Geldmann

"Tempting," I say, dryly, like one might comment on a dessert they’re not in the mood for yet. "But I’m still technically on duty. And I don’t make it a habit to mix state business with after-hours pleasures. Even if the offer is...something."

A sudden bang echoes from upstairs. My instincts tighten in that split second, like something is about to go wrong. I straighten up out of habit, until the sound resolves into laughter and steps. Friends, not threats. Still, I don’t exhale in relief. Instead, my eyes scan for exits as the first guests file into the studio, each one looking like a walking caricature of a Pinterest moodboard of Berlin.

I give a curt nod as if confirming Alex’s words and turn, offering neither a handshake nor letting myself get dragged into one of those ridiculous French-style cheek-kissing routines. “No. Partying with artists is definitely a first for me,” I say, voice edging with sarcasm. Ah, blissful youth—always convinced it’s the first to discover sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll, as if the world began with them. Meanwhile, old man Rome already threw better parties before their ancestors learned to walk upright.

I pull out my phone and check for updates. Nothing. A low growl rumbles in my throat as I lean back against the wall. So Lily figures a quick text to him counts as keeping us both in the loop? Or maybe he’s playing me—this whole laid-back artist charade a smokescreen to throw me off, lull me into safety with the vague promise that she’s on her way.

I lift my bottle, about to finish the last sip, when a hand swaps it for a fresh beer. “Cheers,” a woman says brightly, tapping her bottle against mine. “So, what’s your act tonight? Anti-social grandpa? Sexually-repressed bureaucrat?”

I exhale sharply and give her a look. She’s almost unremarkable, if it weren’t for the metal lacing half her face, and the rest of her skin disappearing under ink. “And you? Trying out for I’m-14-and-this-is-deep?” I deadpan, quoting one of those internet memes that somehow keeps infecting my feed.

“So, both,” she shoots back, just enough bite in her voice to make it fun.

I smirk, glancing down at the beer now in my hand. Might as well drink it—anything else feels wasteful. And technically, beer is just water and vegetables. I take a sip and let my eyes wander over the room.

The gathering moves with that chaotic rhythm artists seem to find instinctive—no structure, no direction, just bodies and sound and half-formed ideas colliding in bursts of color. There’s laughter, shouting, the clang of bottles and forks on mismatched plates, stories flying without needing context.

And me? I don’t belong here. I never do, in rooms like this.

"Ah, so now we are mixing pleasure and business? What got you to change your mind?"

Just then, Ludwig would receive a text from Lily.

[[I'm so sorry. Something came up. And I have no idea why my father is in my place. But you did the right thing, going with Alex. Stay with him, please. I'll explain everything as soon as I'm there. On my way right now.]]

Alex drank a beer as he watched Ludwig read and react to the text. He raised his eyebrows briefly. He gave Ludwig a look over up and down. "You know, she..." He paused and then frowned, then shook his head and waved a hand. "Ah, never mind. That's not really for me to tell."

He put a hand on Ludwig's shoulder, as though he were suddenly the man's father. Except, he was grinning. "Have some fun here. Unwind a little. You deserve it. The only rule here is to have fun." He gave Ludwig's shoulder a tight squeeze as he winked and then he walked away to join another group.

As he did, another woman, more sophisticated looking and older than the one from earlier, slid up to Ludwig's side. She linked an arm around his. "You're so stiff. Here," she said, her voice dripping with a French accent. She held up a small bag of what looked like gummy candy. "Just take one though, if you don't want to be flying in the rafters right away."

When Ludwig refused, she shrugged and shoved them in her pocket. "Suit yourself."

Another text came in from Lily.

[[I'm almost there. Had to dodge someone.]]

The woman read the text as he did. "Oooo, is that Alex's sister? You dating her? You don't seem like her type, but maybe you're more wild in the dark than you seem." She laughed. "Have you seen her in leather yet? Or is she saving that for when you're really bad?"

Just then, the door above opened, and a single pair of footsteps could be heard rushing down the steps. As soon as she came into view, Lily stopped where she was, though only for a moment, as she spotted Ludwig without trouble. She then leapt over the railing and ran to him. Her hair was disheveled, and she had scratches and bruises and tears in her clothing.

"Ludwig. Thank fuck you're alright." She frowned, as if just noticing the other woman, who was now leaning her head on Ludwig's shoulder and sticking her tongue out at her. "Oh, go away, Margo," she said as she peeled her off and shoved her away. "He's not going to be your sugar daddy. And I'm not fucking you tonight either." She put a hand on Ludwig's upper arm and pulled him away from the pouting Frenchwoman.

I shrug and lift the cigarette back to my lips just as Alex starts explaining what he actually does for a living. I inhale sharply, then slap my chest with a fist, coughing as I suppress a stifled laugh. “I’m sorry to break it to you,” I say, my tone edged with irony, “but there’s no way you can compete with the South. And it isn’t even about work ethics. It’s about space. You might consider joining a state with old Brandenburg. He’s terrible on his feet anyway and definitely probably overdue for some elderly care. Maybe a new, old hobby for your father,” I joke, half-serious. In fact, talks of fusing both states have been going on since the ’90s, and so far they could only agree one thing: Prussia as a name is off the list. But with things shifting so swiftly to the right, who knows… Wouldn’t be the first time the old bastard plots in a back-room.

I clear my throat and welcome water offered to me. I nod, offering a brief thanks and walk over to the ashtray to stub out my cigarette before having a sip. “I don’t see myself as a victim of politics. It’s not some obligation. It’s simply who I am. People sometimes act as if Aristotle or Machiavelli or Hegel had nothing to say. A nation is built on a system that keeps its parts together. Sure, heads of state come and go—as do the very ideas that gave them power in the first place. But…and I know this might sound confusing given who ran this country in the past, but I’ve never felt completely alienated.” I circle the sofa and lean against the back of it. “They are my people as well,” I add, followed by another shrug. “So yes, if possible I like to keep track of most things going on. I suppose I fancy myself a chief negotiator, overseeing domestic affairs as well as EU and foreign policy. And since charm’s never really been my strongest soft power, you could say I tend to specialize in whatever guarantees me a solid foothold in this world. Also known as my economy.” Needless to say, even after decades of so-called cooperation, France still doesn’t trust me with the delicate side of diplomacy. Too blunt, too forceful, too much like my brother. And yet, after hosting his glittering soirées, he’s more than happy to hand me the bill to cover for him.

As he listened to Ludwig, he nodded along. His answer was what he had come to expect from him. But when Ludwig finished, he raised an eyebrow and smirked a little. "Oh. Well, if it's sexy you're after...I have other outfits that might suit your taste better. Or, we could just strip now." He set his water down on the table and came close to Ludwig, well within his personal space. He lowered his voice. "You wouldn't be the first man in a tight suit I've seduced before, you know. Though, you might be the first from another world." He ran his finger along Ludwig's jawline. "Just say the word, and I'll give you an evening to never forget."

Just then, the bang of the door upstairs was heard. He stepped away and looked up as the sound of several footsteps could be heard approaching. He backed up from Ludwig and then looked at him with a smile and a laugh. "Ah, I forgot. My friends are here to have a little gettogether. You don't mind, do you? I can take you somewhere quieter if you prefer."

A thin man dressed all in black, despite the heat, was the first to come down the stairs. His mustache lifted with his lips as he smiled at Alex and lifted the packs of beer in his hands. "Alex!" he shouted in a thick Berlin accent. He set the beer down and embraced his friend, kissing him on the cheeks. Then, he seemed to notice Ludwig. "Ah, did we come at a bad time? Not one of your business deals? Or is at 'business deal,'" he added with a wink and a laugh.

Alex shook his head. "Markus, please. This man is Ludwig. He's here for my sister, but she's gone dark for a bit. That's all."

His studio is tucked into what used to be an old industrial building. Perhaps an old butcher’s shop, judging by the cracked tiles still running up the walls in the stairwell. How cliché Inside, it smells faintly of oil paint and turpentine, maybe a hint of something stronger. A large loft space opens up, tall windows filtered through gauzy curtains, canvases leaning against walls like half-told stories before it goes down the basement.

I place my briefcase beside the sofa and unbutton my suit jacket, loosening the tie just a bit. I don’t take the offer to sit though. Instead, I light a cigarette, the first drag sharp and grounding. Smoke curls between my fingers as I begin pacing—slow, deliberate steps—taking in the paintings. I’m not an artist, never claimed to be. That’s more Italy’s territory. Or France’s. They feel things in brushstrokes. I prefer words. Structure. Logic.

Still. I enjoy the act of looking. It’s a quiet kind of voyeurism—an invitation to interpret what someone else refuses to say aloud. Renaissance everyday life, romantic landscapes, modern pieces that look like the product of a migraine. And yet, even those… there's something to them. A feeling that lingers.

At one point, I crouch slightly and lift the edge of a canvas draped in cloth. Just enough to glimpse the color bleeding through. Before I can pull further, Alex clears his throat behind me.

“Water is just fine,” I tell him with a short wave of the hand, cutting off his offer for something prohibited. I’m still technically on duty. And the last thing I need is to be stoned in a version of Berlin that feels like the lovechild of Weimar excess and the Berlin Biennale partying on a CSD truck.

I gesture toward the veiled canvas but let the cover fall back into place. “What are you hiding? Nudes?” I ask, only half-joking, a smirk tugging at the edge of my mouth. I don’t push further though. If he wanted it seen, he wouldn’t have covered it up in the first place.

Ludwig might be able to guess at the painting though, if he paid attention the ones that were visible. Many had birds that were either trapped or breaking free of their confinements. Some were black and white, while others sported colors brighter than the artist's own skirt. Barbed wire was another common motif, often lingering threateningly in some corner or other of a painting.

Alex opened his bottle and took a good gulp of the water. "I work in Berlin's IHK. I know, I don't look the part right now. But I clean up when it's time to work. I also own this place, and a club. I'd like to see Berlin have a thriving economy one day. Maybe one to finally make Bavaria shut up." He gave a long sigh. "But, you know, there's always something holding us back. Like that damn airport."

"They like to have me host the important guests a lot of the time. So, I do a lot of social engagement. I don't mind, really. I think I have a knack for it. But it's also nice to retreat from it." He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a package of cigarettes, lighting one up for himself. He watched the smoke rise up with his first exhale of it.