Never Trust a Callboy (20 page)

With a sigh I get up and go down the stairs to the kitchen. Hopefully he's still asleep.

"Good morning!" The derisive greeting tears me from my semi-conscious state. Christian is sitting at the kitchen table. He looks wide awake and vibrant. I'd like to throw the coffee can at his head, if not for the coffee powder in it, which I now urgently need to transform into a strong espresso. Why does he look so good? As far as I know, he only got home at five in the morning. Not that I stayed up to find out when he came back.

No. It was by chance that I was still awake when I heard the front door close and his footsteps on the stairs. If I tell myself that often enough, maybe I’ll believe it.

He was alone. At least, as far as I could tell. I’d rather not know what he got up to last night.

Now, he’s sitting at the kitchen table and smiling at me. His jeans looks freshly washed and his polo shirt is perfectly ironed. I however, am wearing an old t-shirt of Ron’s. I should throw it away at the first opportunity, I have no idea why I even packed it, everything from Ron should find its way to the trash.

Somewhat wistfully I think about the make-up that’s waiting for me in the guest bathroom. Bad luck. Now, he knows what I look like without make-up. Well he can just admire my inner beauty.

I turn away from him and confine myself to the task of scooping the ground coffee into the filter.

"The coffee is already made and there’s fresh bread."

"Do you have to be in so disgusting a good mood?" I grumble. It must have been a great night. I almost said my thoughts out loud, but I manage to keep my mouth shut.

"What shall we do today?" he asks, as I drink my coffee.

"I thought you had something to do?" As though his answer doesn't bother me, I set my focus on spreading my bread with butter.

“No. Today I have the whole day free. I’m all yours." He smiles and his eyes promise that he is thinking about more than just following Ron, but I don't want to respond. Yesterday made it clear to me what I almost entered into. I’m already relying too much on a man whose job it is to make someone else happy every day. ‘
How could I be so stupid?’
was by far the most common sense thought that ran through my head last night. From now on, I will concentrate on the business at hand. I can take care of my own pleasure soon enough.

"I think it's time to scrutinize Ron a little more closely. In my opinion he has had it far too easy till now. Then I’ll go visit a good friend of ours and tell her about his relationship."

"And what's the point of that?"

A smile creeps onto my face. The idea came to me last night as I lay sleepless in bed.

"Emilie Mandel is the biggest gossip I know. If I tell her about Ron's affair, everyone in Kronberg will know by this evening, and Ron won’t like that. I don't think that he’ll be too thrilled when everyone knows about his connection to a woman whose husband disappeared under mysterious circumstances. He would definitely prefer to keep this little detail a secret."

"We don't know whether the two are actually having an affair," Christian interjects.

"Yes and...? If Ron is innocent, it’ll just be yet another rumor circulating in Kronberg.”

Shortly thereafter I call Emilie Mandel. It's rude to call at this time, at least in my circles, but in a crisis such as this, everything is different. Ron cheated on me shortly before our wedding, that gives me the right to compassion, even if the woman whose number I’m calling probably doesn’t even know how to spell the word compassion, but she knows about everything and everyone else.

She answers a little gruffly, because it's still pretty early in the day. It doesn't take long before her voice takes on a tone of false sympathy; of course I should stop by this afternoon for coffee.

At four o'clock I knock at her front door. A few minutes later we are sitting in her living room, each with a cup of coffee in hand. She listens to my story with great sympathy.

"I'm so sorry! I had no idea," she says when I'm finished with my story. "Of course I won’t tell a soul. Your secret is safe with me," she mumbles.

Good. Now I can be sure that by the end of the day everyone will know.

"Do you know Madeleine Barelli?" I ask. "I want to know what kind of woman she is, to have pulled Ron so under her spell." I swallow, realizing tears are starting to build again. At some point in the course of the conversation I stopped acting. Real emotions come up in me, when I think of how Ron has betrayed me.

Emilie sits there silently for a few seconds and thinks about my question. I use the break to get my emotions under control.

"Tamara?" Emilie looks at me questioningly. Right, she said something. Automatically I put on a lovely smile.

"I'm sorry, Emilie. I am not entirely myself today. It has been such a terrible shock. What did you just say?"

"Of course. I completely understand. You poor thing." Emilie sympathetically pats my hand. If I didn't know her, I could almost believe her compassion was genuine, but I know that she is just patiently waiting until she can spread the news.

“I just said I've known Madeleine Barelli for years. She’s in our bridge club. To be honest, I never liked her. She’s good looking, but no comparison with you." That's a lie, but I pretend I don't know that. "It is incomprehensible to me what Ron sees in her. Isn’t she involved in some scandal? What was it again? Oh yes...her husband has disappeared, how convenient! The both of them are now free and clear to be together, isn’t that true?" Emilie stops when she realizes the last comment was a little tactless.

"Maybe he left her. You know, went out to get cigarettes and no one has seen him since. You can’t blame him." Her attempted reparation sounds somewhat lame, but I still put on a more appreciative smile.

"You don't know anything else about it?" My tone is pleading, urgent. I would like to know as much as possible about this woman. Maybe she committed the murder, maybe Ron is covering for his lover although I can’t imagine that. So far Ron has only done things for himself.

Emilie misconstrues my pensive expression for pain, awkwardly patting me on the back, she says: "It will all be all right. You’ll see. In a few weeks it won’t be so bad." If she only knew how bad it really is, and how much worse it can still get.

Gradually she wants to get rid of me. I notice how she’s becoming more and more nervous, how her fingers itch with the desire to reach for the telephone, and spread the latest scandal.

S
atisfied with my performance I make my way back to Frankfurt, I can't wait to tell Christian about the conversation. About how well I acted and how Emilie took the bait. Soon, everyone in our circle of friends will know all about Ron's relationship. I wish I could see his face when Ron learns that everyone knows his secret.

I whistle a silly melody and open the front door with the key Christian gave me. I call for Christian but get no response. Strange. There’s no trace of him upstairs either.

No one is at home. My good mood deflates like a balloon when the air escapes. He probably has to work again. With an annoyed kick I launch a tennis ball across the room. Oops. Hopefully nothing is broken. This hope is not long lived, because I soon notice that the ball has destroyed a paper lamp shade. A Japanese floor lamp that looks expensive. Damn.

I consider whether I should repair it with scotch tape, but in the end I leave it, otherwise I might ruin it even more. I’ll just have to buy him a new lampshade. Why does he even have tennis balls lying around his apartment?

My good mood is totally gone, and I don't know what to do. I could read a book or watch TV, but somehow I'm missing the calm needed to do so. Also there’s never anything good on television at this time of day. Actually, why am I paying Christian if he’s working for other women?

I stare rigidly ahead for a while, waiting for a key to finally turn in the lock and for Christian to come back.

If he has free time right now, he’s definitely not spending it with me. The idea sneaks uninvited into my head. I can't say that my mood is better as a result. If it is at all possible, it becomes even worse. I have to get out of here. This waiting is driving me crazy. Christian can do what he wants, I don't have time to wait for him anyway. I will implement the second part of my plan, alone.

This decision leads me to the main shopping center. I hope that Ron’s thugs won’t be in a place that is nearly every man’s nightmare.

I have decided to take pictures of Ron and Madeleine, photos documenting their affair. I need a camera that provides usable shots, without a flash, and in the dark.

Fortunately it doesn't take long before I find a camera that meets all my requirements. Actually, I should go back to Christian now, because I promised him I wouldn’t go alone to Ron's. But he's still not home. Okay. Nothing bad is going to happen. Ron has no idea where I am. In addition, he knows nothing about my transformation into a long-haired blonde.

In Bad Soden I park at the riding stables and go up the mountain across the street. I lose myself in the small alleys and make my way, bit by bit, to Madeleine's house. It doesn't take long before I’m standing in front of the building next door. The only trouble is, I have to go through the middle of the garden to get to her house.

I decide to act completely normal, or as normal as possible, when you’re about to enter a strangers private property unauthorized. With a wildly beating heart I put my foot on the manicured lawns. I don’t have the nerves for this. How do burglars succeed in doing their jobs without having a heart attack from fear every time?

With bated breath, I cross the green surface which lies wet and shiny before me. Just a few meters. I hope no one sees me! Finally I arrive at the back of Madeleine's house. Of course, there’s a fence, what a surprise. She looked like the kind of person who would give nothing away, keep everything to herself. Then it occurs to me, we fenced off our property too, but of course it was Ron's idea.

Right now I have other problems, because I have to overcome this obstacle somehow. With a frown, I inspect the green wire mesh. Climbing it shouldn’t be a problem, I just hope it can handle my weight.

I land on the other side with a thud. Ouch. I've miscalculated, the fence didn’t look that high. Damn it. I look around nervously. Hopefully no one heard. I wait a few seconds, but everything remains calm. Now onward, I would like to put this whole thing behind me as soon as possible.

The orchard that must have been planted decades ago by an owner who loved fruit trees, now protects me as I slowly move towards the house. Here the living room leads out to the garden. The terrace doors are open, because it is a balmy, warm summer night. I can look directly into the room, and hidden behind the trunk of an apple tree, I feel relatively safe. No trace of Madeleine or Ron.

Then she comes into view wearing a light summer dress. She looks good, I register annoyed. Given that her husband has disappeared, she looks far too happy.

She makes a phone call, walks up and down in the living room and finally falls back onto the large white couch, her gaze lands directly on the terrace, on the green lawn and the fruit trees, behind which I’m hiding. My heart is beating hard. Has she seen me? Madeleine continues speaking undisturbed, there is no sign that she has noticed anything unusual, but maybe she's a good actress. Maybe she’ll rush at me and punch me in the throat, and I’ll bet she won’t hold back.

Does she know that her husband is dead? She laughs and snuggles up comfortably on the couch. Maybe she’s talking to Ron.

Suddenly he’s right in the middle of the room, and I almost drop the camera in fright. He sneaks up behind her and for a long moment I think he wants to kill her. But then he bends down towards her, and as she sees him she laughs and lowers the handset to kiss him. At least I'm alert enough to take a picture of it.

I have the first picture of the two of them, and the evening is still long, who knows what I can capture a photo of next. Madeleine finishes the conversation, while Ron's hands wander over her body. I take more pictures, even if it’s not comfortable for me. It's weird to watch while your ex caresses another woman.

Tears well up in my eyes, but I continue blindly pressing the shutter button. After a while, I put down the camera to wipe my nose. Idiotic, the whole thing. By the time I’ve pulled myself together again, the living room is empty. I don’t need much imagination to know where they went.

The lights are on in a room on the first floor. The bedroom. It’s my chance to take even better pictures, pictures showing the two of them in bed. Even though I'm not exactly eager to see Ron in action with another woman, I have to, the more pictures the better.

The question is, how to do it. The damn room is situated on the first floor. Dubiously, I look at the tree I've been hiding behind. The branches look strong enough, I just have to get up there. Which is not so simple because the lowest branches are pretty high up. There is a folding chair on the terrace. A pretty puny chair; I wonder to myself why she has something so cheap out here.

A few seconds later I’m balancing on the wobbly thing and climbing up into the tree. In position I can look directly into the bedroom, as if I were sitting in a theatre box. I can hardly believe how good the position is, almost as if it were made for me. They are lying on the bed and are so preoccupied with each other that they probably wouldn’t even notice if I jumped up and down in front of the window.

Determined, I pick up the camera, look through the lens, and wait until you can clearly identify both of them. Unfortunately she kisses Ron's chest, her long hair covering her face, while Ron stretches out and enjoys the whole thing.

After a while, finally, Ron also becomes active. He strokes her, and I pray that they will both finally look in the camera, but Ron takes a long time getting to the point.

They both stop fondling and fumbling at the same time, lifting their heads to listen. Ron says something and stands up. He goes directly to the window in all his naked glory, while she stays behind him on the bed, her head resting on her hand, watching. Finally the perfect picture! There, he’ll have a hard time explaining that it was a purely platonic friendship now.