Greta Again! (12 page)

            As expected, the appartemento was an absolutely fabulous living space. Behind the entry door there was an interior court with a fountain, and one could see that the house had been built in a square around the court.  One rode to the top in an elevator. The apartment itself was like the one Greta had seen in Salzburg: again completely paved with light-colored marble that extended from the entry into the generous living room and the open kitchen. The back wall of the living room was a broad window in which a French door opened onto the adjacent terrace. And the view from there was really breathtaking. What else! The Grand Canal, the Rialto Bridge, the façades of the houses across the way. Greta didn’t know where to look first. The terrace was so large and expansive that there was space not only for a seating arrangement, but also half of a botanical garden as well: lemon – and Mandarin orange-trees, an entire parade of oleanders – simply dreamy. As they returned to the living room, Greta discovered that the apartment had at least two floors, with a spiral staircase that led to the floor above. There, on the second floor, were four guestrooms, each with its own bath en suite. The luxurious furnishings and the large size of the rooms were simply overpowering. There were fresh lilies everywhere, valuable murals and indirect light. Greta knew the apartment in Salzburg that Mike’s friend Sigi owned and had already been very impressed during her visit there. But this appartemento in Venice beat everything that Greta could imagine. It was incredibly beautiful, tasteful, and very elegant.  One admired an apartment like this only in the pages of a high-gloss architectural magazine or on a docu-soap entitled “The Lives of the Rich.”

            How can I complain now that he didn’t ask me? I can’t be so stupid.

            “What do you think, should we stay here?” Mike asked. “We also have staff, but we can send them home.”

            “Really? You’re not serious.”

            “Yes, sure. We have the water-taxi chauffeur, a housekeeper and a butler.”

            “What for? I really don’t understand.”

            “Well, Sigi travels a lot. In the meantime, he’s got his real estate developments almost worldwide and is in demand in the real estate field. He needs representative examples for his clients – like this one here or the one that you know in Salzburg. And now and then he naturally also has to throw a party. People expect that of him. I think you’ll probably meet him tomorrow.”

            “Oh, super – once again I won’t be properly dressed. I didn’t bring anything for such an occasion. I think I’ll have to buy something.”

            Mike smiled. “Hmm, seems familiar somehow.”

            He laughed and Greta did too. They spoke about their date in Munich. At that time they bought the jeans and Greta’s boots, because Mike had planned a party in the country, while she appeared in a super-chic outfit.

            “Well, if you find something that’s as sexy and seductive as your outfit in Munich, I’ll underwrite a shopping trip. I have to make a few business calls tomorrow morning without fail and then I have a conference call scheduled. You can go ahead and buy everything that you need. In the afternoon, I’ll take you to the San Marco Basilica and then in the evening, at Sigi’s party, we’ll make the bottle corks pop.”

            “Oh, Mike, that’s going to be expensive. You don’t know about all the things that I need . . .”

            Greta smiled and Mike pulled her to him onto the anthracite-colored sofa arrangement. They cuddled and teased each other with kisses, and tickled one another.

            “You’re right. But I know what you need now. You need it now just as much as I do.”

            Then he unbuttoned her dress and pulled it down over her shoulders. Her nipples were hard and firm. Her bra was already unhooked. He touched Greta, held her fast, looked into her eyes once again with a serious gaze. Then they both fell one on top of the other, in a greedy and uncontrolled lust that generated a kind of sex that was completely different than before. Now they were gentle, they were slow and intense. It was loving and it was wonderful again. They slid off the couch onto a fur on the floor, soft and comfortable. Here their bodies could melt into one another, explore one another and be in tune with the movements of the other. Greta again found herself in positions that she hadn’t experienced before. Huh, what’s he doing with my leg? Or – I can’t move at all now. In some moments she sensed a feeling of shame. Or perhaps she was a little too prudish? He dominated her and she allowed it and felt good with it. Her lust and curiosity won out. Finally, they lay quietly next to each other. Exhausted but happy. And enormously hungry.

            They spent the evening in their luxury apartment. They asked Elena, the housekeeper,  to prepare an authentic Italian meal, which they ate on the terrace. The wine, the first-rate dinner, the still mild night – everything was simply perfect. Greta never would have believed  how many experiences the first day in Venice would provide. Everything happens for the best, she smiled to herself. She was happy and didn’t want to think about that one feeling that was hidden deep in her consciousness and kept prodding her: Is everything really okay?

            The next morning everything proceeded as planned. First Elena, then breakfast, then Mike announced that he had to work. He gave her his credit card and pin numbers.

            “Your best bet is to go behind St. Mark’s Square, where all the important shops are: Chanel, Gucci, Hermès – they’re all close together there. Have a good time! Do you want to take Andreja, the driver, with you?”

            “No, I think I’ll find my way alone. If I can’t figure out where I am, I’ll be in touch, okay?”

            Mike didn’t answer because he was already on his cell phone and bent over his computer.

Chapter 14

 Greta got ready to go. The weather was still mild, but the sky was cloudy this morning. It could even rain, she thought, but decided not to take an umbrella.

            There was already lively activity on the street, with industrious Italian men and chic Italian women on their way everywhere.

            It’s a wonder that these women are always so chic, Greta thought. It’s really no surprise that so much great fashion comes out of Italy. Just watching the women puts one in a good mood and gives one the inspiration to become chic too. Let’s see what I’ll find for myself today.

            Off she went, lost in thought. She didn’t have a total overview of the layout of the city, but she could head in the right direction by paying attention to the St. Mark’s Square signs. Plus, Venice was quite international and many people spoke English.

            Greta found her way more quickly than she expected and immediately tumbled into the first small boutique that she found. She was saving the big designer labels ‘til last. Basically, it was a little uncomfortable to be shopping with Mike’s credit card. She didn’t want to spend too much money under any circumstances. An outfit from Gucci or Prada would certainly cost several thousand Euros. Definitely too much. On the other hand, Mike had sent her out to shop.

            No, it doesn’t feel right. But actually, why not?

            Greta was pulled this way and that, as so often in the past where Mike was concerned. Why couldn’t she find any peace with him? Was it simply too soon? Didn’t they know each other well enough? Then it was certainly not okay to take advantage of his credit card so shamelessly . . . right?

            Or am I like a “hostess,” an “elevated slut,” who isn’t paid in money but allows herself to be spoiled with other goods? Oh, Man, why can’t it simply be okay!

            Greta wandered from shop to shop, but couldn’t find the right thing. She bought little things, souvenirs for Marcel, her neighbor, a lovely soap by Aqua di Parma and for Nathalie, a Pashmina scarf . . . oh, Nathalie! How was she doing in South Africa? Greta decided to take a break from shopping, went into a small café and ordered a cappuccino and a brioche, an incredibly delicious croissant filled with apricot marmalade. Divine. While she enjoyed her little snack, she sent Nathalie a message:

            “Is everything okay with you? Thinking of you. Am still confused, but happy. Hugs, G.”

            Was she really happy? Greta asked herself.  Really deep inside, she wasn’t sure. Her feelings were again playing ping-pong, and her thoughts were whirling inside her head. I think I have to talk with him. That’s a good idea, Greta decided. Maybe this evening, before the party. Surely I’ll feel better then. Yes, that’s how I’ll do it. I’ll buy him a nice present, with “my” credit card – and then we’ll talk.

            But Greta sensed, of course, that this really wouldn’t be the golden key to her chaotic feelings.  Perhaps it was even naïve to believe that a simple conversation would get rid of her inner conflict. But she didn’t know how else to help herself. Everything happens for the best, she reassured herself.

            After three additional shops and partial success at shopping, with the first shopping bags in her hands, she crossed another of the countless bridges. At the end of the bridge, there where the street began, stood a gypsy woman. Her age was hard to guess. She could have been in her late twenties, but also in her late fifties. Head scarf, blouse, long skirt, everything in dark patterned colors. The woman was a little shorter than Greta.

            As Greta stepped down the last couple of stairs, she felt the intense gaze of the woman. She almost felt as if she was looking through her, like the X-rays of the security equipment at the airport.

            Signorina, scusi! Uno momento per favore! . . .

            Greta couldn’t fully understand what the woman then said. A flood of words – some of them German and English, a gibberish that made no sense. The woman ran a few steps after her, jabbering on without pause, and gradually it seemed that what she was saying actually did make some sense. For Greta it appeared as if the woman had begun to tell her about things from her own, from Greta’s life.

            That can’t be, that the woman is now talking about me. No, I’m becoming completely crazy.

            She walked away a few steps, then halted again, and turned around.

            She was standing in front of her.

            Her face had a kind expression, her skin was dark and her wrinkles told of a hard life.  Something about this woman attracted Greta like a magnet, but she couldn’t quite grasp it and didn’t want to pursue it. She was often spoken to by strangers. Mostly beggars or otherwise different people who, in Greta’s view, had nothing good up their sleeve. Usually in such situation she was able to get out of it and simply walk away. Not this time.

            “I can’t understand you. What do you want from me?”

            “Absolutely nothing. I’ve been waiting for you and I was sent to tell you something. It is important that you hear it. Otherwise misfortune will occur.”

            Now it’s almost too late to turn on one’s heel and leave, Greta thought. But she simply couldn’t. What do I have to lose?, went through her mind. I can simply listen to her.

            “What do you have to tell me?”

            “First I have to tell you about your life thus far so that you will believe me.”

            Greta was frightened. The woman with the nice eyes and the pleasant facial expression was apparently really serious. She took Greta by the hand and led her around two more street corners. There was a little bench, directly next to a quiet canal.  Completely atypical for Venice!

            After they sat down on the bench and turned to each other, it seemed more and more strange to Greta.

            “You mustn’t be afraid of me. Believe me, I have been sent. And I will leave again. And you don’t have to know where I come from and where I will go. My name is Antonia. And your name is Greta.”

            Greta couldn’t react. Antonia’s piercing gaze was no longer strange, and yet everything around her was very strange. Only Antonia seemed real; everything else around her was secondary. Her surroundings seemed to blur at the edge of her reality, but the vacuum that formed itself around her had nothing strange about it. No, Greta felt as if she were protected.

            “Give me your hand, Greta, and I’ll tell you more.”

            Greta reached out and felt the warmth that spread from Antonia’s hands, while Antonia trained her glance on her open palms.

            “You’re unmarried. You have a mother who loves you. She respects your life. You had tumult for a long time, but have found peace. Your father is far away. You don’t have any contact with him. You’re an only child.”

            She paused to study Greta’s reaction. Greta was startled. Apparently a reaction that Antonia had expected, and she nodded. Then she continued.

            “There is a woman who is close to you, maybe a friend. She has flown far away and has a man near her. He is a man of God and a gentleman. You’re here also with a man. But I’ll tell you more about that later. I see that you travel a lot. You always have a suitcase with you. Many people are with you on the trips and smile at you. You smile a lot too – but I see you’re not always honest when you do.”

            She paused again. They looked into one another’s eyes. Greta knew less and less what all of this meant. But Antonia didn’t lose track, she was very sure of her points and continued, as if she had a red thread or a plan that she was following. In the meantime, she no longer read directly from Greta’s hand, rather she spoke freely, her gaze half directed into the beyond. As if it all were a made-up story that just came to her mind at the moment. Except that everything about the story was true – and it was Greta’s story.

            “Listen. The man who is here with you – he is different. He has an assignment. And he will carry out this assignment. You are not a part of his assignment. Therefore, he is not intended for you. His assignment has come from God. He has to give his life for others. That doesn’t mean that he will die, no. But he will always be there for others more than for you. But you must also follow your destiny and go your own way. Then you will fulfill God’s intent. Listen deep within yourself, then you will learn where you have to go. One day you will be able to meet this man again, and that will be the time and your destiny. More than you can imagine now awaits you. If you stay, however, much misery and pain will accompany you. If you go, God will be near you. It’s up to you, to follow the way of light or of pain.”