Edge of Tomorrow (2 page)

He tickled the piano keys and started “It Had
to Be You,” all the time looking at the blond German woman. She
glanced at him and caught him looking at her. He immediately
averted his gaze and started surveying the crowd again. He felt
slightly embarrassed.

Thirty minutes later, Hatcher took his break,
went to the Men’s Room, and then to the kitchen where he had a
snack of shrimp and pumpernickel bread. It was only nine o’clock.
He had five hours to go, but he was feeling good. He thought he
might try some songs that would test his tenor range.

When he arrived back at his piano, he found
five people sitting on the stools in front of his piano, settling
in for some serious drinking and entertainment. This was his
favorite part of the evening—when the people got involved. One of
them was Katerina Klaus. Her partner was nowhere in sight. She was
nursing a glass of white wine and smoking a long, filtered
cigarette. Hatcher felt a surge of elation. He sat down on his
bench and ran his fingers over the keys.

“Hello, folks. My name is Bob Kelly. Your
wish is my command. Who do we have here tonight?” he asked
jovially. He did not ask for names usually, but he wanted Katerina
to say her name so he would have a reason for knowing it. The
people around the piano gave their names. When it was Katerina
Klaus’s turn, she smiled at him, a smile that sent a tingle up his
spine.

“My name is Katerina. Everyone calls me Kat,”
she said with a slight German accent. “You were very good earlier,
when you sang in German. Do you speak German, or just memorize the
songs?”

“Jawohl,
Fräulein
,” he answered in German, intending to be
ambiguous.

“Which?” she laughed.

“A little of each, Kat. Now, does anyone have
a request?” he replied, dodging the question.

• • •

Two hours later, after much turnover at the
piano bar seats, he found himself alone with Kat. He played soft
melodies on the piano, without singing. She was getting a little
drunk and was talking about herself and her family. He had found
out that her escort had been paged and left her alone, after paying
for their drinks and dinner. That is how she came to be at his
piano bar. She had not wanted to go home yet, and was enjoying the
music.

“My mother and sister live in East Germany,”
she was saying. “My father is dead, so they are alone and have a
very tough time there. I am lucky to be working here, so I send
them what money I can. There is such a big difference between the
East and West economies.”

That could be part of her cover story, but he
did not think so. She was supposed to be a West German, so she was
saying things she probably was not supposed to say. She was letting
her guard down, a dangerous thing to do for a spy. Or was she?
After all, she was an agent paid to sleep with the enemy and pick
up pillow talk, wasn’t she? Maybe she knew he was an agent and was
testing him.

Impossible!
he
thought.
Not even the CIA agents here know
who I am. But maybe I can turn this to my advantage. I’ll see if I
can get her into my bed! She looks like a great piece of ass! It
would be my duty to see if I can get pillow talk out of her,
wouldn’t it? She might know a lot of secrets!

“Why are you smiling, Bob Kelly?” she
interrupted his thoughts. “I was telling you a sad story!”

Why does she always use my
entire name? That’s not a normal German thing. More Russian, if
anything. Russians like to stick your name into nearly every
sentence. Maybe it’s just a personal trait of hers. Or is she
really Russian? Hmm
.

“I’m sorry, Kat. But I just remembered a
German song that might cheer you up,” he lied, looking at her
breasts. She wore no bra beneath the thin cocktail dress and her
nipples were clearly in evidence. He started a poignant German love
song. Tears came to her eyes as she listened.

This might be easier than I thought. It must
be in the rule book that it is fair game to bed a drunken spy.

As the song ended, she found a tissue in her
minuscule handbag and wiped her eyes. Then she stood up
abruptly.

“I must go now. Thank you, Bob Kelly. I will
see you again.”

She left the bar and disappeared toward the
coat room. Hatcher felt dejected.

Now, how did I fuck that up? I was sure I
had her. I must be slipping!

• • •

Two nights later she appeared at his piano at
10:00 P.M. She was dressed more casually in a blue blouse and a
gray skirt. The blouse was very sheer, but this time she wore a
black bra.

Still sexy as hell!
he observed to himself.

She sat down with her drink and smiled at
him. Her straight, white teeth sparkled when she smiled.

“
I told you I would see you again. I
could not come last night. I was working. Could you give a girl a
light?” she asked, putting a cigarette to her lips.

She pronounced “working” like a German,
“vorking.”

“
Well, I am glad you’re back tonight!
What can I play for you?” he asked, lighting her cigarette for
her.

He felt a pang of unwarranted jealousy.
He could see her
vorking
—some
lucky embassy consul looking at her naked body, playing with those
pert tits, fucking her, while she hoped for some secret tidbit to
be dropped! The consul was probably playing her for a fool, just so
he could get laid by such a petite beauty!

She named a German song that, luckily, he
knew and he started singing it for her, although his thoughts were
elsewhere.

How can I get her into bed?
If I were a stupid embassy employee, she would come after
me!
She has me really turned on now. I
have to change plans. Friggin’ James Bond never had this kind of
trouble. Maybe for him it was the martinis. Shaken, not stirred. Or
was it stirred, not shaken?

When the song was finished, he looked into
her blue eyes. She did not avert her gaze. Something seemed to pass
between them.

“Can I buy you a drink, Kat? Perhaps a
martini?” he asked her, wondering if this was the right
approach.

“No! Not a martini! If I start drinking those
at this point I may really get too tipsy and do something not
ladylike,” she giggled.

Exactly!

“Then another wine,” he compromised,
motioning for a waiter.

The corners of his mouth arched up into
a small smile as he remembered the Limelighters song
Have Some Madeira, My Dear?

He decided to try a different tack.

“I get off at two. Would you like me to take
you home after I finish here?” he asked.

“That would be nice, Bob Kelly. I would very
much enjoy staying here with you until then. Is it allowed that I
sing a song with you?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course, Kat. That’s what a piano bar is
all about. Everyone chips in. What would you like to sing?” he
replied.

“Do you know a song called
Indian Love Call
? It is from an old
American movie I saw years ago. It was with Jeannette McDonald, I
think. I have never forgotten that song.”

He was surprised at her choice. It was not
something the average bar singer could handle.

“How’s this?” he said, running through the
melody on the piano. “Is that the one you mean?”

“Yes, that is it! Please play it for me. Key
of F,” she exclaimed.

She started singing in a bell-like soprano
which surprised him. She could have starred with him in one of his
college musicals. She was very good! At the appropriate places he
came in and harmonized with her. A crowd formed around the piano,
some pulling up extra chairs, others standing. When they finished
the song, there was enthusiastic clapping and cries for “More!”
from the crowd.

They continued singing various songs, her
some, him some, and some together. He could not believe it when
2:00 A.M. arrived. It had been a great deal of fun for both of
them. He closed the piano and stood up.

“That was great fun, Kat! You have an
outstanding voice! And knowledge of American show tunes. I don’t
know where the time went,” he said enthusiastically. “But let’s get
our coats and get out of here.” He had wicked thoughts on his mind.
All in the line of duty, of course.

They retrieved their overcoats and he helped
her into hers. He shrugged into his, wrapped a scarf around his
neck, and they went out into the weather. It was snowing lightly,
and the flakes were large and wet. A few taxis were lined up and
they grabbed one. She gave her address to the driver and the taxi
sped away. He reached over and took her hand in his. She did not
pull it away.

When they arrived at her apartment building,
he got out, then helped her out. He told the driver to wait, hoping
silently that he would be down in a few minutes to tell him to
leave.

“I’ll see you to your door,” he said
gallantly.

“Thank you. That would be nice. This is not
the best part of town,” she apologized, still holding his hand. It
seemed to him that she was so small and fragile next to him. They
entered her building and took a groaning elevator up to the sixth
floor. She used her key and opened her apartment door. She turned
and faced him.

“Thank you for such a pleasant evening, Bob
Kelly. I would kiss you, but I do not kiss on first dates,” she
said coyly.

“But Kat! This wasn’t even a date!” he
blurted.

“You are right! Then lean down here, so I can
kiss you!” she said, running her tongue over her lips.

She stood on her tiptoes and he leaned down
and took her into his arms. She put her soft, damp lips to his. He
felt her small, hard breasts against his chest. Then she pulled
away.

“Thank you again, Bob Kelly. Maybe we
will sing again,
nein
?
Goodnight.”

Then she entered her apartment and closed the
door. He heard the locks snap into place.

“Shit!” he muttered to himself in a low
voice. “So much for James Fucking Bond! It has to be the
martinis!”

• • •

A few days later on a Sunday, Katerina came
to the bar around nine o’clock. This time she wore a black leather
miniskirt, black boots, and a tight lime green blouse with a low
scoop neck that revealed the tops of her breasts. He inwardly
gasped when he saw her walking across the room. She took his breath
away. Most eyes in the bar followed her as she approached the
piano.

“Hello, Bob Kelly,” she smiled as she sat on
one of the stools and crossed her legs, drawing leers from several
men close by.

“Hello, Katerina Klaus. Am I allowed to say
that I think you look gorgeous?” he answered bluntly, still in awe
of her appearance.

The pale skin on her cheeks started to turn
red with a blush.

“Well, thank you. Yes, you may say that.
Women like to hear such things, but most men are afraid to say
something,” she said, a little embarrassed, however.

She continued, “May I, too, say that I find
you to be a very handsome man? Would that be too forward of
me?”

Her “w”s again sounded like “v”s. For no good
reason, he found that to be sexy.

“How charming of you to say that, Kat.”

He was wearing black shoes and pants,
and a gray turtleneck sweater; to most women he had a
dashing,
sexy
look.
Handsome
would do for
now.

For an hour, they did a repeat performance of
their previous songfest, although they used different songs. The
crowd was delighted again. At ten o’clock, he took his usual break.
When he returned from the Men’s Room, without making his usual stop
at the kitchen, he took her to a table and they sat next to each
other. He had to force himself not to stare at the copious amounts
of bare legs and breasts that were available for viewing. They both
took out cigarettes, and he lit both of them with his trusty Zippo.
She was sipping a white wine and he nursed his usual weak bourbon
and water.

They chatted for a few minutes about some of
the songs they had sung, the weather, and other meaningless,
harmless subjects.

“What did you do today, Kat? What do you do
on Sundays?” he asked, curious as to why she was dressed as she
was.

“Normally, I clean my apartment, and do some
shopping. But today they called me into work. So I get to be off
tomorrow instead,” she replied.

“Ah, what a coincidence! I always have
Mondays off. Why don’t we have a real first date tomorrow? We can
spend the whole day together—get to know each other better,” he
asked with excitement in his voice. “What kind of food do you
prefer? American, German, French, Italian? You can get it all in
this city.”

“You are asking me for a date?” she asked
shyly, her blue eyes opened wide.

“Of course I am! You’re gorgeous, I’m
handsome! We belong together,
nein
?” he laughed.

She laughed with him.

“I guess if you put it that way, we could try
a first date. But you remember I do not …”

“…
kiss on a first date,” he finished,
wagging his finger at her.

“And I must still clean my apartment, since I
did not do so today,” she pouted.

“Well, you clean it in the morning, and I
will pick you up at noon. I’ll plan a great day for us. Now how
about the food you like?” he said, referring to his previous
question.

“Anything except German! That is all I ever
eat. I especially like American food, but I cannot afford it,” she
moaned.

“Then, leave everything to me; you’ll have a
wonderful day!”

“Very well, Bob Kelly. I will try and be
ready at noon tomorrow. Do you remember how to get to my
apartment?” she smiled.