literature

Words of Kindness - Part 2b

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George jumped a bit and spun around to see a short young woman leaning out of the next door down from his own flat.  She had long, slightly disheveled, light red hair and lively brown eyes.  She stepped out of her apartment and walked right up to George, extending her hand.  “I’m Charlotte.”
          George tentatively shook her hand.  She had a firmer grip than George would have expected from a girl who looked like her.  “George,” he said.  “I – er, just moved here.  From Scotland.”
          Charlotte nodded.  “Did you have a good flight over here?”
          George paused, and then nodded slowly.  “I suppose so,” he replied hesitantly.  He hadn’t really noticed whether it had been good or not.  “The food wasn’t all that good, though.”  He and Charlotte laughed.
          “It never is,” she lamented, her faint German accent becoming apparent to George.  “Do you want to come in for lunch?”
          Upon remembering what he’d told Jeanette about finding other people, George almost declined.  “Well, I was thinking about doing some grocery shopping…” he began, but Charlotte interrupted him.
          “Oh, the grocery’s closed today.  At least, the one I go to is.  So, please, come have some lunch,” she insisted, opening her front door.  “I made extra, anyway…I forgot André would be at work.”  She ushered George inside.
          “André?” he echoed, pausing in the entryway.
          “Yes, André.  He’s my boyfriend,” Charlotte explained unconcernedly, as if it were perfectly normal for an attached woman to invite a strange young man into her flat for lunch.
          “Oh, all right,” said George, a little confused.  He looked around the room, which smelled faintly like apple cake…the kind Jeanette’s French grandmother always used to make.  There were a few framed watercolor prints on the walls and a cheerful vase of chrysanthemums on the kitchen table.  “What’s for lunch?” he asked, feeling a bit comfortable in the flat’s homey atmosphere.
          “Sausage and mashed potatoes,” Charlotte answered, gliding over to the stove.
          “Bangers and mash,” George whispered to himself, delighted.  At least some things were universal.  “Sounds great,” he added to Charlotte.  “Anything I can help with?”
          “No, why don’t you just sit down?  You’re the guest, George,” she told him warmly.  George nodded and sat at the kitchen table.  He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair.  He instinctively reached for a newspaper on the chair next to him, and in his slightly depressed stupor, it took him a moment to realize that it was all in German.  He put it back.
          Charlotte set a steaming plate of food in front of him.  “What would you like to drink?” she asked, setting down her own plate and arranging their silverware.
          “Milk, please, if you’ve got it,” said George.  The sausage’s tantalizing smell was killing him, but he politely waited for Charlotte.  She came back a moment later with a tall glass of milk and some ice water for herself.  “Thank you.”
          “It’s no trouble,” she replied, seating herself next to George.  Then she sprang up again.  “Oh, I forgot the salad.”  She stepped back into the kitchen and returned with a large bowl of greens and a glass jar of dressing.  “I was trying out a new recipe with the dressing.  I hope you like it.”
          “I’m sure I will,” said George, spooning some salad into his plate.  He’d never been a picky eater, anyway.  Charlotte smiled as she took a bite of her own lunch.  They ate in awkward silence for a few minutes, unsure of what to talk about.  George cleared his throat.  “This is really good.  André doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
          Charlotte grinned.  “You’re too kind, George.  But thank you.”  There was another pause, which she eventually broke.  “So what brings you to Berlin?”
Setting:
Charlotte and André's apartment, Berlin.
Plot:
George needs food. Lonely new neighbor has just made lunch. I think you can figure it out.
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Questions, comments, things you care to deal with?
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Preview pic:
Pierre Auguste Renoir, "Vase of Chrysanthemums (1880-1882)."
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Jump to:
Part 1a: [link]
Part 1b: [link]
Part 2a: [link]
Part 2b
Part 2c: [link]
Part 3a: [link]
Part 3b: [link]
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KingdomKeyChan's avatar
Hmmm....don't go cheatin', Georgie-Porgie...