Taxi to Paris (5 page)

She laughed very softly and said, "I think that can be arranged."

She touched her lips to my throat and ran them along its length. I moaned. The leather upholstery was soft and inviting. She let herself sink down until she lay under me, but kept her mouth on my neck. She began to unbutton my shirt. With every button that she opened, she ran her lips across the skin she'd lain bare. Finally, she let herself fall all the way back and looked up at me. She didn't smile. I looked down at her and knew that I was in love with her. And that I could never tell her that, just like I could never expect to hear it from her.

"Wouldn't you like to make yourself a little more comfortable?"

I emerged from my thoughts. I still had my boots on. How embarrassing! I leapt up. I took off my boots and unbuttoned my pants.

I saw her lying on the sofa. Her white robe contrasted stunningly with the deep black of the leather. Unbelievable how she completed the sequence, lying there so perfectly arranged. I looked at her, crestfallen.

"Should I do it?"

"What?" I was quite irritated. I'd forgotten why I'd stood up.

"Undress you." It sounded absolutely self-evident. She seemed expectant. Of course - the wishes of her clients... I shook my head roughly to chase away the uncomfortable thoughts.

"No," I fought loudly against the voice in my head. Too loudly. To that I added shrinkingly, "I can do that myself."

"I'm convinced of that," she stated, slightly amused once more.

The silk of the robe she wore made clear the contours of her body. Her straight shoulders, her breasts, the sweeping line of her hips. Slowly, I took off my pants. She watched me. I was embarrassed. "Could you maybe look somewhere else?"

"Yes, of course." She agreed to my wish immediately. Nonetheless, I had the feeling that she looked away against her will.

That's unfair of you. You look at her with such longing, and when she does the same... Yes, I know, but she's so beautiful - and she's used to it! My conscience was starting to bother me. Is that an excuse for bad behavior? it scolded from the recesses of my mind. I ignored it haughtily.

I went back over to the sofa. My arousal climbed. I could feel my pulse beating in my neck. She was still looking out the window. I kneeled next to the sofa and laid my hand on her stomach. She didn't react. After a second, I understood. "Look at me, please," I said. She turned her face toward me. If she just wouldn't do everything I asked!

Her belly rose and fell regularly beneath my hand. I went deeper and slid it under the cloth. My hand lay on her upper thigh. She still breathed quietly and evenly. My thoughts from early that morning occurred to me. Perhaps she really didn't feel anything from that. But last time...? So much was different then from today. I pulled my hand back.

She said nothing. She propped herself up on one elbow and laid the other hand on the nape of my neck. Her lips parted. She pulled me a little closer and kissed me. She tickled my neck a little; her kiss was careful and exploratory. Was this Technique No. 324? Despite her experienced tongue, my arousal fell to zero. She noticed. "Am I doing something wrong?" This friendly willingness in her voice, this striving to make everything satisfactory for me. There it was again, the professionalism. But it was her job, after all! Why couldn't I accept that?

"No, no," I denied quickly. "It's my fault. I guess I'm just not in the mood today." I knew that was a flat lie, and she knew it too. I stood up. I couldn't do it and I'd never be able to. That was clear to me now. The last time we'd seen each other, everything had been a surprise. This time it was planned - and that was the difference. She looked up at me, waiting, but - so it seemed to me anyhow - without any particular interest. "I'll go right away," I said. "Excuse me, please."

She stood up anyhow, with one of her elegant movements that made me look like a bull in a china shop. "Oh, that's all right. An unanticipated free afternoon." She smiled. Like a neighbor. A very cursorily known neighbor. She made no attempt to hold me back. Of course not, why should she? I didn't matter to her. The faade had crumbled a bit during our first meeting for whatever reason. Now, at any rate, there was nothing left of that to notice. I felt the tears begin to well in my eyes. Only now did I realize how much I had wanted her reaction to be different.

I forced the lump in my throat back down. I turned around. In a matter of seconds, I was dressed. She still stood there with that neighborly, well-wishing smile on her face. "I - what do I owe you?"  It was awful. I hoped it wouldn't take her long to figure that. Soon, tears would start pouring down my cheek. Something about her smile had changed ever so slightly. Now, she raised her hand. "Nothing. Your kisses were worth it."

Her smile drove me crazy. Her unconcerned manner made it very clear to me how much I'd been kidding myself. Love didn't occur to her. And I obviously was not the woman who could change that. That the opposite was the case for me was obviously my problem. She couldn't afford love in her profession. That should've been clear to me from the beginning. And only an old, macho, sucker of a woman like me could've expected anything else. I could turn anyone my way, couldn't I? Yes, a "normal" woman perhaps, but her? She'd had more women in bed than I could even imagine.

I saw myself as if in a mirror. An average-looking female manager with the typical short lesbian cut in her dark hair. - That'd be a nice contrast to her blonde. - Stop it already! One doesn't make jokes in that situation! But the objective attitude that the intellectual in me forced at that moment helped me back down to earth for now, and helped hold back the tears I already felt pressing on my eyeballs. I had to laugh involuntarily, even if it seemed a little out of place. "Well, then," I said, just to say something at all. And she reached out her hand to shake! Automatically, I laid my hand in hers.

How unbelievable this moment seemed... an eternity of five seconds. She stayed perfectly in character. She was still smiling. I couldn't any more. I turned quickly and ran for the door. As I closed it behind me, I saw from the corner of my eye that she'd already turned around and gone to the bedroom. She would enjoy her unexpectedly free day...

I pushed the button for the elevator - and then took the stairs anyway. I went down so slowly I could feel each individual step under my feet. I would've liked most to be going the other direction. It was all so senseless. I'd been in my office for years, I could lead projects and head a project team, make decisions, spend or earn millions for the firm, and what was I doing here? I was agonizing over a woman who wasn't worth it, who didn't want me at all.

The path home was a blur of tearful glances. My surroundings passed me in a dismal flood. Hopeful and then resigned thoughts shot through my head. Maybe she'd still ... maybe not... She'd probably long forgotten me by now. She'd take a little ride through the neighborhood - I could easily imagine her in a chic little sports car. Well, maybe in a bigger car, with her long legs. Oh, what did it matter to me? What had I expected? This wasn't the first time I'd fallen for a woman who didn't feel the same way about me. And it certainly wasn't the first time I'd suffered for it. And had I grown one bit wiser from the experience? No!

I remembered one of my "great loves" from back in my college dormitory. She'd looked similar to her. Actually, they all looked something like that. And as soon as I saw such a blonde, blue-eyed madonna, I was gone. That was it! My studies suffered - every woman cost me at least a semester - and I suffered. What did I want with that? Now I had a good job, I'd been single for awhile, and everything was going pretty well - wasn't it? But with her ... with her there was something else. An extra feeling. Mother of God! You've imagined that to be there every time. Every time, the woman was something special. Just be happy that all your colleagues are men, or there'd be imminent chaos there, too. Then you'd never have lasted six years with the company.

I had to realize that things always returned to normal. And I hadn't learned a thing. A pretty woman, if she was blonde, could have anything from me. And I fell in love with her almost automatically. One of my grandmothers had prophesied that I wouldn't have it easy in life. It had annoyed me at the time. But hadn't it happened just that way? Why did I have to make it so unnecessarily difficult for myself? I went home with the understanding that it just had to be that way. Even that was nothing new. Hadn't I already thought that about the previous woman? And about the one before her?

The short walk had at least let me calm down a bit. I thought. I lay down on my ottoman, and the desire came back already: I smelled her, I felt her, I saw her before me. Not like she'd been most of the time, but like I wanted her to be. As the woman who loved me and allowed me to love her. My body yearned for her touch so strongly that I suddenly felt very hot. Maybe it was just the unresolved arousal from earlier. I jumped up and tried to shake it out. But my body wouldn't be deceived. At least not through such insignificant movement. So, I grabbed my gym bag and headed for my health club.

I ran through my usual two-hour program, which I normally did two or three times a week, and then moved on to the strength machines. When I couldn't force myself to push or pull one more thing because my muscles were twitching, I went for the stationary bikes. I chose the "race" option and picked out the most difficult opponent. I knew I wasn't up for it, but I wouldn't have managed to win against a weaker opponent either. Today, I saw myself as the absolute loser. When the little red light on the control panel reached the finish line half a mile ahead of me and confirmed my estimation of myself, I was finally satisfied. Exhausted, I hit the showers. I barely managed to drive home and crawl up the stairs to my apartment. I let myself fall into bed in my sweatsuit and fell asleep immediately.

A wild dream woke me. A person was standing next to me in the room. Things moved on their own. The door opened slowly and cast a shadow on the wall. Something seemed to be hiding behind there. I grabbed for the bedside lamp and groped for the switch. When the light came on, I saw that it had all been my imagination.

A psychologist explained to me once after a similar experience that such fears are the reversal of a wish. One doesn't really want to be alone, but one is. So one imagines that someone is there. Unfortunately, that causes just as much anxiety as being alone, because it's not real.

This did not, unfortunately, allay my fears, even though I believed the explanation. So, I left the light on, and after my eyes had flown open a few more times in half-asleep panic, my overstimulated synapses finally let me have the restorative sleep I needed. I even fell asleep with a smile on my lips, because the last thing I thought about was a similar experience in the second dormitory I'd lived in.

That time, I'd just moved in and had a nightmare that drove me out of my room. As it is in student housing, I only had the one room. So I sat in the hallway, unable to force myself back in with the terrible ghosts of my imagination. Early the next morning, after I was already half frozen (I couldn't, of course, go into my room to get a blanket), a fellow student came home. Naturally, he was totally unaffected by my ghosts and just saw me sitting there in the hallway in my pajamas, shivering. I'd only seen him once before, so we didn't know each other at all, but his remark of "Do you have mice in your room?" finally tore me from my dismal thoughts, because I had to laugh. After that, I could go back into my room and go back to sleep. Such a remark, such an unknown and unexpected friend (or better yet a girlfriend) was just what I needed right now. But this time, I'd obviously have to handle the thing alone.

Chapter 3

T
he next day, I went to the office, even though I knew I'd hardly be able to concentrate on work. Staying home, however, seemed to me to be a worse prospect. Like the mice in the room. And during the day I didn't even have that excuse. So, I tried to keep my work to the essentials. I was surely not the best worker that day, and definitely not the best boss. My coworkers on the project team were certainly used to my not always being in a wonderful mood, but most of them had never seen me like this. Instead of making decisions, I put them off. I delegated what I could, but so badly that I constantly had to answer questions and make clarifications. And those who had the bad luck to need to ask me a question also had to put up with my temper.

It went like that until I couldn't even stand myself any longer. I tried the health club again. Afterwards, I returned to the office somewhat relaxed and was tolerable for the rest of the day.

At any rate, my inability to control the situation didn't please me at all. I knew from experience that this had only two possible outcomes. Either I could convince her to behave toward me like I wanted her to, at least in part, or I was damned to think about her for a very long time, always swaying between joy and hope, disappointment and resignation. Although I couldn't imagine how I might accomplish the first, I knew from repeated practice that the second possibility was so exhausting and nerve-racking I'd rather avoid her altogether. I came to the conclusion that I'd have to give up one thing - namely, sex - if I wanted to have the other - namely, inner peace and satisfaction. Basically irreconcilable. In connection with her, completely unimaginable. All of our previous meetings had had only to do with sex. How could I possibly reach her on another level? Our whole relationship - if we even had one - was based on that. What would I suggest to a woman I'd just met, a woman I hadn't slept with and didn't even know yet if it would ever come to that? That was pretty clear. I'd suggest something very ordinary, a movie or dinner for example. Sure, why not? The worst thing she could do is say no, and then I could just deal with the disappointment.

I noticed how enthusiastic my masochistic streak was about this decision. I'd get plenty of sleep tonight, and tomorrow was another day. Perhaps a day to call someone...