I still couldn’t believe I was with him. I loved him more every day, his incredible tactfulness, his tenderness. When I arrived at his parents’ house from work each evening, he was usually still on set, so I would keep Hanna company in the kitchen, over her protests. While we prepared the evening meal, we chatted. She told me that her parents had died long ago and she grew up with her sister in an orphanage. When her sister got married, Hanna moved to Germany to work as a housekeeper. She started working for the Vanderstätts when Nick was a year old and regarded them as her surrogate family. During one of our cooking sessions, Hanna disclosed that she’d never seen Nick so in love.
“Of course he’s had girlfriends, but it was never anything serious. They came and went pretty quickly. But he only has to mention your name and his eyes light up. You’re good for him, Laura.”
I was at the stove, stirring the sauce, and decided to exploit her volubility.
“Hanna, what was Nick like as a child? Did he like play-acting? Did he have a lot of friends? Was he a little rascal?”
I was interested in everything that had to do with Nick. But to my amazement Hanna shook her head thoughtfully.
“No, he was a quiet, sensitive child. When he was about ten, he was miserably unhappy and refused to go to school for a whole week because two new kids in his class—they were twins—bullied him. He completely withdrew and would hardly speak. His parents talked to his teachers, and the whole matter ended happily because the two brats and their parents moved to Berlin shortly afterward. I remember he had some sessions with the school psychologist until he felt better. Jürgen and Angela bought him a dog to cheer him up, but sad to say it was run over four years later. That upset Nick terribly, and he grieved for a long time. On the other hand, he often drove us to despair with his daredevil tricks. No tree was too high for him to climb. He once got up on the roof to learn to “fly.” He was just five. His father got up on a ladder, and it took him nearly an hour to persuade Nick to come down with him. He would perform acrobatic stunts on his skateboard that made us afraid he’d break his neck. When he was twelve, on holiday in Italy, he swam out too far. Luckily, a fishing boat dragged him out and brought him back to land. He would never have made it back by himself. And when he joined the national paratroopers, of all things, his mother and I were just about ready to beat him up so he’d be declared unfit . . . Luckily, the only crazy thing he does now is drive that car. And he shares that obsession with a lot of guys. I’m on his case about that stupid car, but I secretly think it’s all right since he gets such a kick out of it.”
She obviously didn’t know about his ongoing parachute jumps. He probably kept it from her the way he did the “ditching” of the Corvette. Hanna put down her knife—she sliced and diced carrots with amazing speed—wiped her hands on a towel, and looked at me with a smile.
“Since he’s been running regularly and discovered acting, he’s been rather balanced. His parents think the same way, though they weren’t so enthusiastic about his new job at first. He has huge talent, and it’s great fun for him to slip into different roles that challenge him, and he’s caught on with his audience. But his growing fame is something he has not quite gotten used to.”
I’d noticed exactly the same thing. Nick was not one to bask in his fans’ admiration. Giving autographs or posing for cell phone photos came with the job, and he did it to please his fans. One night before going to sleep we’d had a long talk about it. He told me that, sure, he liked to talk to his fans but hated interviews and talk shows like the plague. But every once in a while Mira would insist he talk to some journalists to promote a new film, or answer dumb questions on TV. I hadn’t met Mira yet, but Hanna rolled her eyes at the mere mention of her.
“She’s tough as nails. She’s only concerned with making money for her clients. But she does a good job, and Nick gets along with her.”
Chapter 8
When I opened my sleepy eyes on Saturday morning, rain was drumming against the windowpanes. I glanced at the alarm clock: It was just six. Quietly, so as to not wake Nick, I slipped out of bed and scurried to the balcony door to take a peek out. The sky was gray and overcast, and the wet garden sparkled. From where I was standing, I looked back at the bed where Nick slept soundly. I watched the man who’d become the most important person in my life during the last few weeks. He was on his side turned toward me, breathing peacefully and calmly. His handsome face was relaxed. He took a deep breath and rolled over onto his back. I thought he would open his eyes, but instead his eyelids twitched restlessly, and his left arm searched around on my side of the bed. He seemed to be dreaming, and I smiled, but my happiness rapidly yielded to alarm when he suddenly began to gasp, blurt out incomprehensible words, and thrash about wildly. Still asleep, his face turned into a painful grimace, and he muttered desperately:
“No, no, I can’t do it . . . leave me alone . . . I don’t want to!”
He screamed the last four words and seemed frantic. I rushed to the edge of the bed and stroked his cheek, avoiding his flailing arms so he wouldn’t hit me.
I spoke up rather softly at first, and then almost shouted: “Nick? Nick, wake up! You’re having a bad dream!”
I sighed in relief when he calmed down and opened his eyes, confused. He was staring straight ahead, looking infinitely sad. I lay down and snuggled up to him, but he didn’t take me into his arms right away as he usually did. It seemed like he was somewhere else.
I scoured his face. “Nick, darling? What was that terrifying dream? You said, ‘No, I can’t do it, leave me alone . . .’”
I tried to make a joke. “I assume it meant me. You’ve got to tell me if you feel I’m sexually harassing you. I can go back to my apartment.”
He didn’t laugh but slowly turned to look at me and gave me a desperate look. Oh, my God, did he take my stupid remark seriously? Maybe my constant presence really was too much for him, and he hadn’t said anything so as not to hurt me. All the self-doubts I thought had vanished were immediately marshaled in the room, and my heart sank to my stomach. I looked away from him and started to get up from the bed with a heavy heart. Maybe I should have just dressed and left. But then he grasped me from behind and pulled me to him. Nestled against his chest I listened to his quiet, halting words with profound relief.
“That nightmare has nothing to do with you. I’ve had it forever. Sometimes it goes away for so long that I think I’ve gotten over it. And then it plagues me again for nights at a time. I’d really hoped that it would finally disappear because of you.”
“What’s so terrible in your dream?”
His tormented mien told me it was hard for him to talk about it, and I quickly assured him he didn’t have to if he couldn’t.
He shook his head slowly. “I haven’t told a soul about it until now. Not Hanna, not my parents—although my screams woke them up in the middle of the night when I lived downstairs. They thought they were just the typical nightmares that sometimes bedevil kids. But it’s always been the same dream since my earliest childhood. I can’t move. I feel like I’m in a dark, narrow cave; my whole body is racked with unending pain, and I watch myself dying. I can only see my face, like in a mirror, and it’s twisted in agony. As the eyes in my mirror image grow dull, its hand reaches toward me and tries to pull me with him into death. I suffer mortal fear and refuse to go, and I feel so completely alone. When I wake up, I feel guilty that I’m still alive.”
I listened to his words closely. Was this dream the reason he claimed not to be afraid of death? Given his violent reaction, he actually didn’t want to die under any circumstances; he fought it with all his might. I was no psychologist and had no clue about that field, but my common sense told me there had to be something triggering this recurring dream. When I asked Nick about if there were, he shook his head.
“Believe me, sweetheart, I’ve tried to think of anything. I simply can’t come up with a single thing. Mom
and Dad and Hanna love me. My whole childhood was sheltered and happy. And don’t tell me to see a shrink. I’ve no desire to have anybody poke around in my psyche just because of a silly dream now and then.”
For the first time since he’d woken up, he smiled. “Besides, I forget quickly after I get up. I feel terrific. I’ve never felt better than right now because you’re with me. I love you.”
He kissed me, and his eyes grew dark. It didn’t take long before I was reassured that he wasn’t tired of me. With hot passion, he proved the opposite. By the time we started off to meet my sister for breakfast, the clouds had blown away and the sun was out.
Anna and her husband and a few guests were standing at the inn door when Nick elegantly drove into the parking lot. Of course everyone’s eyes were on the flashy car. I felt perverse delight and euphoria when Nick got out and walked around the car to hold the door for me. He gave me his hand as I attempted, as gracefully as possible, to get up from the low seat. I saw and heard my big sister gasp and then hesitantly walk over to the car. I took our present out of the trunk: a baby rocker with a giant teddy bear on it.
Of course, Anna wouldn’t have been Anna if she hadn’t regained her composure in a flash. “I thought my kid sister was taking me for a ride. But no, she goes one better and actually brings the star of my favorite show to my birthday party! You are most welcome, Dominick Vanderstätt!”
I should have been seized with jealousy, watching how she shamelessly beamed at him. But then she turned to her approaching husband, Lars, who held out his hand to Nick with a broad smile as if he was an old friend of the family.
Nick was completely natural in the way he treated my family, and I loved him for it. When Anna asked how I’d managed to entice “Mr. Vanderstätt” to come, he grinned and said, “Call me Nick. When I hear ‘Mr. Vanderstätt,’ I always think it means my old man. And as far as Laura’s power of persuasion goes, if I didn’t come today she threatened to drown herself in the lake.”
Then he was serious.
“No, to tell you the truth, Anna, I love Laura and I’m deliriously happy to have met her. And that’s exactly the reason I’m happy now to meet her family. Best wishes on your birthday!”
My otherwise so serene sister actually blushed when he gave her a little kiss on the cheeks, right and left. A while later, when the guests had gotten over their excitement at having a “Munich celeb” in their midst, we sat down to eat at a long table in the cozily furnished main room. Everyone was engaged in animated conversation, and Nick and I related a milder version of our meeting, which we’d agreed upon. I stuck to the version of engine trouble I’d given Hanna, and I noticed Mama, who was sitting across from me, scrutinizing me before she smiled.
She leaned over amid the babble of voices and whispered to me in impeccable High German in honor of the day: “I’m happy for you, that you’re no longer alone. Your Nick is a nice man. He’s good for you, my dear. You’ve never been so radiant.”
My beaming increased, mostly because sharp-eared Nick heard my mother despite her whisper, and laid his hand possessively on my thigh under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. His fingers wandered farther up under my summer dress, in an undisguised attempt “to be good to me” in the truest sense of the phrase. I cut him off quickly by putting my hand on his. He didn’t let on a bit, and continued to charm Mama, complimenting her by saying that her pretty daughter indeed took after her. Shortly afterward, he drew my brother-in-law, Lars, who was from Hamburg, into a discussion about his native city. Nick had shot a film there and knew the city relatively well. Lars, who was a quiet type and always somewhat withdrawn at these events despite Anna’s efforts to get him to mix, was pleased by Nick’s interest and unusually talkative.
Then Lars and Anna were forced to listen to crude teasing from Anna’s old school friend Sabine, who fretted that her own son might have more “Prussian” than Bavarian genes in him. I loathed Sabine with all my heart. I always thought she was dimwitted, and I never understood what Anna saw in her. That longtime aversion was mutual. Anna tried to end the ridiculous conversation with an energetic, “I don’t give a hoot whether he’s a Bavarian or a damn Prussian. The main thing is that the kid’s healthy.” But Sabine wasn’t done yet.
She looked Nick right in the eye, and I wanted to shove a gag in her mouth. Too late. “Nick, so what are your thoughts? Do you want to be a dad, too?”
She hadn’t really got it that we’d only known each other a couple of months, but in any case, she’d deliberately fired off this remark to embarrass me. I could have killed her. I hardly dared look at Nick, who seemed rather pensive.
Mama freed us from this sticky situation and said, to universal laughter, “Sabine, maybe he does, but if so, then certainly not with you.”
Sabine looked insulted and avoided us for the rest of the evening, which was fine by me. After coffee, the party slowly broke up.
Nick charmingly turned down my mother’s invitation to go with them to the farm. “I’d love to another time, but I’ve still got to learn my lines for next week.”
I was secretly happy, because I wanted to have Nick to myself for a bit after this heavy dose of family. On the way home, we passed the scene where we’d met. Nick stopped on the shoulder and turned off the motor. We got out and stood hand in hand, and he kissed me tenderly. Then he said quite calmly:
“Without you, I probably wouldn’t be alive. I’d had it up to here that night. I didn’t give a damn if I hit the nearest tree. Do you understand? Then your car was suddenly in my way, and I had to turn the wheel quick as a flash and hit the brakes. And I wound up in the ditch.”
At first I thought he was kidding. But then I looked him in the face and realized he meant every word of it. I caught my breath. I choked out a whisper: “Nick, why?”
He shrugged. “Everything seemed so pointless. We’d just shot a scene on a sailboat in Prien harbor, and that evening all the crew celebrated in the yacht club where alcohol flowed by the bucketful. I knew I had to drive home by myself, so I stayed dead sober that night. I had maybe one beer. Everybody around me got more and more sloshed and ditzy. It was intolerable. I just wanted to get away—out of that overheated room stinking of food and booze, away from those loud, boisterous people. Finally, I simply walked out without saying good-bye to anybody. Then I got behind the wheel, and all of a sudden I didn’t give a shit if I made it home or ended up in the next world. A sort of intoxication with speed took hold of me, and I floored it.”
He took me in his arms, rocked me gently, and whispered into my hair, “But somebody didn’t want me to be gone on that day. Laura, you saved my life. Save me again if I should get the same feeling I don’t belong in this world. Then, if we do have children, I might see them grow up.”
His words put knots in my stomach, and I pushed back hard against my rising tears. I couldn’t believe—didn’t want to believe—that he’d truly wished to kill himself that night. Nick, who was always in a good mood, whose charm put everybody under his spell. He lived life to the fullest, enjoyed his work, and had assured me time and again that he loved me. What had gotten into him to make him say such a thing all of a sudden? And I was supposed to rescue him if he had another attack like that?
I drew myself up and looked him square in the eye. “Nick, I’m scared. You can’t put the responsibility for saving your life on me. Stop thinking that, let alone saying it. It’s a sin. Other people would give anything to have only a fraction of what you possess. You’re young, healthy, successful, have no worries—why the hell would you want to, to kill yourself?”
I nearly choked on the last few words.
He seemed completely unruffled. A slightly melancholy expression shaded his eyes and he slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m aware that I lead a very privileged life and should enjoy it. And I do most of the time. But sometimes”—he hesitated, looking for the right words—“it just comes ov
er me. I can feel great minutes before, but suddenly there’s this deep black hole I’m being pulled into. Everything around me feels dismal and sad. It feels like a November day, when the low-hanging clouds are gray as lead, and you’re wrapped in such a heavy, impenetrable, billowing fog that you feel you can’t breathe anymore. Then everything looks bleak and meaningless to me. I can hardly stand the pain, and I ask myself, Why am I alive? At those moments, nothing could bring me joy, and I feel this pull. A yearning to leave all earthly things behind and go over to that other shore. I get the feeling somebody’s waiting for me there.”
He gave a crooked smile. “It sounds all screwy, I know. I haven’t told anybody about this before. I don’t want to wind up in the nuthouse. Besides, I’m hardly ever in this gloomy mood.”
I was young, head over heels in love, and like anybody in this phase of a relationship, I’d felt an occasional, sneaking fear that this wonderful state couldn’t last. But I’d always thought I would lose Nick because at some point he wouldn’t love me anymore. That Nick would commit suicide, and I’d be all alone—that thought had never occurred to me even in my worst nightmares.
I took his hands and asked him the question that was burning in my mind. “Nick, please be honest. Have you ever once felt this hopelessness since we’ve known each other? Have you wanted to leave?”
His clear and explicit answer calmed my fears. “No, sweetheart. You give my life meaning. I feel safe with you and when I’m sleeping with you. If anybody can allow me to grow old, then it’s you. And now it’s about time to get on home.”
November Sky Page 8
