by Harper Bliss
I realise it’s fairly immature for a thirty-year-old to have a teacher crush. Believe me, I’ve tried to stop it, but having to sit across from her every week doesn’t help. And, crush or not, it doesn’t inspire me to give German my best shot. It must be my rebellious streak. I’ve never been one to please.
Giselle teaches from a spacious basement studio in Prenzlauer Berg, a ten-minute walk along broad boulevards from my flat. I breathe in the autumnal Berlin air and I couldn’t be happier. I couldn’t believe my luck when my company sent me here. I’d never made it a secret that relocating to Berlin was my ultimate goal. I just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. I work for an international architecture and design firm and they could have sent me to Poland or the Middle East instead, but here I am. The only caveat was that I had to learn German. “No biggie,” I had said, full of swag and confidence, “I’ll master that in no time.”
I stroll along the Kastanienallee and consider a Friday night cocktail when my phone buzzes in my pocket to announce a text from my friend Max. He is one of those Germans who only want to speak English with foreigners. It reads, Now your weekly all-expenses-paid lusting session is over, meet me at Der Hobby in half an hour.
I’m not one to keep a crush a secret—and I’m sure Giselle was the first to know.
* * *
“I’m not kidding.” I try to convince Max with a bold stare. “We need to speak German. What if Giselle flunks me and the firm sends me back to the UK?”
“How can she flunk you when you don’t even have exams?”
“She must give them progress reports or something. This private teaching business isn’t exactly cheap.”
“Then try a little harder, darling.”
My biggest misconception about Germans when I first arrived was that they would all speak with a gayish lispy accent. Max is one of the biggest poofs in Berlin and his English pronunciation is better than mine.
“Anyway, let’s move on to more important subjects. Berghain tonight?” He bites his lip in anticipation of his monthly night of complete hedonistic escapism. I’ve only accompanied him once and it took me three months to recover. Berghain is such an assault on the senses. Of course, Max calls it a thrilling feast.
I grimace and scrunch my mouth into an indecisive pout. “I’m not sure I’m up for it tonight.”
“Come on. Andreas is bringing Ellen and we both know she has the hots for you.”
Ellen is a nice girl, a typical Berlin hipster wearing polkadot dresses under heavy leather jackets, with black-dyed bangs and huge brown eyes. I do find her attractive and even kissed her once, but truth be told, the second I closed my eyes all I saw was Giselle’s face scolding me. You can kiss them but you can’t speak German with them? It kind of put a damper on things. So much so, that I haven’t popped my Berlin cherry yet.
“This teacher infatuation is getting out of hand. Give Ellen a chance.”
Max has always championed Ellen as a prospective love interest for me. Judging from his rave reviews she’s the second coming to lesbians around the world, but I can’t help but wonder why she’s single then. And going for me.
“You’re right, Schatzie.” Giselle would be so proud of me for utilising her language to address Max, instead of the endless affected ‘darlings’ we shower each other with in casual conversation. “I’ll keep an open mind tonight, but don’t you get her hopes up.”
“As if.” Max smirks and checks his watch. “One more drink followed by a disco nap. Let’s meet at midnight. The queue should still be doable then and it gives us plenty of time to get into the groove.”
* * *
I check myself in the mirror. I have a bit of a dark circle situation going on underneath my eyes and my eyelids sag slightly. If someone is drunk enough to want me tonight, they’ll have to take me flaws and all. I remember Ellen and decide it’s in the bag already, anyway. An unexpected shudder of anticipation creeps up my spine. It really has been a long time.
I head out wearing just a white tank top underneath my leather jacket—a big thing in Berlin—despite the early autumn chill. Golden-brown leaves tumble to the ground around me and I feel that surge of contentment rushing through me again. This is my city now and, if circumstances allow, I’m never leaving. I haven’t been to many places in my life, but something tells me that, now that I live in Berlin, I don’t have to anymore. There’s always this buzz of possibility in the air. This electric enthusiasm infecting people and spurring them on to have one more drink and one more dance. Raves are not just for the young in this town and tonight we’ll show them how it’s done.
I recognise Max’ green hoodie sticking out from under his jacket as I approach the tram stop. He’ll take them both off the minute he walks inside the club, ready to show off his five-days-a-week-in-the-gym body. I spot Andreas’ peroxide mane of hair and then, there she is, Ellen Kauer, my sort of date for the night.
“Guten Abend,” I try and they look at me as if I’m speaking Chinese. So much for cultural integration.
“Hey, Ada.” Ellen throws her arms around me and I must admit it feels pretty good. “Long time, no see,” she whispers in my ear, her breath warming my skin.
Maybe we should skip the whole going out charade and head back to my place. It would make my liver happy, for starters, and I could spend my Saturday as a human being instead of a red-eyed zombie. I need some alcohol for this to work though and for whatever else Berghain has to offer. And I didn’t move to Berlin to go home early on Friday evenings.
The tram arrives and we hop on. Max is a hyped-up bundle of excitement. It could be the promise of all his favourite things—boys, booze and blow jobs—crammed together in one club or he could already be on something.
“How are your German classes going?” Ellen asks and I wish she hadn’t.
Her question transports me right back to the unrequited lust balling up inside of me every Friday afternoon, as if I’m some half-grown teenager who can’t deal with her hormones yet. Maybe it’s more than lust, I ponder. I spend more time with Giselle every week than I do with most of my friends. We sit across from each other, our hands almost touching and our breath audible.
“Wunderbar,” I say and fix my eyes and attention on Ellen. She’ll have to deliver tonight. I need some sort of release and she looks more than willing.
“What’s the name of your teacher again?” I do wish she’d stop going on about that.
“Giselle Cromm,” I say and the mention of her name, the ease with which it rolls from my lips, as if I’m meant to say it for the rest of my life, ignites the fire in my belly again. Ellen could well just have ruined her chances.
“A lanky, bohemian blonde, right?”
“Yes.” My heart thuds violently. With icy blue eyes, I want to add, and three freckles on the side of her nose.
“I believe I may have met her a few weeks ago at a freelance teachers’ conference.”
Of course, Ellen is a teacher as well, which, I’m beginning to think, might be the only reason I kissed her that time.
“Really?” Regardless of the fact that I don’t want to have this conversation with Ellen, I am extremely intrigued.
“A group of us hit some bars afterwards and I remember she quite fancied herself some shots of tequila.” Ellen smiles broadly at the memory.
I don’t know whether to like her less or more now that she’s divulged this bit of information. She had drinks with Giselle. It does make her more attractive-by-proxy. It also stirs an irrational bout of jealousy inside of me.
“She’s a party girl, that one,” Ellen continues and I’m confused.
Giselle has always struck me as anything but a raging night owl searching for cheap thrills after dark. She always seems so proper with her black-rimmed glasses and her endless array of purple-tinted scarves, so mature and above us mere mortal drunkards.
“Wouldn’t be surprised to see her at Berghain tonight,” Ellen concludes.
My pulse starts racing. I need to take
a few sharp breaths to steady my heartbeat. Max winks at me and I don’t know where to look. What I do know is I’ll be roaming the club halls until I find her.
* * *
Queuing only takes half an hour—half an hour of anxiously keeping my eyes peeled for Giselle, who may not even show up. We walk into the grand concrete entrance hall and I’m floored again by its enormity. The ceilings are high and the lighting is red and dim. You’d expect people to be snobbish and aloof here, but they’re not. They’re just here to have a wild time.
We leave our coats in the cloak room and head for the Panorama Bar. It’s not that busy yet, but Ellen already squeezes her body against my back when I order drinks. She obviously has a very physical plan of attack tonight.
“I’m so in the mood,” Andreas says and drags his fingers through his unnaturally blond hair. He’s wearing a tight red t-shirt saying ‘Yours or mine?’ He takes long drags from his bottle of beer until it’s empty, plops it on the bar with a loud bang, and immediately orders another.
“Fuck pacing,” Max agrees and drains his bottle too.
“Might as well.” I peer into Ellen’s eyes while I slurp greedily from the beer. I have no idea what to do with myself and drinking appears to be the easiest solution. Soon we’ve bought a round each and have over a litre of beer swirling inside our stomachs.
“Let’s dance,” Ellen, visibly tipsy, squeaks. She staggers when we descend the stairs and I grab her arm in support. Her fingers instantly search for mine and we walk down hand in hand.
We reach the main dance floor, which is comfortably half-full. Around me naked torsos twirl and sweat, interspersed with a diverse blend of female bodies. Some wear high heels and dainty dresses, some tank tops like me, others hot pants and mini skirts. Most of them are probably straight but this is Berghain and anything can happen. That’s why it’s so popular. There’s a danger to the atmosphere, an unknown element injecting the air with unpredictable possibilities. I’ve never been to a club where something so intangible is the main attraction.
Andreas arrives with more beers and Ellen devours hers. If she continues at this pace she’ll be snoring beside me instead of showering me in my first night of Berlin passion. She has a funny way of dancing where she always bops just under the beat, as if she’s perfectly capable of moving to it but has no interest in complying like that. I curl my fingers around hers and push forward until we sway to the music together, pelvis to pelvis. A pleasant beer buzz muddles my brain and I’m about to lean in for the first kiss when I see her.
Giselle stands with her back against the wall, one heel lifted and pressing into the concrete. Her fingers are curved around a bottle of beer. She brings it to her mouth in quick intervals. She’s dressed in jeans and boots and one of her hippie scarves and she takes my breath away. I’m so tipsy I get emotional just by looking at her.
“Seen a ghost?” Ellen asks, a big smile plastered across her face. Doubt stiffens my limbs. I stand there for a second, torn between self-preservation and total foolishness. It’s not a choice really because in my head I’m already there.
“I’ll get us some more beers.”
I duck out from under Ellen’s embrace and head to the bar for a clearer view of Giselle. An oversized boat-neck top hangs on her frail frame as she looks out over the masses. My whole body throbs and I need to shake my head to snap out of it. My brain is too frazzled to come up with a plan of action so I just stand there a little while longer, gaping at my teacher and trying to catch my breath. I’d sacrifice a pinkie for a glimpse of her blue eyes, I think, just as she turns her head and finds me in the crowd. A slow smile sneaks around her lips and she acknowledges my presence with a tiny nod of the head. Then we lose eye-contact as she’s joined by three women carrying more bottles and my chances—if ever I had any—feel blown.
“Need a hand?” Max materialises in front of me, his naked chest covered in sweat.
“I saw Giselle,” I stammer. “Sorry for the wait.” I direct my attention to the bar staff and place our order, ignoring Max’ excited yelps.
“Ooh,” he goes. “Where is this goddess who’s made a puritan out of you?”
“Maybe I’ve always been one.”
He narrows his eyes to slits. “Remember York, darling? There wasn’t a woman in town you didn’t put the moves on.”
I met Max when he attended York University through a student exchange programme.
“That was ten years ago. I’d just come out and felt I needed to make the most of things.” I point my chin in the direction of the wall against which Giselle is huddled with her friends.
“Blue eyes, blond hair,” Max murmurs as he scans the room. “Okay, I get it. She’s smoking hot. But—”
I know what he’s going to say and I don’t want to hear it. I pay for the beers and shove two bottles in his hand and, before he has a chance to continue, silence him with a well-practiced menacing eye-roll. When we get back to the dance floor I try to avoid Ellen but it’s too late now. Her hands are all over me and she seems to have lost all sense of decorum.
“Would you mind taking me to the lounge?”
Her eyes are glazed over and her mouth droops down. I want to stay in the dance hall and try to catch glimpses of Giselle. I need to know how she dances, how her limbs respond to beats like this, but I have to go with Ellen. It’s only common decency.
While we make our way out I search the room frantically for another sign of Giselle, but she seems to have moved on. I coax Ellen towards the lounge area and find her a space on one of the sofas.
“Don’t move.” I’m slightly annoyed by the situation, but I do realise that if I hadn’t seen Giselle I’d probably be amused by Ellen’s goofy drunkenness. “I’ll get you some water.”
Ellen grabs my hand and mouths ‘thank you’ and it makes me feel like a jerk. When I return with two bottles of water my heart stops. I only see their backs but I’d recognise that ash blond head of hair anywhere. It’s wild and unruly and probably dyed and it makes my heart thump in my throat. I approach and hear them talk in quick German with lots of giggles in between.
“Here’s your water,” I say casually and then mentally kick myself for saying it in English.
“I thought that was you, Ada,” Giselle says, her eyes shining brightly in the dimly lit lounge. Her body is slanted back on the sofa and one of her long legs is crossed over the other. This picture could be perfect, if only Ellen didn’t have a starring role in it.
“You can speak German if you like.” I try to look cool while sipping from my water bottle. They both glance up at me, their faces drawn into an amused expression. Giselle sports a lopsided grin edging between mockery and, I swear, flirting. Or maybe I’m just reading it wrong, even though wishful thinking is not one of my hobbies. I’m more of a doom and gloom kind of person. “I’m sure I’ll understand.”
“Don’t be silly.” Ellen shoots me a confused look and I wonder when the penny will drop. Or perhaps I’m the only one feeling the tension rise on our little corner island in the lounge.
“Do you come here often?” I ask Giselle, searching for the blue of her eyes and then steadying myself against the arm rest of the sofa to stop from metaphorically drowning in them.
“Maybe once a month. More often would take away from the magic.”
It’s the first time I hear a hint of an accent when she speaks and it sets my skin on fire.
“I’d better get back to my friends before I lose them. You know what this place is like.” Giselle pushes herself up and stands mere inches away from me. Because she’s wearing heels she towers over me a bit, sort of looking down on me, but her grin is anything but disdainful. “Hope to see you around,” she says and brushes past me.
I follow her with my eyes as she struts away, her long lilac scarf curling behind her. I crash down next to Ellen and sigh audibly before I have a chance to consider her feelings.
“Do you like her?” she asks and my cheeks flush instantly. “There was this v
ibe between you.”
I can’t look at her so stare straight ahead, to the spot where Giselle stood a minute ago. “She’s my teacher. You know how it is.”
“My students don’t tend to lose their nerve when I bump into them in a club.”
“You Germans are such cool cucumbers.”
Ellen bumps her elbow into my bicep. “And you Brits are the most passionate people on the planet.” She pats me on the knee. “At least now I know why I wasn’t getting anywhere with you.”
“What? No, no,” I start. “That’s not—”
“There’s no need to insult my intelligence as well.” She hoists herself out of the couch then shoots me a smirk. “Come on, we didn’t come here for a heart to heart. Let’s hit the dark room.”
It’s not a dark room as such, more like a maze with discreetly lit corners where heavy petting can easily morph into foreplay and more. Ellen doesn’t appear fazed at all by my reluctant confession, if anything she seems to possess a new energy now we’re approaching the naughty well of darkness. I shuffle behind her in silence and my eyes are drawn to the couples scattered along the grey walls. A heat starts tingling in my body and I wish I was cruising the maze with Giselle instead of Ellen.
“Check them out,” Ellen whispers and fixes her gaze on the next corner where a guy is going down on another guy. The deeper we go, the more daring the people become. The moans are louder and the atmosphere more intense.
“Lesbians at two o’clock,” Ellen says and I can’t stop watching them.
The only thing I see are tongues slipping in and out of mouths and hands roaming across breasts. It awakes something inside of me, something untouched for months. How easy would it be to grab Ellen’s hand and push her against the wall? Too easy, I conclude, and not right. Also, no matter how iconic, I don’t want my first time in Berlin to take place in the dark room in Berghain. I’m not the most romantic of souls, but I do have certain standards. I let the sensual vibe wash over me, until it all becomes a bit too melancholic—and something between my legs is pulsing for attention.
