After Midnight In West Berlin

He’ll understand. 

That’s what Russel Christian kept telling himself, as he sat in his dim-lit hotel room, staring at the handlebar telephone in front of him. A ridiculous teal thing that probably hadn’t been replaced since the early seventies. Maybe it doesn’t work. No, he had already thought of that, forcing the hotel concierge to call him from the lobby. She begrudgingly complied. A few minutes later, his room was filled with the phone’s grating ring. It had worked just fine then, why won’t it ring now.

He checked his watch again. Its golden face glinted even in the dark room. He polished it so often, doubtful anyone ever noticed that Rolex wasn’t spelled with two Ls. Past one in the morning, why do they bother to call this morning, the street below was dark. Rain tapped against his window, echoing with a chill in the small hotel room– lit by a solitary desk lamp. Regardless, he refused to turn on another light, surely the call will come any minute now.

The trip had totaled twelve hours airborne, and he hadn’t slept the whole time, only resting his eyes for a brief fifteen during his layover in LaGuardia. He knew he should have cancelled the business trip, but if Dick Chanders finally made him Partner it’d be worth it. One day he’ll understand.

Griffin: that’s what Russel wanted to name him, but Ellie had insisted on naming their boy Richard, after her father– the miserable ass. Russel had never met a man named Richard that he liked. There's a reason their nicknames are always rich or dick. But once he got home to Los Angeles, he would meet a Richard whom he’d love, of that, Russel was certain.

It should’ve been fine to take the trip. Ellie wasn’t due for another three weeks. No one could have predicted that this would happen, the doctor had assured them that it wouldn’t be until next month. That’s what he had told his wife, when she screamed and cursed him out the door for abandoning them. She even said it. ‘Just cause you're leaving us, the baby will come early’. Maybe if she hadn’t said that… no Russel, you can’t blame anyone but yourself.

He received the news seven hours earlier, in the middle of proposing the rebranding to the West German division of his company, when a secretary – quite rudely – interrupted his presentation. With slim knowledge of the German language, Russel could still understand a crazed American woman was asking for him. Ellie was more than likely calling to hysterically yell at him after seeing some news about Gorbachev. Naturally, Russel wanted to continue with the meeting, that is, until one of the Berliners translated for him. In a matter of seconds, he packed his materials, kindly apologized to the Berliners, and headed out. A wave of, "Herzlichen Glückwunsch," played Russel out the conference room, but Dick’s fiery gaze scalded the back of Russel’s neck, as he slammed the door behind him.

The U-Bahn functioned with typical German punctuality, arriving at the subterranean station just as Russel reached the brightly painted stairwell, taking him to the hotel in exactly thirty-five minutes. Without bothering to check-in or see if his bags had arrived as scheduled, Russel demanded to use the lobby phone. He did not bother to assess the concierge’s reaction to his rudeness, but likely this poor first impression led to later distaste.

Upon watching Russel punch ‘001’ into the blocky dial pad, she gruffed a barely cordial complaint. To which Russel replied, ‘charge it to my room,’ not bothering to inform her of his room number, or that he – in fact – had yet to check in.

His call home, of course, went unanswered. By then, his wife had surely made it to the hospital, and Russel would have no means of contacting her.

Rich would’ve brought her to the hospital. 

His father-in-law had offered to loan them for the down payment on their house, but only if they found a cheap place in the same area as him. Resultingly, the newly wed couple had moved into a fifty year-old two-bedroom, not but a ten minute drive from the in-laws’ house up the hill. Russel began to dial the number of Rich’s new mobile phone, of course he had to get a mobile.

“Richard Blakely, Attorney-at-law."

“Rich, it’s Russel. How’s she doing?”

“Ah look who finally calls. Your wife in labor and you can hardly be bothered to pick up the phone.”

“Rich…” Russel tried to interject but it was clear his wife's father had a monologue he felt fit for the stage.

“You know, when I handed her to you at the end of that aisle, that meant that she was your responsibility, but now look at me. Taking care of everything for my little girl as always. I had to get you that job, had to buy you that house, and now I’m even waiting outside the delivery room waiting for your son to come. It’s a good thing you're naming it after me, it seems I’m the only one who can do anything for the little fella.”

“Richard, How is my wife!” 

“You know, is she even yours, Rus. A man is supposed to take care of his wife. You know that, don’t you?”

“What do you think I’m doing here Rich? Tell me how she is.”

“She’s pregnant, how do you think she is? You know, had Ellie still been a young woman I would never have let you marry her – ever since I had to help you with that lawsuit, I should have known what kind of man you are.”

“Richard. Tell me. Did she make it to the hospital all right? How is she doing? Did the water break? Tell me something.”

“Yes the water damn well broke, and you owe me a new pair of shoes.”

“Goddamnit Rich tell me how she’s doing.”

“She’s in the operating room, she seemed fine last I saw, but now I know who she gets her lip from, she was cursing me like a sailor the whole drive to the hospital.”

Russel let out a deep sigh of relief, “Thank god. Now, do they have a good Doctor working on her?”

“Christ, I don’t know. If you wanted every little detail you should’ve been here yourself. Now, they're charging me an arm and a leg every minute on the mobile.” 

You complaining about money, that’s rich. 

“You know why I’m out here, you got me this job, just like you said. And believe me, I’m grateful, but you know how Dick values loyalty in times like these. Little Richard will understand! He’ll understand when he gets to go to Stanford or Harvard.”

“Good. Seems you're finally thinking logically. At least some of my wisdom rubbed off on you. Now if you're done whining I’m going to go before the phone bills take my last dime”.

“Wait! First take down the hotel's info so you can update me”, Russel said, allowing his head to finally cool. If only I were there, I’d strangle that pompous ass, Russel thought, but that was often how he felt around Richard. The concierge gave him the hotel's number to pass down to his father-in-law, and Russel finally checked into his room.

1:33 showed on the Rollex, Russel’s hand hovered above the light teal rotary dial. He had called his father-in-law at least twenty times since their chat. Only twice had Rich picked up the phone. First to say, “They're sucking him out, won’t be long now.” That was just after ten o’clock, Russel called back sometime before eleven, only getting a one word response, the word he never, ever wanted to hear. The word he continually assured his wife they wouldn’t hear leading up to what they thought would be her due date, “C-section.”

The chair in the dark hotel room became his permanent resting place from the minute he heard that word. His eyes glued to the teal monstrosity before him. The hours ticked by. He’ll understand why you couldn’t be there Rus, he repeated to himself. That’s all that mattered now. He had to make it worth it, so that baby Richard would understand. 

Over the hours, Russel had reasoned and unreasoned with himself, whether it was worth it to keep calling. On one hand, he could call, get no answer, and miss an incoming call in the process. On the other, by not calling, he might miss Rich, and hear nothing for another few hours. But if Richard were by a phone wouldn’t he call? Unless he wasn’t calling out of spite. As much as his father-in-law disapproved, Russel doubted he held enough hatred to not tell him his son was okay. Unless…

Reconvinced, Russel moved to grab the phone, but as he gripped the out-of-style handle, it began to shake. The old thing bursted into life, ringing its high-pitched metallic ring.

Russ picked up.

‘’Whoa, that was quick. Guess I didn’t wake you up then.”

“Huh. Who is this, Chanders?” 

“Yeah, listen, Russel – no need to apologize for ruining today's meeting. I figured out a way to fix it. I need you to meet me at the Kampenski Hotel Cafe, at seven, tomorrow morning”.

I need to make it worth it, I need to make him understand. “Sure can do, Dick. See you in the morning.”

“Oh, and Rus, make sure to get some rest. I don’t want you looking all baby crazy in front of the Berliners again”, Dick said. A click and a buzz highlighted his point.

Darkness finally conquered the West Berlin hotel room, when Russel clicked off the lamp. He lay on the queen bed not bothering to cover himself with the sheets. In his dreams Ellie was there beside him holding his hand.

“Everything’s going to be alright. You’ll see,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m going to make it all right. No matter what, I’ll make it right for him.”

“You promise?” She asked, her brown eyes swallowing him and the dark room.

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Me too.”

Russel awoke to his head pounding. His temple pulsed like a hangover and his ears were ringing. No, not my ears. The teal telephone was jackhammering on the desk beside him. He half fell out of his bed to grab it.

“Hello… Oh... Oh… I understand”.

It wasn’t his father-in-law who called; it was the hospital receptionist. That’s what Russel thought was most peculiar about the situation, as he buttoned up his grey dress shirt and threw on his blazer– the same one he wore for his wedding, he wore for all his important meetings. If the hospital was calling, someone must have told them where to reach him. Either his wife somehow managed to mention it to the nurse between contractions, or his father-in-law told them, too sickened to call himself. Whatever the case, his wife was likely going to die, but his son was out and they were hopeful for his chances. He had told the receptionist of his meeting plans at Dick’s hotel, and a half hour later, he and his suit were in prime condition. I have to make it worth it, that way he’ll understand.

A soft, yet bone-cold drizzle coated the streets of West Berlin and the crowds that filled them. Russel had to strain to view over the heads of angry Germans. His Rollex had the time, 6:58. Not knowing which way he was going anymore, he shoved through the scrum and glimpsed a grey wall, square buildings behind it, all right angles. He turned, finally finding the sign that labeled his destination.

His boss was at the center of the restaurant facing inward. His oversized back made the cafe chair look child-sized. “Dick!” Rus exclaimed with an unctuous grin, “Morning, how’s the coffee in this place?”

“Oh, it’s not like what those Mexicans can do across from our office, but you know if the Germans can do one thing right it's bitter.” As Chanders turned to face him, Russel could see crumbs splayed across his clumping chins. “Try some for yourself, I want to hear what you think,” he said, waving for a waiter to bring over another cup.

“Another one of these scones too, Danke Schöen.” Russel added. 

“So I trust everything went well on your wife’s end of things.”

“Oh it went splendidly, my Grif- I mean, my baby is strong, and healthy… Another Richard to join the ranks.”

“Haha! And a good strong name if I can say so myself. Maybe he can take on my pseudonym too.”

“I think Richard will do for now,” Russel said bluntly. He paused to thank the waiter when she brought the coffee and scone. Dick waved two fingers indifferently, and she refilled his cup as well. “So what’s this grand idea you need to tell me about so darn badly?”

Dick Chanders grunted and took a long sip of his steaming coffee. “Well as you might imagine, the pitch didn’t go over so well. They even discussed compartmentalizing the whole European division. As if we aren’t separated enough as is. But you know how I’ve been wondering what to do with the new Partner position opening in LA now that Roberts is retiring”. Dick took his last bite of scone and washed it down with more coffee. He chewed for a while, then took another sip. “Aw, that's not bad stuff. You, try your scone”.

“Dick”, Russel blurted.

His boss's eyes darted at him.

Then more jovially he added, “Don’t keep me in suspense, I’m dying here.”

“You know, that’s why I like you Rus. You may be overly emotional at times, like what happened with that dock working fellow-”

“Rich told you about the lawsuit?” Russel interrupted.

“Oh yes, yes, but that’s not the point. So what? You’ve got a heavy fist. It’s your passion. That's why I always need you by my side. My first mate. Let the level headed captains figure out the big picture and let ol’ Rus get it done. That’s what I say.”

“And I’m honored to hear that, but you know I have some plans in my head too, Dick.”

Chanders burst out laughing. So much so, Russel thought his massive frame would break the little European chair. “Oh-ho, Rus you crack me up. Yeah, you planning long term strategy. That’ll be the day. Anyway, since you don’t want me to keep you waiting: I was out with some of the Berliners last night. And, come to find out. One of them was considering leaving West Berlin.”

Suddenly, Russel was distracted by a commotion outside. The group that had barred his entrance had grown to a mob, and they were getting louder. Now chanting something in German.

“Something about getting his family away from the Russkies”, Dick continued, “anyway it doesn’t matter. I was telling him about how beautiful it is in LA, and today we are going to offer him the LA Partnership. Isn’t that something?”

The crowd was getting more and more riled up. The police had arrived, and Russel could see small items getting thrown in the madness. “Dick I think we should go.”

“Huh?” Dick turned and looked out the window, “Oh goddamn commies, build a wall to keep them out yet they still tolerate their bullshit. C’mon, I got a nice Kentucky Bourbon in my room I wanted you to try.” 

Russel sat staring out the window with a glass in his hand– no ice: Dick would only drink neat so he took to tolerating it months ago.

“Anyway, Stefan, the kraut: he was won over more by the mention of LA women than anything.”

“Yes, our ladies do have their reputation, don’t they”, Russel replied, still looking out the window. 

Dick slammed back the rest of his drink and chuckled even more. “Damn I know it’s why I moved. After Korea, I kept going to the pictures, seeing Monroe and Kelly on the big screen, and I just knew I needed to go west.”

“Let me get that”, Russel said, refilling his boss's drink, his eyes never leaving the street below. The protest was now escalating to violence. A cop tried and failed to wrestle cuffs onto the thick wrists of a tall bald man, who appeared to have been raised on nothing but strudel. “For me it was Charlie’s Angels.”

“Oh yeah that Farrah Fawcit was something”. 

“No, not Farrah. The other one, the brunette with the shag cut”, Russel said. He realized he had nearly filled Dick’s glass full.

“What, are you trying to kill me? It isn’t even past eight,” Dick said, but he took the glass all the same.

Russel slowly pried his eyes from the window and stood after seeing a woman try – and fail – to fight off a cop. She collapsed after the butt of a baton hit her scalp.

“Brunette with a shag, you don’t mean Sabrina. That was the boring one”, Dick laughed and took a long sip from his glass, “guess that explains your wife then.”

Russel chuckled at his boss’s horrible joke, not the first time he insulted Ellie’s appearance– despite knowing about Russel’s ‘passion’. The dock worker had had a mouth like Dick’s, his name had been Richard too.

He’ll understand.

The glass in Russel’s hand shattered easily across Dick Chander’s skull, and his blubbery throat gave no resistance to the sharp shard slicing across it. Outside the window, screams and chaos broke across the street as the West Berlin police beat their way through the protesters.

Behind him, Russel could hear a smooth melodic ring. The telephone in Dick’s hotel room had a wooden handle and golden engravings. It felt smooth in his hand.

“Hello... Oh... Yes, she was... Good.... Griffen, his name is Griffen.”