November Sky

by Marleen Reichenberg

  I feigned regret, but her absence came at an opportune time. If I knew Chris, she would have spent all day Friday and possibly the entire weekend bombarding me with questions and phone calls until I told her everything about my time with Nick, down to each minuscule detail.

  Chris loudly wished us a safe trip, adding softly so only I could hear, “So long, Princess No-Name.” Furtively, I raised my middle finger.

  Noting my unladylike gesture, she stepped back with a laugh, waved, and covered her ears as the car surged forward, pushing me back in my seat. Despite my opinion about his speed on the night I’d first met him, Nick’s driving was breathtaking in the truest sense of the word. A line from the American writer Martha Grimes occurred to me: “A man at the wheel of his car is like a peacock holding the wheeling fan of its plumage in his hands.”

  As he deftly handled swift lane changes in busy traffic, he managed to chat as easily as if we were sitting on the subway. Again, I did most of the talking after he’d spurred me on with his clever questions about my training and my work with Chris. But I firmly intended to find out something about him this afternoon.

  Each time we stopped at a red light as we drove through the city, I had the uncomfortable feeling that everybody was staring at us. It seemed that his flashy car caused excitement even in mundane Munich. Presumably, people wondered what on earth I was doing in the passenger seat. I relaxed a little when the Inner City was behind us, but when we hit the autobahn I stared at the speedometer needle like a hypnotized bunny with terrified eyes. It climbed to dizzying heights. I had no interest in being in a crash and ending up with the car on its roof again. You shouldn’t tempt fate twice.

  I thrust myself up in my seat and shook my head. “Hey, we were talking about a trip, not a kamikaze mission. I’m only twenty-six, haven’t made a will yet, and would dearly love to see my thirtieth birthday. Now I know that the car takes off like a rocket. Besides, you’re not only endangering us but the others on the road. Can we go a bit slower?”

  I could see that he was really concentrating, and as his face grew dark for a second, I wondered if I’d annoyed him. I wanted to bite my tongue off. Why had I acted like a sour old schoolmarm? No wonder he was mad. But I must have been mistaken, because he apologized at once.

  “Sorry, you’re right. We’ll turn off up ahead and go cross-country. And I promise that you’ll be able to enjoy the view of the mountains in total relaxation.”

  With that, he took his foot off the gas pedal, and we crept along at a snail’s pace once we got onto the rural road. The corner of Nick’s mouth twitched as he asked if that speed was acceptable. As I was about to offer that he might well give it a little more gas so we wouldn’t come to a complete stop, we were passed by a honking, beige Mercedes driven by an elderly man, who shook his head to indicate we were crazy. We looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  From that moment on, I enjoyed the unplanned trip with him to the fullest. We drove straight to the Schliersee, idyllically situated between Lake Tegernsee and the Inn River valley, and through the village by the same name on the east bank of the lake. Nick gave me a vivid account of Georg “Girgl” Jennerwein, a poacher buried in the cemetery there who was sort of a Bavarian Robin Hood because he rebelled against state authorities and died under mysterious circumstances from a bullet wound at twenty-nine.

  “He was as old as I am now,” Nick said, ending the story.

  “How come you know the story so well?” I asked.

  “Because about five years ago they made a film that a coll—er—a buddy of mine was in.”

  I winced. Some of his friends were film actors. Once again I was painfully reminded that Nick’s world wasn’t mine. I really had no business being there beside him, and my euphoria over this beautiful day, the wonderful landscape, and the lake glittering in the sun was tainted by a faint sadness. I still had no idea why he’d come to see me, so I simply asked him why. He’d parked the car on the edge of a lush, green, flower-bedecked meadow outside the village and looked at me searchingly.

  “Can’t you figure it out? Why does a man want to spend time with a woman?”

  My meager experience made me assume a man’s intentions were to fawn all over the woman, physically satisfy himself with her, and then, cold as ice, drop her afterward. But I couldn’t give him that answer.

  Apart from my own hang-ups, I actually didn’t have the feeling that he was looking for a one-night-stand. I felt amazingly comfortable in his presence, his reckless driving notwithstanding. No, comfortable wasn’t the right word. I liked Nick—much too much. Secretly, I admitted that I enjoyed his company and felt a tiny ray of hope. At the same time, I was terribly afraid of a new disappointment and tortured myself with doubt about his intentions. I decided to be as honest as I could.

  “What does a man like you want from an average woman like me? With your looks, this car, and the charm you shower about, you can have almost anybody you want—certainly much more beautiful and interesting women than me. You really don’t have to apologize for the way you acted after the accident. I realize you were angry and agitated at first. And I didn’t behave so politely, either.”

  He shook his head. “You really think I’m spending the afternoon with you because of a bad conscience? You didn’t exactly give the impression you were interested in seeing me again. I wanted to see you again, by all means, but didn’t dare ask for your phone number. Mainly because I’d just been rather insolent and was afraid you’d give me the brush-off. Laura, I memorized your license plate and wanted to manufacture a lie for the vehicle registration center to call them up and get your full name and address. But fortunately, your classmate was generous with his information when I told him about our ‘accidental’ meeting and that you’d steered me to his shop.”

  He grinned and then did a perfect imitation of Moritz, even replicating his mischievous facial expression. “Oh, yeah, little Laura Lassberg. Damn near married me. Got a job in Minga now, still lives alone.”

  He continued in a normal tone of voice. “I’m really happy that you live by yourself and didn’t marry him. He’s a nice guy but wouldn’t have been right for you. I was duplicitous in asking him for your business address, saying I wanted to send you flowers. He immediately shoved your business card in my hand and asked me to give you his best.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or annoyed at Moritz for his interference. Yet to be completely honest, gratitude prevailed. But I still didn’t understand why Nick was interested in me. He read my face and laughed at my slow-wittedness. Then he suggested a short hike to a waterfall in the vicinity, where he promised to explain everything in detail and tell me all about himself. The day really was gorgeous, and because I very much like walking in nature, I agreed. But just then my stomach growled audibly, and I realized I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. My face burned with embarrassment. Great! Now my image as scaredy-cat, killjoy, and glutton was signed, sealed, and delivered. But Nick surprised me once again. Without comment, he got out of the car and retrieved a large picnic cooler and a blanket from the trunk. I couldn’t believe it as I watched him spread the blanket on the meadow.

  “I’d almost forgotten our picnic. I thought it would be a lot of fun to eat out in nature instead of a beer garden—they’ll all be full in this weather anyway.” He pointed to the cooler. “See if there’s anything that appeals to your taste buds.”

  Minutes later I was sitting beside him on the blanket, enjoying the sweet scent of meadow flowers and biting into a delicious smoked-salmon baguette with honey mustard and sliced pickles. I wondered for the nth time if Nick and this wonderful afternoon were for real or just a dream. The cooler was brimming with beautifully prepared open-faced sandwiches, crudités, diced cheeses, and a Tupperware container of sliced melon. We enjoyed the meal heartily. Although it was still spring, the sun was so warm that it felt like summer. Apart from our conversation there was silence al
l around us, occasionally broken by the chugging of a tractor or the gentle mooing of the cows in the meadow behind us. I watched the delicate cirrostratus clouds moving over the blue sky and ate with relish the last morsel and swallowed it down. I asked Nick why he was so darn sure I’d actually go on a picnic with him.

  “It was just a hope. If need be, I’d have eaten it by myself so as not to antagonize Hanna. She’s the sweet soul of our household. Her biggest fear is that I might starve.”

  I’d finally discovered a little more about him. He lived with his parents in a house in Grünwald. (He really said “house,” not “apartment,” and my inner eye envisioned one of the villas that sat in park-like settings behind wrought-iron fences. I’d admired such homes on my occasional strolls through that elegant part of the city.)

  “Since getting out of school, I’ve lived upstairs. Mom and Pop use the rooms on the ground floor. Hanna lives in the granny house and takes care of the everyday stuff. She’s been with us for a long time. My parents have to travel a lot professionally. They spend most of the year in Marbella. My progenitors and Hanna more or less combined forces to raise me. Hanna’s from Vienna, strict on the outside but soft as butter in the sun. But she did drill manners into me.” He laughed. “If she ever found out how I behaved toward you after the accident, she’d knock my block off. I didn’t tell her about the mishap, of course. I defused the story of how we met by simply making up something about a breakdown. She hates the Corvette, anyway, and lives in constant fear that one day I’ll ‘run myself over’ with it—her words.”

  I instantly liked the woman. She hadn’t plucked her worries out of thin air, by any means. Mishap was a good euphemism for the fact that a whole host of guardian angels must have intervened so Nick would escape from the accident without a scratch—and I told him so. He shrugged, staring at the sparkling surface of the water, and what he said next shocked me.

  “Laura, I’m not afraid of death. Every one of us must die. Some sooner, some later, depending on when our time is up. It can happen anytime. But until then, I want to live an intense life on the edge, to feel with every cell in my body that I exist. I love thrills and hate monotony. I volunteered for the paratroops in the military. I’ve got my parachuting license and I’m still in a club.”

  He turned to me, enthusiasm glistening in his eyes.

  “Parachuting is an insane experience every time. The thrill when you jump out of a plane and go into free fall, and then this incomparable feeling of hovering above the earth when the chute opens—it’s indescribably beautiful. That’s pure freedom and adventure.”

  He took a long drink from his water bottle and looked at me eagerly.

  “If you want, I’ll take you along to our next jump. Anyone can make a tandem jump with an experienced teacher. Everybody who’s taken the plunge so far has loved it.”

  I pretended to be interested, but deep down I was terrified. I would never get into a plane, let alone drift in the air of my own free will . . . I had acrophobia. It took a lot of self-negotiating just to walk near a balcony railing. He’d really found the perfect match in me! How does it go? Opposites attract? My need for security, uniformity, and the most manageable life possible, without any surprises, versus Nick’s insouciance, spontaneity, and risk-taking—I couldn’t imagine we’d ever be able to reconcile all that, even as mere acquaintances. And nothing else was possible anyway. I felt I had to let him know this here and now.

  I wiped my hands on a paper napkin and jumped up as Nick eyed me with surprise.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to develop our chance acquaintance any further. We’re too different. It’s better if we just pack up and you take me home.”

  I averted my eyes and started clearing the containers and plates scattered over the blanket. Nick jumped up lithely and took my arm.

  “Hey, did I say something wrong? Why do you want to go home right away? We did want to go for a walk. Come on, it’s ten minutes away from Josefsthal by car, and there’s an idyllic hiking trail with sensational waterfalls. Besides, there’s a lot you don’t know about me yet.”

  He threw his hands into the air and then put his hand over his heart with a beseeching look. “Laura, don’t leave me now. You’re breaking my heart!”

  I had to laugh. I just couldn’t figure him out. Nick appeared to be the typical lady-killer, drove a showy car and raced around irresponsibly, and yet he didn’t in any way seem to be a superficial, unscrupulous sort of womanizer. He had style and a sense of humor, and he’d invested a pile of time and energy in seeing me again and presenting me with a few unforgettable hours. And strangely enough, he still wasn’t tired of my company. I cleared my throat. In my heart, I knew I did not want to go home at all.

  “All right, then, we can drive over to those waterfalls. But I want to find out who you are at last, and what else you do besides drive a Corvette and jump out of airplanes.”

  Half an hour later I had the picture but still felt completely confused. I also felt incredibly stupid for not recognizing him. But how could I? Early-evening TV series were not my thing, and I’d never seen the films he was in. I rarely went to the movies and watched TV even less. I preferred the cinema in my brain that came from reading. Nick confessed that his full name was Dominick Vanderstätt. For the past two years he’d been a star in a very successful TV series with the promising title, (Not) A Nerd to Love. He’d also had numerous film roles, although he’d never seen the inside of a theater school in his whole life.

  “I took economics at university. My parents own a film production company and I was to join it after graduation. But one of the directors they worked with convinced me to take some screen tests. They were looking for a lead actor in a new series and wanted a face that wasn’t ‘used up.’ It sounded exciting to play a character other than myself. I just gave it a shot, and bang! got the part. Since then I’ve been playing this uncommunicative, up-tight computer freak, whose boss is in love with him. She gets him to talk, buys him new clothes, and sends him off to the barber. But the whole thing bites her in the ass when suddenly every woman has the hots for the guy. We’ve just finished the second season. The ending’s still open.”

  I vaguely recalled a photograph of the character “Herbert the Nerd,” which I’d seen in a newspaper I thumbed through at the hairdresser’s. The left-wing young man with the fuzzy beard, the dreadful haircut, and the helpless look behind giant dark-framed glasses bore no resemblance at all to the Nick walking beside me. Apart from his talent, he must have a top-notch makeup artist. Now I understood the weird incident with the traffic lady: He’d given her his autograph. And Chris, my faithless, sneaky friend, must have instantly known when she saw him that her man-shy colleague had somehow expedited a film star into the ditch. Stupid cow that I was, I thought she’d almost had a heart attack only because of his good looks. Just wait. I’d give her an earful.

  We were walking slowly uphill alongside a brook, with small and large waterfalls splashing everywhere. I couldn’t have dreamed up a more romantic setting.

  Nick confessed why he’d concealed his identity for so long. “I found it downright refreshing to meet an attractive female who didn’t freeze up or giggle in embarrassment, want my autograph, or hit on me without any inhibition. My very first thought, after I got up out of the ditch in a rage and saw you standing on the shoulder in your chic dress, was this: Oh, God, a woman! She’ll either start bawling immediately because of the accident, or, if she recognizes me, she’ll fawn over me and text her friends. But I quickly realized that you didn’t have a clue who I was and were definitely not the type to burst into tears. Instead, you were as pissed off as I was and gave me a proper dressing down. I couldn’t stay angry. You looked ridiculously cute in spite of your fury. Of course, the pièce de résistance was your profound knowledge of car makes.”

  He gave me an almost embarrassed look. “I couldn’t get you out of my head, and I could ha
ve kissed that mechanic in the shop when he gave me your address and said you were single. And then today, when your reaction was fairly cool and you didn’t come rushing outside right away, I really appreciated having to make an effort with a woman. But I was afraid you’d refuse to come with me.”

  He stopped and held out his hand. The path had grown steep and was cluttered with roots and stones. My medium-height summer shoes were not particularly right for this walk. “Hold on tight so you don’t slip!”

  When the path leveled off again, we were still hand in hand, and I found the feeling immensely beautiful—his big right hand fit quite naturally with my left one. At the same time, my inner warning light was flashing red. This man was about to break my heart, if not so brutally and intentionally as Tim did. My appearance on Saturday night was definitely at its best coming from the wedding, but I couldn’t imagine he’d still find me cute in more intimate moments. And given his job and what he’d just told me, I could only assume there were many female partners available to him, all of whom were probably flawless.

  I certainly wasn’t one of those long-legged gazelles I’d always secretly admired: the tall, willowy, elegant, confidently stylish women, who I imagined wore dainty lace underwear beneath their designer rags, and who knew exactly their effect on men and had no problem undressing in front of them.

  I didn’t want to impress any men. That’s not to say I didn’t pay attention to my outward appearance. I had a job where I had to present myself as convincing, competent, and likable, so I used makeup, went to the hairdresser and aesthetician, and wore fashionable clothes that hid my problem areas. By necessity, I’d learned to be an expert and knew all the pertinent tips from the fashion magazines. But I didn’t consider myself a woman who turned a man’s head. I’ve never managed to accept my naked body and haven’t gone to a public swimming pool since that disastrous trip to Croatia. I wanted to spare people the awful sight of my butt and thighs. When swimming in the summer, I usually went alone on my bicycle to one of the isolated lakes in the area, where there’d be no danger of anyone seeing me in my bathing suit. I only took sunbaths in the seclusion of my balcony. Tim had done a great job on me. But how could I convince Nick that we had no future together without telling him about that horrible experience? His voice snapped me out of my brooding self-torture.