'Where is Dix? Still in bed?'
'Why?'
'No reason. Nosiness. I wanted to say thanks.'
'I’ll tell him thanks for you.'
'Thanks for that.' We both laughed and I said, 'No, I mean it, thanks. I would’ve been walking the streets last night if it hadn’t been for you.'
'It was no problem.'
'Well, I owe you one.'
She put her elbows on the table and propped her sharp little chin against her fists.
'Wanna pay me back?'
I remembered for the first time that she’d been waiting for me for a reason. My voice was cautious.
'If I can.'
'Will you see if there’s any jobs going for dancers at your place?'
'Sure.'
The waiter brought out two sticky pastries and Sylvie dropped the subject, telling me instead about her Berlin, shops and cafes not listed in the guidebook, streets to search out and a couple to avoid. She talked quickly, taking distracted puffs at her cigarette between bites, laughing often and making me laugh in response. She spoke with her mouth full, somehow still managing to look good. The waiter came out to check whether we wanted anything else and Sylvie ordered a second round of coffees. The two of us lingered on at the pavement table though it should have been too cold to sit outside. We smoked more cigarettes and discussed the passers-by, people with places to go, each of us pretending to be shocked by the slanders the other concocted about perfect strangers.
Eventually the thoughts of that night’s show, which had been tugging at my mind since I woke that morning, became too uncomfortable to ignore. I stubbed out the last of my cigarette and pushed my empty coffee cup to one side.
'I’d best get going.'
'People to do, things to see?'
'A show to fix.'
She smiled.
'It wasn’t so bad.'
'Wasn’t so good either.'
'You’ll fix it. You just need to work out an angle.'
'I guess so.'
We swapped mobile numbers and I promised again to ring her if anything came up. It crossed my mind that I might phone her anyway, but then thoughts of Uncle Dix intruded.
Uncle Dix, where did people get off with these weird names? Styling himself like some Weimar pimp. I bet even now he was cursing the late night and getting ready for some second-rate lecturing job. No, I probably wouldn’t phone. I gave her a last wave then strode onto the street and hailed a taxi to take me to my hotel.
It was early in the afternoon when I stepped out and started to walk towards the theatre.
I’d been in the shower when the phone had rung. I’d assumed it was a wrong number, then when the ringing persisted thought it might be someone from Schall und Rauch. I’d answered half-draped in a towel, wondering why it was I seemed to be naked whenever the phone rang, though I was sure I was clothed most of my waking hours. I picked up the receiver, saying, 'Ja?' Assuming whoever it was would appreciate the effort.
'William? That you?' My agent evidently thought he should shout even louder when talking to someone abroad. 'What’s with the Ja? You gone native? You’ll be singing
‘Tomorrow Belongs to Me’ and sieg-heiling next.'
I started to rub myself dry.
'Times have changed Rich. They don’t go in for that anymore.'
'Once a Nazi always a Nazi. Anyway, where have you been?' He didn’t give me a chance to reply. 'Don’t you ever check your bloody messages?'
For the first time I noticed the red light flashing on the hotel-room phone. 'You could have rung my mobile.'
'I tried that. Dead, wasn’t it?'
'So where’s the fire?'
'Have you seen an English newspaper today?'
'No.'
'Well get yourself a Daily Telegraph then phone me back.'
'A Telegraph, you been checking your stocks and shares, Richard?'
'Just do it. I’ll speak to you in five.'
