Chapter 25
Berlin
Brady
After dealing with the shadows and fog of Hayes’ moods in sunny Barcelona it’s nice to be in Berlin where motivations are clearer, even if there are more literal shadows and fog.
When Otto wants something, he tells you.
He charges ahead and isn’t afraid of showing his feelings.
If Hayes is uncomfortable with Otto’s arm around my waist, he’s going to have to find a way to “use his words,” as I tell Gemma.
Pine forests line the modern highway on our way out of the airport but it doesn’t take long until we are on the surface roads where each block contains a chaotic mixture of elegant cafes with white tablecloths and striped awnings neighbor doner kebab shops with open windows and customers standing around eating over-stuffed sandwiches and drinking beer.
None of the other cities have had as much graffiti, and it seems elevated here.
I see political, artistic and commercial pieces and some combine all three elements, like a neon yellow and purple image of two world leaders kissing under a Nike swoosh.
Barcelona was sunshine and sand but Berlin is greener, with tree-lined streets and small parks with playgrounds and plenty of shade. Every so often I catch a glimpse of the Spree river that runs through the city.
“Let me take a little detour so I can show you just some of what I know about Berlin,” Otto says, and we make a turn so sharp it pushes my body against Otto and pulls me further away from Hayes.
“Very few straight lines in Berlin. It isn’t one of those cities with rigid grids of blocks and numbered avenues.
” Otto has one eye on the road and one eye on me.
“Berlin grew organically, even chaotically at times over centuries. That’s one of the reasons I love it.
” Otto holds me more tightly and I can feel Hayes’ leg tense.
“Don’t we have a call scheduled with Aisha?” Hayes shouts in my ear so I can hear him over the wind.
“Yes, but I think we’ll make it,” I say, trying to keep everyone happy.
“We won’t. He’s driving in the wrong direction.” I can feel how annoyed Hayes is even though most of his body is turned toward the door, his hand pulling it toward him so it doesn’t fly open.
As we make our approach to the city center, Otto explains the history of the gleaming dome of the Reichstag building and the way the Brandenburg Gate has been a center for protest. “You might see what look like holes on the surface of some of the older buildings,” he says as we drive by a dark stone structure with an orange tile roof.
A stream of marks is scattered between two windows.
“What are those?” I ask.
“Bullet marks from World War II. Berlin is a place where history is very heavy, but that means it is also a place where new things can take hold.”
I feel Hayes squirm in his seat. I’m sure he’s thinking about the serious history of this place, but also being reminded of the pact we made on the beach about our new friendship, which failed as soon as it was tested.
The Berlin location of For Us is on the edge of a bustling shopping district in Prenzlauer Berg, down a quiet street in a former East German chocolate factory that was closed once the wall came down.
Otto pulls up to a severe-looking geometric concrete building with industrial windows that repeat across the facade.
The words For Us are displayed in bright emerald script over the original sign reading schokolade in a sleek Bauhaus-influenced font.
“Sonia sent me a text I need to ask her about. Hayes, I can send out a porter if you can’t handle the luggage.” Otto says and then runs into the hotel.
“I got it,” Hayes shouts.
“I didn’t know he was going to pick us up from the airport,” I say as soon as Otto is inside. Hayes doesn’t respond. We get out of the car and a woman with blond hair in a short bob wheels down the ramp at the hotel entrance. This must be the concierge, Sonia.
“Hello, I’m Brady and this is Hayes. You must be Sonia.”
She stops her chair abruptly. “Yes, hello. We had a video conference set up for you in the business center but I am afraid you missed it. There was some important news. But Aisha had another meeting she had to attend. She could not accommodate your lateness.” I can feel Hayes telepathically communicating I told you so.
“Aisha said she will be in touch.” I can’t tell if her tone is severe or if it’s a cultural thing.
“Great,” Hayes says, folding his arms. “I told you he would makes us late.” He almost grunts the words.
Otto returns. “Is everything okay?” He bends down and kisses Sonia on both cheeks.
“Yes, thanks to you, Otto,” Sonia says, smiling brightly for the first time, any sign of severity vanished. “I was about to explain the little problem and the wonderful solution.”
“Thanks to Otto?” Hayes asks. I can tell he doesn’t like the sound of this, and neither do I.
“Ya,” Sonia says, smiling at Otto, making him puff up even more than he usually is.
“The guide we were working with to help you get around has taken ill. I know the schedule is, how do you say, complicated. You need someone who knows Berlin very well. I was explaining this to Otto and luckily, he has agreed to be your guide during your entire stay in Berlin. Isn’t that wunderbar? ”
“Oh yeah,” Hayes says, not hiding his sarcasm. “Wonder-bar.”
“But Otto, don’t you have a performance coming up? I’m sure you’re way too busy. We’ve got our translate and map apps and this is our third city. At this point we’ve got it down. I’m sure we can manage.”
“Aisha did not think so,” Sonia says, her severity quickly returning.
Otto takes off his purple tinted sunglasses, pouts and looks at me.
“What did I tell you, Sonia? Isn’t he as sweet as he looks?
Oh Brady, what a little liebling you are.
Do not worry. Sonia and I have worked it out so you can even attend the performance of my theater collective.
It will make wonderful content.” Then he looks at Hayes.
“Even a ticket for you, Hey-yas. But it is a very sensitive performance. I’m not sure it is something that is, I believe the expression is, up your alley?
” Otto feigns innocence but it’s easy to see he’s trolling Hayes, who takes the bait.
“Thanks, but I think I can decide what is and is not up my alley.” A porter comes over to help with the luggage and Hayes politely shoos him away.
He takes the strap of one bag over his head, another on his shoulder and uses both arms to handle the remaining pieces.
I offer to help but he waves me away too.
It must weigh a ton but with brute force he carries all of the luggage into the hotel.
I watch his muscles tense through his shirt, and I wonder if this old-fashioned show of masculine bluster is his way of showing me that he cares about me.
But’s he’s been such a jerk since Barcelona.
Why can’t he for once tell me how he feels instead of making me guess or trying to signal it through what he thinks is a romantic gesture?
Maybe he just wants to get up to the room and pee and this is the fastest way to do it.
I have no idea. If he would tell me how he feels, I could deal with it.
Why do I have to be in charge of interpreting what everything he does means?
As soon as we enter the reception area I’m overwhelmed by the scent of cocoa, burnt orange and roasting coffee.
In London the signature scent was subtle, but here it’s more pronounced.
The chocolate factory roots are even more apparent on the ceiling where a labyrinth of copper tubing that must have been used to pipe fresh molten chocolate from one part of the factory to another is on display in the rafters.
The wall sconces are made of vintage chocolate molds opened and polished to reflect the light.
We head straight up to our room, which luckily is more subtle on the chocolate theme.
Warm ivory tones with accents of dark mocha, and the resort’s signature emerald.
Hayes starts to drop the luggage on the bed and I intervene.
“No, no, not on the bed. At least by the closet,” I say.
He grunts and turns to drop everything on the floor in front of the couch.
I hate having all those germs on the place where I sleep.
“The porter offered to help. I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn. ”
“I told you I got it,” he says, massaging his shoulder with his hand. “What I don’t know is why I just got stuck spending every waking minute in Berlin with a guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to the world.”
“He does not think… okay, well he does think that. I swear I was only planning to meet him for a drink. That’s all. It’s not my fault he’s been assigned to be our babysitter. But he’s helping us out. You need to at least pretend to be grateful. And he really isn’t that bad.”
“He spent his first year after college writing a memoir about his life. The kid isn’t even twenty-five and he wrote a memoir with an artistic manifesto.” Hayes gets a bottle of water from the wet bar and twists off the cap like he’s decapitating it.
“How did you know that?” I’m surprised Hayes has kept up with Otto in any way.
“I saw it in some alumni bulletin. It’s not like I read the book.”
“It was pretty good actually. I mean the manifesto didn’t make any sense to me…”
“You read it?” Hayes’ eyes narrow and he puts water bottle down with more force than is necessary. I can tell there is an emotion behind it but I can’t tell if it is shock or disappointment. Why do I always have to guess?
“He sent me a copy. What could I do? I had to,” I say, giving him the truth.
Hayes walks over to the window and opens the sheer curtain so we can both see the TV tower rising over the former DDR, a needle in the sky piercing a grey soccer ball looming in the distance. “I didn’t know you had been in touch with him.” He doesn’t look back at me.
“A little. Does that bother you?” I ask, and realize the question is too direct. I should have found a more subtle approach.
“No,” he says turning toward me sharply.
“It doesn’t bother me at all.” His entire body is rigid armor.
He’s protecting himself, but from what? Otto?
Please, he knows I am not now nor could I ever be serious about Otto, and why should it matter to him?
He’s the one pulling away. Why does he think he can have it both ways?
He doesn’t get to keep his feelings locked away from me and also be jealous when someone else shows me attention.
“You sure are acting like it bothers you. Look, we should talk about Barcelona.” That’s really what all this is about.
“There is nothing to talk about,” he says, and turns back toward the window. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Hayes! Stop it. Grow up. We fucked in Barcelona and now you’re jealous that Otto is flirting so hard with me.” How can he say there’s nothing to talk about? It’s infuriating, and it seem like my feelings are invalid.
“I am not jealous. Jealousy is a pointless emotion that serves no one.”
“Oh my God. As usual you believe you can outthink your feelings.” I switch to a robot voice.
“Jealousy is not logical ergo tanto I will not have this feeling which humans call jealousy.” I move my hands in a robot dance and as soon as I do, I know I have gone too far.
Hayes hates that people think that just because he doesn’t show his emotions, he doesn’t have them.
I know this because he shared it during one of those times when he let his guard down and showed me who he really is.
I shouldn’t use this information in this way, but what am I supposed to do? I want him to open up.
“I’m sorry,” I say, placing my hand on the chair next to me to steady my breathing and control myself.
“You started acting strange the morning after we…” I trail off because I’m not sure how to describe that incredible night in this moment, but I have to ask the question even though I might not like the answer. “Hayes, what is going on?”