New York for Beginners (23 page)

“What are you going to do when you’re back in Germany?” Allegra asked her and took a sip of tea. “You don’t really want to work at
The Ansbach News
, do you?”

“Why not?” Zoe said, absentmindedly twirling a strand of her hair around her index finger. “Seems like a solid plan to me.”

“Zoe, honey, solid isn’t everything. Sometimes you need to take a risk.”

“But I did,” Zoe argued. “And what did I get? A crash. The plane exploded. All passengers and crew are dead.”

“Don’t you want to get back into the magazine business? Or continue with social media? Maybe develop some new concept of your own?”

“Like what?”

“Well, just look at all these consumers searching for meaning. They spend thousands of euros to find themselves. After our three weeks here, I’m convinced that authenticity in life is hugely important. Back to nature, honest eating, contemplation, simplicity, spirituality.”

“You mean longing for life like it was lived in earlier times?”

“Exactly. Think about it: a lifestyle magazine, but without all the lifestyle.”

“Al, that’s genius!”

“I know! If I weren’t traveling the world, I would start developing that exact kind of magazine right now.”

“I don’t think it should be a magazine, though. It has to be much more interactive. The users should be able to give each other advice, to give each other ideas, to motivate, to sell things they make. Limited-edition hand-produced honey from Prenzlberg, for example. Or video seminars on Loving-Kindness Meditation. That kind of thing only works with an online platform. And you could still create a magazine out of that.”

Zoe’s head was bubbling over with ideas. She could already see the design in her mind’s eye. Clean and simple. She could see the different verticals: “Life,” “Food & Drink,” “Home & Garden,” and of course “The Good Life,” which would feature people who had managed to make life at least a little bit more worth living. People who made the world a little better.

“We could call it something like Stonyfield Farm,” Allegra suggested.

“Sounds too much like yogurt.”

“True. How about . . . Yearning?”

“Yearning sounds great!” Zoe exclaimed and jumped up.

“Start developing the platform when you’re back in Germany,” Allegra proposed. “I’ll join as a 50-percent partner and scrape together some money for the financing. You can stay at my old place in Hamburg until I’m back. And then we’ll see. Either we’ll pull it off on our own, or we’ll find ourselves a media company as a partner. Deal?”

“Deal!”

22

On her second visit that month to her hometown, Zoe was a lot more disturbed than she had been on her first visit that nothing had changed in the past ten or twenty years. It felt like a cheap horror movie where the main character trudges through empty, dusty village streets without the slightest idea that blood-thirsty zombies are hiding behind the curtains of the barricaded houses. Zoe had come back to Herpersdorf again to tell her parents in person that she was fine. And that she had plans. Big plans, which were impossible to pursue while working at
The Ansbach Ne
ws. She couldn’t stay unhappy just because she was scared of change.

The editor-in-chief accepted her resignation, although he looked concerned. Zoe told him about New York and India and how she’d found herself. She felt calmer than she had in a long time. At least now she had a plan.

When Zoe returned from her meeting at
The Ansbach News,
she found a black Mercedes limo with tinted windows and a running motor parked in front of her house. Leaning against the hood of the car was a blonde with endless legs. She was dressed in a crystal-embellished, floor-length evening gown with a mink wrap, and she was impatiently drumming her fingers on the hood of the car.

“Mimi?”

“About time you showed up, sweetie. Get in the car!”

“Well, good day to you, too. What are you doing here? How are you?”

“I’d be a lot better if you’d get your little butt inside this car now. We’ve got a plane to catch.”

As she said it, she shoved Zoe toward the Mercedes, pushed down her head like in that show
CSI: NY
when they arrest somebody, and bundled Zoe into the car. The driver revved the engine to a howl, Mimi jumped into the passenger seat, and they were off on Route 2223, headed for the highway.

“Is this a kidnapping or something, Mimi? And what’s with this elaborate dress you’re wearing? Isn’t it a bit over the top for a secret mission?”

“Complex tasks require exquisite dress.”

“But seriously, Mimi. What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were all right, hon.”

It was only now that Zoe realized there was somebody else sitting there next to her in the backseat of the Mercedes. “And who in heaven’s name are you?”

“I’m the makeup artist. I’ll be doing your face while we drive to the Nuremberg Airport. Your dress and shoes are in the trunk.”

“Can someone please explain to me what the heck is going on here?”

“Since apparently no one else in the entire world is capable of convincing our stubborn, proud Zoe of what she needs, it seems I have to do it,” Mimi explained theatrically. “We’re flying to Hamburg. For the German Women’s Journalism Prize awards ceremony. You won, by the way. Congrats.”

January 19. Zoe had completely forgotten about the stupid awards ceremony. She’d put it in the Voldemort/New York drawer, way in the back of her brain. She wouldn’t have dreamed of actually going.

“Aren’t the winners only supposed to be announced at the gala?”

“The list has been on that journalism association’s website for weeks. At least that’s what my hacker tells me, but he doesn’t understand German, and Google Translate spat out a load of gibberish.”

“Your hacker?”

“Extraordinary circumstances call for extraordinary methods!”

The awards ceremony was held at Deichtor Hall, in Hamburg’s Old Town. As Mimi and Zoe arrived, people were already streaming into the main hall. Zoe was wearing a long, ivory-colored Prada dress that had straps that crossed in the back, giving it a modern, geometric look. The makeup artist had given her a “London face,” with blood red lipstick. On stage, Sabine Christiansen was already starting her presentation. Mimi took Zoe’s hand and pulled her along, weaving between white-cloth-covered tables until they reached Table 9 in the middle of the second row. Two seats were still unoccupied. Their seats. The rest of the guests at the table seemed relieved to have made it on time.

Aaron Papst smiled and patted Zoe’s hand. “Glad you could make it,” he said.

If Zoe hadn’t known Lord Voldemort, she might have believed him. On the other hand, it seemed fitting that Papst didn’t seem the least bit perturbed to find Zoe, who’d vanished from New York without a trace, sitting alive and well next to him. He didn’t ask her a single question, which Zoe suspected wasn’t only because the program had already started. She wondered if Tom might have spoken to him and briefed him on what had happened. Should she ask him? No, she didn’t want to show that kind of weakness.

The next hour passed like a dream. Zoe won the prize in the Online category. German Journalist Sandra Maischberger gave a speech praising Zoe’s work. There were kisses, a photograph, and a glass of champagne backstage. Then more kisses in the audience, more photos, and even more champagne. Suddenly, Mimi mumbled that she had to leave right away. Zoe looked around in time to see her hurrying outside with the young, attractive—and married—editor-in-chief of
Boulevard
magazine. Mimi had a strict rule: She only slept with married men, because they had to hurry back to their wives late at night, leaving Mimi with her peace and quiet in the morning.

Aaron Papst and Zoe Schuhmacher ended up alone together at the bar. Zoe had long since switched to mineral water, but Aaron kept sipping his Veuve Clicquot.

“By the way, I really like being someone’s mistress,” Voldemort said. “Just in case you were wondering.”

“Actually, I was wondering. I thought you’d fire me because of my article.”

“No. You got the emotional roller coaster just right. But I’m an adrenaline junkie, you know? There’s nothing worse for me than the thought of two people boring each other on their silver anniversary. Sure, I’m alone at Christmas. But in exchange I’ll be going on a cruise to South America with my lover over New Year’s. Fireworks included.”

Aaron Papst paused and then took a big gulp of bubbly, as though he needed some liquid courage. “Zoe, I’d like you to come back to New York and work for me.”

“But I don’t want to,” she blurted out. “In all honesty, Aaron. The two of us aren’t workplace-compatible. I’m not into the whole dominatrix thing, and all that.”

“
All that
sells magazines. Fashion is a circus, a big festival of illusions, and I’m the lion tamer. Do you think I enjoy chewing people out all day long?”

“I was under the impression that you did, actually.”

Voldemort sighed. “Zoe, you’re good. You’re talented, and you’re going to make it big someday. Maybe in another year or two, you’ll be taking over the position of editor-in-chief for a big German publisher.”

Zoe was, once again, astonished by the image people seemed to have of her, which didn’t quite fit with how she perceived herself. She obviously gave off a much more self-assured impression than she felt about herself. So why did she keep doubting her accomplishments—and herself—on an almost daily basis?
Maybe I should finally get over my insecurities,
Zoe thought. Apparently even successful people had recurring nightmares about failing their final exams. At least, that’s what she’d heard. Maybe it was time for her to pass her inner finals.

“Maybe I will do that,” she responded. “But I’ve already found closure with New York. It’s not my world. I don’t belong there.”

“Bull!” he exclaimed and smacked his hand on the table, making the glasses jump. Even the waiter turned to look at them in surprise. “You did a good job on the editorial team and presented yourself well at the Snowflake Ball, at least as far as I could tell from reading the
New York Post.
Nobody fits in with New York better than you. You find all that chichi crap interesting, but you don’t bend over backward for it. You stay who you are!”

“Aaron, you make your money with
Vision
by bringing this—what did you call it?—chichi crap to the living rooms of Hamburg and Munich suburbs. And that’s perfectly OK. Hollywood sells dreams, so why shouldn’t Schoenhoff do that, too?”

Aaron Papst was silent. Then he finally sighed and said, “Tom’s asking you to come back.”

Zoe almost choked on her water. “Were you supposed to tell me that?”

“Yes. Tom loves you. Because you’re you. And not a completely fun-free American Fifth Avenue Princess who takes her engagement ring to the first jeweler she can find to have it appraised so she can be sure that her fiancé invested the socially required three paychecks. That’s exactly how he described it to me.”

“Really?”

“Really! Right after your hasty departure, he flew to Germany to look for you.”

“In Herpersdorf?”

“No, in Berlin. Who would have guessed that you’d go hide in the countryside? But when you were taking a little too long for all of our liking on your self-discovery trip, we sent Mimi after you. A truly wonderful weapon, that woman is. By the way, it was Tom’s idea to send her.”

Zoe was confused. It seemed that everyone had been talking about her—and even worrying about her—behind her back. That secretly flattered her a bit, but it also made her livid. Especially the part about Tom. Who did he think he was to send someone after her? Hadn’t he messed with her life enough?

“But that changes nothing about the fact that Tom wasn’t honest with me, Aaron. I mean, damn it, first he doesn’t tell me he’s my boss before sleeping with me, and then he forgets to mention that he’s married.” Zoe jumped up so quickly that her barstool fell over and hit the floor with a resounding crash. Fuming, she said, “Thomas Prescott Fiorino is dead to me. You can tell him that, Aaron. With my kind regards!”

She stormed out of the bar.

When Zoe woke up the next morning, her mind felt like a roller coaster. What did McSlimy want from her? Hadn’t her escape from New York told him everything he needed to know? He should just leave her alone, dammit.

She got dressed in slow motion. Mimi had given her a little suitcase of clothes. Right on top of the items inside was a T-shirt with the iconic inscription “I ♥NY.”

“Very funny,” Zoe murmured, tossing it into the hotel’s trash basket. She chose a dark-blue silk blouse that had probably cost a fortune. She opened the hotel room door and had to look down at the floor twice to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. In front of Room 707 lay a white bath mat with green garden cress sprouting out of it. Stuck amid the lush green was a note. Zoe picked it up, unfolded it, and read:

Breakfast at the hotel at 10 tomorrow? I’d be grateful! Sincerely, Ben.

Zoe had to think for a moment.
Sincerely, Ben.
Who exactly was this
Ben
again?

“Benni, this is really bad timing,” Zoe tried to explain when she met Benjamin Nikolaus Nigmann downstairs.

“It’s Ben, please.”

“Huh, Ben?
What Ben?”

“Please call me Ben, Zoe. I’m over Benni. Literally and figuratively.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve thought about myself a lot since you left me, Zoe. And I’ve changed a lot in my life—”