by Strauss, Lee
Micah returned with a set of sheets. “The sofa pulls out into a bed. You can sleep here.”
“But…”
“I’ll still pay you. I just don’t want you to walk home. It’s too late, and I don’t have time to take you. I have to get up early for work.”
Katja was about to refuse, but Micah seemed so desperate.
“Please,” he added. “Stay.”
Katja didn’t know what to make of this turn of events. He said he would pay her for doing nothing, and he didn’t seem like the type to attack her in her sleep. She had nothing to lose, really. The sofa bed promised to be more comfortable than the lumpy couch she normally slept on. She held out her arms and accepted the bedding.
Once Micah had disappeared behind his bedroom door, Katja padded softly to the bathroom to wash her face. She ran her tongue along her teeth, wishing she had her toothbrush with her. She scrubbed them with a wet finger. That would have to do.
After making the bed, Katja peeled off her tight clothing, laid them on one of the chairs and slipped under the covers wearing only her bra and panties. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she took in the high white ceilings, the dim outdoor light highlighting the windows. Should she text Irma? Let her know she was okay?
She reached for her phone then remembered that she’d thrown it away. It was probably better if she didn’t call. Irma and Martina didn’t care about her. They’d just be angry if she woke them up or something.
Her eyes cut to the closed door at the end of the hall. What was Micah’s story? Why did he pick her up if he didn’t want to have sex?
She was grateful, though he may not follow through on his promise to pay her. Even if he did, she still didn’t have enough to cover her portion of the rent. She could only hope that her roommates would accept the cash and another IOU. Katja sighed. She’d have to venture out again tomorrow night. Chances are she wouldn’t get picked up by two decent guys in a row.
She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. She mustn’t think like that. Things have a way of working out. They always did. She’d laugh about this time in her life one day.
She wiped away a stray tear. Yeah, she’d laugh.
The next morning, she awoke with a start. It took a few moments before she remembered where she was. And why.
She listened carefully for any sounds that would indicate that Micah was still there, but the place was silent. A quick glance into the kitchen confirmed that Micah had eaten breakfast and made coffee—she couldn’t believe she’d slept through it.
She grabbed her clothes and rushed her half-naked body across the room and into the bathroom. It was bigger and cleaner than the one she shared with her roommates, and it had a water heating system that wouldn’t run out, at least not so fast. It was weird showering in a strange man’s stall. She used his soap and shampoo, and dried off with a clean towel. She felt like she’d stayed the night in a hotel and should be the one paying, not the one being paid.
She really didn’t want to wear her dirty shirt again and briefly considered looting through Micah’s closet. He had been so generous already; she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Instead she hand washed her shirt in the sink and laid it over the radiator. As soon as it was dry, she’d leave, but in the meantime it meant hanging out in her bra and short skirt, which wasn’t exactly warm. She used the throw blanket from the sofa to wrap herself in. She pushed the bed back to its sofa form and re-arranged the pillows.
The grumbling of her stomach called her to the kitchen. She found a letter on the kitchen table along with a fifty euro note.
Help yourself to breakfast.
I’ll be home at 6:00.
Micah
Like she’d still be here at six. She stared at the money but didn’t touch it. She hadn’t earned it, and Micah had already housed and fed her. It just felt wrong to take more from him.
She ate a bun with Black Forest ham and a slice of butter cheese and drank a cup of coffee with a good dose of milk and sugar. When she finished, she wiped the counters and washed her dishes, determined to leave the place spotless.
Her shirt was still damp when she checked it, but she found a blow-dryer and turned it on high. She attacked her shirt with hot air for five minutes. It would do.
She put on her jacket and high heels and headed home.
Katja gasped when she turned the corner of the hallway that led to the door of her apartment. All her belongings were lying on the floor, including her guitar! She rushed to tug on the handle but the door to the flat was locked. She had been kicked out.
She banged the wall with the fleshy side of her fist, immediately regretting it as the pain shot up her arm. She couldn’t fight it this time. Tears streamed down her face. She removed Irma’s heels and threw them against the wall at the far end of the hall, letting out an angry cry. She slipped into her own shoes, roughly stuffed her belongings into her duffle bag and zipped it shut. With her heavy bag in one hand and her guitar in the other, she left in a huff.
The frigid wind whistled around the corner and beat against her face. Her hair flew across her eyes and into her mouth. She blew at it unsuccessfully, and had to lower her guitar to clear it. Other people on the street walked briskly, bent over against the cold. She picked up her guitar and walked with her shoulders leaning into the wind.
But where to go?
It was too cold to camp out on a bench or behind a bin. There were shelters for the homeless, but she wasn’t ready to consider that just yet, and she didn’t exactly know where they were.
Precipitation began to fall in the form of wet snow. She had to get inside somewhere soon before she froze to death.
She’d walked the block around Martin Luther Church at least four times. It was her only way to try to keep warm. She glanced up at the dark, imposing cathedral, its spiral poking the winter blue sky, and prayed that God would watch over her.
Or, at least forgive her.
Her fingers were stiff from gripping her scuffed-up guitar case, and her shoulder ached underneath its weight. The bag with all her belongings pulled down on her opposite shoulder. She stopped to rest, rolling her shoulders, rubbing her cold fingers together, swallowing saliva to try to ease her growing thirst.
Ignoring her hunger. It’d been several hours since she’d eaten breakfast. She hesitated before heading back to Alaunstrasse. The row of restaurants and store fronts with open carts of fruit and vegetables taunted her.
Tempted her.
She could just sneak an apple. One apple wouldn’t put the vendor out of business but it would fill her shrinking stomach for another day.
But then she’d be a thief.
She may be many things, but she wasn’t a thief.
Perhaps she would get lucky and find a half eaten sandwich or kabob lying out on a sidewalk table, abandoned by the smoker who was forced to eat outside.
It’d happened once.
Worry curled in her chest. She didn’t know where she would sleep tonight. Maybe she wouldn’t. The parties on Alaunstrasse lasted through the night. She could mingle with the crowds, check out some live music.
That was what she was here for, right?
Then she walked by the soup kitchen. The blinds were up on the large, square windows that faced the street, revealing a mid-sized room with wooden tables filled with people eating. A girl, the same one she’d spotted a few days before, sat in the corner playing guitar. She noticed Katja looking in the window, her eyes falling to the guitar case in her hand. The girl smiled and motioned with her head that she should come in.
Katja let out a long breath.
This was a place for poor people.
For homeless people.
She wasn’t one of those.
Yet, she was now, wasn’t she?
She went in.
“Hi, I’m Eva,” she said with a smile when Katja walked in. “The soup’s free. Make yourself at home.”
Katja hesitated in the doorway, feeling even more a
pprehensive. With the exception of Eva, the people here looked unkempt. The place smelled funny.
Eva didn’t sing, just plucked melodies on the strings and strummed. Katja admitted she was pretty good. She could at least stay a while and listen. Warm up.
The girl was thin and looked small behind her big instrument. She had straight brown hair cut bluntly at her shoulder blades and matching blunt bangs that stopped just above her eyebrows. Katja was disappointed when she stopped playing.
The girl set her guitar down awkwardly and then to Katja’s surprise, limped noticeably toward a black cane propped in the corner. A shot of anxiety crept up Katja’s neck as she watched the girl maneuver off the stage, worried she would fall.
The girl flashed her an embarrassed smile. Then with her free hand, she pointed to the kitchen.
“I’ll watch your stuff,” she said. “If you want to get something.”
Katja glanced around at the others who were finishing their meals. Spoons scraped along the bottoms of porcelain bowls, and butter knives dropped on the tables after use with the buns. The food looked and smelled okay.
Her hunger beat out her pride.
“Thanks,” she said. The soup line was in sight so she kept her eye on her belongings the whole time, but she was grateful that the girl was watching, too.
The place started to empty out by the time Katja began to eat.
“We’re closing soon,” Eva said, hobbling toward her. Katja looked away from the cane, not wanting to be rude.
“I’ll be quick.”
“Take your time.” Eva pointed to Katja’s guitar case. “You play?”
Well, she didn’t haul around the heavy instrument for the fun of it. Katja swallowed her soup and nodded. She didn’t want to be rude, but she really didn’t feel like talking to this girl. She kept her eyes on her food hoping the girl would get the hint, and felt a twinge of regret when the girl left her. Katja cleared her table when she was done and hefted her things back out into the frigid air.
Now what? It didn’t take long for the damp cold to seep through her clothing and into her bones. She meandered through a couple shops to warm up. The owners eyed her suspiciously, like she was the type to slip wares into her pocket without paying. She wasn’t that type, but she understood the temptation. Would they miss one candy bar? Or a banana?
She was like a bull in a china shop with her bulky guitar case in these small stores. She needed some place bigger, like a mall. She could hang out in the hall and crash on one of the benches. There was a large one in the old town, but it was a cold twenty-minute walk away. Plus, she couldn’t live at the mall. She’d have to leave when it closed in a few hours and then where would she go?
She remembered Micah’s note. It was humiliating to go back there, but he had extended the invitation, if not directly, definitely by suggestion. At least it would give her time to think. Time to make a new plan.
His place was clean and dry and warm. She was glad she had left the door unlocked. She shoved her things out of sight behind the door. What would Micah do when he discovered she hadn’t left? When he found out she was homeless? She hoped he’d let her infringe on his hospitality for one more night.
She groaned. He might cash in on the sex this time.
She warmed up over the radiator and when she finally felt warm enough, it was almost six o’clock. The least she could do was to prepare Abendbrot, a light evening meal of buns and meat and cheese, but decided a warm meal would be a bigger gesture.
She opened all the cupboards, finding them surprisingly bare. A set of dishes for six. Six glasses. Three pots and a frying pan.
There was a little more in the food department, and Katja settled on pasta with Alfredo sauce. She found fresh vegetables in the fridge and prepared a salad while the noodles boiled. Dinner was ready and the table set when Micah walked in.
He jerked to a stop when he saw her, like he’d forgotten that he’d left her sleeping on his sofa bed that morning. His eyes moved to the loaded table.
“Welcome home, sweetie,” Katja said lightly. Micah closed the door and set his briefcase on the floor.
“You made dinner,” he said, stating the obvious. He removed his jacket and hung it on a hook.
“Yeah, I thought since you made it last night,” Katja began, “that it was only fair.”
Micah disappeared into the bathroom without another word. Katja folded her arms, preparing herself for the inevitable “time for you to leave” speech.
Instead, Micah took a seat in the same spot as the night before and waited for her to sit across from him.
“Looks good,” he said.
“I hope you like it.” Katja winced. She felt like she was playing mistress or something.
Micah took a bite and murmured, “Not bad.”
It only took one bite of the mushy pasta for her to know he was lying. She’d been telling the truth when she’d said she was a lousy cook. She looked at him apologetically. “It’s kind of overcooked.”
He took another bite. “It’s fine.”
“So, how was your day?” she asked politely.
He paused with his fork midair. “Good. Yours?”
Katja couldn’t keep her gaze from darting to her things behind the kitchen door. Her guitar case stuck out. Micah’s gaze followed hers.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I got kicked out. I couldn’t pay my part of the rent… again, and my roommates tossed me.” She folded her hands on her lap and stared at the floor. She felt embarrassed and ashamed. What would he say to that?
“Would you like more salad?”
She looked up, shocked, and shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”
He set the bowl down. “How old are you, Katja?”
“Twenty. You?”
“Twenty-six.” He went to the fridge and removed a bottle of sparkling water. “Want some?”
“You wouldn’t happen to have something stronger, would you?” She flashed a crooked smile. “It’s been a hard day. Well, week, actually.” She grinned wider. “Okay, month.”
He smirked but shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t drink. I have orange juice. Would that do?”
She nodded feeling mildly disappointed. “Sure, thanks.”
She watched him as he drank his water. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and she wanted to reach over and loosen his tie. His coal black hair had been professionally cut at one point, but was growing out, and curls formed on his forehead. He moved wayward strands off his brow with one hand. His eyes were a warm, dark brown, yet unreadable.
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
It drove her crazy.
“What do you want from me?” she blurted.
He sat his water on the table. “What do you mean?”
“I told you I got kicked out. Should I leave? Do you want me to stay? Do you want…?”
He held her gaze, making her squirm. “No, yes… no.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want you on the streets. There’s plenty of room here. You can stay until you find something else.”
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch.”
She studied him. There had to be a catch. There was always a catch.
Micah started in on the dishes afterward, but Katja stopped him.
“I’ll do it.” It was the least she could do for the inconvenience she was causing. “You’ve had a long day already.”
“I don’t mind,” he said, his eyes moving from her to the mess in the sink.
“Neither do I.”
He left without another word, and soon Katja heard the sound of the news broadcasting on the TV.
She took her time. It wasn’t like she had anything else to do. Micah’s flat was spacious, but it didn’t actually have a lot of rooms. The living room and kitchen were connected, and there was a short hallway with doors that led to the bathroom and Micah’s bedroom. And one other. Perhaps a storage room?
; Once the dishes were washed and put away and the counters and table wiped clean, she stood in the middle of the room with a tea-towel in her hand. She didn’t want to interrupt Micah, but the living room was the only place left for her to go, unless she holed up in the bathroom. She found a broom in a narrow kitchen closet and attacked the wooden floors. With that done, there really wasn’t anything left to do, unless she polished the appliances or washed the windows.
“Looks great.” Katja jumped at Micah’s voice. “Why don’t you come relax now, too?”
As usual, Micah’s expression was blank. Katja couldn’t tell if he really wanted her to join him, or if he was just being polite.
“Are you sure? I can…” She waved a hand at the spotless room.
“It’s clean enough,” he said, then returned to his place on the sofa.
Katja wasn’t sure if she’d just been invited or instructed to follow him, but she had no reason not to do as he asked.
She sat stiffly on the sofa opposite the chair where Micah sat and steered her gaze to the TV. Her fingers rested on her jeans, and she shifted to get comfortable. Her eyes wouldn’t stop veering over to her host. Despite the fact that he rarely smiled, Micah wasn’t hard to look at. His brown eyes were accentuated by dark eyebrows. He had sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline now covered by a late-day bristly shadow. Katja’s artistic eye captured the details with quick glances, getting caught with her final one. He stared back at her.
She squirmed, feeling stupid that he’d caught her checking him out. His full lips tightened and his shoulders squared, like he refused to be made comfortable, even in his own home. His tie was still tied neatly around his neck. He made her nervous.
“Why don’t you take that off?” she blurted.
Micah’s eyes widened with surprise, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “I meant your tie, not your clothes.”
His hand reached for his throat. “Oh. Yeah. I’m so used to wearing it.” His fingers slid into the knot loosening it.
