she should tell Nathalie about the situation with the restroom. In the meantime, Nathalie had become very quiet. Greta had to tell it. In every detail. Then she looked into Nathalie’s eyes.

  “Say something. I want to know what you think.”

  “What should I say. I don’t know what I should think. I meet the pure, thirty-six year old virgin and think I’m in seventh heaven. Think about whether I should commit to a deeply religious man, who goes to Bible class three times a week. I go so far as to imagine that he’s Mr. Right. And you . . .?! You go at it in the toilet in the First Class Lounge. And, for that matter, with a guy who has dealings with drugs, a chopstick-hussy-dealer, and mysterious Rasta rituals. What should I think or say now, please? Well, what?”

  “You’re right – the situations with the two of us are a little crazy at the moment. But you know what? Everything always happens for the best. Right?”

  The two friends gave each other a hug and, as always, they were on the same page. Both had experienced four days that could not be explained. Both had to think about what had happened and make decisions that could determine their future. Both needed time to decide. They also needed each other, however, and were deeply grateful that they didn’t have to talk about that. Friendship, trust, and affection for one another doesn�
��t require words.

  Chapter 13

  The following weeks were relatively unspectacular. Greta worked according to her regular schedule, which didn’t include a stop in New York in the near future. That was probably good, she thought. The four days had been absolutely intense, and had to be evaluated calmly, in peace and quiet.

  In the meantime, she was traveling primarily on the continent, with many overnights in the metropolitan cities of Europe: Hamburg, London, Athens, Warsaw, Madrid, Stockholm . . . all included. And she and Mike were in contact, some days very actively – as many as twenty messages and a Skype-date. Then she didn’t hear anything from him for days, a situation that really didn’t suit her. She laid out arguments for herself, trying to figure out why he was like that. She still didn’t quite understand him; he had a side that she couldn’t fully grasp. He was often distant or seemed so secretive that one had to consider it “fishy.” Greta tried to reassure herself that she was imagining all this. Up to this point, there had always been an explanation for his behavior.

  Finally, after many weeks had passed, the message that she had so long been waiting for arrived: “Greta, my angel, Venice calls to us. Can you hear it?” He gave her a couple of tentative dates for appointments, hotels, and connections – and that was it. No follow-up questions as to whether the dates would work, or if she still wanted to go. Although Greta had hoped that they would see each other again in Venice, the way he dictated the terms of the trip fell short of her expectations in every way.

  I’m certainly not his secretary or some casual pick-up that he can order around.

  Once again, the feeling that she got from Mike now and again welled up – he made the plans and she had no input; she was simply expected to follow along. Like a little girl, or someone who didn’t have anything to contribute, someone that didn’t have to be taken seriously.

  If only I didn’t want to see him so much. If only I didn’t fret about him all the time.

  No, she tried to put on the brakes, even if the sex was so incredible.

  I can’t allow the reins to be taken out of my hands so easily. Sex isn’t everything.

  Nathalie had demonstrated that with her story. The physical became important when the time was ripe . . . but would the time ever come for Nathalie and Marc? Greta pondered her and Nathalie’s completely different life-plans. She came to the conclusion, first, not to answer Mike. She did want to go to Venice in the worst way and the schedule was planned far enough in advance that she could organize everything. But she was put out. He could at least have asked if it was a convenient time for her, too.

  Three days later, Mike had not been in touch again; but she agreed to his schedule - with mixed feelings.

  The last few days before the trip and the reunion in Venice was a roller-coaster ride for Greta – up/down, up/down. Moments full of anticipation, butterflies in the stomach and waves of happiness. Then again, doubt. What if he doesn’t show up again? If he drops everything because of his brother? And what if, in the big picture, he’s simply not the right one? Oh, what’s the difference, she said to herself: Everything happens for the best.

  Greta was packing her suitcase, and on her way to the bathroom when the telephone rang. Nathalie’s number lit up the display.

  Thank God, it’s not Mike!

  She wouldn’t have been able to deal with a cancellation of plans very easily at this point. On the other hand – Man, I’m in a bad way here. I’m glad that he’s not calling because he could cancel on me? Really sick, right?

  “Hello, Nathalie, what’s up?”

  “Well, I’m on my way to Capetown.”

  “What? You can’t be serious. When is your flight?”

  “This evening. We had a long conversation again last night on Skype and it’s definite. I’m going down for a week, and then we’ll see what happens next.”

  “Man, I’m crossing my fingers for you. And I hope it’ll be lovely, no matter what the end result.”

  “Thank you. It’ll be good, I feel it. No matter what happens – the experience will still be valuable. I’m clear about that and that’s also why I can do this – why I can have this adventure. What’s happening with you? You’re probably packing, right?”

  “Yes, and I’m totally trying to get my bearings, to decide if I’m doing the right thing. The guy truly does me in. And then, I’m completely overjoyed at seeing him again.”

  “Oh, Sweetheart, we both have a really important trip in front of us now. When we see each other again, we’ll both know more. I’ll be in touch in the meantime. Take care of yourself. Bye.”

  “Take care and see ya soon.”

  Greta hung up and didn’t feel like packing. Too many thoughts were racing through her mind: Am I taking myself, and the situation with Mike, too seriously? Why do I let myself get so involved? Aren’t other things in life more important? And she thought again about the story of David Rose that she had read on the Internet in New York. But wasn’t it that story that had led her to the church – and there he was? Oh, I’m not going to find the answer now, she thought. Maybe Nathalie is right, and we’re both taking a trip now that will lead to decisions. Anyway, everything always happens for the best.

  She finished packing her suitcase. She didn’t hear anything else from Mike.

  Her flight the next day left in the morning. The plan was that Mike was to come to Venice from Rome and they would meet at the Giardino ex Paradopoli, a square and a little park at the entrance to the city. Greta was anxious, wondering if it would work out this time. Mike had promised that he would definitely let her know if he was running late or if there were any other delays. Nonetheless, Greta couldn’t get rid of a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. As always – they were to go from the meeting place to the hotel together and then plan the rest of the day. In case of emergency, Greta had memorized the hotel’s address –in case he stood her up again.

  When she arrived in Venice, everything went according to plan. The weather was mild and dry, which didn’t mean anything at this time of year, however: Venice was known to have to deal with sudden floods in the fall- and winter-months. But today, no rain was predicted. Greta took a taxi from the airport into the city, a trip that took about a half hour and was very “Italian.” The driver spoke not a word of English – or any other language except his mother tongue. Greta showed him on a map where she wanted to go, he nodded, and put her little roll-on into the trunk. The ride took her through various suburbs, all of them very lively and full of traffic. Now and then, the driver yelled at pedestrians or other drivers. Greta found all of this very normal and expected - “Italian.” Then the road became a long kind of bridge, the link between the mainland and the city of Venice. An interminably long bridge. At its end, one could see the city -- everything in the light haze of the sun, which was trying to break through the low fall clouds. It looked somewhat mystical and full of secrets, but also seductive and romantic. What did the city have in store for me? drifted through Greta’s mind. At a kind of turn-around by a parking lot, the driver motioned to a garden nearby. That was the anticipated destination. Greta paid the fare and proceeded on her way, dragging the roll-on behind her. Mike couldn’t see her as yet and a quick look at her watch confirmed that she was ten minutes early.

  Everything is still on course . . .

  To get to the garden, Greta first had to cross a bridge. Although the steps leading to it were wide apart, the roll-on suitcase bounced over them pretty well. At the junction of the bridge, Greta stopped and watched the passing water taxis: a busy industry, with many smaller and larger boats, laden down with groceries and drinks, and then a kind of bus-boat, and she even recognized a couple from the Fire Department and the Sanitation Department. Greta was completely engrossed in the traffic and concluded that here in Venice everything had to be transported over water. Of course, she thought to herself, the streets are too narrow; cars don’t have a prayer of getting by. Totally lost in her thoughts and taken in by the daily to and fro
of the city, she didn’t hear a honking horn that was becoming louder and louder, dominating the area surrounding her. “The Italians are really loud,” was the only thought that semi-consciously crossed her mind. She looked at her watch again.

  What? A whole hour has passed? I’ve been standing here that long? If he stands me up again, then that’s that. I’ll wait another five minutes –

  The resounding horn tore her away from her thoughts and her glance was directed to the source of the noise: a water taxi. One of those elegant ones, with a cabin and an open covered deck in the back. George Clooney and Diane Kruger were seen in one on TV during the Biennale. That can’t be, Greta thought. She looked again, a little more closely . . . Mike was standing on the boat and waving to her. Yes, sure enough, it was him. She could now easily recognize him, and waved back, feeling as if a stone had fallen from her heart. Up ‘til now, she hadn’t been sure that he would show up. The shock in New York had made a deep impact and her trust in him hadn’t yet returned. She grabbed her roll-on and marched toward the little walkway at the end of the bridge. Mike came up to meet her. He looked fabulous. Could have passed for Italian if he hadn’t had those boots on. Yup, that’s my cowboy, Greta thought, and beamed at him. The weeks of separation were wiped away and all her doubts about him too. They hugged, holding one another fervently for a long time. His scent again was what Greta loved so much about him: a little like leather, like fresh air, and a breath of after-shave lotion – which actually couldn’t be since he sported a three-day stubble. Besides that, he had jeans on and a light-colored shirt that was open down his chest. Over that his leather jacket, which Greta recognized. No matter what he had on, the guy was a really cool man, a man that other women turned around to look at. A man that one remembered, one who left tracks. Hopefully they’re tracks that I like, popped into Greta’s mind. And then the kiss – the trip was worth it for that alone. She melted in his arms and was so happy that she glowed.