by Strauss, Lee
“That’s better,” Katja said. “Now I can breathe.” She thought it was funny, but Micah didn’t crack a smile.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Micah lowered the volume and tapped his leg nervously with the remote. “Why would you ask?”
Katja nodded to his jumpy hands. “You seem apprehensive. If anyone should be nervous here, it’s me, right?” She grinned. “I’m the homeless one.”
His hands stilled. “You are. You’re taking it rather well.”
Oh, no. He thought she was taking advantage of his hospitality already and they hadn’t even gotten through the first night. She stiffened. “I’ve learned to make the best of situations I have no control over.”
How did this conversation get turned around to be about her? She tried another tactic. “How long have you lived in Dresden?”
“Four months. You?”
“Two. I arrived the end of January.”
“Where from?”
“Berlin.”
“That’s where your family is?”
Again, it was about her. She nodded and returned the question. “And your family?”
“Hamburg. Do you have a last name?”
Of course she did. Why would he phrase it like that? Why not just ask, what is your last name? “Stoltz. Do you have a last name?”
“Sturm”
Sturm. In English, the word meant storm.
She turned back to the TV, wishing Micah would turn the volume back up. Now he was the one checking her out. She pretended not to notice how his eyes moved from her face, to her chest, along her legs and back again. It both thrilled her and frightened her. She swallowed hard. “Why are you staring at me?”
“What kind of music do you play?”
Fine, don’t answer. And if he was going to stare, she’d stare back. “Folk, mostly. A mix of Americana, country, blues.”
“Do you write your own songs?”
She nodded. “Yes, but I like to do covers as well.”
“And this is the… vocation you’ve chosen for yourself?” He tilted his head. “When you’re not attempting the other one.”
She felt herself blush. Her hands curled and her breaths came out in short spurts. She scowled at him. “Are you judging me?”
“No, no.” Micah leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry I know I can come across as abrasive.”
No kidding.
“I’m just trying to understand,” he continued. “What drives you to do what you do?”
“I love music. I love to play it. I love how it makes me feel, and how it makes people feel who listen to me. I want to make my living doing it.” It sounded straightforward to her.
Again she turned the tables. “What drives you?”
A shadow flickered across his face. He leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.
“Micah?”
He stood abruptly and stared at her with a dark and disturbing glare. “What drives me, drives me crazy. Goodnight, Katja.”
There was definitely a storm brewing in Micah Sturm. Katja wasn’t sure she wanted to be around when it was unleashed.
Katja awoke mid-morning the next day surprised to see Micah sitting at the table in the kitchen, sipping coffee.
Watching her.
“Good morning,” she muttered, feeling self-conscious. Her hand went to her mess of hair, as if patting it would make it look all right. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“It’s Saturday. I get weekends off.”
Oh. Katja often lost track of the days of the week. They all started and ended the same for her.
“There’s coffee,” Micah offered.
“Thanks. I just need to use the bathroom first.” Katja had her sheets gripped in her fist up around her neck. She wore a long T-shirt and panties, but still felt shy about letting Micah see her in her sleepwear. She was aware of the irony.
Micah sensed her hesitation and busied himself at the sink, turning his back to her, giving her the privacy she desired. His consideration for her feelings perplexed her. She didn’t understand why he was being so kind and generous without asking for the obvious in return.
Katja grabbed her jeans and a button-down blouse and moved quickly to the bathroom. She was eager to change and make herself presentable, surprising herself by thinking that she wanted to see Micah before he left to do whatever it was he did on Saturdays. Something drew her to him, though she couldn’t define what it was.
She felt a strange sense of relief when she found Micah had remained. He sat in his spot at the table with his laptop open, lines drawn on his forehead. He folded it shut when she approached. Whatever it was that he was looking at, he didn’t want her to see it.
Her eyes scanned the countertops looking for the promised carafe of coffee, and she squinted when she couldn’t find it. “Didn’t you mention coffee?”
Micah sprung to his feet. “This is it.” He pointed to a rectangular appliance. “It makes one cup at a time.” He showed her how to insert the individual coffee pod, placed a clean mug under the spout and pressed a button.
“That’s easy enough,” Katja said. She took a sip. “Good, too.”
“You must eat something, as well,” Micah said. He pointed to a small basket of buns on the table. “I visited the bakery this morning.”
Katja frowned. She was hungry, but didn’t feel right about all this charity. “I have a gig lined up at the Blue Note,” she said, taking the seat opposite Micah. “I can pay you something then. And I’ll keep looking for gigs. And I’ll busk.”
“Breathe, Katja,” Micah said with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We’ll work something out later.” He sipped the remains of his coffee before asking, “What do you mean when you say you’ll busk?”
Katja held back a smile. He probably thought it was related to what she’d offered to do for him the night they met. “It’s an American term; I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it. It’s when an artist stands on the street and plays for money. They leave their instrument case open, and if people like what they hear, they’ll drop money into it.”
Micah nodded. “Oh, I’ve seen those.”
Katja couldn’t tell if he approved or not. He was staring at her again. Did he not know that was considered rude? It made her uneasy, and she nibbled on her lip ring in response.
“Did that hurt?” Micah asked.
“What?”
“Piercing your lip like that. I got hit in the face with a football once and split my lip. It hurt like hell.”
Katja shrugged. “Yeah, it hurt.”
“Why’d you do it then?”
“I don’t know. My friend Henni wanted to do it, so I said I’d do it with her.” She boldly held his gaze. “Do you like it?”
“I don’t like or dislike it.”
Whatever. Katja grabbed a bun and tore a piece off with her teeth.
“So,” Micah continued, “what do musicians usually do with their Saturday mornings?”
Thankfully, Katja had plans. “I’m meeting a friend at the Blue Note. We’re going to try writing a song together. Maurice Leduc, the manager, he’s really cool. He’s letting us use the club when it’s closed to the public.”
“Who’s your friend?”
“Sebastian Weiss.”
Micah’s eyes narrowed. “A guy?”
“Yeah. So?”
Micah leaned back, and his frown grew deeper. Little red flags sprouted in Katja’s mind. Was Micah feeling possessive of her already?
“Boyfriend?”
“Seriously, Micah? If he were my boyfriend, would I be staying here with you?”
Micah shrugged. “Maybe he’s not a very good boyfriend.”
Katja shook her head. How was it their conversations always made her feel like she was under a microscope? “He’s just a friend. In fact he has a girlfriend he seems pretty devoted to.”
Micah rubbed his face like he was considering the possibility that a guy could be devoted to a
girl. Katja took an aggressive bite of her bun.
“I’ve got errands to run,” Micah stated. He washed his cup and plate and placed them on a drying rack. Katja wanted to drill him on the details of his errands in the same way he’d felt free to drill her on her activities, but she kept quiet. She was his guest, and so the onus was on her to be polite.
Katja finished up in the kitchen, cleaning her own dishes, and then tidied up the living room, returning the sofa bed into the sofa position. Micah left without saying another word to her. Had she offended him?
If anyone should be offended, it was her. Katja pushed back at the agitation growing in her gut. She brushed her teeth and ran a brush through her hair one more time, deciding to braid it at the last minute. Finally, it was time to go. She bundled up in her coat and hat, grabbed her guitar and threw herself into the cold wind toward the Blue Note Pub.
When she saw Sebastian there, set up and ready to go, she smiled. Here was someone who understood her, someone who got what she was doing and why. She would push all thoughts of Micah Sturm from her mind and concentrate on music.
Sebastian sat on his amp, guitar in hand, with a far away look on his face. He was remembering something and whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant. Deep lines marked his brow and his blue eyes looked almost black.
Maybe she shouldn’t have come? Maybe Micah was right to be concerned about her safety? What did she really know about this guy?
Sebastian spotted her, and his face brightened with a broad, goofy smile. He ran a hand through his messy hair. Along with his wrinkled T-shirt, he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.
Everything was fine. Sebastian was cool.
“Hey,” she said. She pulled off her jacket and carefully removed her hat, patting back loose strands of hair.
“Hey.” He strummed his guitar making the peacock tattoo on his arm dance. “Ready to rock?”
Katja snapped her guitar case open, then looked at him. “Oh. I don’t do rock.”
“It’s a figure of speech. Are you ready to get started?”
“Sure.” Katja pulled up a chair and settled her guitar on her lap. She ran a few scales to warm up her fingers. “I’ve only ever written on my own before,” she admitted. “I’m not sure what to do.”
“Well, do you have any new song ideas? A lyric? Just throw it out there, and we’ll see what happens.”
Katja paused. Did she have anything? “There was something I heard someone say yesterday.”
“Spit it out.”
“What drives me, drives me crazy.”
“Nice.” He plucked out a melody and sang, “What drives me, drives me crazy.”
Katja felt the bubble of inspiration stir. “I like it.”
They worked on the story about a guy so driven to get a girl, he almost loses her, and Katja wondered if it didn’t contain some of Sebastian’s own biography. She enjoyed how they went back and forth, each coming up with lyric ideas for the verses and the chorus, and inspiring each other with new melody lines.
“This is good,” Sebastian said. “Just needs a bridge. I really think we might have something here.”
Katja felt like laughing. “Me, too.”
They both looked up when they heard the door open. A familiar form entered the room and stood at the back.
“Micah?” What was he doing there?
“Is that your boyfriend?” Sebastian asked.
Katja didn’t know what he was to her. She nibbled her lip ring and shook her head. “He’s just a friend.”
Micah approached and reached out to shake Sebastian’s hand. “I’m Micah, Katja’s roommate.”
So that was his title.
“Sebastian, Katja’s songwriting partner.”
Micah didn’t smile at that, and Katja noticed how his gaze settled on Sebastian’s tattoo for a moment too long. She didn’t think he approved.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I was in the neighborhood…”
Katja found that hard to believe. “We were just finishing up.”
“Yeah, our new song is gonna rock,” Sebastian said.
“Can I hear it?” Micah asked.
Katja’s eyes widened in alarm. “No.” She didn’t want him to know she took his line. He might not like it. “It’s not ready yet.”
“She’s right, man,” Sebastian said. “It needs more work before it’s ready to showcase.” He put his gear away. “I gotta run, Katja.”
Sebastian had the keys to the club, so Katja had to leave as well. She packed up her guitar and grabbed her things.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about Micah showing up uninvited, but part of her liked that he was concerned about her. Even if he was just a friend.
They fell into a domestic routine. She slept on the sofa bed, and he in his room behind a closed door. He left for work before she woke up. At first he bought groceries, and she’d make dinner, but after a run of poorly cooked meals culminating in a recent meal of undercooked rice and burned steak, Micah suggested they reverse roles. She suggested they go back to the traditional lighter evening meal since it was pretty much impossible for her to screw up, but Micah said he grew up eating the American way, with a hot meal at the end of the day. If she would do the shopping for the meal, he’d cook it.
It was nice. And odd.
And she found she thought about Micah Sturm way more throughout her lonely days than she should. She’d convinced herself that the idea of anything developing between them was ridiculous and that any attraction she felt ran only one way. But then he’d unabashedly stare at her, tossing her theory. She knew how men looked at her when they desired her. She’d caught Micah with that same look.
But he’d kept his distance, both physically and emotionally. If that was what he wanted, Katja would comply.
Katja noticed things about Micah’s flat she hadn’t in the first couple days. Like, even though the furniture was nice and new, there wasn’t much of it. There weren’t any decorations or souvenirs. No personal photographs of family or friends. Not one picture hung on the walls.
It was like he was ready to pack and move at a moment’s notice.
The high ceilings and large windows made the space seem bigger than it was. Besides the kitchen, living room and bathroom, there was Micah’s bedroom.
And the room with a locked door.
Katja tried the knob every day simply because she was curious. What did Micah have in there? Why did he feel like he had to keep it locked?
Micah was a very private man. She didn’t dare ask him. Besides, it was none of her business.
She spent the mornings working on music and the afternoon’s trying to line up gigs. She got a few, and the one at the Blue Note was coming up next week.
Sometimes she would busk and she always tried to give her earnings to Micah. He refused to take them, so she used the money to buy groceries and put the remainder in the fruit bowl on the table for the rent. Micah frowned when he saw it, but said nothing. He never took the money, either.
Every other evening or so, Micah’s cell phone would ring, and he’d disappear into his bedroom. At first Katja thought he had a long-distance girlfriend somewhere. She imagined he wouldn’t be telling her about his female roommate sleeping on the sofa bed. The thought of another girl out there had a weird effect on Katja’s nerves. She felt strangely jealous, though she knew she had no right to be.
Then one night, she heard Micah slip and refer to the mystery caller as “Mama.” At first Katja smiled to herself. Of course, Micah Sturm was a mama’s boy. But again, she wondered if he’d told his mother about her, or if she was just another one of his secrets.
She decided she wasn’t waiting on his company again. He had a right to hole up in his room and talk on the phone, and she had the right to leave. She put on a light coat and tugged a twenty euro note out of the fruit bowl and slipped it into her pocket. It was open mic night at the Blue Note. She eyed her guitar as she headed for the door. No, tonight
she wouldn’t play. She’d just listen. And drink. Micah didn’t want alcohol in the house, which was fine, but sometimes a girl just needed a shot.
She walked briskly toward the center of Neustadt, breathing heavily through her nose. She pushed at the strong feelings of discontent that brewed in her stomach. Not only because she hadn’t made any real progress on her “career” since she started staying with Micah, but also because of Micah.
He was the complete opposite of her in every way. Where she was outgoing, he was a homebody. Where she was a creative, right-brained thinker, he was a left-brained numbers guy. Where she was poor, he was rich.
She had a naturally happy disposition, and he was undeniably melancholy.
So why was she attracted to him?
That was the truth. She liked Micah Sturm, and it irked her that he apparently had no such struggles concerning her. And if he did, he hid them well. And why would he find it necessary to bury them? Unless he felt she was beneath him. She had offered him sex for money. Probably not a characteristic he’d be looking for in a girlfriend. Her emotions were in a tight ball of hurt and frustration. Just how much rejection could a person take?
Herr Leduc welcomed her with a kiss on both cheeks. He folded his arms over his round body, his eyes landing on her empty hands. “Ma Cherie, you’re not playing for us tonight?”
Katja smiled and shrugged. “I need to give other people a turn, Herr Leduc. I’m here to listen.”
“Please, call me Maurice.”
She went inside and searched for a friendly face. She frowned when her eyes settled on Irma and Martina on the far side of the room. She hadn’t seen them since the night before they’d locked her out. Irma nudged Martina with an elbow and they snickered.
Sebastian and Yvonne were sitting at a table at the back. She moved toward them and felt immensely relieved and thankful when Sebastian smiled warmly at her. “Katja! Join us!”
She sat across from them beside a tall, skinny guy with dark, messy hair. Sebastian had introduced her to him before, but she didn’t remember his name.
Sebastian came to her rescue. Again. “Karl-Heinz, you remember Katja?”
“Sure. Hello.”
“Karl-Heinz is the drummer in our band. We’re called the Hollow Fellows.”
