Greta Again! (15 page)

            Fortunately, just then a waiter with a full tray of Champagne cocktails came by. Greta took a glass and wanted actually just to sip a little. Sigi and Tony were already busy with other guests, and Greta was standing alone for a moment.

            Hmm, the cocktail is really delicious.

            Before she was aware of it, the glass was empty. She scanned the room for some delicious replacements and didn’t have to search far. Soon a second and shortly thereafter a third Champagne cocktail were down the hatch.

            “Oops, there really isn’t that much in a glass!? Already empty again. Sooo good . . .! Where can I eat something here?    

            She oriented herself towards the buffet and lost her balance in her high heels on the slippery marble floor for a moment, but caught herself, without anyone noticing. Or so she thought.

            They could really put something on the floor here so that it’s not so slippery, hee-hee. Or someone could fall here.

            At the buffet there were wonderful delicacies to be had. Greta was completely delighted with the many little h’ors d’oeuvres.

            But where was Mike?

            She looked around but couldn’t find him. The tipsy feeling, which now really made her head feel dizzy, and her hunger brought her attention back to the buffet. She began to load up a plate. First, just a few little morsels, but the longer she stood at the buffet, the more she piled on. A mountain of food towered atop the plate and Greta couldn’t even tell any more what she had heaped together.

            While she loaded up her plate, she was overcome with an enormous hunger and still in the buffet line she began to eat – with her fingers. Pretty much out of it, she wasn’t aware that she was now really being noticed. In the first place, her dress – not only the “generous” open back, but also the colors, stood out. The rest of the group was in understated dark colors. Then there was her overly full plate. Greta swayed a little in her heels. Completely absorbed by the delicious food, she now stood alone in the middle of the room. Oh, a drink would now be just right, she thought, as a waiter with a full tray went by. Now she had both hands full: in one, her drink, in the other, her plate. She headed for one of the bar tables, but unfortunately almost all of them were already taken.

            So stupid, where can I now put all this down and eat?

            Her glance fell on the window-sill. It was narrow and actually much too low, but it would work. Greta drank the fourth cocktail and put down the glass. Then she started in on the plate. Her fingers were already very sticky.

            “Oh, good idea. This house is really packed. May I join you here?”

            It was Mick Hucknall. Oh, dear! Greta thought.

            “My pleasure.  Please feel free,” she said with her mouth half-f.

            Oh, boy, what do I say now? Nothing.

            She stuffed her mouth so full and so quickly that it was impossible to produce any kind of understandable sentence. With full cheeks, she gave Mick Hucknall a tortured smile.

            “Hm, you truly have something of the ugly duckling. In any case you seem to be a great partner in crime. You managed a pretty good metamorphosis – compared to what I saw this afternoon. A butterfly sparkling in between all these dark creatures.”

            Greta was completely clueless -- what was he saying about a duck and a criminal, dark creatures, and butterflies?

            Oh, God, if only I hadn’t had so much champagne! My English is usually pretty good.

            Again, a tortured smile and more food stuffed into her mouth.

            “There’s no use in denying one thing – you’re hungry as a wolf!”

            Ah, Greta understood that. “Hmmm” was all that she could reply, smiling a little stupidly and nodding.

            Oh, man, Greta! You’re standing here with a world-famous star and are not in a position to form even one sensible sentence. How can you allow yourself to do that!

            Mick Hucknall wished her Bon Appetit and pointed in the direction of the microphone. He had to prepare for his appearance, apparently. It would start pretty soon. Greta tried to call out something like “Good Luck!” as he walked away. It would have been better had she let it be. Her full mouth and the hamster-cheeks were unable to hold the food any longer. As soon as she opened her mouth even a quarter of an inch, already chewed pieces of food dribbled and crumbled out. Really unappetizing! Greta left the half-f plate standing on the windowsill and headed back to the buffet to get a napkin. She could get rid of the food that way. Hardly had she emptied the contents of her mouth into the napkin, when the obvious question arose:

            What to do with the napkin?

            She couldn’t just simply leave it somewhere. So she held the napkin with the remains of her meal in her hand like a clutch. Mick Hucknall was getting ready for his performance and the guests began to gather in front of the improvised stage. Oh, that’s good, Greta thought. Then I can make the napkin disappear without being noticed.

            Where was Mike? Not until now did it occur to Greta that she hadn’t seen him in quite a while. But first she had to get rid of the dumb napkin. There has to be a trashcan somewhere, right?

            Okay, then I’ll go into the kitchen!

            On her way she ran right into Sigi’s arms.

            “Beautiful Greta. You’re going to miss Mick’s performance! You have to come with us.”

            He hooked his arm through hers, while she continued to hold the napkin, and took her along to the stage. The guests saw Sigi approaching and automatically made space for him to pass, and they ended up far in front at the edge of the stage.

            Damn it, where do I put the napkin?

            Greta tried hiding her “clutch” inconspicuously in the back of her dress.

            God beware that something falls out and people see it!

            She stood ramrod straight next to Sigi, who now nodded to Mick and with a smile and a gesture announced the performance. Mick Hucknall saw Greta next to Sigi and smiled at her. Mick’s mime was unmistakable: “Full?!” he seemed to be asking. Greta nodded and smiled a little painfully.

            The concert began – and was splendid. The music was exactly Greta’s thing and she couldn’t help but move to the music. Holding Back the Years, Money’s Too Tight to Mention, Fairground, Home and many other hits followed. The entire living room was jumping and everyone was in high spirits. Greta still held her “clutch-napkin” in her hand. Now, when everyone was focused on the stage, was actually a good moment to disappear momentarily. Nobody would stop her. Except maybe Mike.

            Where was he exactly?

            Greta headed for the kitchen. Here the midnight buffet was avidly being prepared – again incredible creations. This time, however, Greta had a lump in her throat. She couldn’t have eaten a thing. After she had disposed of the napkin in the trash and murmured an encouraging “Mmmm” to the cooks, she made her way to the restroom. The one on the ground floor was occupied. By more than one, actually. A couple was so busy with one another that they didn’t even notice Greta. She quickly closed the door again.

            Best then to try the first floor.

            There she wanted to fix herself up a little, to refresh her lipgloss and then purposefully look for Mike. Having arrived upstairs, she noticed that the door to the room was wide open. Strange, she had closed it!? She was the last one to go downstairs.

            Perhaps the staff had prepared the room and the beds for the evening and forgot to close the door. That can happen . . .

            Completely unaware she stepped into the room and found Mike. First she thought he was alone, since she only saw him from the back. In front of him stood a woman. Greta knew her: the Chopstick-Model.

            What is she doing here? And he . . .? Oh, God! No.

            On the bed lay at least two hundred small white packets – and two of them were open. Mike turned around. His shirt was open, the belt-buckle was loose. The Chopstick-Model stepped back. She had also recognized Greta immediately.

            “Oh, here you are,” Greta said in an icy tone. “I was looking for you. But you’re in familiar company. And you’ve also found entertainment.”

            She gestured toward the bed.

            Mike looked at her – startled but not irritated.

            How can he be so cool and stare at me?  Greta thought. Or is he stoned? Maybe he’s just that kind of guy and I’m the full-checker again.

            “When you’re finished here, straighten up the room so that I can pack. Then it’s all yours.”

            Mike kept staring at her. “Greta what are you saying? It’s not what it looks like. He gestured to the Chopstick-Model. “Lei-Ming, I told you about her. She is helping me get my brother out of the drug problem. It’s all very complex, but it has nothing to do with you.”

            “I see it differently. What I see is that she can’t leave her hands off you and that a pretty big pile of drugs are lying around here. Neither appeals to me. I don’t want a part of either. Neither you – nor the drugs. I have to go.”

            The tears overflowed in Greta’s eyes. Although the alcohol had made her a little foggy, it was now helpful in her being blunt and expressing herself directly.

            “You pig.  You think that I, nice little stewardess, don’t get it – what you’ve got going on. Maybe I am a little naïve, but I’m not dumb. I certainly am far removed from being a part of your strange world, but now I’m glad that’s the case.  And to be honest: I don’t want to know any more about it. I was told today that you’re not good for me. I really didn’t want to believe it, but it’s so. Too bad. You only hurt me. I have to go.”

            Greta turned around, she couldn’t stand the sight any longer. But Mike grasped her arm.

            “Please stay. I can really explain everything. It’s all for Steve. You’re important to me. We were having such a good time here.”

            “Even if it really were all for Steve – I can’t believe you. You kept me at a distance from you today – more than I ever feared – and not just physically. Again I find you with the woman who stands between us, and again it’s Steve who is apparently responsible for all that you’re doing. Maybe the fortune teller whom I ran into today was really right. She said that the time for us is not yet ripe and that we’ll perhaps meet each other at another point in time. If that’s so, then the time and our destiny will be there for us. Let go of me. And let me go. I can’t bear any more.”

            Mike let go of her arm. Greta turned away and tears ran in streams down her cheeks.

Chapter 18

It really didn’t matter to Greta whether he had anything going with the Chopstick-Model or with drugs, or with both. She stood at the Munich airport terminal, in her familiar surroundings, and there was Marcel, the only man whom she could now look at or have in her vicinity. Her beloved neighbor had managed to pick her up. On the way to the airport from Venice she had sent him and Nathalie a message. Nathalie was still in South Africa, still searching for her South African happiness. Marcel had answered right away. I’m off today, will come get you, please bring Bacio.

            Bacios were nougat pralines wrapped in silver-blue foil with a hazelnut in the middle. Greta bought a large box at the airport in Venice and was now very happy not to be alone.

            On the way home, Marcel wanted to know everything in detail and Greta told him. Marcel had few questions, except one or two about Sigi and Greta smiled. She poked Marcel in the side and said:

            “Hey, the guy is taken.”

            “I know, but it’s still the best part of your trip to Venice.”

            “You’re right, Marcel. Somehow everything turned out very differently than I had wished. First the misfortune in New York and now in Venice. It seems that everything that Antonia said is right. I can’t really believe it. Can you understand that?”

            “Sure, my Luv. Life is difficult. You’ll rock. By the way, Theresa is having a mid-season sale and I can get you a few percent off on David Yurman’s last collection. That makes all of this shit a little more bearable, right?

            Greta smiled, even though her swollen eyes hurt a little when she did. She had cried the whole night through. Yes, she thought, that does make it more bearable. But why, specifically, did it have to happen to me again? Once again I’m the one who doesn’t have an answer. And instead, so many questions that don’t have any answers. Am I asking too much? In the end, is it really up to me? But who am I really, to complain and regret? In the end, I’m not alone. It’s true that I feel like shit, but is he worth that? No. Marcel is right.

            “Are you going shopping with me?”

            Everything happens for the best! Greta thought.