Life After Forty (4 page)

T
he sun shone down on my face as I came back from the post office at midday. I’d finally applied for a mailbox. When I’d told Marleen that I still had to get around to it—fearing what to write next to “marital status”—she had rolled her eyes.

“Good gracious, you’re renting a mailbox, not adopting a kid.”

The whole thing lasted just four minutes; I shook my head at myself, but I was bursting with pride.

Standing in the entrance hall to my building, I heard my phone ringing inside the apartment. Before I could get the door open, the answering machine clicked on. As I listened, my exuberant feeling faded away.

“Hi, Christine, it’s Hans-Hermann here. I ran into Bernd yesterday evening, and he told me about…well, your news. So, of course we need to have a talk. After all, you’re still paying for the house and so on. Give me a call and we’ll make an appointment for you to come in, preferably with Bernd there too. See you soon.”

Hans-Hermann was my tax consultant.

I’d been suppressing thoughts about money and the future. I knew, of course, that we had to deal with the financial side. We were both still paying the mortgage, and on top of that I had an automatic deposit going into Bernd’s private account every month. I’d started doing it while he was still studying but never stopped it; after all, we spent our money on things for both of us.

But not anymore.

I went out onto the balcony and felt the soil in the flowerpots. Marleen had done a great job. It looked like paradise. The phone rang again. This time it was Dorothea.

“Sweetheart, I’ve made an appointment for you with Holli—you know, my sensational hairdresser. It’s this evening at six. I’ll pick you up. I’ve told him he needs to make a country bumpkin into a glamorous diva who looks ten years younger. That sounds good to you, right? How are you today?”

“My tax consultant just called. I’ve got to set a meeting with him and Bernd to talk about the finances.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t done that yet? Are you still supporting him?”

“I hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”

“That’s the very first thing I’d do. You must be out of your mind!”

“But I didn’t want to see him.”

“Of course not, you’d just prefer to keep sticking money where the sun doesn’t shine while he takes that old toad out for fancy dinners.”

“Dorothea!”

“It’s true though. Just make the appointment as soon as you can. If Ines or Georg get wind of this, they’ll kill you.”

“I’ll call him now.”

“You’d better. I’ll pick you up at five thirty then. See you later.”

I kept the phone in my hand.

“Christine, what are you two playing at?” asked Hans-Hermann as soon as I’d said hello.

“I’d really rather not talk about it, but it’s not
us
, just
him
.”

“I figured as much. Your so-called better half wasn’t exactly alone when I saw him. Some big blonde woman. She looked familiar to me somehow.”

The thought cut me to the quick.

“Are you still there?”

I tried to find my voice.

“Yes. Okay, then at least you know the score. You wanted me to make an appointment with you?”

“It’s you that should want to after what’s happened. I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t put my foot in it. Just to make things clear, you’ve been my client for ten years, but I’ll handle the whole thing fairly. It’s completely inappropriate that you’re still supporting Bernd financially. What do you want to happen with the house? Do you want it back, or are you staying in Hamburg?”

“I definitely don’t want to go back. I don’t care what happens to it.”

“I got the impression that Bernd wants to keep it. But that means he’ll have to pay the mortgage by himself and pay you an indemnity. We’ll have to figure out the details. Are you up to a meeting between the three of us?”

“Hans-Hermann, I’m a big girl now. I’m not the type to make a scene. And if I make a lunge for him, you can always break it up.”

He didn’t answer.

“That was a joke.”

“Ah, okay. Will you call him or shall I?”

“I’d appreciate it if you could.”

He wrote down a few possible dates, and then we said goodbye.

I sat out on the balcony and lit up a cigarette. My hands were shaking.

“Your so-called better half wasn’t alone.”

They certainly weren’t wasting any time.

What did you expect? For them to have a year of mourning? They’re as happy as larks
, said Edith.

My newfound lightheartedness had disappeared. I felt sick, imagining Antje and Bernd walking hand in hand through our old house. Once again, the telephone rang and interrupted my thoughts.

I said hello and was instantly annoyed at how weak my voice sounded.

“Hi, it’s me.”

My stomach churned. Bernd.

“Hello.”

Terse, but controlled.

“How are you?”

“Fine thanks. What do you want?”

“I ran into Hans-Hermann at Carlo’s yesterday. We had a chat and quite a few drinks. It was a good laugh.”

The thought of the three of them laughing together brought gastric acid to my throat.

“I’ve just been on the phone with him. We’ve got to make an appointment. I’ve told him what dates I can do, so you give him a call and work something out.”

“Are you angry or something?”

I hung up. This time my tears were of rage, not sadness.

When Dorothea rang the doorbell at five p.m., my throat was still sore. But I’d managed to take a bath, put a nice outfit on, and took care doing my makeup. The façade looked okay.

In the car I told Dorothea about the phone calls, and that Hans-Hermann had called back to confirm our appointment for next Wednesday.

“So that’ll be the first time you go back there. Do you want me to come with you?”

“I’ll be okay by myself. But thank you.”

In the meantime, Dorothea had parked her Mini up at the Gänsemarkt.

“In any case, you’ll need to look fantastic when you go.”

The hairdressing salon was a proper temple of beauty—lots of chrome, lights, and leather. Holli turned out to be Hamburg’s answer to Johnny Depp. A gay version.

“Dora, honey! How lovely! And you look fabulous! How’s your life and love life? Glass of champers?”

Without waiting for an answer, he whirled through the salon and came back with two glasses.

“So ladies, welcome, welcome.”

He took a close look at me, then looked at Dorothea.

“So, what’s the artist’s brief?”

I had to suppress my laughter; it was like being in a movie.

“Holli, this is Christine. She’s just separated from her husband and is finally in the big city. She just doesn’t look the part yet.”

“Well, I can see that.”

He eyed me critically, ran his fingers through my hair, and brushed it from my face.

“This bob is boring, frightfully boring. It’s got no dynamic, no pep, and then these grays. No, honey, this just won’t do. We’ll do something completely different.”

Dorothea settled into a chair with some glossy magazines and champagne while I took my place on the scarlet hairdresser’s chair. I shut my eyes while Holli gently washed my hair. During the head massage that followed, he looked me straight in the eyes in the mirror.

“I always say, ‘A new life needs a new hairdo.’ We’ll make you into a completely new woman. Smart and bouncy, not so dowdy. This is a new start.”

“I’m not sure—that sounds so different…”

“Sweetheart, this is my job. Okay?”

Two hours later Dorothea and Holli stood behind my chair, hardly able to contain their enthusiasm. I looked in the mirror. My hair was now shorter and fell loose and wild. It was a shiny chestnut brown. I looked completely different. Holli’s beautiful colleague Tabea had given me a professional makeover. She’d introduced herself as a stylist. I wondered whether having a name like Tabea was a prerequisite for a job like this. You probably wouldn’t get far if you were called Doris.

My eyes looked very big. And very blue.

“Look at her, Dora—ten years younger and so striking, but kind of hip too.”

The bill was pretty hip as well. I didn’t bat an eyelid, but it was a struggle. I’d never spent so much money at a hairdressing salon in all my life. But then, my old hairdresser
was
called Doris.

Outside, Dorothea grasped my shoulders.

“You look amazing. We have to celebrate. We’ll go have dinner and then hit the town.”

I was already feeling the effects of the champagne, and my soul felt as light as my new hair.

We ate at Wide World, one of my favorite restaurants. Dorothea told me stories of the TV world, each one funnier than the last. I worried about my expensive eye makeup running. Later, two of her colleagues joined our table. Marcus and Peter were makeup artists, good friends of Holli, the “artist,” and they called me “sweetheart” too. They’d come into the bar by chance, recognized Dorothea’s gleeful squeals of laughter, and came over to us.

They were charming and great fun. We talked and laughed and ordered one bottle of wine after the other. Listening eagerly to Dorothea, they were touched by her indiscreet stories about my metamorphosis from country duckling into city swan, and they burst into horrified laughter throughout. Once they’d heard everything, Marcus took my hands in his in a dramatic gesture.

“Oh sweetheart, what an idiot that man was. Just be happy that it’s over. How awful!”

I was moved, feeling tipsy and at ease in their company.

Peter raised his glass. “So, let’s call an end to the sad stories. Summer’s starting, and we’re going dancing.”

I hadn’t danced in what seemed liked forever. It was mid-week and already midnight. It felt daring. I felt a boundless lust for life surge within me. We danced and drank until four the next morning. It was intoxicating; I didn’t think, I just listened to the music and looked into the laughing faces of Dorothea, Marcus, and Peter.

Sitting in the cab later, I felt exhilarated. I hoped the cab driver would be able to figure out the address I’d given him. My articulation hadn’t exactly been clear. He asked me again, but my second attempt wasn’t much better. In any case, he drove off. The journey through Hamburg at night was wonderful, but the cab stopped after just a short drive. I recognized my house and was relieved. The display on the meter was blurry, so I pressed a note into his hand without having really understood the price. It must have been too much though, because he opened the door for me and shook my hand goodbye. In my very tipsy state, I found him very charming, and I stayed on the pavement to wave him goodbye. Once the brake lights had disappeared, I made my way hand over hand along the box tree hedge to the front door. Suddenly, I lost my balance and fell, landing in the hedge, which opened up, closed around me, and then slowly let me slip down onto the lawn.

I lay there like an upturned beetle on my back, eyes shut, and tried to figure out if anything hurt. Nothing did. Then I opened my eyes. The stars were twinkling above me.

I lay there, with my hip hairdo and my beautiful eyes. I looked up at the sky and burst into laughter.

I
surveyed myself critically in the mirror.

Dorothea tugged at the collar of my blazer. She flicked a hair from my shoulder, looking content with what she saw.

“Perfect,” she said, looking me over from head to toe.

I was skeptical. “Isn’t it a bit too much?”

“Nonsense, you want that idiot to see what he’s given up. I think you look great.”

“Dorothea, I look like some TV Barbie doll.”

“Of course you do—the clothes are from the wardrobe at work. And, by the way, TV Barbies are all I know.” She laughed.

I was wearing a brown pinstripe suit with narrow trousers and a long jacket. With a skintight white T-shirt with a deep neck. My lingerie was invisible, and I could barely feel it. A thong, so there would be no VPL under the slim-fitting trousers, and a Wonderbra to give me cleavage. Both scarlet red.

“It’s an old TV trick,” Dorothea had explained as she took the mere hints of lingerie from the bag. “You can’t see red under white.” I was impressed. Dorothea knew her stuff, and she’d made me into someone completely different. I was almost the city swan. The only thing missing was the blasé facial expression. I puckered my lips, which were painted dark red, and blew her a kiss in the mirror.

“I’ve never dressed up like this to go to the taxman before.”

“It’s not Hans-Hermann you want to make an impression on. I’d love to see Bernd’s face when he sees you looking like this.”

She rubbed hair wax on the tips of her fingers and gave my hairdo one last polish. Then she looked at my cleavage.

“Didn’t your ex-best friend Antje always wear those sports bras? You know, those white cotton things that showed off her droopy boobs so well?”

“Dorothea! Why are you bringing that up now?”

“I’m just saying. If you feel a bit meek at any point, just think of the knock-out lingerie you’re wearing. That’ll make you feel superior again, no problem.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Antje did wear those sports bras.

After one final look in the mirror, and one that made me feel satisfied, I picked up my bag and car keys. We left my apartment together. Dorothea waved as I set off to see Hans-Hermann, driving the old route for the first time since the move.

As I drove over the Elbe Bridge, I started to feel a bit flat. I hated confrontations about money, found tax explanations and the subject of separate bank accounts very unpleasant, and on top of all that, I’d be seeing Bernd again for the first time in weeks. The night before Georg had impressed on me the importance of listening to Hans- Hermann’s advice and of speaking up for myself.

“Bernd wants the house without you in it, so he has to make do without your money as well. Don’t let yourself be talked into paying for something just because you don’t like confrontation.”

Georg had looked at me insistently.

“You financed his studies and paid for most of that house. The least he can do now is offer to pay for the things you left there.”

“But he never has any money.”

“Christine, that’s not your problem. Please stay firm for once.”

I had promised to at least try. What would Bernd look like? And what would he think about how different I looked? I turned the rearview mirror towards me. Slim face, shiny hair, big eyes. Tabea and Dorothea had shown me all the tricks.

Charlotte piped up.

You’ve never looked so good. And those clothes! Just imagine the look on his face. And that’s even without seeing your lingerie.

Edith’s response was close behind.

As if that would matter to him. Besides, he prefers big blondes.

With droopy boobs,
added Charlotte.

By now I was almost there.

It was a strange feeling. I knew every street here, every house, had driven down these roads countless times. It was all familiar, but in spite of that I didn’t belong here anymore. It hurt.

Charlotte tried to salvage things.

What do you want out here in the sticks anyway? It smells of manure and silage, and there are old run-down farms everywhere.
Think of your apartment, the Alster Lake, the city, the bright lights, the people.

I took a deep breath as I drove into the parking lot at the tax office. I couldn’t see Bernd’s car, but maybe it was still too early. My pulse quickened; in less than half an hour I would have to see him. Hans-Hermann opened the door to me and smiled in disbelief.

“Wow, is that what people look like in Hamburg when they’re getting a divorce? Christine, you should have done it sooner. Sorry, I mean, even before you looked…I mean, don’t get me wrong, but now…I mean, wow.”

I shook his hand.

“Don’t worry, I know what you mean. Thank you.”

“Come on in then; we can make a start right away. I’ve already got all the files out and worked out a few suggestions. I’ve asked Bernd to come half an hour later. He’s evidently not so keen on you pulling your money out, but he’ll have to bite the bullet.”

We sat down in his office, and Hans-Hermann explained his recommendations to me while I tried to pay attention. With the help of columns of figures and bank statements, he divided up my twelve years of marriage with Bernd. I forced myself to concentrate and keep my composure, to remember it’s just about money, not feelings, just money.

I made a big effort to concentrate and became so wrapped up in the task at hand that I only looked up when Hans-Hermann’s secretary opened the door. Suddenly, Bernd was standing in front of me. My heart stopped.

Awkwardly, he shook Hans-Hermann’s hand first, then mine. He avoided my gaze, sat down on the edge of the third seat, and said, “Well, have you already made a deal?”

Stunned, I tried to catch my breath. Not a word to me, no greeting, instead he was just acting as if I were trying to cheat him out of something. A wave of rage surged within me. Hans-Hermann touched my arm fleetingly and gave me a warning look. Then he turned to Bernd, smiling.

“My dear man, we aren’t ‘dealing’ here at all. As you know, I manage your soon-to-be ex-wife’s accounts, and there are future details connected to that which do not concern you. But we’re done with her things now and can look at the joint funds together.” He began to explain how we should go about separating our marriage financially.

I was trying so hard not to look at Bernd that it wasn’t long before I lost track of the conversation. Bernd asked questions, and Hans-Hermann answered. I didn’t say a word and left everything to him. I couldn’t understand any of it, and my mind was full of thoughts of lingerie and sports bras.

“Christine, are you in agreement with that?”

Startled, I looked at Hans-Hermann, who had asked the question.

Bernd was watching me impatiently.

“I can’t afford any more than that,” he said.

I hadn’t even been listening, and I had no idea how much or what for. Hans-Hermann started summarizing everything, so I forced myself to pay attention. Bernd had to pay me fifteen thousand euros, the sum that Hans-Hermann had calculated as an indemnity. To do that Bernd would be taking out a loan, in addition to our former joint one which he would now be taking over. The rest would be decided at the divorce.

Bernd didn’t look at me once through the entire discussion. I stared at his knees, his profile, and was overcome by the urge to shake him and scream at him. Everything about him seemed so familiar. I had bought his shirt, I had ironed his jeans, I had caressed his face, I had slept beside him. And yet he wouldn’t even look at me.

Within two hours everything had been sorted out. At least, that was the impression Hans-Hermann gave. He stood up, shook our hands, and gave me a wink.

Bernd followed me out to the parking lot. As we got down there, I stopped and turned to face him. He stepped to the side and walked past me, touched my shoulder lightly, and said, “Okay then, let’s talk on the phone sometime. Have a good day.”

“You can’t just leave me standing here like this.”

“Christine, come on, we’ve already discussed everything, and I’m not in the mood to talk anymore. Have a good day.”

I bit down on my lower lip to suppress the rage and despair that were threatening to force their way out as tears. Shaking, I watched as he got into his car and drove away.