Never Trust a Callboy (12 page)

“Alright. If that’s how it is, and you’re sure I can’t change your mind. May I walk you to the door?" As we arrive in the lobby, he pulls me into a hug and kisses me on the cheek.

"I'll miss you," he whispers in my ear and pushes me out the door. It closes with a quiet click behind me. I am alone in the foyer. Black, shiny marble reflects my mirror image, while more questions than before swirl around in my mind.

T
he thick wooden planks creak under my footsteps as I go back and forth in the room to get my stuff. I have changed hotels, because I want to make sure that nobody can find me.

I chose something smaller, more discreet. An art nouveau hotel in Sachsenhausen, the part of Frankfurt on the other side of the river Main. In the old, beautifully renovated rooms I feel like I’m living in another time.

As a precaution I paid in cash, for a week in advance. I got the money from an ATM. Then I cut up the card and threw it away. I only today realized that the guys could have found me via my credit card bill. It is the only trace that I left. At least I think it was.

It's not long before I've hung up all my clothes in the closets. One of my two bags is already empty, the other contains only things that I do not immediately need. I put this in the small store room at the end of the hallway. The desk clerk assured me I could leave it there as long as I’m in the hotel.

Once I'm back in my room I sit down in the comfortable old chair which stands next to the window, and pick up one of the books that I brought. I try to concentrate on the story, but I don’t succeed. Instead I jump up after only a few minutes and start pacing the room. The floorboards creak with every step. I should stop, otherwise the people below me will start complaining. So I sit down again. Maybe old wooden floors are not as great as I thought. Let's see what's on television, nothing, as usual on a Sunday afternoon.

Frustrated I take in the room, the stucco ceiling, the four-poster bed that dominates the space and looks like every little girl's dream. It’s so boring! What should I do now? I don’t want to go back to our house. I'm afraid to meet my mother or my friends, because that’s the first place anyone would look if they wanted to find me.

With a deep sigh I get up. To hell with the notary agreement. I agreed with him that I’d leave Frankfurt in a couple of days, but even two days are too much. I need to get away from here.

––––––––

M
y speedometer shows 200kmph as I race along the motorway. For the first time in days I feel free and without a care. Almost as if I had left an invisible load behind me in Frankfurt. I don’t know how long I’ll be away. But it doesn't matter. I kept the hotel room, so I have a place I can go back to. At any time. When it suits me.

If I drive quickly it’s only fourteen hours to Barcelona, I can be there by ten o’clock Monday morning. Early enough for a quiet breakfast, by the famous Las Ramblas, Barcelona's pedestrian precinct close to the port, before finding passage for the night ferry.

I
biza! The ferry is moving slowly along the quay wall. With a deep breath I inhale the salty air. I watch with fascination as the white houses of the town come closer and closer. I can almost touch them they are leaning so far over the port.

I’ve always liked the capital of this small island. Even though the days of the hippies are long gone, you can feel the remnants of it still in the bars and cafés. Ibiza is also still a playground for dazzling characters. At night, when the harbor side seethes, the night owls invade and you can see them in their crazy costumes.

It is bright here, not grey and rainy like Frankfurt. The sun appears smiling from heaven, and the noise of the port and the town slowly awakening drift across to me. The ferry has slid up to the harbor wall and is being fastened with thick ropes. Shortly afterwards, the door to the cargo space goes down. The first cars leave the ship.

It doesn't take long before a café con leche is sitting in front of me gently steaming. I’m sitting under palm trees in the legendary Mar y Sol, located directly on the harbor, and listening to the cries of the workers, the noise of the street sweepers who are taking advantage of the early hour, and the clinking of glasses, that can be heard from the café behind me. It couldn’t be any more beautiful in paradise. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of coffee. Then I take a sip; it’s deliciously hot.

Relaxed I lean back and enjoy the warm rays of the sun on my skin. I would love to stay here forever. I have hardly finished this thought as someone lays a hand on my shoulder. The hairs on my neck stand up. Nobody knows I'm here. I turn around slowly, and release the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

It’s an old woman. She looks friendly enough and is talking to me with wild gesticulations. She’s speaking a language I've never heard. My heartbeat settles down again. Thank goodness! The old woman looks at me questioningly, waiting for a response. Because I didn’t understand one word of her gibberish, I shake my head.

"I don't understand you," I respond in German.

The old lady considers and then she starts to talk to me in broken English. Now I understand a little more. As she shows me a stack of cards, I understand what she wants. I shake my head again, but she’s not easily put off. She’s already sitting herself down next to me and shuffling the cards. And then she indicates that I should pick one. I hesitate. I don’t think much of this nonsense. And if it does tell me something, that's even worse. What if she can see what has happened in the last few days? Nevertheless, I follow her invitation. I hope to get rid of her more quickly if I just go along with it.

She lays out the cards, one after the other, until six rows lie on the table, six colorful pictures in each row. There is silence for a while. With a look of deep concentration on her face, she examines what lies before us. Then she moves her hand over the cards. She sweeps everything together into a disorderly pile and mutters.

Before I can say anything or protest, she’s gone. Faster than I would have thought her capable of. She looks around again over her shoulder at me. Shakes her head and carries on. Then disappears.

Mad woman. My good mood is gone. A queasy feeling is settling in to the pit of my stomach. Why didn’t she say what she saw? I attempt to shake off the thoughts. The whole thing does not get me any closer to my goal, escaping my worries.

Hopefully she's home! Somewhat nervously, I consider the wrought iron gate that guards the access to Anna's house, and the narrow stone path that leads to the front door. The walls have faded to a dusky pink. When I last visited Anna, the color was fresh and lively. Anna had just repainted the House at the time, but it's been years.

I try not to make a sound. Maybe she's still asleep. I hesitate, I don’t want to wake her up, I’m already arriving unannounced, but then I push myself onwards, through the gate and over the stone slabs to the front door. If I wake her up, that’s just bad luck, the main thing is, I hope that she’s pleased to see me.

Just as I raise my hand to knock on the door, it gently opens, a cat dashes past me through the open door and disappears like a shadow into the bushes. Anna is standing there in the doorway. She stares at me dumbfounded.

"Hello, Anna."

"It can’t be...Tamara! I don’t believe it!" Relieved, I register the radiant smile that is spreading across Anna's face.

"I hope it’s not a bad time."

"Nonsense. Come on in. I am so pleased to see you. I haven’t seen you in ages." Without waiting for a reply, Anna pulls me into her little house and leads me through the dark hallway to the terrace, which is located on the rear. There she has created a little paradise. Flowers grow out of large clay pots, two small palm trees provide shade, and comfortable wicker furniture invites you to spend the day with a good book.

It doesn’t takes long before I'm sitting in a cushioned rattan chair with a freshly baked croissant and my second cup of coffee today steaming in front of me.

"When did you arrive? And why didn’t you let me know you were coming? Is everything okay with you and Ron?"

Smiling, I lift a hand. "One question at a time, okay?"

Anna laughs. "I'm sorry. It's just that I haven’t seen you for so long, and then you're suddenly standing at my door. I thought I would never see you again."

"I'm sorry, Anna." I swallow, I notice tears are welling up in my eyes again. What is wrong with me? Determined, I push back the tears, and pretend I just need to clear my throat before I speak again. "I should have been better at keeping in touch. But somehow... I don't know. I thought we had drifted apart."

Anna lays a comforting hand on my shoulder, apparently, my attempts to hide how touched I am haven’t worked.

"Maybe we have drifted apart, but we can still be friends, don't you think?"

"I hope so. I'm sorry, Anna. Really."

She’s dismissive. "It's not your fault, I haven't called you either. A lot has changed for me, and it took me a while to find myself. But that’s not important now. Tell me about you! What brings you out here all of a sudden?"

"I need a break, some peace and quiet, and I thought it would be a good idea to relax here a little," I mumble, but Anna gives me a quizzical look. I never could deceive her. She knows that there’s more to it than that, more reasons for my visit than I want to admit.

"There is a lot I have to tell you. Some bad things have happened," I admit at last. And then I start. I tell her everything. About Ron's infidelity, about the corpse and how I buried it in panic. The fact I think I’m being followed, and that I was threatened, and that I don't know what role Ron has in all of it.

It’s a long time before I’ve told her everything that’s been weighing on my mind. Silence surrounds us when I'm done. I feel exhausted, but also relieved. As though I had just been to confession. The question is whether Anna will give me absolution.

"You must be at your wits end," she says finally. "You’re in a right mess." She shakes her head. "But you do realize you have to report the matter to the police?"

"I know," I briefly close my eyes. It doesn’t do much good, because the pictures that I see are not easy to get rid of. "But I don't trust them. They’ll think I did it. Anna, I was alone in the house when the murder happened. I don't have an alibi. What if they don't believe me? What if they think I killed the man?"

Anna runs both hands over her face pausing to rub her eyes. She always does that when she needs to think. "For now you stay here, and then we’ll see what happens next."

"Thank you, but I don't want to force myself on you. I’ll stay in a hotel nearby."

"Don’t be silly. Of course you’re staying with me."

"I don't know Anna. What if I put you in danger? I'm not sure how they found me in the Mainhatten. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Don't worry about me. I know how to protect myself. Last year I installed an alarm system, and besides... " Anna grins mischievously,"... the guy I’m dating, Antonio, he’s the Chief of Police. You wouldn’t believe how nice people are all of a sudden when they know that the police are on your side. The only ones who occasionally make trouble are drunk tourists."

"D
o you really think so?" Dubiously, I look in the mirror. My outfit is very... sparse.

“Yes. You look great. Like a femme fatale."

I have to laugh. "I think that is exactly the right description for me. Femme fatale. It doesn’t get much more fatal."

"Precisely. And that is exactly the right dress."

"Okay then," I gather together the clothes that have piled up in the changing room, and go to the checkout. I decide to wear the skimpy dress that I just tried on. A few minutes later we stroll along the promenade in San Antonio, and I have to agree with Anna, this dress attracts the gaze of men like a magnet. From the corner of my eye I see one guy almost run into a street light because his head was turned to look at me and Anna.

With a satisfied sigh, I stretch out my arms.

"It's so nice to be here!"

“Yes. It’s paradise. Every morning, when I look at the sea, I think that I must have done something right."

"You certainly have. Let's have a glass of wine. We need to celebrate our reunion."

Anna laughs. "Now you sound like the Tamara I know!" And then she points to a small café, which is like an island in the middle of the promenade. An island on which all the tourists are stranded.

"Really? It's so full."

"And with good reason," she responds and drags me behind her, heading purposefully to a tiny table in the back corner, which is, as if by a miracle, still free.

"It’s good." With a satisfied sigh, Anna leans back in her chair and turns her face towards the sun. I let myself sink into the cushion and enjoy the view, the warm rays of the sun and the screech of seagulls circling above the bay.

"I should have come sooner."

“Yes. I've missed you. But you're here now. How long do you want to stay?"

"I don't know. A week, maybe ten days? I have nothing planned, I just wanted to get away from home. Relax a bit and have time to think."

"Stay as long as you want. You have a lot to decide."

I nod. She's right. It is time to make decisions, accept the facts, rather than run away and hope that my problems dissolve into thin air.

We stay a long time in the café. We have a lot to talk about. This time it's Anna who leads the conversation. She tells me everything that’s happened to her in recent years. How she has painstakingly made a name for herself with her work as a jewelry designer. Her collection is now available in almost all the shops on the island, and even on the mainland, where her clientele is growing.

It is three o'clock in the afternoon when we make our way back to her house. The heat makes me sleepy, and so we decide to follow the example of the Spaniards and take a little siesta.

When I wake up two hours later, I lay a while in bed and look around the guest room. It’s a small room, simply furnished with a double bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe which is built into the wall. There are shutters at the windows and sunlight falls on the floor through the cracks. It is cool in here. With a satisfied sigh I close my eyes again.