November Sky (8 page)

We saw a lot of each other in the following days because Nick wasn’t filming at the time. I, unfortunately, had to work during the day while he was reading scripts he’d been offered, but the minute I finished work each evening he picked me up right from the office, and we clung together like burrs. I enjoyed every second of the time we spent with each other, and I fell more in love with Nick every day. I couldn’t get enough of his kisses and his tender loving care.

Very soon, I was more than ready to go ahead with it. But
he
was the one playing hard to get. That’s not really the right term, since we were occasionally as close physically as we’d been in his room. But no further. And it was his fault, not mine. In addition to that, he seemed to seek out rendezvous locations where it was impossible for us to “go all the way” undisturbed. We rambled around the Inner City, had coffee, or ate in one of the open-air pubs in the pedestrian zone. He could easily disguise himself so he wouldn’t be recognized. He’d stick a toothbrush mustache over his upper lip and put on sunglasses and a baseball cap, and we’d walk into the crowd without being bothered. Sometimes we strolled through Grünwald, where he showed me more sites from his childhood.

Once we went to his place afterward, but to my disappointment, we spent the whole evening sitting on the patio chatting with Hanna. Each night when he took me home, he refused to come up with me and would say good-bye at the front door of my building.

His explanation was always the same. “My name is Nick and not Tim. You mean a lot to me, and that’s why I’m giving you time.”

By the end of the week, I’d had my fill of that scenario. After a good-bye kiss that was anything but innocent, I tried—again, in vain—to entice Nick upstairs. I was more than ready to go for broke. Yet I was also afraid of it and wanted to get it behind me once and for all. He pulled back and said he had to get going early the next morning for an audition.

“Nick, how long are you going to go on like this?”

He looked at me in feigned innocence. Then he got into the car, rolled down the window, and flashed a naughty grin. “What do you mean? Baby, even I have to work and earn money. My car guzzles a lot of gas.” He gave a hearty laugh. “Besides, sweetheart, I had no idea that you were really sex-obsessed and your reserve was only tactical. But I can reassure you: Don’t plan anything for this Saturday. By then we’ll have known each other for precisely three weeks. Wear something pretty. I’d like to take you out to dinner and, if you’d like, we can spend the night at my place.”

Oh. My. God. My heart did somersaults, and my mouth went dry. But just as suddenly, I was besieged by doubts. He wanted to celebrate our first time, but I had counted on us taking the last step while being overpowered by passion during a necking session; then I would hopefully be sure that I’d find it bearable and that he wouldn’t just leave afterward. I had to make absolutely sure that the bedroom lights were off before he completely undressed me.

I was finally starting to view myself as attractive to some extent while dressed, but undressed, my mental attitude toward my lower extremities resembled an anorexic’s who sees herself in the mirror as too fat, even when observing her protruding collarbones and hip bones.

Objectively, I could see that the ratio of my weight to body size was absolutely within the normal range, but I still couldn’t take an unbiased look at my naked self in the mirror. I wasn’t willowy, had an acceptable bosom, an eye-catching waistline, and a relatively flat stomach, but—OK—I had a prominent rear end and heavy thighs. The odds were against me. Tim’s hateful remark had burned itself into my unconscious.

And what did Nick mean by “wear something pretty”? Did he mean I was to seduce him in a garter belt, high heels, and sexy underwear? My insides screamed, “No!” I’d look like a sausage in disguise, and he’d be completely overwhelmed by either the humor or the horror. My euphoria was gone. I was a total idiot. I was pushing him into taking me to bed, but I didn’t want him to see me naked. I wanted to have my cake and eat it, too! That night I desperately thrashed around for a plausible excuse why I couldn’t make it on Saturday. But Nick screwed up my good intentions to save him from a nasty shock. On Friday evening, before I could think up a plausible reason for an urgent Saturday business dinner date with a new client, we were on the phone.

“We’ll go shopping tomorrow morning,” Nick said. “I made that stupid remark about you wearing something pretty, and if I know you, you’ve been racking your sweet little brains since then about what I meant by that and you’re thinking you haven’t got a thing to wear. So we’ll go into town together, and I’ll help you. I’ll pick you up at ten.”

He apparently knew me better than I knew myself and had a highly developed ability to empathize, but his suggestion was no help. I pictured myself standing in one of those awful, neon-lit booths looking into those mirrors that give every woman a massive inferiority complex. As Nick handed me clothes to try on, I’d feel sick to my stomach. Immediately afterward I’d see his disappointment when I reluctantly opened the curtain, and he saw that the dress, which looked so promisingly sexy on the hanger, on me looked like a too-tight sausage casing. Polite as he was, he wouldn’t say a thing, but the pushy saleslady behind him—with fake exuberance and an eye toward her commission—would rejoice at how wonderful the item looked on me. To top it all off, a few people would recognize him in spite of his disguise. They’d think I’d won a date with him in a fan contest, and I was making him advise me on what to wear. “A Day with Nick Vanderstätt” or something like that . . . We’d look like one of those embarrassing photos readers sent to fan magazines, which showed some crazy-looking person beaming at the camera in rapture, caught in an unflattering pose with their idol. They didn’t have a clue how pitifully idiotic they looked. I had to think up some likely excuse to avoid that humiliation. Even if the clothes fit, I wouldn’t be able to transform myself into a proud swan.

Chapter 7

Saturday evening, with Nick at my side, I walked into a glassed-in gourmet restaurant high over the roofs of Munich. We were seated at a table for two that was set in a niche and surrounded by folding screens. Contrary to all my expectations, I didn’t feel in the least like an ugly duckling but like a newly emerged butterfly.

Nick had picked me up that morning as promised and taken me downtown to a store I’d never in a million years have set foot in on my own. The upscale clothes draped in the two show windows were not for me—too flamboyant, much too bright, and presumably too small. I felt uneasy and intimidated contemplating the torture of buying clothes with him that lay ahead of me. I was just about to pull him back out onto the street and look for the nearest H&M outlet (I at least knew where the figure-flattering items were), when a striking woman came straight toward us from the back of the store. She had a pleasant smile. Spellbound, I eyed her from head to toe. We were about the same height, but my expert eye saw that she was at least two sizes larger than me. But in spite of her ample curves, she seemed tremendously self-confident, like somebody who felt completely comfortable in her skin. She had waves of long, shiny black hair that framed a well-proportioned face. Her large dark eyes were highlighted to good effect with kohl eyeliner and mascara, diverting attention from her somewhat large nose and too-thin lips. She wore a dark red tunic over a tight, black, relatively short skirt, and her low-cut neckline revealed a pretty cleavage. Her dark silk stockings were nicely extended by black-and-red peep-toes and emphasized her narrow ankles. I only noticed her somewhat plump calves the second time around. She threw her arms around Nick’s neck warmly and gave him two hearty kisses on his right and left cheeks. I futilely tried to suppress a trace of resentment—did she have to so ostentatiously demonstrate that she and Nick were well acquainted?

“Nick, so nice to see you. I was glad you called.”

Oh, no. So does she feel obligated to let me know that he still phones other women? Thanks for that, too. What the hell was I doing here? Maybe he should just go eat with
her
. . .

“Laura, may I introduce Susann?” He gave her a wink. “She’s the owner of this boutique and several others, and is also the fashion consultant for our TV series. She has an infallible nose for what a woman should wear and when. She also knows what appeals to men. If it’s OK by you, I’ll leave you in her capable hands for the next couple of hours.”

Thanks to Susann, the time flew, and before I knew it, I was outfitted for our “anniversary dinner” in a colorful, sleeveless print dress with a ruffled, crossover front and a deep V-neck. The straight-cut skirt came to just above my knees, and she matched it with a short, blue, silk jacket and dark-blue sling-back pumps. Susann gave me a crash course in showing my physical features to their best advantage.

She casually brushed my reservations aside, pointing out what a one-sided view of my body I had. “Sweetie, look at me, then you’ll see what it means to be called ‘ample’ by those humorless stick figures of models. If one of us has an extra-large ass and thick thighs, then it’s me. I’ll let you in on a secret: Men go for flesh, not bone. They want something to hang on to. And if you as a woman feel comfortable in your own skin and have a sense of humor and a good vibe, then most guys don’t give a damn if your size is one digit or two. You are
not
overweight or incorrectly proportioned. You have a feminine figure, pure and simple: a pretty bust, a good waistline, and a decent bottom. Be happy with that! Same with your wonderfully smooth skin and pretty face. And now let’s see about what’s underneath your new clothes.”

Wearing dark-blue lace undies and sheer, thigh-high silk stockings, I didn’t feel in any way hemmed in or ill at ease as I had expected. Instead, for the first time in my life I felt completely sexy and desirable.

At dinner, Nick’s burning eyes reflected my new attitude exactly. He laid a gentle hand on mine. “You look fantastic. Actually, we should skip the dinner and segue straight to dessert.”

We’d assiduously ignored the stolen glances that followed us when we entered the packed dining area, as well as the whispers of those who recognized Nick. Nick had tipped the maître d’ well to block anyone from coming to our table because we “wished to dine undisturbed.” Though they might just as well have served us a bowl of oatmeal instead of a lavish three-course dinner and we wouldn’t have noted the difference. Our plates were empty in record time. Nick paid the check, and we left the place with our arms around each other. In the elevator we were all over each other, and soon we were in his bedroom.

He peeled off my clothing piece by piece except for my underwear, and then steered me to the floor-length closet mirror.

In the soft glow of the dimmed ceiling light, I saw myself in stockings, panties, and high-heeled shoes, pressed tightly against Nick. I could feel his heat and excitement at my back. His hands lay like bowls over my naked breasts. His thumbs nimbly stroked my nipples until the pull in my private parts turned into a burning desire. He breathed tender kisses on the sensitive spot on the back of my neck below my hairline, and his movements released hot and cold shivers over my skin. I had no need or time to look for anything negative in my reflection. I forgot everything except for his stroking fingers slipping downward over my belly. I no longer felt bashful with him; the sexual delight he brought me was so overpowering that I had a red haze before my eyes. He quickly laid me down on the bed and penetrated me at last. He was cautious and careful not to hurt me, and I was so excited by his movements that I felt no fear or disgust, let alone pain. I dug my hands into his back, entwined my legs around him, and drew him deeper into me as we kissed. At that moment it seemed that all the humiliation Tim had caused me, and my long-lasting sexual abstinence, was the price I’d paid to know Nick, to fall in love with him, and to be one with him in such an incomprehensible, wonderful way. When we came in a powerful wave together, I knew that not only our bodies had merged, but our souls had as well.

Afterward, I didn’t want to let Nick go, and he seemed to feel the same way. My head lay on his chest, and I listened to his rapid heartbeat gradually slow down. I was still overcome by the incredible feeling of ecstasy Nick had plunged me into. He was breathing hard. His hand circled tenderly over my breasts, then caressed my ribs. He gently kissed my face again and again. And I wished we could stay lying there like that forever.

“Laura, I love you. Stay with me forever. I wouldn’t survive if I lost you.”

I opened my eyes wide. Hello? Wasn’t that my script? Nick had just expressed, very calmly and precisely, what was just going through my head.

Of course, I’d never have dared tell him that, not after so short a time. Chris loomed as a warning example. God forbid he’d have the feeling I would cling to him or wanted protests of love from him that he wasn’t ready for. But I could tell that this thing had inexplicably caught him as it had me.

Or do men always say things like that after good sex? In post-coital rapture, or whatever it’s called? Once again I regretted my lack of experience, and my insecurity kept me silent. Nick gently rolled me over and then propped himself up. He searched my face.

“Laura? I meant that in all seriousness. I’ve never felt what I feel with you with another woman. I feel like I’ve found my other half.”

I answered in the only way I knew how: I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him tenderly and passionately. I was afraid of bursting into tears if I answered aloud.

Nick had aroused me from my deep Sleeping Beauty slumber, and I was head over heels in love with him. Fortunately, the feeling was mutual. We could not get enough of each another. Unhappily, I had to keep going to work and Nick was busy every day shooting episodes for the next season of his series. He’d persuaded me to spend my nights at his place.

“Or else we won’t see each other at all as long as I’m shooting.”

To keep production costs down, they shot five episodes each week. Scenes that took place in the same location were made one after another, and all the outdoor shots were finished in one fell swoop when the weather permitted. There was no order to the way they shot, so the actors had to work hard to concentrate on each scene. The trick was to convince the audience that the whole episode was shot in chronological order.

Nick had to leave first thing in the morning and came back quite late, so we exchanged countless text messages. He’d call me when he had short breaks, saying he wanted to hear my voice as often as possible.

Each time my cell phone rang, Chris heaved a deep sigh, and I jumped up and disappeared into the restroom so we could declare oaths of love and promises of what we’d do with each other that night.

“Sweetie, if you worked for a porn hotline, you could make a pile of money,” Chris teased me. I stared at her, aghast. Was I that loud? She burst out laughing at the sight of my horrified face.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t hear a thing. But I know what phone calls between new lovers are like. Besides, I’m happy that you’re walking among normal mortals now and that you don’t think fun sex is a fairy tale.”

She grinned at me. “Nick really and truly does you good. You’ve totally blossomed. You never wanted to believe that a balanced love life is better than a wellness cure.”

My family said the same thing when I introduced them to Nick the following weekend. Anna was celebrating her thirtieth birthday. My older sister, who always cared for me with the patience of an angel, had appropriately enough become an elementary school teacher and was now pregnant with her first baby. The baby boy would arrive in two months. She and her husband, Lars, were wild with anticipation. When they called to invite me to the party at the inn at Seebruck on the Chiemsee, I asked if I could bring somebody. Anna’s surprised silence lasted two seconds, and then she said she’d be happy if I didn’t come alone.

“Who’s the lucky fellow that finally converted you—the incurable single?”

“His name is Dominick Vanderstätt.”

I didn’t count on my sister, who was rooted in the soil, to know his name. She lived and worked in the sedate town of Seebruck, was active in the local choir and the society for local folk dress, and she and her husband were passionate mountain hikers. She only went into the exhaust-fume-infested metropolis of Munich, fifty miles away, out of the direst necessity.

But I’d underestimated Anna. She took a deep breath. “Laura, cut it out. Stop pulling my leg. He’s an actor.”

Now I was the surprised one and didn’t know what to say.

Anna went on. “If you don’t want to tell me your new boyfriend’s name, that’s OK, but I know Vanderstätt. Sure, we’re in the hinterland, but I watch
(Not) A Nerd to Love
regularly.”

My, my. Anna sure defended herself whenever anyone implied she had too much free time, but there seemed to be something to this charge if a person could watch a TV series every afternoon at half-past four. Well, now she’d have the opportunity to experience the “nerd” live. I decided I’d surprise her.

Nick agreed to come along on Saturday to meet my sister and the rest of the family. He said he was even looking forward to it.

When I told him about Anna’s reaction, he wanted to know if he should come dressed as Herbert, but I liked him better as Nick—by a long shot. I wanted the grand entrance, including driving up in the Corvette, which I’d gradually come to terms with. As the middle of three children, I was short of attention and recognition from the rest of the family. I was the sandwich child—exactly between the oldest and the baby of the family. I’d always looked up to my big sister. She was the one who battled with our parents, pushed the boundaries, and was my role model. The only downer was that I had to wear her clothes when they got too small for her. And Peter was the pampered little boy, the longed-for heir to the farm. I was Laura, plain and simple, the in-between. My only outstanding virtues in my family were my penchant for saving and my talent for making money. As children, whenever Anna and Peter—particularly the latter—spent their pocket money too soon, they would come to me and I’d give them a loan, with interest, of course. But now thanks to Nick’s presence, I was going to catch them off guard at this family celebration and be the absolute center of attention.