Sea Air (16 page)

“I knew you wouldn’t be happy about it,” Ines admitted when she saw my miserable face. “But Marco insisted on inviting him. And you know how he is: when he wants something, he won’t let up.”

“Which one do you mean?” I asked in a weak voice, “Steffen or Mathis?”

“What? Steffen’s here, too?” Sandra sat up and looked around her. “Have you talked to him yet?”

“A little.” I nodded. “But he started to talk about old times and—”

“Actually, I meant Mathis,” said Ines. “I didn’t know that Marco had invited Steffen.”

“He didn’t. He’s here with a friend.”

“That explains it. I’m sorry about Mathis.”

“It’s fine. I just need to get over the shock. I guess I’m just going to have to get used to the fact that he’s going to show up everywhere, right?” They both shrugged.

“I’m afraid you might be right. The guys have become good friends with him really fast,” said Ines.

“I can’t exactly stop them,” I said, resigned to my fate. I gazed out into the dark night.

“Come on.” Ines jumped up from the swing so quickly that Sandra and I tumbled against each other.

“Where are you off to so fast?” I asked after I’d sorted out which limbs were mine. “You’re pregnant. You’re not supposed to jump around like that.”

“Who says? Tonight is about celebrating, not moping around. Remember? Come on, girls. Let’s dance!” She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to my feet, and I didn’t resist.

Marco and Ines had turned their large dining room into a dance floor for the night, and there was room out there for about twenty of us. Some of the dancers moved with great skill. One man in his mid-fifties grinned and looked at me through suspiciously glassy eyes.
Not so skillful,
I surmised,
but stoned out of his mind.
I noticed a sweet scent wafting through the room; it smelled like someone had brought a couple of joints. It was probably the same person who’d chosen the music. “Born to Be Wild” boomed from the loudspeaker. I’d always loved the music of the sixties, and not just the music; the whole era fascinated me. I would have loved to live during the “make love, not war” era. By the time I started to become aware of politics, everything important had already happened. The radical events of the seventies had left many people dead and had led to the passing of new laws, and the environmental and peace movements had birthed a new political party. What followed was a generation of people with no sense of history: my generation.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Sandra said, ripping me from my thoughts. “Dance, Nele, don’t brood!”

With a deep sigh, I shut my eyes and started to dance with the others, forgetting about the world around me. Soon, I was completely drenched with sweat, but I didn’t care. The last time I’d danced so freely was when I was a student, and I felt like the clock had been turned back ten years. When the music paused, the dancers murmured in protest. I opened my eyes and saw Mathis’s bright-blue ones. A shudder went through my body at the look on his face. He’d been watching me the whole time I’d been dancing. Fueled by music and alcohol, I became consumed with indignation. I looked at Mathis defiantly, and noted with satisfaction that he looked nervous. Just as he took a step in my direction, two strong hands wrapped around my waist.

Startled, I spun around and saw a strong, familiar chest. Before I knew it, Steffen had drawn my arms around his neck and begun to dance with me. The music had started again, quiet and slow. It was music for snuggling, ideal for a couple. But something was wrong. It wasn’t Mathis who held me in his arms, but Steffen. I turned to look for Mathis, but he’d disappeared
. Coward
, I thought, and felt a burning rage. If he didn’t even have the guts to fight for me, then he could see what he might have had—what he
should
have had . . . Steffen gently turned my head toward him.

“The music is right here, my sweet Nele.” He pulled me closer until we danced with our cheeks touching. His breath was heavy against my ear.

“You’re enchanting, Nele. This could be a beautiful night for us.”

“But—” I tried to protest, but then Steffen’s lips were on mine. His kiss was soft and full of tenderness, and the memory of our steamy nights of lovemaking washed over my body, causing my knees to weaken. I tried to resist, but my body was no longer mine. Steffen’s hands wandered over my back and his lips kissed my neck.

“Let’s go.” Steffen’s breath was warm against my ear and he took my hand. I nodded and let myself be led away. I felt a pair of eyes following me. Not Mathis again! I turned around to confront him. But it wasn’t Mathis. It was a very pale Gerd Hövenstein, staring at me sadly.

W
hen I opened my eyes, I saw that I was in a strange bed, in a strange room, and I had no idea what I was doing there. My head buzzed, and my stomach lurched. I put my hand on my stomach and froze. I was naked! I jolted upright in bed as my head throbbed. Oh crap! I was at Steffen’s house and we had . . . Shit! Shit! Shit!

I tore the blanket off and tore through the room, looking for my dress. Steffen stood in the doorway, dressed only in boxer shorts. I swallowed hard at the sight of his smooth, muscular chest but then caught myself. I dropped back into bed in embarrassment, like a teenage girl after her first night of lovemaking, and pulled the blanket up to my chin.

“Why so bashful?” Steffen teased. “I didn’t see any sign of that last night.”

“Steffen, I . . . This was a mistake.” I felt myself turning red.

“But a beautiful one. We should make this kind of mistake more often.”

“Steffen, please. It was a slipup, that’s all.”

“Nele, that was a night full of love.”

“Love? That wasn’t love!” I corrected him. “
That
was sex.”

Steffen winced, but he wasn’t about to give up.

“Breakfast is ready,” he said, ignoring my statement. “Do you want to eat now or shower first?”

I opted for a hot shower. Feeling somewhat fresher, even in the previous day’s smelly clothes, I sat at the kitchen table and took a piece of toast. Steffen studied me.

“What’s the problem, Nele?” he finally asked. “If you want, I’ll apologize for last night. But at the time you seemed to want it, too.”

“It’s all right, Steffen. I did, but what I wanted was sex. I hope that you don’t think that I—”

“You can keep yourself from loving me, Nele. But you can’t keep me from loving you. After last night, that’s clearer to me than ever. In the last few years, I’ve gotten to know a lot of women, and I’ve slept with a lot of them, too.
That
was always about sex. With you, it’s different. It’s so much more—”

“I think it’s best if I go.” I took a swig of coffee and hurried to leave. A walk in the fresh air would do me good. The night with Steffen irritated me more than I wanted to admit. As always with Steffen, the sex had been great. But it could never be more than that.

I thought about Mathis. What would he say if he found out? It annoyed me that I had a guilty conscience. There was really no reason for it. I was free and unattached. Mathis definitely wouldn’t have a guilty conscience if the tables were turned.

“Didn’t Marco swallow a condom?”

“Excuse me?” I looked up from my playing cards at Paula. We’d been sitting around our round dining table for two hours, playing gin rummy with Sandra and Anneke. The kids never wanted to play any game other than rummy.

“Well, Ines is pregnant, and if a man swallows a condom, the woman won’t get pregnant.”

“You misunderstood, Paula. A person can swallow a pill in order not to get pregnant. Condoms don’t get swallowed.”

“Then what do you do with them?” Anneke asked.

“Well, you . . . That is . . .” I felt very frustrated. I’d always promised myself that I would be free and open when talking about sex with Paula, so that she would feel comfortable talking about it with me. But it wasn’t so easy. I threw Sandra a helpless look. But she seemed just as lost.

“The thing about condoms is . . . uh . . .”

The girls looked from one of us to the other. “See! You don’t know, either.” Anneke shook her head indignantly. “You always act so smart, but you don’t know anything.”

“Anneke, it’s just that it’s difficult to explain.” I decided to go for it. “Okay, here’s the deal: the man pulls the condom over his penis if the woman doesn’t want to get pregnant.” To my annoyance, I blushed.

Paula looked at me. “Why was that so hard to explain?”

In my naïveté, I hoped that we’d be done with the subject by dinnertime at the latest. But the children wanted details. Sandra and I broke out into a sweat. When the girls finally disappeared into Paula’s room, Sandra turned to me.

“Speaking of sex, you and Steffen disappeared pretty abruptly the other night. I assume you didn’t just go back to his place so he could show you his stamp collection.”

“It was a beer-cap collection,” I said, a little too forcefully.

“Don’t snap at me, Nele. I’m glad you’ve given up living like a nun. What’s the problem? I suppose it has something to do with Mathis. Don’t tell me you have a guilty conscience about this.”

“I think I do.”

“Forget it, Nele. You have no reason to feel guilty. He left the party with someone himself, a pretty blond.”

My heart sank and my head swam. There had to be a mistake. He couldn’t just . . .

“Are you okay, Nele?” Sandra looked at my stricken face.

“How do you know this?”

“I saw it.”

“You couldn’t maybe soften the blow a little?”

“You have to learn to cope, Nele. Mathis has told you he doesn’t want a relationship with you, and he’s told you why. You just need to accept it, whether you like it or not. You can’t prescribe yourself a dose of celibacy just because Mathis Hagena exists. Enjoy your life without strings. Maybe you and Steffen will actually work out this time.”

“Don’t even go there!” I said. “Steffen and I are over. Not a chance.”

“Fine, Nele.” Sandra raised a hand in protest. “But whatever does or doesn’t happen between you and Steffen, you have to forget about Mathis.”

“Just how do you suggest I do that? You think it’s that easy? I work with him
and
he shows up wherever I go!”

“Well, you can’t keep going on like this, even you have to see that. There are other nice guys out there. Try one of them.”

“Like Gerd Hövenstein, I suppose?”

This made us both laugh.

As I lay in my bed that night, I thought about Sandra’s words. She was right—I had to pull myself together. Mathis certainly had . . . As I thought this, I burst into tears. The idea that Mathis had left with a blond woman drove me crazy. It hit me like a bolt of lightning: if he had a new girlfriend, this meant that he simply didn’t want to be with me and all his explanations were lies . . . Enough, I told myself. Maybe there’d been some kind of mistake, and the blond was his sister . . . or maybe a niece?

I fell asleep around three o’clock not feeling any clearer about the identity of Mathis’s mystery blond.

We held our second meeting a week after the first, this time in Mathis’s office. I worried about seeing Mathis again. I wondered if he knew about Steffen and me. If he did, would he say anything? Would he tell me about the blond? My heart beat hard all the way to the large, tastefully stylish Hagena & Kleinert offices. My nervousness was on display to everyone who might be interested, and I craved the crutch of a cigarette. In the lobby, I stuttered three times in a single sentence, but Mathis’s well-trained receptionist just smiled at me in a friendly way. If she thought I was a lunatic, she didn’t show it.

“The others are expecting you in the conference room, Ms. Martens. Please follow me.” As I did so, it occurred to me that Vera could use some training in secretarial excellence.

When I entered, I saw Mathis sitting at the table, scribbling on his notepad. Marco and Christoph were engrossed in conversation with a young man I’d never seen before.

“There you are, Nele,” Marco said cheerfully. “Let’s get started.” Mathis and the young man both looked at me; I swallowed hard. The two had exactly the same blue eyes. I wouldn’t have thought another pair of eyes like that could exist in the world.

The young man stretched out his hand. “Hi,” he said, smiling, “I’m Lars. Lars Hagena.”

“Uh . . . hello, Lars. Nele Martens.” Dazed, I sat and rummaged in my pocket. Why the hell was Mathis’s son here? Had the world gone crazy, or was this just another case of male insensitivity? I wondered what he knew about Mathis and me. Why hadn’t anybody warned me?

“Lars is Mathis’s son,” Christoph said, probably just to break the awkward silence.

“Oh.” I threw a
could somebody explain to me what’s going on here?
look to the group, but Lars was the only one who seemed prepared to offer an explanation. The others just looked at one another.

“My father thought maybe I could support you in this project.”

“Aha. And how did he think you might do that?” I spoke a bit rudely, which I regretted immediately. It wasn’t Lars’s fault that he was Mathis’s son. Lars gave no indication that he’d noticed my tone, having apparently inherited not just his father’s blue eyes but also his stoicism. This didn’t make me feel any better. He’d probably already pegged me as a bitch.

“I run an event management company. A few high-profile events promoting this project could bring a lot of attention to it.” When no one said anything, he added, slightly confused, “That is . . . if you’re interested.”

“Sure! No question,” Marco said at last. “I remember hearing about a few events your company planned, and they all seemed to be huge successes.” He turned to the rest of us. “I’m going to suggest that we all get on the same page and report on our assignments for today. Mathis has already explained the project basics to Lars, but this way he’ll get to hear more of the details.”

After an hour of discussion, it was clear that we’d already made significant progress over the week. It was time to get our proposal into written form, so of course three pairs of eyes looked to me. Marco, Mathis, and Christoph all claimed that they couldn’t express themselves rationally on paper themselves—a strategy I’d been letting Marco get away with for far too long.

I shrugged in resignation.

“Thanks, Nele.” Christoph beamed at me, relieved.

“Once you’ve got the proposal written, you can also present it to the mayor,” added Marco, as if he was doing me a big favor.

“But—” I tried to interrupt him, but seeing my unhappy face, Mathis immediately jumped in.

“I’ll come with you. Things like this always go better in twos.”

“Oh, no. That’s not necessary—” I rushed to say, but this time Marco was the one to interrupt me.

“I think that’s a great idea. Does anyone object?”

Great. It was one thing to politely decline Mathis’s offer, but I couldn’t officially object. Things only got worse.

“Nele, you know I’m swamped right now,” Marco said, “and Christoph is, too. Would you mind sitting down with Lars when you’ve got a draft of the proposal done? Then you two can work on adding Lars’s ideas before you meet with the mayor.”

This was feeling more and more like a conspiracy.

“Perfect!” Lars beamed. “Now, I’ll tell you a little bit about my work and maybe we can brainstorm a few ideas.” As he spoke about his event planning, I saw that he was both logical and creative. I figured Mathis would be bursting with fatherly pride, but when I looked at him, he was just staring out the window, lost in thought. Feeling my gaze, he looked at me and tried unsuccessfully to smile. He looked infinitely sad. I wondered if this had something to do with Steffen and me. Suddenly, he jumped up and began to pack his things.

“Excuse me. I’m afraid I’m going to have to go now as I have another commitment. But stay as long as you want. I’ll tell my secretary you’re still here. Nele, call me when the proposal is done, and we’ll set something up with the mayor. If anyone has any questions, just give me a call.” At the doorway, he turned around to his son. “Lars, let’s talk by phone, or grab a meal.”

Lars nodded briefly, then picked up where he’d left off.

“Excuse me. I need to run to the restroom.” I felt an urgent need for fresh air. Mathis’s businesslike tone had hit me hard. I hurried past his secretary and into the hall, where I opened a window. I drew in a breath, looked down—and felt weak in the knees, but not because of the height. On the street below, Mathis stood next to a car I’d never seen before, and a blond was hugging him. They pulled away from their embrace and greeted each other warmly, and I heard Mathis’s familiar laugh. He touched the woman’s cheek, then they climbed into the car and drove away.

So this was Mathis’s appointment, I thought with bitterness. Foolishly, I’d thought he was upset about Steffen and me, but he’d just been thinking about his own desires. And while the blond wasn’t young, she was still attractive. I snuck back into the meeting feeling like a miserable dog.

For days, I sat in front of my laptop, chewing down a pencil but accomplishing little else. I tried to concentrate on the content, to get into some kind of writing flow, but it wasn’t working. I kept picturing Mathis in the arms of the blond.

As I wrote, I started to get a bad feeling. What we had put together as a group seemed too perfect. We would get approval, money would be invested, and countless jobs would be created. I thought about this: maybe
that
was the catch. It was too positive.

During his research, Mathis had discovered that our project met the guidelines of a program that the European Union had launched. This meant that we could count on the investment of several million euros. The application was a challenging one to complete, but thanks to several sleepless nights and a lot of caffeine, we’d done it. Perhaps this kind of investment would appease Schlüter. Even he couldn’t get away with rejecting that much money, and the city would have to contribute only a comparatively small amount.

“This time, it may actually happen,” I mumbled aloud.

“What might happen, Momma?” asked Paula, who’d just come in the door. I was working from home because she’d woken with a fever and a scratchy voice. For the millionth time, I thanked my lucky stars that I worked for myself. Most employers pitched fits when their employees stayed home to take care of sick children.

“I was just talking about work.”

“With whom?”

“With myself.”

The telephone rang. Before I could react, Paula picked up the receiver.

“Hello? No . . . I’m sick . . . sore throat. Okay, bye.”

“That was for you?”

“No, you.”

“Then why didn’t you hand me the phone?”

“Mathis didn’t tell me to.”

“That was Mathis? Why wouldn’t he tell you to give me the phone?”

“Because, he’s on his way here anyway.”