November Sky (12 page)

“You look like you were jumping yourself. Surely you’re not afraid for me?”

Yes, that’s exactly how I felt. I’d heard many times how dangerous the sport was, and even that a parachute occasionally doesn’t open. If that happens, the parachutist hasn’t the slightest chance of survival. Why couldn’t Nick get his kicks playing tennis, soccer, or golf, goddammit! Why did everything have to be a thrill or a challenge to fate?

When I said this, he just laughed.

“Laura, imagine how dreary it would be for you to root for me on the sidelines every soccer weekend, or cheer nonstop at the tennis court. It’s childish to play with balls at my age. And we can save golf for when we’re old and not in good enough shape for other sports.”

I could only hope we’d both make it to old age, given his constant longing for living on the edge. Besides, it seemed just as puerile to drop out of a plane like a fruit falling from a tree as it was to move a ball around with your feet or a racquet. But I didn’t say anything—I just shut my impertinent trap in order to keep the peace. I didn’t want to upset Nick before his jump. My sole consolation was that the frequency of his jumps was limited given his tight shooting schedule. He had little free time, so jumps had to be planned well in advance. A plane and a pilot were needed, as were a number of jumpers to keep costs down. Plus, the weather had to cooperate.

When we reached the airfield, we greeted the pilot and the other parachutists, two women among them. The younger one had a license and could jump by herself; the other was a fortyish blonde, who enthusiastically explained that she was on a tandem jump today to please her husband. He stood beside her with his equipment already on his back, his arm around her. I was infinitely grateful to Nick for not mentioning my cowardice or fear of flying and for not looking at me with reproach. He winked instead, whispered “Thanks,” and disappeared into the hatch. Once they were all aboard and we bystanders had wished them luck, the plane took off and climbed quickly.

I knew they’d jump at about thirteen thousand feet, and I felt sick as I watched them leave the plane, one by one. I strained my eyes looking up into the bright-blue sky, and was filled with relieved euphoria when Nick’s blue parachute finally opened and, gently swaying, came back to earth. Afterward, over drinks in the little bar in the hangar, the woman who did the tandem jump raved about it, her eyes aglow. I didn’t begrudge her a thing, but I wouldn’t dream of being part of this craziness. One adrenaline junkie in our relationship was enough. His shenanigans pushed my blood pressure way up time and again—why should I put myself in danger, too?

I got to know Nick’s film crowd and a few of his old school buddies in a beer garden on the Isar. They were a colorful crew of people. He rounded them up to introduce me and announce our engagement. Then he led me by the hand to the long table where they all were. A loud “Look who’s here!” erupted. I had to take some teasing about how I’d managed to snare him.

Nick’s good spirits rubbed off on me, and I teased back. “I pushed his hot rod into the ditch with my Mini, so he had to come over and talk to me!”

Huge laughter on all sides. Nick and I grinned at each other. Amazing how one of my mother’s favorite proverbial sayings turned out to be true: “Truth makes the best lies.”

“You finally nabbed somebody who sounds intelligent when she opens her mouth,” an impudent guy in his midthirties crowed. He wore his long blond-streaked hair in a ponytail and had on bilious green pants and a shocking-red T-shirt.

Nick countered with lightning speed, “Before I met Laura, there was no one I particularly wanted to talk to.”

I jabbed him playfully in the ribs but was pleased by the compliment.

Nick introduced us. Frank was a cameraman who’d worked with Nick for years. We got along immediately, and I liked everyone else just as much. It was a terrific evening. When we got back home late that night, Nick took me in his arms and pushed me toward the bedroom.

“Do you want to have a talk?” I asked innocently after his passionate kiss.

He had a glint in his eye as he began to undress me. “I’m letting my actions do the talking, sweetheart. Just close your eyes and enjoy.”

It wasn’t at all difficult to follow his instructions.

On a Sunday visit to my parents’ place, I gave Nick a tour of our farm, and he wanted to learn all the details of my childhood. For hours we went through old photo albums that depicted me, by myself or with my brother and sister, as an infant, a little girl, and a teenager. He was greatly amused by my hairdo for my second birthday: Mama had pulled my hair into a ponytail at the top of my head. Nick said I looked like Fred and Wilma Flintstones’ daughter, and all that was missing was the bone barrette.

He looked at me for a moment. “What was their kid’s name again? Oh, yes, Pebbles—so I can call you Kieselchen from now on.”

“Only if you let me call you Karnickelchen, you bunny rabbit, you!”

My parents had only met Nick at Anna’s party, so they enjoyed getting to know him further. He praised Mama’s schnitzel and listened patiently as Papa enlightened him about the technical advantages of our new tractor fueled by vegetable oil. Finally, over after-dinner coffee, he formally asked for permission to marry me.

After some initial bafflement, my parents quickly regained their composure. “Is there a reason for your haste?”

Mama gave me a searching look. I laughed and shook my head. She could hardly wait to have grandchildren. But Anna was to be the first to anoint her Granny. It struck me that Nick and I hadn’t even discussed having children, except the one time he’d asked me to promise I’d save his life again so he could see our children grow up.

I quickly blocked out that unpleasant memory and returned to our conversation about our wedding—where and when was it to take place? If it had been up to my future husband, we’d fly to Las Vegas the next day and come back as a married couple three days later. Nick explained that this way we could avoid all the fuss with the press. But he burst out laughing when he saw my parents’ horrified faces.

“No need to panic! Of course we’ll get married here in Chiemsee. Very traditional, a beautiful Baroque village church, reception to follow in a country inn. And Laura will wear a long white dress with a veil, as is proper.” He put his arm around my waist and kissed me on the cheek. “We’ll manage the press somehow. We’ll let Mira wrestle with them. They’ll be permitted to shoot a few exclusive photos after the civil ceremony, on the condition that they leave us alone at the church and the reception.”

I could see his assurance was a giant load off Mama’s mind. She liked Nick a lot, as she’d confided to me many times after meeting him, but you never knew what eccentric madness those film and TV people were capable of. There was no way that one of
her
children would get married in far-off America, in a kitschy wedding chapel, with maybe an Elvis impersonator present, but not her powerful spiritual and practical support. Honestly, I felt the exact same way and was happy all over again that Nick was so understanding and empathetic. I’d gotten to know him well enough to realize that the American fast-food-type wedding would be preferable to him. Things could never move too fast for him.

We went to the train station to pick up Hanna, who was coming home from Vienna. She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw my car.

“I am so happy not to get into that pimpmobile.”

“Hanna, dear, we know you have huge reservations about my car, but if you’d ever looked inside, you’d know it’s a two-seater. We’re taking Laura’s jalopy so you don’t have to ride in the trunk,” Nick explained in a gentle, patient tone as if talking to a child.

Hanna threatened to whack him with her oversized handbag. Then she gave me a punishing look. “Girl, you clearly haven’t got this brat under control! You shouldn’t let him say that about your car.”

Before I could reply, Nick grinned mischievously. “You’re wrong, Hanna—she’s got me under control. So much so that I’m going to marry her.”

Hanna froze and stared at us in disbelief. Then she flung her arms around my neck, and then Nick’s, hugging us tightly.

In her excitement, she switched to a pure Viennese dialect. “Weeell! I never thought I’d see the day. This kid’s smartened up at last.”

I fervently hoped she was right, even though I knew she meant it differently.

Chapter 11

“Sweetheart, my parents are coming to Munich tomorrow to meet you.”

Nick and I were having a lazy Sunday in bed after an hour’s jog in the pouring rain, a shower together that was hot in both senses of the word, and an opulent breakfast. Relaxed, I snuggled beside him while we watched an old American comedy. In it, a failed actor dresses up as a woman for a casting session in a Hollywood movie and somehow gets the female lead. The rest of the movie is about him maneuvering his way through pitfalls and embarrassments because of the disguise. Nick’s announcement out of the blue jolted me mid-giggle.

I sat up and gave him an annoyed look. “You’re telling me that
now
?”

He flashed a cheerful grin. “Yes, intentionally. Otherwise you’d have been panicking all week. Listen, you don’t have to spruce up the house or slaughter a fatted lamb and cook it. Forget the red carpet and welcoming song. My parents are completely normal, uncomplicated people.”

I managed a feeble smile. He sensed my concern and gently caressed my cheek. “Baby, relax. Just be yourself tomorrow and you’ll see that Mom and Pop will love you.”

He could talk. He’d already captivated my parents while I had been harboring strong doubts for quite some time whether Angela and Jürgen Vanderstätt would agree with their only son’s choice. I didn’t move in their circles. Sure, I earned my daily bread by honest, independent work but, strictly speaking, I was a country girl. A farmer’s daughter, whose family was dependent on the food we grew. I wasn’t ashamed of my family, but I could very well imagine that the Vanderstätts would have wished for a different, well-heeled fiancée for their son. Or what if they thought I was after Nick’s money?

I left Nick reading a few scripts and went downstairs to visit Hanna. I asked if I could help. She said no and lifted the lid of a pot emitting the seductive scent of a creamy cheese sauce.

She stirred the pot, and then said to me, “Come, come, girl, there’s something on your mind. Are you afraid of Nick’s parents?”

It was creepy how well she already knew me. When I nodded in embarrassment, she gave me a cheery smile.

“Why do you think Nick’s such a nice guy without any airs and graces? Because they love him, never spoiled him, and were ultimately approving of his career choice. They keep an eye on his welfare and are happy when things are going well for him. When he’s together with you, things go well for him. They will like you just as much as I do.”

Twenty-four hours later, I knew that my apprehensions had been groundless. Nick’s mother, Angela, was a tall, attractive brunette woman of about sixty. She hugged and welcomed me the minute she came through the front door. His father was just as open and friendly. Secretly, I was amazed at his looks. I’d always imagined him to be an older, more mature version of Nick. But Jürgen, as I was to call him, was a whole head shorter than his son—even his wife was a couple of inches taller—and instead of having a full head of graying hair, he was bald and weighed several pounds too much for his height. His blue eyes gleamed at me from his round face. It was quickly apparent that Nick had his mother’s genes, at least as far as height and facial shape were concerned.

Angela and Jürgen were both deeply tanned and exuded that casual aura of people who wanted for nothing.

Hanna had made dumplings and red cabbage to celebrate the day, and after we’d finished the meal, Nick’s father leaned back, patted his stomach, and relaxed.

“Hanna, that was fantastic,” said Jürgen. “I’m glad that Angela doesn’t cook as well as you do, or I’d soon roll down the street faster than I could walk.”

I took a peek at his wife. In my house, a remark like that would have been
lèse-majesté
. But willowy Angela was completely unperturbed:

“Exactly, my dear. You’re well padded and won’t starve so quickly. That’s why I don’t feel guilty that I’m a dead loss as a cook. And Hanna is taking care of Nick, who needs her cooking and housekeeping skills more urgently than you. And now she has two people she can mother.” She smiled at me. “Laura, you work full-time, so I assume you won’t be feeding Nick by yourself after the wedding. Anyway, given his idiosyncratic sense of order, it would be a Herculean task.”

I swiftly shook my head. By no means did I want to take Hanna’s job away from her. And I had to admit it was most convenient to come home from work in the evening and have everything sparkling clean, the laundry done and in the closet, and a meal ready to sit down to. The first few nights I spent with Nick I’d been embarrassed that Hanna would have to clean up “my crap” as well as his, but Nick laughed me out of court when he caught me scrubbing down the tub after a shower one morning.

“Honey, you’ll put Hanna’s nose way out of joint. She’ll think her cleaning job wasn’t good enough.”

Nothing was further from my mind than to insult Hanna, so my forays into her area of competence quickly ceased. All my attempts to teach Nick anything about order failed, because he said that “Hanna would be bored otherwise.” Nick was, as the Bavarians say, an
Oberschlamper
—super slovenly. He scattered clothes, scripts, DVDs; everything he got his hands on went straight onto the floor in his room. It was only thanks to Hanna’s efforts that I didn’t have to pick my way through his castoffs like a stiff-legged stork. I still wasn’t completely comfortable with her picking up and cleaning our room once a week, but she told me in no uncertain terms that she liked her work and was glad that I’d brought more life into the house.

“Since Nick’s parents started spending so much of the year in Spain, it’s been very quiet around here. I was so bored and I had pangs of conscience because my salary is so generous. Nick wasn’t in the house much before he met you.”

When she saw the pointedly indifferent look on my face, she laughed.

“You’re transparent as a pane of glass. He did not live with some other woman. I mean he just didn’t come home for meals regularly and often went off with his gang after work. But now he hurries home after work because he wants to be with you.”

While Nick’s father and mother were visiting, I had the chance to discuss finances with his father on several occasions. I was both fascinated and shocked at the high amounts he staked on a new film project. He was happy to have found in me a like-minded person, and we swapped ideas about lucrative stocks, fixed deposits, investments, and the necessary insurance, while Nick and Angela, when they were even listening, rolled their eyes in boredom. It was quite clear that they represented the artistic side of the Vanderstätt family, whereas Jürgen and I were the “sober-sided businesspeople,” at least according to Nick. I’d learned early on in our relationship that he didn’t like to discuss financial matters; they bored him. But since Jürgen and I were already on the subject, I seized the opportunity.

“Nick, I’d like us to sign a marriage contract before we get married.”

He raised his eyebrows and pretended to misunderstand me. The corners of his mouth twitched as he looked at his parents and then at me.

“I didn’t know you wanted to take me to the cleaners. Laura, my dear, you don’t need an official confirmation that everything that’s mine will be yours, too. I’ll freely give you the shirt off my back.”

Angela and Jürgen laughed, and I played along. “What am I supposed to do with the shirt off your back? You can go wash it yourself! I just want you to sign over your pimpmobile to me.”

Hanna, who had just entered the room, froze in midstep and looked at me aghast. Nick was nearly rolling on the floor with laughter. I playfully explained to Hanna that we were in the middle of important financial negotiations concerning our marriage. Whereupon she noted drily that to her knowledge such things took place before the divorce, not the wedding. I contradicted her.

“That’s exactly the mistake. You need to get these things settled when you are communicating well, and not when you hate each other so much that you want to split up.”

Nick had recovered in the meantime and winked at me. “Sweetheart, I’m impressed time and again by how reasonable and forward-looking you are. And that you’re already thinking about our separation before our wedding. But as far as my set of wheels goes: Sweetie, you’re near and dear to me—”

“But I don’t get your car. It’s your great love. Your Corvette, I mean. Thanks, I get the message.”

He solemnly laid his hand on his heart. “I swear to you, darling, after the car comes you. And as far as a marriage contract goes, that scrap of paper, we really don’t need it. What belongs to me, belongs to you as well.”

He stifled my disagreement with a kiss on my mouth. I knew he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so I postponed the subject. It was important to me that before the wedding I declared officially that I didn’t have designs on his money.

A few days later, Angela and Jürgen flew back to Spain—with the promise they’d see us in October for the wedding—and a few days after that, I became an aunt.

Anna’s homebirth went smoothly, with no complications. When Nick and I visited her on the following Sunday, she sat on the living room sofa, smiling from ear to ear.

She and Lars had had to rapidly reverse course about the expected son and heir. It seemed the gynecologist hadn’t been wearing her glasses when she read the ultrasound. So the planned-for Valentin was transformed into Elizabeth. Anna, who didn’t give a fig for “blue for a boy” anyway, took it in stride, as did her husband. Her credo was “main thing healthy.”

Lars was absolutely devoted to his two “girls.” Next to Anna was a bassinet lined in a white fabric and printed with colorful teddy bears. Soft sounds, astonishingly like a pussycat’s, emerged from under the basket’s canopy.

My two-day-old niece was a cute baby, and before I could worry about doing something wrong, Anna had put her in my arms. I reverently held the soft bundle that smelled of baby powder and milk, and marveled at the cute face below the thick, dark head of hair. As I admired her little hands, I felt for the first time an unexpected desire to also bring a perfect tiny creature like this into the world.

Lars served us coffee, and I was going to put the infant back in the bassinet, but Nick asked to hold her, too. I was moved at how ably and carefully he took her from me and supported her head. He looked down at the little one lovingly.

Anna was fulsome in her praise. “You’re one of the few men who’s not a father that isn’t afraid to hold a baby. Or maybe you have a secret we don’t know about?”

My niece opened her mouth wide and made a tearful face as she searched around like a chick. Nick quickly handed Anna the little one. “I think she’s hungry. Take your daughter; I can’t fill ’er up.”

He smiled at my sister. “And as far as I’m aware, I don’t have any children. I’m just a natural-born talent. To be honest, I was in a film last year playing a brand-new father and was given a crash course in infant caregiving. I can even change diapers, but really only if I absolutely must. During the shoot I admired the real mother of our film baby for putting up the way she did with stinky, full diapers. I felt sick every time.”

Anna and I laughed at the slightly disgusted face he made.

My sister razzed him. “Do you think the contents of
your
diapers smelled like roses? Every parent goes through it.”

Before Anna could try to make fatherhood seem palatable, I quickly changed the subject. “Has your oddball friend been here to check on the baby’s nationality—Bavarian or Prussian? Might be hard to know until it starts to talk.”

Anna was breastfeeding the baby without the least embarrassment, and regarded me half amused, half disapprovingly.

“Laura, Sabine hasn’t had an easy life. You know her mother abandoned them, and since then she’s had to take care of her father and brother. Don’t be so hard on her.”

For Anna’s sake, I swallowed the wicked remark that I, too, would have fled from that antisocial family if I were in her mother’s shoes. As I’ve said, Sabine didn’t like me and the feeling was mutual.

On the way home Nick started to talk about children. “How many would you like to have? I’d like at least two. It’s no fun to be an only child. But if what I saw at Anna and Lars’s place is typical, I’d say taking care of a baby is rather challenging.”