Emmi
Two minutes later
Re: Shame
You three, you mean! I’m going with an old friend of mine and her partner.
Leo
P.S. I’m shutting down now.
Five days later
Subject: (no subject)
Dear Emmi,
Are you online there, skiing?
Best wishes, Leo
P.S. You were right about Prague—my two chums decided to split up. But it would have been worse in Rome.
Three days later
Subject: (no subject)
Dear Emmi,
It’s high time you came back. I’m missing being under email surveillance. Evenings hanging around in plush bars are no fun at all right now.
One day later
Subject: (no subject)
Just so you’ve got three messages from me in your in-box.
All the best,
Leo
P.S. Yesterday I bought a new pair of pajamas especially for you, or at least with you in mind.
Three hours later
Subject: (no subject)
Are you not writing to me?
Two hours later
Subject: (no subject)
Can’t you write to me anymore, or don’t you want to write?
Two and a half hours later
Subject: (no subject)
I can change the pajamas if that’s the problem.
Forty minutes later
Re:
Oh Leo, you’re so sweet!! But there’s no point in us carrying on like this. This is so far removed from real life. My skiing holiday: now that was real life. It might not have been the best, but it was good enough and I have to confess I wouldn’t want it any other way. So that’s how it is, and however it is, it’s fine by me. The kids got on my nerves a bit, but that’s what kids are for. Besides, they’re not mine, and every now and again they reproach me for that. But the trip went pretty much O.K. (I’ve already said that, haven’t I?)
Let’s be honest with each other, Leo: as far as you’re concerned I’m just a fantasy image. The only real thing about me is a few letters that you, with all your language psychology, might be able to bring together into some kind of harmonious whole. To you I’m like telephone sex, only without the sex or the telephone. Computer sex then, but again, without the sex or the downloadable images. And for me you’re just a bit of fun, a way for me to refresh my flirting skills. You allow me to do the one thing I’ve been missing: I can experience the first stages of an affair (without really having to have an affair). But we two beauties are already on the second or third stage of an affair that cannot happen. So I think it’s about time we stopped where we are. Otherwise the whole thing will become ridiculous. We’re not fifteen anymore, even if I’m much closer to it than you are, but either way we’re not, and there’s nothing we can do about that.
There’s something else I want to say, Leo. Throughout the whole of our family skiing trip, which was irritating at times, but overall darned nice, peaceful, harmonious, funny, even romantic, I couldn’t help thinking of a certain snow bear called Leo Leike, whom I’ve never met. That’s just not right. It’s actually pretty sick, don’t you think?
Shouldn’t we just call it a day? asks Emmi.
Five minutes later
Re:
One other thing: shame about your friends. You’re right:
Rome would probably have been hellish.
Two minutes later
Re:
So what are your new pajamas like?
The next day
Subject: Meeting up
Dear Emmi,
Can’t we at least play our “recognition game”? Maybe after that we’ll find it a little easier to break off our “affair that cannot happen.” Even if I stop writing to you and waiting for your emails, Emmi, it doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking of you. That would be so shabby and calculating. Let’s still do our experiment! What do you think?
All the best,
Leo
P.S. I can’t describe my new pajamas; you’d have to see them and feel them.
An hour and a half later
Re: Meeting up
Next Sunday between 3 and 5 p.m. at Café Huber?
Best wishes,
Emmi
P.S. Leo, Leo, what you said about the pajamas, “you’d have to see them and feel them,” that’s what I call a come-on. If it hadn’t been you writing, I might even have said it was a particularly blatant come-on!
Fifty minutes later
Re: Meeting up
That sounds good! But we can’t turn up exactly at three and leave the café at five on the dot. And we mustn’t look for each other too obviously. Most important of all, don’t do anything so conspicuous that it might give the game away. If you do identify me, you mustn’t get carried away and then rush up to me and say, “You’re Leo Leike, aren’t you?” We really should give ourselves the opportunity to not recognize each other. Don’t you agree?
Eight minutes later
Re: Meeting up
Yes, yes, yes, have no fear, Mr. Language Professor, I won’t come too near. And to avoid further confusion, I suggest we have an email embargo until Sunday. We can write to each other again afterward, O.K.?
Forty seconds later
Re: Meeting up
O.K.
Thirty seconds later
Re: Meeting up
Which doesn’t mean that you should stay out late every night between now and then, boozing in some plush bar.
Twenty-five seconds later
Re: Meeting up
Of course I won’t! Anyway, it’s only fun if Emmi Rothner takes me to task on an hourly basis for the very possibility that I might be.
Twenty seconds later
Re: Meeting up
O.K., you’ve reassured me. Till Sunday then!
Thirty seconds later
Re: Meeting up
Until Sunday!
Forty seconds later
Re: Meeting up
Don’t forget to brush your teeth.
Twenty-five seconds later
Re: Meeting up
You always have to have the last word, don’t you, Emmi?
Thirty-five seconds later
Re: Meeting up
Generally, yes. But if you answer again now, I’ll let you have it.
Forty minutes later
Re: Meeting up
A footnote to my pajamas. I wrote, “You’d have to see them and feel them.” You replied that this would be a blatant come-on had anybody else written it. I wish to object. I demand that in future you credit my blatant come-ons as just that, as blatant as the next man’s. Allow me to be as blatant as I am. Back to the point: you really have to feel my pajamas, they’re sensational. Give me your address and I’ll send a sample. (Is that blatant too?) Good night!
Two days later
Subject: Discipline
I take my hat off to you, Emmi, you’ve really got discipline!
See you the day after tomorrow, Café Huber.
Yours,
Leo
Three days later
Subject: (no subject)
Hi Leo, were you there?
Five minutes later
Re:
Of course I was!
Fifty minutes later
Re:
Shit! I was afraid of that.
Thirty seconds later
Re:
What were you afraid of, Emmi?
Two minutes later
Re:
Every man who could conceivably have been Leo Leike was a total no-no. To look at, I mean. I’m sorry, that might sound a little harsh, but I’m telling it like it is. Seriously Leo, were you really at Café Huber between three and five yesterday? And I don’t mean hidden away in the bathroom or entrenched in some building across the road, but actually at the bar or in the lounge, standing or sitting, squatting or kneeling, whatever?
One minute later
/> Re:
Yes Emmi, I really was there. Which of the men did you think might have been Leo Leike, if I may ask?
Twelve minutes later
Re:
Dear Leo,
I don’t feel comfortable about going into details. But tell me you weren’t that—how can I put it?—stocky gentleman, well, stunted really, with all-over body hair that looked like a Brillo pad? He was wearing a T-shirt that was once white and had a mauve ski sweater tied around his waist, standing at one end of the bar drinking a Campari or some other red concoction. I mean, if that was you, all I can say is this: to each his own. I’m sure there are plenty of women who would find a guy like that utterly fascinating and irresistibly attractive. I’ve no doubt that one day you’ll find a woman to spend the rest of your life with. But I have to be frank: you wouldn’t be my type, I’m sorry to say.
Eighteen minutes later
Re:
Dear Emmi,
All respect to your disarming and revealing honesty. But “not offending people” is not one of your strengths. It’s quite clear that looks really are your highest priority. You’re behaving as if your future love life depended on how physically attractive you find your email friend. But first let me reassure you that the hairy beast at the bar and I are not one and the same person. But go ahead, feel free to continue with the descriptions—who else might I have been? And second, a related question: If I’m one of the “no-no’s,” does that signal the end of our correspondence?
Thirteen minutes later
Re:
No, Leo, we can go on emailing each other with abandon, of course. You know me: I’m prone to wild exaggeration. I’m getting all excited, and I don’t want my flow interrupted. The fact is, I didn’t see a single man at the café yesterday I thought could be even half as exciting as the way you write to me. And that’s exactly what I was afraid of. Not one of those dreary Sunday afternoon faces in Café Huber came remotely close to the way you write to me: shy and attentive on the one hand, on the other sure-footed and forthright, charmingly snow-bearish and once in a while even sensual, but always uncannily sensitive.
Five minutes later
Re:
Really, not one? Perhaps you just missed me.
Eight minutes later
Re:
Dear Leo,
You’ve given me renewed hope. But sadly I don’t think I’ve overlooked anyone who didn’t deserve to be overlooked. I found the two pierced freaks sitting at the third table on the left quite sweet. But they couldn’t have been more than twenty. There was an interesting-looking guy, maybe the only interesting-looking guy, standing with one of those leggy blond angel-vamp model types at the bar toward the back on the right. They were holding hands, and he only had eyes for her. Then there was another quite nice-looking man—looked like a rowing champ, built like a yield sign—but he had an unfortunate moronic grin. No Leo, that definitely wasn’t you! So who else was there? Lawn-mowing and gardening enthusiasts, men who collect beer mats and have shares in breweries, guys in dark suits with briefcases, do-it-yourself fanatics with fingers that look like they’ve been mutilated in a wrench. Guys who go windsurfing, with childishly dreamy faces, permanent kids, in other words. But not one charismatic man to be seen. Hence my bold question: which of these was my language psychologist? Which one was my Leo Leike? Did I lose him to Café Huber on this fateful Sunday afternoon?
An hour and a half later
Re:
Without wishing to sound arrogant, my dear Emmi, I knew that you wouldn’t identify me!
Forty seconds later
Re:
WHICH ONE WERE YOU LEO? TELL ME!!!
One minute later
Re:
Let’s talk more tomorrow, Emmi, I’ve got to meet someone now. And you ought to thank the good Lord that you’ve already found a man for life. By the way, just a minor observation: Has it occurred to you that we haven’t talked about you at all? Which one could Emmi Rothner have been? More tomorrow.
Lots of love, yours,
Leo
Twenty seconds later
Re:
What?? You can’t just go now! Leo, you can’t do that to me!
Write back! Now! Please!
An hour and a half later
Re:
He’s not writing back. Perhaps he was that hairy beast after all . . .
CHAPTER THREE
The next day
Subject: Nightmare
Leo Leike, I’ve got it!! I’ve just woken up in a sweat. I’ve figured it out! That was beautifully contrived, and you knew all along I’d never guess. No wonder: YOU WERE A WAITER! You know the guy who runs the place and he let you pretend to be a waiter for a couple of hours, am I right?
Fifteen minutes later
Re: Nightmare
And? Are you disappointed? (Hello, by the way.)
Eight minutes later
Re: Nightmare
Disappointed? Deflated, more like! Peeved! Pissed off! Pranked!
You’ve put me right in it and I feel cheated. And you’ve been planning this nasty little trick all along. You’re the one who suggested that we meet in Café Huber. The entire staff has probably been laughing their heads off at my expense for weeks. I think it’s really shabby and nasty of you. It’s not the Leo Leike I know. It’s not the Leo Leike I’ve come to know. It’s not the Leo Leike I might have gotten to know better! And I’ve no intention of getting to know that Leo one iota more! In one fell swoop you’ve trashed everything we’ve spent months building up. Good-bye!
Nine minutes later
Re: Nightmare
So do you at least like me, I mean to look at?
Two minutes later
Re: Nightmare
Do you want an honest answer? I’ll gladly give you one, as a parting shot.
Forty-five seconds later
Re: Nightmare
If it’s not too much trouble—that would be nice.
Thirty seconds later
Re: Nightmare
I don’t think you’re good-looking. I don’t even think you’re ugly. I think you’re just nothing. Boring as hell. Totally uninteresting. Just BLEEUGHH!!
Three minutes later
Re: Nightmare
Really? That sounds pretty harsh. I’m glad I’m not in that man’s skin. And I wasn’t in his waiter’s outfit either. I wasn’t him, I’m not him, and I probably never will be him either. And I wasn’t any of the waiters. I wasn’t a deliveryman or a kitchen porter. I wasn’t a policeman in uniform. I wasn’t the rest room attendant. I was plain old Leo Leike, a customer in Café Huber on Sunday afternoon between 3 and 5. Too bad about your sleep, dear Emmi “looks are everything” Rothner. Too bad about your wasted nightmare.
Two minutes later
Re: Nightmare
Thank you, Leo!!! Now I need a whisky.
Fifteen minutes later
Re: Nightmare
I suggest that we talk about you instead, to give your nerves a break. I’m going to assume that, even if I find a woman’s looks fairly important, they cannot be anywhere near as important as a man’s looks are for you. And with this more flexible approach, I concluded that at the appointed time there were a remarkably large number of interesting women in the café who could have matched up to Emmi Rothner.
(I have to break off briefly. We’ve got a conference—I do a bit of work on the side, you know, although I may not be able to afford myself this luxury soon.)
I’ll be back in a couple of hours, and we’ll resume, if that’s O.K. Incidentally, I suggest you put the whisky bottle away now . . .
Ten minutes later
Re: Nightmare
1) I simply can’t comprehend how a man who can create such intimacy with words, to the extent that he can sense Emmi in her most private moments (as she drinks whisky), I mean, I just don’t get how someone who writes like that could look anything like one of those men I saw with my own eyes in Café Huber! So I’m going to ask you again, d
ear Leo: is it possible that I simply overlooked you? Please say yes! I don’t want you to be one of those types I described yesterday. What a shame that would be!
2) Maybe there weren’t that many “remarkably interesting women” in the café. Maybe it’s just that Mr. Leike has a remarkable interest in (a remarkably large number of ) women.
3) Still, I wouldn’t mind changing places with you. From a “remarkably interesting” selection, you can pick out the fantasy Emmi Rothner of your desires—whichever one takes your fancy. While I’m stuck with a Leo Leike I managed not even to notice, and that’s my best-case scenario. Not exactly a recommendation.
4) You clearly don’t have a clue which one I was. All yours then!
Two hours later
Re: Nightmare
Thank you, Emmi, at last another Rothner list. Do you mind if I cut straight to point 4)? If you think I have no idea who you are, then you’re much mistaken. I must confess, however, that I don’t know exactly who you are. There are just three possibilities, and I’m convinced that you’re one of these women. If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to use letters rather than numbers to order my three types. I don’t want the whole thing to look like an awards ceremony with podium places. So here are my Rothner candidates:
A) The prototype, Ur-Emmi. She was standing at the bar, fourth from the left. Around five feet four inches tall, petite, short dark hair. Just under forty. Hectic and nervous, rapid movements, endlessly twirling her whisky glass (!!), seemed a bit snooty, looking down her nose at everything (a dignified arrogance masking a slight insecurity). Trousers, coat: funky dress sense. Funny felt handbag. Green shoes that looked as though they were chosen from a personal collection of a hundred others for that Sunday afternoon. (About size 6 1/2!!!) Looked at men the way you might try to without them noticing. Facial features: fine, a little unrelaxed. Face: beautiful. Type: boisterous, hasty, temperamental. In other words, a classic Emmi Rothner type.
B) The alternative model, the Blond-Emmi. Changed seats three times, started out at the front on the right, then right at the back, then in the middle. At the end spent a short time at the bar. Very confident, a little slower in her movements (than the Ur-Emmi). Blond, straggly hair, 1980s style. Around thirty-five. Drinks: coffee followed by red wine. Smoked a cigarette. (Looked like she really enjoyed it, but didn’t seem addicted.) Height: a good five feet seven inches. Long, slim legs. Red, branded sneakers. (About size 6 1/2!!!) Faded jeans, tight black T-shirt (large breasts, if I may make such an observation). Looked at men very casually. Facial features: relaxed. Face: beautiful. Type: feminine, self-confident, cool.