August 2024
Willem
WILLEM WAITED TO join the party until after it was in full swing. He wanted to circulate without drawing attention. He was too drained to make polite conversation with strangers, people with whom he had nothing in common: publishers, editors, novelists, poets. Bas had promised to come at ten, but there was no sign of him.
It was a balmy night, and the party was outside on the terrace. Willem drifted, a glass of jenever in his hand. He caught snatches of conversation about the demise of brick-and-mortar bookstores, the rise of self-publishing, and the popularity of eBooks.
Someone tugged at his sleeve. “Willem. How are you?”
He recognized her: a poet. She had cornered him at the party last year. He hid his irritation and pasted a smile on his face. The poet grinned wolfishly and raised her glass. After some excruciating banter, he made his excuses and joined a short line at the bar set up under a white party tent.
The woman ahead of him handed an empty wineglass to the bartender. While he uncorked a new bottle, she turned, her head swiveling on a long, delicate neck. Willem gave a small gasp. She was exquisite—small and fragile-looking, maybe twenty-five years old. She had chin-length black hair; thick bangs; and dark, almond-shaped eyes. Her lips were curved oddly, but prettily, turned up at the corners. He wanted to run his finger over those lips and feel their softness. She was dressed all in red, the color of arterial blood.
He stepped up to the bar and ordered a shot of jenever, but his eyes remained fixed on the woman, who was now on the move. He grabbed his drink and followed her into the crowd.
She stopped a few feet away from where Katja was talking to a tall man with rounded shoulders and thick white hair. The woman took a deep breath, as though gathering her courage, and joined them. Katja introduced her to the man. Willem didn’t catch his name, but hers was Anneliese.
One of the caterers appeared and whispered something into Katja’s ear, and she accompanied him into the house, leaving Anneliese and the white-haired man to their own devices. Willem moved closer so he could eavesdrop, but he made out only snatches of the conversation.
“Are you her husband?” she asked.
The man laughed and shook his head. “I’m an old friend.”
“How long have you known her?”
“A long time,” he said.
“How did you meet?”
The man clasped his hands behind his back and gave her a hard look. When he spoke, his voice was louder than before. “Are you a journalist?”
“No. I promise.”
“I met Katja when she was at university.”
Willem didn’t know Katja was in touch with anyone from her youth, but that shouldn’t surprise him. Their conversations revolved almost exclusively around Hendrik.
The old friend pointed to Anneliese’s glass.
“No, thanks. I’m good,” she said.
The man vanished into the crowd. Anneliese waited for five minutes, a long time to stand alone at a party, and her right leg started to jiggle. Willem figured the man wasn’t coming back.
Anneliese must have drawn the same conclusion, because she marched to the bar, ordered another drink, and picked her way along the gravel path away from the house. Willem followed. She looked as attractive from behind as from the front. He liked her girlish shape, her petiteness, and her catlike grace when her heels weren’t sinking and twisting in the gravel.
Halfway to the canal, the light from the hanging lanterns dissolved into darkness. Anneliese halted at the pond, which straddled the light and the dark. Willem stepped into the shadow of a tree and watched her place her glass on the low wall bordering the pond. She sat down and kicked off her shoes, twirled around on her butt, and dangled her feet in the water.
After several moments, she turned her head and stared straight at the spot where he was standing. “Is someone there?”
Willem felt like a stalker.
“Hello?” she said.
He stepped onto the path and strolled toward her. “Did I frighten you?”
“Of course not. There are fifty people only a few yards away.”
She suddenly shrieked and jerked her feet from the water, wobbled precariously on her perch, and started to topple backward. He darted forward and grabbed her shoulders just in time.
“Something bit me,” she said as he pulled her to her feet.
“Nibbled, you mean. I keep koi. One of them is a foot long.” He dipped his hand in the pond and spread his fingers. A torpedo-shaped fish appeared and wriggled over his palm like a dog wagging its tail.
“This is Doc.”
Anneliese crept closer. “Hello, Doc.”
Her closeness and her husky voice made Willem’s heart race. “Let me help you with your shoes.” He dried off his hands on his trousers and held her elbow while she squirmed her feet into her high heels. He felt her sharp elbow joint move under velvet-smooth skin.
“Why were you lurking in the shadows?” she asked.
“Escaping, not lurking. I live here, but it’s Katja’s party. Her guests. My name’s Willem.”
She looked at him doubtfully, as if undecided whether to trust anything he said. “I’m Anneliese.”
“Are you a writer?”
“A beginner. Did Katja mention me?”
“I don’t remember.”
Her shoulders dropped in disappointment. “And you, Willem? Are you in the writing business too?”
“No, I’m a psychiatrist.”
She took a step back. “You don’t look like a shrink.”
“What does one look like?”
“Short, skinny, wire-rimmed glasses, a pinched face.”
“That’s pretty specific.”
She crossed her arms across her chest. “Do you have a couch in your office?”
“No couch.”
“Do you just write prescriptions?”
“I give therapy in addition to—”
She interrupted. “I don’t believe in fortune tellers, escape artists, or shrinks.”
“Did you have a bad experience?”
“My brother was seeing a shrink before he killed himself.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“I hope you won’t hold my profession against me.”
“I’ll try not to.” She uncrossed her arms and smiled at him.
“Can I get you another drink?” he asked.
“My glass fell into the pond.”
“I’ll get it out tomorrow.”
“A white wine, please.”
When he returned, Bas was talking to Anneliese, his hand resting on her arm as if he owned her. He was in his trademark colorful attire—opting tonight for a fuchsia shirt over blue patterned trousers. They didn’t seem to notice Willem.
“Anneliese is a sweet name. Old-fashioned,” Bas said. “But I bet you aren’t sweet or old-fashioned. Am I right?”
Her head tilted to the side. “Bas sounds like a portly, bald-headed old man.”
“Maybe, in time, I’ll grow into it.”
She laughed.
“If there were music, I would ask you to dance,” Bas said, swaying his hips to an imaginary tune.
“I might say no.”
“You would be the first,” Willem said, handing Anneliese her wine.
She brushed Bas’s hand from her arm and smiled at Willem.
“I could use a refill,” Bas said, holding up his glass.
Willem raised his eyebrows.
“Sorry, I didn’t say please, did I?”
“You know the way to the bar,” Willem said firmly.
“I seem to have worn out my welcome. I’ll catch up with you later.” Bas winked at Willem and staggered off.
“Is he a writer?” Anneliese asked.
“No, he’s an artist and my best friend.”
“Then he must have some redeeming qualities.”
“He does when he’s sober.”
She swilled down the wine as if it were water. “I saw someone at the window.” She pointed to an upstairs window, the curtains drawn halfway.
“My father. He doesn’t like parties.”
“Parties are fine, but I prefer one-on-ones. And you, Willem?”
“I’m the same.”
“Proost.”
They clinked glasses. Hers was empty. He studied her for a moment. The people he met outside his therapy room fell into three categories: those who clammed up, those who at once confided their problems, and those who watched what they said, as though negotiating a mine field. He guessed Anneliese fell into the last category.
“Are you analyzing me?”
He felt his face burn. “What? No. When I’m not working, I try not to think like a psychiatrist.”
Her dark, almond-shaped eyes bored into his. He felt a pull between them, a connection he couldn’t explain. Then she rose on her toes and kissed him on the mouth. A feeling like an electric shock pulsed through his body.
She broke away.
“What was the kiss for?” he asked.
“I like to get the first kiss out of the way. It breaks the ice.”
He liked the sound of that. “Consider the ice broken.”
She began massaging her temples, a soft groan escaping her lips. “It’s time for me to go.”
“Let me call you a taxi. You shouldn’t drive.”
“No worries. I’m on my bicycle.”
He watched her slim figure totter toward the house. She was tipsy, and the kiss meant nothing. She might not even remember him in the morning. Let her go. She was too young for him, she had a grudge against psychiatrists, his relationships always ended badly. If he did nothing to stop her, she would walk out of his life. He froze with indecision. Never seeing her again was not an option. He sprinted after her and caught hold of her arm.
“Wait. Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
They agreed on eight o’clock at Antonio’s, a small Italian restaurant in the neighborhood. He wanted to grab her waist and kiss her goodbye, but he was afraid of coming on too strong. It was like dancing, only the woman had to lead.