Sun & Moon - a contemporary romance (The Minstrel Series #1) (2 page)

Katja’s stomach growled. She had yet to eat today and wouldn’t mind a bowl of soup herself. From what she could hear through the door as it opened to let another homeless person in, the girl playing guitar was a pretty good musician and singer. Better than what she thought a place like this would provide.

But Katja wasn’t homeless. Not yet. She hoped she’d never be counted as one of those people who needed handouts. A person who didn’t have a place to sleep or shower and shampoo their hair. Katja shuddered. She wasn’t one of them, but she was keenly aware that she hovered very close to the edge. As she’d once heard someone say somewhere she didn’t remember:
But for the grace of God, there go I.

Open mic night at the Blue Note Pub.

Katja signed her name on the performer’s list and hoped she’d be called. If the manager liked her he might let her book a whole night. It happened sometimes. Not only could she make a hundred euros, but her name would also be on the posters.

Katja Stoltz

Money and fame. She needed both.

The bar wasn’t huge. It had a low, wood-beamed ceiling with wooden floors and long tables that were already occupied, making the space feel even smaller. She shuffled past the other musicians and music lovers, holding her guitar case close to her chest. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for a place to sit.

A guy with brown hair shaved short watched her. She’d seen him before, though they’d never spoken, just the kindred nod that happened between musicians as they acknowledged each other’s guitar. He had a peacock tattoo that stretched across his strumming arm, which was draped over a thin girl with spiky blond hair. The guy waved Katja over, shoving down on the bench to make room. Katja pushed loose strands of hair behind her ear and took the offered seat. She flashed him a bright, sincere smile. “Thanks.”

“It’s cool. You’re playing tonight?” he asked loudly to cut through the din of conversation and the music pumping in through the speakers hanging from the corners of the room.

“I hope so. You?”

The guy shrugged. “Maybe. Rock’s more my thing, but acoustic’s cool, too. I’m Sebastian. This is my girlfriend, Yvonne.”

Yvonne forced a smile but didn’t make eye contact. Sebastian introduced the rest of the table, but their names disappeared into the clatter of the room.

As each musician was called, Katja’s stomach spun tighter. The artists were good and she applauded appreciatively with the rest of the crowd after each performer.

The waiter brought drinks to their table and asked Katja if she’d like to order. She’d love to, but she shook her head no. She couldn’t even spare ten cents.

“It’s on me,” Sebastian said, surprising her. “Bring her a beer.”

Yvonne glared at him. Sebastian laughed and squeezed her shoulders. “Baby, it’s okay. The chick’s gotta be thirsty, and she’s singing tonight.”

Katja mouthed thank you. She
was
thirsty. She wanted to impress Herr Leduc, the manager, and it would be much harder to do that with a dry throat. He’d been very friendly when she first introduced herself a few weeks ago, welcoming her to his pub with exuberant German laced with a thick French accent.

Finally, Katja’s name was called. She made her way through the crowd, careful not to bang into anyone with her guitar. The lights were bright on the stage, momentarily blinding her. She strapped her guitar over her shoulder and scanned the crowd.

She gulped, thinking belatedly that maybe it wasn’t a great idea to be doing her newest song.

Her eyes landed on Sebastian and he lifted his beer to her before taking a long drink.

“Hello, everyone,” she said while tuning the bottom string of her guitar. “I’m Katja Stoltz and this is a new song.”

She plucked the notes with a happy, mid-paced beat. The music didn’t match the words. She’d written it that way on purpose, to get the listeners’ attention. She opened her mouth and her smooth, folk voice sang out.

Close your eyes

Try not to speak

Forget the hours of your struggling

Try to fix the trouble

And pieces of your broken mind

The streets that you are traveling on

They lead you far away from home

And you don’t know where you’re going to

And your dreams

They all turned

A somber blue

This burden on your shoulders

Is too heavy for you to carry

And the well

That you’re drinking from

Is a well from a dying generation

Da,da,da,da,da

Think back to when you were a child

And your heart was free and you were alive

And the wind

And the rain

Washed all your fears away

She ended the song with a final strum and the applause rang through the house. She couldn’t stop the sappy smile that spread across her face. She left the stage and was accosted by a group sitting at a nearby table.

“That was awesome.”

“Love your voice!”

“Do you have CDs?”

She thanked them and produced a short stack of CDs. She sold four. This was
great!
She bounced happily on the tips of her toes. Now she could pay her rent
and
buy a new set of strings.

She felt a poke on the shoulder and turned around to see Sebastian grinning down at her.

“You rocked it, Katja. You have crazy songwriting skills.”

She couldn’t help but giggle. This was why she loved writing and performing. There was no high like it.

“Do you wanna hang out sometime, maybe write together?”

Katja couldn’t keep the surprise from bubbling over. “That would be great.” She’d love to try writing with another songwriter. Then she caught Yvonne glaring at them from where she’d remained seated at their table. “But, I don’t think she’s….”

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder and waved at his girlfriend. “Don’t worry about her. She knows she’s the only one for me.”

How nice for Yvonne to have someone so dedicated to her. Sebastian obviously loved her and Katja hoped she appreciated it. She would love to know what it felt like to have someone love her fully without conditions.

And she would. She was certain. Someday.

The hot water tank in Irma and Martina’s flat was the size of a backpack.

Katja squirmed under the cooling water as she rinsed the last of the shampoo from her hair. The stall was barely big enough to turn around in, and she’d learned to watch her elbows, not to accidentally knock into the tap and either scald herself or dose her bare body with ice water. Every shower was a race to finish before the hot water disappeared.

It occurred to her that this was why her roommates both kept their hair short. Maybe she should take the scissors to hers, too. She winced at the thought. Her long, golden locks were her trademark. She’d just have to struggle through the hair-washing trauma.

The clothes she’d washed in the sink the day before still hadn’t dried, so she was forced to wear her red gypsy skirt and grey blouse for the second day in a row.

She cleaned up her things and headed to the kitchen for a coffee. Now that she had a little extra cash, she could buy the next bag of beans, and she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about drinking her roommates’ coffee.

Katja yawned. She scanned the flat as she waited for the coffee to brew. Irma and Martina had thrown a party the night before. Empty beer bottles and full ashtrays littered the room. The smell of smoke lingered in the air, and if it weren’t so cold outside, Katja would’ve opened a window. At least they couldn’t blame her for the messy state of affairs this time.

Their guests hadn’t left until the early morning hours, long after Katja had returned from her gig. Times like that she really wished she had her own place. As it was she had to wait for space to open up on the sofa, and eventually she nodded off even though some strange guy stubbornly refused to leave his spot at the other end.

It was noon before anyone started waking up. Katja had a horrible kink in her neck and a growing headache. Outside the church bells rang, which didn’t really help.

Irma sauntered into the room. Her short, black hair stood up in all directions, and dark puffy circles marred the skin under her eyes. She poured a cup of coffee and sipped it like it would save her life. She drank half of it before noticing Katja sitting there.

“Oh, hey. I heard you rocked the house last night.” She slid into a chair opposite Katja.

“Yeah, it was fun,” Katja said. She’d replayed her performance and the small crowd’s response in her head a million times. The thrill of having her talent recognized still energized her. “Herr Leduc offered me a night of my own.”

Irma arched a dark eyebrow. “Really?”

It annoyed her that Irma didn’t even try to hide her surprise, like she didn’t think Kaja had it in her.

“Yeah, really.”

Irma
harrumphed
and took another sip.

“I have the rent,” Katja announced. She moved confidently to the living room, rested on the sofa and heaved her duffle bag onto her lap. She dug through her things, lifting rumpled shirts and dirty jeans, scraping her nails along the bottom, fingers searching. Her heart sped up. Where was her wallet? She knew she’d put it in here last night when she got home. Icy apprehension filled her chest. She dumped the contents of her bag on the sofa.

No wallet.
No, no no!

“It’s gone,” she muttered. A prickly dread washed over her and her joints felt weak. “Someone stole my wallet.”

“Are you sure?”

Katja frantically sorted through everything again. “Yes, it’s gone.”

“That sucks,” Irma said. “But you got that gig coming up at the Blue Note, right?”

“That’s not until next month.” Katja’s eyes grew glassy and she swallowed the lump in her throat. She felt so violated. So disempowered. Now she couldn’t pay her portion of the rent. “What am I going to do?”

Irma cocked a brow. “There are other ways to make good money in one night.”

Katja frowned. “How?”

Irma tilted her head. “You are very naïve, aren’t you? I’m not one to give out easy compliments, but you do have great legs. Get rid of that granny dress and show them off.”

Katja stood in one of the cutaways on the old bridge over the River Elbe that joined the
Altstadt
with the
Neustadt
, the old city with the new.

She shivered despite her winter jacket and the scarf wrapped around her neck and strummed her guitar with fingerless gloves. The limestone dome of the
Frauenkirche
—the Church of our Lady—peaked out over the city’s ancient, baroque skyline. Like all the buildings in the historic center, it had been completely demolished during the Second World War. The entire city was rebuilt to look much like it had before it was destroyed. In essence, the old town was now the new one, and the new town the old one.