Authors: Marya Stones
Greta Again!
Marya Stones
Greta Again!
Contact:
[email protected]
The Author Website:
www.maryastones.com
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www.facebook.com/stonesmarya
Twitter:
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© 2012 Verena Zach
Spicherenstr. 1
81667 München
No part of this book may be reproduced duplicated or distributed in any form, (by photostat, microfilm or any other means) or in use of any electronic system processed, duplicated or distributed without the written permission of the copyright owner.
Coverdesign: Guter Punkt, München
www.guter-punkt.de
Umschlagillustration: Carolin Nagler, München
Translated by: Dagmar Grimm , New York
Chapter 1
Greta stepped out of the plane onto the gangway. Finally, in New York again! Now just to get through Customs and Passport Control, and to collect her luggage.
And then what? Hopefully, Mike’s waiting outside to pick me up.
And if he isn’t?
She really didn’t want to finish that thought. Whatever happens is for the best, she decided, bracing herself.
First I’ve got to get to the city and find a hotel. Or, I can call Mona. She’ll definitely come up with an idea where I can find a place to stay.
Mona was in sales at Macy’s, the beautiful, big department store in New York. Greta had met Mona on one of her shopping sprees – and, luckily, they became really close friends. They got together whenever they could, mostly at Macy’s, or for coffee and a chat at Starbucks. In any case, Mona was a possible backup if Mike didn’t show up.
But why wouldn’t he . . .
Actually, there was no good reason why Mike shouldn’t be waiting at the airport today. Just yesterday they had discussed everything in detail by e-mail and on Skype. Greta had found out why Mike had beat it out of the hospital in Munich so fast after the accident (it was because of his brother Steve again. Steve panicked and insisted that Mike go to New York for further treatment). But it still didn’t make a lot of sense to Greta, and Mike had said he’d explain it all to her in New York.
There were no delays at Passport Control and Customs and her suitcase had made it, too.
Just a quick trip to the Ladies’ Room and a last look in the mirror. . .
After all, she wanted her Mr. Right to remember what a babe he had left behind in Munich – to regret having left her there alone, and to convince him never to do it again.
Greta studied her face carefully. Oh, man, she thought, the overnight flight from Chicago, and then the flight back to New York. . .this isn’t exactly a “fresh-as-a-daisy” look.
She twisted her hair into a topknot and secured it with a rubber band, pulling out a few strands around her face. Then she quickly brushed her teeth, dabbed on some powder and lipgloss, and finished with a spray of perfume. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she still wasn’t quite satisfied . But this is as good as it gets, she decided, and pushed her sunglasses on top of her head – I’m outta here.
Greta couldn’t help it: she felt her heart beating hard and loud.
This can’t be happening; I’m not a teenager anymore. Heart pounding and butterflies in my stomach. Pretty soon I’ll start blushing. And I wanted to be so cool on arrival. Oh, man!
She stepped through the frosted glass doors that separated the arriving passengers from those in the waiting area. There were so many people and so many signs raised up in the air that at first, Greta saw nothing but a sea of faces.
Actually Mike should have seen me by now and be coming in my direction. . .
Nothing.
She pushed her way through the crowd, clearing a path for the other passengers.
Still nothing.
Where was Mike?
He should be there to greet her with flowers, a big smile, or at least with a big bear-hug. . .or his driver should be here waiting, with a big sign that said “Ms. Mayfield for Mr. Sloan.”
But no one was here.
Slowly, Greta began to scan the crowd of people. Mike definitely wasn’t among them. Again and again, she studied the unfamiliar faces, but couldn’t find him. She was completely confused.
What now. . .?
Should she wait? Was Mike just running late?
Oh, man, why is this happening again – it’s enough to make you want to vomit! I don’t want this!
Why can’t it just be good for a change. This is not the way it’s supposed to be if this is Mr. Right. It’s about me, too.
A good twenty minutes passed – a long twenty minutes. Mike was nowhere to be seen. No message on the cell-phone either.
Fine, so I’ll call him.
His number lit up on the display panel and she dialed. After it rang a number of times, an answering machine picked up. Greta left her message. It was short. Hurt. Insecure. Humiliated.
What should I do now?
It’s actually senseless to wait any longer, she thought. I’ll ride into the city and get in touch with Mona. Having made the decision, she grabbed her roll-on bag and headed to the Manhattan subway. On the way, however, out of the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help but notice the limousines at passenger pick-up.
I should be sitting in one of them, she thought angrily. Oh, man, I’m really mad-- again. Really mad! This can’t be happening. Well, at least I’m awake now!
On the subway into the city, she was everything but happy. What was this supposed to mean, if you please? This sucks! She even thought of flying right back to Munich again.
That would be really crazy. Besides, I’m not going to let some unreliable creep ruin my beautiful New York for me!
Greta dialed Mona’s number. Thank God! Mona answered the phone right away.
“Ooooh, Sweetheart,” she shrieked into Greta’s ear, “you’re here?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Wow, super, fabulous! You definitely have to come to the store tomorrow. We have such great things in stock, and I can give you a really deep discount. The new colors are perfect for you. I thought of you during the introduction of the collection. Did you get my –“
“Hey, Mona, can I stay with you tonight?” Greta cut in.
“Oh, why? Is the hotel fully booked? Or did it burn down?”
“No, Luv, I just fell for it again with some idiot. He was supposed to meet me and didn’t show up. I’ll tell you the rest later, ok?
“Sure. Come on over. I’m home.”
“You’re an angel. I’ll be there in about forty minutes.”
“Good, I’ll put the wine on ice. Or would you rather have a whiskey?”
“Whiskey!”
Chapter 2
When Greta finally arrived at Mona’s, she felt pretty depressed and out of sorts. And that’s how she looked, too: her hair was messed up, her eyes were sunken, with deep, dark circles. As soon as Mona saw her, she gave her a big hug.
“You can stay as long as you want, Luv, don’t worry! Um, by the way, are you allergic to cats?”
“No, why?”
“Well, this is Mr. Popcorn and his best friend, Curly Bob.” Two tiger-striped cats crept around the door-frame; they looked like an aging gay couple. “They’re about fourteen years old and brothers,” Mona continued. “I saved them from the trash incinerator. Since then, we’re a team.”
The cats looked a little worn-out, their fur a bit shaggy, but they snuggled up to one another as if they were inseparable. At the same time, Greta had the impression that they were both striking a pose. Each of them wanted to outdo the other, to look more handsome and appealing. Obviously they were trying to impress the new visitor, namely her. Greta smiled, and immediately fell in love with both of them. They responded with short, almost gloating meows.
“The chemistry is right on with you guys,” Monica said, and wheeled Greta’s roll-on bag into a corner. “C’mon, let’s have a drink, and then please tell me about this Mike!”
“Oh, Mona! He’s one of those super good-looking guys that seems perfect – who really doesn’t exist. I was a little bit “Pretty Woman,” a little bit “Cinderella,” and he was Mr. Right . . .”
Greta explained how they met on one of her recent flights to New York. Mike was just a really cool dude! She told Mona about their first date in New York, and how that appeared to be that. But since life almost always seems to interfere with one’s own plans, this same guy, who was not only good-looking but also successful and charming, with a fun sense of humor, who basically knew how to behave in any situation and was a great kisser, unexpectedly turned up on her friend’s terrace in Germany. That kind of thing doesn’t happen, except in the movies, right?
Well, they saw each other a second time, and the afternoon and evening were just perfect. He pampered her with gifts; they had drinks and a wonderful meal, one surprise after another, a fantastic night in a love-nest in Salzburg . . . it was simply too good to be true.
And that’s what it was: After their night together they had a bad accident. Greta, unconscious, woke up in the hospital and he was gone. Without a single word.
“Can you believe it?” Greta stopped and asked Mona periodically during her story.
And now they wanted to see each other again here in New York. He lives here. He was going to pick her up at the airport, and yeah, right – he wasn’t there!
“So, Mona, what’s this supposed to mean? Am I a complete loser, or what?”
“Well, Greta, sometimes things happen that can’t be happening. That’s the way it is. You’re not seventeen anymore – welcome to real life! Welcome to the men in this world. Mr. Right – that’s fine, but the concept is just another word for ‘prince.’ Honestly, Sweetheart, I don’t want to rob you of your fantasies, but Mr. Right? I don’t know exactly. . .” Mona looked at her watch. “I have to go to work this afternoon, unfortunately. But we’ll talk about this some more later. Please don’t drink the whole bottle; get yourself together. Take your time. Then meet me at the store, and we’ll go shopping – a little distraction never hurts. And we’ll go get something to eat. It would be ridiculous if we didn’t figure this out! If the guy calls and asks you to meet him, go and tell him off. And I mean seriously. He’s not the kind that we’ve been standing around waiting for!”
Mona poured another little sip of whiskey for Greta, who was looking a little more relaxed. She had a little color in her cheeks again – the whiskey had done its job.
Mona quickly changed into some “business clothes,” threw on some make-up, and tied her hair into a knot. In no time, she looked classy – a lady – who turned men’s heads wherever she went.
“You look really good!” Greta burst out. She could feel the effect of the whiskey on an empty stomach. “Oh, dear, I have to sober up a little; but it sure does taste good,” she mumbled. Her tongue had become a little unwieldy.
Mona gave Greta a big fat kiss on the forehead, showed her the bath and the refrigerator (where there was absolutely nothing edible except for cat food) and where she hung the keys to the apartment. Then she slammed the door behind her and was gone.