Anna’s response never varied. I can see your point. You may be right.
Edith was in friendliest form that night. She moved about the room with a cheer Anna had never seen her flaunt as she handed out glasses of wine and passed around bowls of olives and peanuts and wasabi-coated peas, snacks that Anna would have sworn were too common for Edith’s tastes. Anna stood among a crowd of women she knew only by sight. These were the bankers’ wives. They nodded and smiled and widened their circle to include her, but they carried on their conversation in Schwiizerdütsch.
Anna understood maybe five percent of what she heard. It was well and good her German had vastly improved, but that was little use inside a coterie of Schweizerin. Anna reverted to smiles and nods as well. It was easiest that way.
Across the room she caught sight of Bruno. He was making exaggerated gestures with his arms and the men around him were laughing as he told a story, just like the men at Daniela’s party had done. A cigarette teetered on the edge of his lips. It annoyed Anna when he smoked. But Bruno only smoked at parties and so when he did it tended to be a sign that he was having a good time. I’ll take it, cigarette and all, Anna conceded.
ANNA LONGED TO CONTACT Stephen, but she never did. What would I say beyond hello? Would I tell him about Polly Jean? Would I admit that I miss him? Would I beg him to return? She imagined differing scripts. What would happen? What harm would it do? Anna knew the answers.
The desire to reach out to him pulled at her. Anna was an expert at pushing the yearning away. Still, she stored the number to his MIT office in her Handy. She filed it under Cindy, the name of a cousin Anna had long ago lost touch with. She’d pried the number from him just before he left. With a few pathetic punches of the keypad she could reconnect herself with his intrusive, ubiquitous voice.
She never called.
TWICE THAT WEEK THEY’D made love, Anna and Archie. They had fallen into the pattern noncommittal lovers can’t avoid. Their attraction for each other was undeniable. But affection wasn’t something to discuss. They were not in love. That was off the table. Their meetings were no less intense, but they were a little less frequent.
How many times have we done it? Anna hadn’t counted. How many indiscretions make an affair? It was an irrelevant question. Fondness but not love. Not for Archie, not for Karl. Some women collected spoons. Anna collected lovers.
ROLAND EXPLAINED THAT IN German, the conditional is used to show the dependency of one action or set of events upon another. It’s an if-then scenario. “Zum Beispiel,” Roland lectured. “If I am sick tomorrow, then I will not go to school. Or, if the weather is nice, then we will go to the park.”
Anna found little relief in this. If I am caught … then I am fucked.
ANNA RETURNED HER GAZE to the bankers’ wives, who huddled into the company of one another. The women were young. Their husbands wore the jewelry of their beauty like elegant wristwatches.
Edith had set down the tray of food and returned to the group. “Anna,” she said as she motioned to a more private corner of the room. Anna dipped her chin and stepped away, literally bowing out of a conversation she wasn’t even part of.
Edith hurried her over with her hands. She was agitated. “Come here!” Anna moved more closely into her space. Anna was already as close to her as she felt like she wanted to be.
Edith, always unmistakable, was that night flushed with an immoderate sense of urgency and giddiness. “Don’t be obvious, but turn around and look—no, not yet!—to the left.” Anna shook her head at Edith’s schoolgirl antics but played along. She paused a beat then turned to look over her shoulder.
“What am I looking for?”
“Really, Anna. Look again!”
Anna looked again. She saw Bruno and Otto on the couch. Standing next to the couch was Andreas, a bank employee under both of them. And next to Andreas stood a man she did not know. He was blonder and shorter and younger than the other men. He wore a trim sports coat and dark jeans and trendy designer eyeglasses. He threw his head back to laugh and Anna noticed a gap in his teeth and a chin cleft. He was handsome, yes. And twenty-five years old, if that.
“Who is he? Does he work at the branch? What does he do?”
“Oh, I don’t know what he does.” Edith waved the question away as if it were a housefly. “Some bank thing.” Anna scowled. “His name is Niklas Flimm.”
“Flynn?”
Edith shook her head. “No, dammit. Pay attention. Flimmmm.” Edith drew out the m. “He’s Austrian,” she said with italic emphasis as if somehow whatever she said next would carry more weight, more meaning. “We’ve been sleeping together for a month!”