Uta and I spent the next day by the pool, with a bottomless pitcher of margaritas and a platter of crudite. We swam for a while, then laid on lounge chairs like the idle rich we most certainly were not. I felt out of my league, but it was fun to play billionaire for a weekend.
Towards afternoon, I decided it was time to broach the subject of marriage. We hadn't really discussed anything beyond agreeing to it, and I had yet to meet her family or even any friends.
"Can you mother get out for an evening?" I started off.
"Maybe," she said, "What did you have in mind?"
"The preview performance is Wednesday night," I offered. "We all get 2 free seats. I thought maybe you and your mother would like to come see the show."
A strange look crossed Uta's face. I didn't know how to read it, since it looked like a combination of sadness, fear and anger all at once.
After a moment, she replied, "That would be fun, I think. Let me ask Mom, and if she doesn't want to go, maybe I could get my auntie to join."
"Great!," I said, feeling relieved for some reason. "I will put 2 tickets at the box office in your name.. If everyone is up to it, maybe we can get a late dinner after the show."
"Sounds like great fun," Uta said, but her voice was oddly flat. I didn't read much into it, figuring she was distracted by other matters.
"So, how about the wedding?" I prompted, moving into the topic I really wanted to discuss. "I finish the film job in September, maybe October or November?" I prompted.
"That's possible," she said absently. "I'd have to check everyone's schedules to find out what date works best for everyone. How about your family?"
I thought about it for a moment. I had a big clan and there was no way I could afford to fly all of them to Germany, but Mom and Dad…?
"I can get my parents to attend," I thought out loud. "Maybe we could have a second ceremony in Texas for everyone there?"
A wan smile crossed her full lips. "That would be fun," she said.
"What kind of wedding do you want?" I asked. We had never discussed religion or really anything of substance, in terms of faith, children and other mundane topics.
"I don't know," she said, distantly. "I was thinking a private civil ceremony, then a big party afterwards."
"Hmmm," I mused. "My parents are devout Catholics. They'd probably insist on a church wedding. Would that bother you?"
"No, of course not," she said half-heartedly.
The conversation went on without much of anything being settled, but at least the topics were on the table. After a bit, Uta stood up, her lean toned body glowing golden in the sunlight. She strode across and dived into the pool, and was instantly laughing and splashing me with water. Fully distracted from my thoughts by this sleek temptress teasing me, I dove into the pool and grabbed her, lifting her in my arms and kissing her deeply.
The afternoon drifted into early evening, and I was saturated with tequila and starting to feel my sunburn. We wrapped up in the lush terry robes and went down into the room. Housekeeping had long since cleaned and reorganized the place and the city lights were just coming on outside the huge picture window.
We ordered dinner from room service. The in-house movie channel was featuring "Blues Brothers" in an hour, and neither of us had seen the movie yet. We took a quick shower, having just enough time for sex and soap, when dinner arrived. The two men went through the entire routine, setting up the table and laying out the dishes.
When they left, we turned on the television just as the movie was starting. We sat together eating pate and steak, and toasting the good life with our way overpriced wine.
It was a subdued evening and the luxury was almost becoming routine. We giggled and played and half-watched the movie. At one point, Uta had straddled me as I stood in front of the window, displaying our lustful dalliances for the entire city to witness. But something was different. It was as if a small cloud had crossed the sun, dimming its radiance, though not blocking it.
I dismissed the feeling as my own fear of the unknown – the future – perhaps even the undiscovered country that lay beyond it.
Sunday night, back in my room at the theatre, I laid on the bed, trying to read but not having much success. I ordered a pizza and set it on the small table outside the rooms, in case Tomash was hungry. I wasn't even sure if he was there, since we rarely disturbed each other in the evenings.
The next three days were tedious. The remaining crew worked to hang and focus the lights. One of the electricians did all the important work, while Tomash and I stood around the base of the GenieLift, occasionally pushing it a meter or so one way or another, while the Lighting Director called out instructions from the house and the electrician would adjust the beam this way and that, close the barn doors to cut the light here and there, then put the color on it.
It was a slow, boring task, but Tomash and I were required to stand at the base at all times and ensure the lift didn't move when it wasn't supposed to. It paid off, though, when the light cues were run and the stage came alive with color and shadow, looking exactly like a giant version of the model we had all seen the first day on the job.
It was finally Wednesday and I had reserved the tickets for Uta and her mother. I was more nervous about meeting family, than about the show. At around 4 in the afternoon, the crew was cut to go shower and get ready for the evening. Previews were typically one or two nights before opening, and the audience was mostly friends and family, though tonight some reviewers had been invited. Opening night was Friday, and at that point, us carpenters were done. The stagehands took over for the run and I was already thinking about what I wanted to do with the three weeks I had before I needed to show up in Switzerland.
The doors opened at 7 o'clock and I kept an eye on the crowd, waiting to see Uta and her mother. The stalls filled with excited family members and three or four reviewers took their assigned seats in the front row. At 19:45, I was starting to be concerned. I didn't see Uta anywhere, and the only open seats were in the stalls, so I knew she wouldn't be in any of the boxes.
I heard the Stage Manager call places and put the lighting, sound and orchestra on standby. The musicians were tuning and I could feel the anticipation growing as the actors assembled in the wings in full costume and make-up.
The Stage Manager called for blackout, then the follow-spots stabbed through the palpable darkness to pick up the Maestro as he stepped out into the orchestra pit and took his place to enthusiastic applause. He tapped his baton on the podium and the overture began.
I kept scanning the audience from my perch on the first gallery above the stage. I still didn't see Uta, but I did see a few pairs of empty seats here and there. Though I had never known Uta to be late, I thought she might be having trouble getting Mom around with her.
At intermission, I hid in an inconspicuous corner of the lobby hoping to spot my guests, but did not. I took the same position at the end of the show, watching as the smiling, chattering people left talking about how great the show was and how they were going to tell all their friends to come see it.
But still no Uta.
I was worried now that something had happened. I went down to my room and fetched my address book. I flipped through to all the names I had collected since coming to Munich. My stomach lurched and my heart sank. I flipped back and forth, double and triple checking every entry, then scanning all the pages. I had never gotten Uta's number, or any other information for that matter.
I sat stunned and on the verge of panic. I relived every moment from the time I first saw her in front of the Glockenspiel. I strained my memory to think of any moment when she had given me contact information – a slip of paper, a card. I check all my pockets and emptied my gear on the bed. I went through everything with building dread. At last, I collapsed on the floor.
I had never needed to call her. She always appeared early and on schedule. She was always there when we planned something. She had never brought me to her home. I scanned my memory for her license plate – any identifying information I could think of. I ran up to the shop and took out the phone book and scanned everyone with her last name, but no Uta.
"Damn," I thought. "The phone is probably in her mother's name, and I don't know it." I vaguely remembered seeing the plates on her car, but the characters wouldn't resolve.
Finally, exasperated, I returned to my room, feeling helpless and quite stupid. I told myself that she would come round tomorrow to explain what happened, and what I needed was to rest, but rest didn't come. Sometime after midnight, I sat up on the edge of the bed, my mind racing with imagined scenarios, making myself sick with worry that something bad had happened.
I slowly began repacking my gear, going through everything again as I did. Nothing did. I don't know what time I fell asleep, but I finally did.
I woke up in a cold sweat the next day. I looked at my watch. Already 09:00. I never slept that late, even when I stayed up late. I hadn't even heard the alarm.
I jumped up in a dead panic, only to remember our call for the day was 16:00. I collapsed back on the bed, my heart racing and adrenaline pumping through my veins. "Uta," I thought. I got dressed and went out and made my way to the Rathaus, hoping to see Uta at the tour buses again. I sat at the exact table where I had met her an entire lifetime ago – so it seemed. The buses came and went, the Glockenspiel did its performance, but no Uta. I stopped two of the guides that worked the crowds and asked, but they had never heard of Uta.
It was afternoon and I had to get back to the theatre. I sat through the dress rehearsal, this time in one of the boxes, since I wasn't needed backstage during the show. I watched the performance, but I didn't see it. My mind was a long way away.
On Friday, I sat at Max's desk after getting my final pay packet. We talked about shows we'd done and the many close calls and antics that everyone who works in theatre knows. I stapled Bruno's name card in my contact book and Max wrote his information under it. He thanked me for good work and said he and Bruno would hire me again if I wanted to work another show during the regular season.
I told him that I would certainly like to work a full opera at some point and that I would keep in touch. I shook hands and said the usual things to the various crew that came though, many of them I didn't really know except that I had seen them around.
Opening night was sold out, and normally I would have been very excited about the whole thing, but instead I was depressed. Still no word from Uta. After the show, Tomash and I went down to the local for a late dinner and as much beer as we could choke down.
I promised him I would come to Warsaw to visit, though it might be a bit difficult for an American to get into Poland. He put his contact information in his book and told me he could "fix" any issues getting through immigration.
We got back to the theatre well after midnight, shook hands and went into our rooms.
The next day, I packed up, returned the key and set out for the zimmerfrei I had first stayed in when I arrived in Munch. Tomas, the Spanish waiter and doorman, gave me a big smile and welcomed me back. Matron came down, also smiling and asked if I wanted the same room.
"Yes, please," I said. "Is it possible to stay a week?"
"Oh, but of course," Matron said. "We are most pleased to have you return."
I checked in and took the key, went up and dropped my gear. I was out of breath, since I hadn't carried my pack for five weeks and was already out of shape. I immediately went out again to search for Uta. My heart was aching and I was unaccustomed to feeling so helpless. I had no idea where to look nor even how to start.
I tried to remember people we had met that knew her. The guide at Schloss Neuschwanstein came to mind, the man at the desk at Mandarin Oriental seemed to know her. Could I even recognize them again?
I felt like I was standing far away, watching myself from a distance. It all seemed so unreal. I know we had stayed at the hotel. I still had a bottle of wine I had taken from the room. I know we went to the castle, because I had the ticket stub in my book. I thought about the Swiss Chalet, but I didn't remember seeing her interact with anyone there – at least no one that seemed to know her.
Desperation turned to despair. I had left the zimmerfrei information at the theatre office with Uta's name on it, but nothing came of it. Sitting in the room, it all seemed like a strange dream – as if I had just arrived in town again. I went down to the pub where I had met the group of people that first night, but never ran into any of them. As the week came to a close, I knew I would have to move on soon, despite having an open wound in my soul.
The words from Edgar Allen Poe's famous poem kept rolling back and forth through my mind:
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."