Free Magic Hoffmann by Jakob Arjouni Page B

besides Fred’s brutish charm was somewhat different at eighteen than it was today. Stuff like selling hash as expensive liquorice in the playground, or driving the greengrocer’s Mercedes to Frankfurt at night without a license seemed at best boring now. If she wanted to, she could snort coke from morning till night and cruise round in her boyfriend’s turquoise Chevrolet. But even that didn’t interest her any more. What was important were films - and the people who made them. Fred had never been a luminary in that area, and was scarcely about to become one in the next four years.
    Yes, she was pleased, but it was an exhausting pleasure, mixed up with the prospect of wasted time.
    â€˜How could I know you would come straight to Berlin? I thought you’d call first.’
    Fred heard the bell ring and the door close. His hands slid under Annette’s T-shirt.
    â€˜You didn’t even have the address.’
    â€˜I found it out,’ mumbled Fred. He could feel her skin, her hips, her breasts. His brain felt scrambled. Four years and nineteen days. Any moment he would go crazy…
    But Annette suddenly raised her head, smiled at him and rolled to one side. Fred felt he was falling into icy water.
    â€˜I can’t begin to know how to thank you.’ She reached for a packet of cigarettes.
    â€˜Well…’ Fred grinned distracted, then he spread his arms clumsily, ‘I’ve got an idea.’
    But Annette just laughed. ‘You won’t believe how often I’ve thought about what you did for us. Nobody else would have been like that.’ She plucked a cigarette from the packet and lit it. ‘And I couldn’t even boast,’ she blew smoke at the ceiling and gave a sly wink, ‘of having a true hero for a friend.’
    â€˜Never mind the hero.’ Fred looked up at her breasts, which were raised against the tight T-shirt. He reached for her arm and attempted to pull her back onto the mattress. But again Annette just laughed and stayed where she was. ‘I’m so happy that it’s over, that you’re out at last.’
    â€˜Yes.’ Fred scratched his head, then he remembered the vomit-stained overalls, and glancing down, he too had to laugh. ‘I understand. It looks really revolting’
    â€˜I’ve brought you a change of clothes.’ Annette pointed to the window seat, ‘How about you have a shower, and I’ll rustle up a nice breakfast?’
    â€˜With a nice bottle of champagne?’
    â€˜If you want.’
    â€˜I’ve got a lot to catch up on.’
    They stood up, and while Fred removed the overalls, Annette put a towel on the mattress and went to the counter and took her purse. She asked over her shoulder: ‘Would you like anything in particular? Bacon, cornflakes, bread rolls?’
    Fred came up behind her and wrapped his arms round her upper body, so that his hands landed on her breasts. In a tone that was meant to be comic, he said: ‘Peaches.’
    This time Annette didn’t laugh. Annoyed, she shrugged him off. Fred was shocked.
    â€˜Hey, it’s me, Fred - the one with the bad jokes.’ Fred smiled cautiously. So bad they were good. Used to be his trademark.
    â€˜I must have forgotten.’ Annette smiled back, but it was clearly an effort.
    â€˜Let me show you the bath. The water is sometimes fairly cold here…’ and then conciliatory, ‘but a cold shower is supposed to be good for you every now and again.’
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    While Fred sprayed lukewarm water on his head, his mind was racing. Was Annette offended? He had certainly been a little shameless, but no more so than before. Had his smell put her off him? Or the guy in the photos… ? Somehow things weren’t running to plan. Was he thinking wrong or was it going wrong? Or was he just going at a different pace? Probably. Annette simply needed time to come around. And when they’d had breakfast and