by Hope Franke
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 love 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.”
Katja laughed. “Great name. I can’t wait to hear you play.”
“At small gigs like this, KH and I play as a duo. Next week our band plays at Alexandra’s. You should come.”
“I’ll try.”
To Karl-Heinz he said, “Katja and I are writing this wicked song.”
Karl-Heinz nodded. “Cool.” Yvonne rolled her eyes.
The server came to their table and Katja ordered a glass of wine, downing half of it the moment it arrived. It’d been a long time since she had a drink and she loved how it burned slightly as it went down and left a warm glow to her cheeks.
Maurice introduced the first player, a guy with a beard and a wool cap, and the room quieted. That was the nice thing about playing to other musicians. They all understood how important it was to respect the artist by listening.
He was good, and everyone cheered when he finished his two song set. The next artist went on stage. Katja finished her drink and ordered another. She felt relaxed and happy. She was in her element, in a room full of people who were like her.
She smiled at Sebastian and Karl-Heinz. Yvonne didn’t smile in return, but at least she’d stopped scowling. They were her friends.
She had friends.
She had another drink and then leaned across the table toward Sebastian. “When do you play?” She heard the slur in her voice, but it just made her giggle.
“I think we’re next.”
Sure enough, Maurice called them to the stage. Katja cheered loudly. She loved her friends!
She already knew from their songwriting session that Sebastian had a great rock voice, but it was even better in this performance. Karl-Heinz played a cool back beat to the song on a beat box. The song was new to her. It was fantastic.
Katja leaned toward Yvonne. “I’ve never heard this before. Did he write it?”
Yvonne raised an eyebrow Katja wasn’t sure why. Was she talking too loud? Yvonne nodded looking bored. She’d probably heard this song a zillion times.
When Sebastian and Karl-Heinz got off the stage, Katja threw herself at them, giving them each a big hug. “That was so great! You guys are so great!”
Sebastian laughed. “Katja! You’re a happy drunk.”
She wobbled on her feet. “I’m not drunk.”
He laughed again and helped her to her chair. “If you say so.”
She wasn’t drunk. Was she? She ran her hands through her hair and then rested her face in her palms, elbows on the table. Her face felt thick, and she was light-headed and woozy. Maybe she was drunk.
Oh, no. What would Micah think?
Who cared what Micah thought? He didn’t own her. He didn’t love her. She could get drunk if she wanted to.
“I’m going home,” she announced. She struggled into her jacket and waved goodbye, stopping at the bar to buy a bottle for the road. She wasn’t driving. It was okay.
Somehow she managed to stay on the sidewalks. Even this late at night, there were loads of people out and about. A lot of them walking with open drinks in their hands.
Hey, she was thirsty, and she had a bottle of wine in her hand. Thank God for twist caps! She opened the bottle and took a long swig. Somehow she found her way back to Micah’s flat. She was like a freaking homing pigeon! She didn’t even have to think and, voila, here she was.
She had Sebastian’s song in her head, and she sang it as she climbed the steps. The stairwell had great acoustics, and she belted it out.
Micah was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. The door to his apartment was open. He had his arms folded over his chest and a frown on his pretty face.
“What’s wrong?” Katja simpered.
“It’s late. I don’t think the neighbors appreciate being serenaded in the middle of the night.” Micah guided her inside and closed the door. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going out? I was worried.”
“Oh, you were?” Katja leaned against him heavily. She stroked his face. “I’m so sorry, I worried you. Here…” she held up her open bottle. “Have a drink.”
Micah took the bottle and set in on the table.
“Wait,” she said, reaching. “I want more.”
“I think you’ve had enough.”
Katja furrowed her brow and stuck out her bottom lip. “You’re mad, aren’t you? I’ve disappointed you.”
“I think you should go to sleep now.” Micah walked her over to the sofa bed. He opened it and helped her to lie down.
She propped herself up on an elbow. “What are we Micah? What are we?”
“We’re friends.”
She pouted. “Just friends? I like you, Micah. And I know you like me.” She patted the spot beside her. “Come. It’ll be fun.”
/> Micah hesitated, then to her absolute delight, he slid in beside her. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that she smelled mint toothpaste on his breath, saw his chest rise and fall, noticed the gold flecks around his irises. She laid a hand over his heart and felt his heartbeat speed up. He shuddered as her finger drew the shape of a crescent moon along his ribcage.
His mouth brushed against her ear, and she shivered. “I’m sorry Katja,” he whispered. “This isn’t right.”
What?
He shifted back, avoiding her eyes, and swallowed. “I have to go.”
“No, wait.” Katja felt the panic that preceded imminent rejection. “Why?”
“Because you’re drunk, and… just because.”
Micah sprung to his feet and walked toward his bedroom. Katja threw a cushion, hitting him on the back of the head. “You’re such a party pooper.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Good night, Katja.”
Katja awoke the next morning to the aroma of strong coffee. The bright light pouring in from the windows hurt her eyes, and she whipped an arm over her face to shield them.
What happened last night?
Then she remembered everything—talking loudly and loosely at the Blue Note, throwing herself at Sebastian in front of his girlfriend. She groaned. Yvonne was sure to hate her now.
Oh, no. She came on to Micah. She’d felt so pretty and captivating but now she knew she’d looked wrecked like a cheap drunk, slurring her words and stumbling over her feet. Ugh. She felt so stupid and embarrassed.
She dared to look around. The time on the clock above the stove told her that Micah had left for work long ago. She pulled herself to her feet and stumbled to the bathroom. Her stomach swirled and her head pounded.
She moaned when she saw her image in the mirror. Mascara smudged down her cheeks and around her bloodshot, hazel eyes. Her hair was a rat’s nest. She swallowed two Tylenol and took a long shower.
Once dressed, she made herself a cup of coffee. It was extra bitter and strong, but exactly what she needed to get her going.
How was she going to face Micah after her ridiculous behavior? Any chance of winning his affections and becoming more than friends was long gone now. The most she could do was make herself presentable and useful to have around.
