Blue Glass

Idea of Him

June, 1917

Oh, I forgot to tell you—I too also battle my demons the same way my mother does, with alcohol, cigarettes, and drugs.
I suppose you might say it's hereditary, but to be honest, anything can set me off, from coffee spilling to Svetlana being rude to me to just me being in a bad mood. And I don't like feeling sad.
Well, let's face it—no one does. But I especially don't like it. I don't like the way it settles inside me and festers and gnaws at my insides. I don't like how it can ruin a whole day or a whole week for me.
I will be firm on one thing, though. I am not my mother. I might do drugs and smoke and drink and whatnot, but I am nowhere near my mother's level of emotional depravity.
At least, that's what I think.
The sun was low in the sky as I set off at a slow walk back to my house, the sharp tang of cigarette smoke still in my mouth. Not without a heavy heart, I reached my street in five minutes and knocked on the door to our house.
Svetlana whipped the door open and gave me a critical look.
"Have you been smoking?"she asked.
I sighed. After today's argument i wasn't in the mood to be rude to her.
"Yes, I smoked a cigar in the park before I came home."
"You ought to have come home early," she scolded me as I put my hat down on the phone table. "You still need to call Weber."
Shit. I forgot all about that.
Knowing that he was most likely still in the office, I picked up the phone and dialed the number, the metal disk framing the numbers squealing as I spun it around and around to punch the buttons.
"Sonnemann Wines." Even over the phone, my boss's gruff, gravelly voice never failed to make my heart skip a beat.
"You asked my housekeeper to call me back, Herr Weber?" I asked.
"Oh, it's you." Was that a twinge of surprise I heard in his voice? "I ought to let you know that we're going to be sending you out to Germany in a few days."
My heart did a swan dive down to the soles of my shoes. Weber was rambling on and on about the why and how of the trip, but his words fell on deaf ears.
Manfred. Manfred, Manfred, Manfred.
Why was he the first thing that crossed my mind when I thought of Germany? There had been so much more to look forward to in Germany even before I knew who he was.
"...does that sound like an interesting enough undertaking for you?"
I heard myself saying "yes" before I knew it.
"Very well, then. I'll give you details tomorrow before we start the day's work. Guten abend, Schwarz."
He hung up. I set the phone down and began to twirl in circles.

"So as I'm sure you all have been notified, we're sending the following people off to Germany to transact a few purchases with some representatives of the Kaiser's entourage." Herr Weber cleared his throat. "Apparently, one of the main things they need to keep their opulent spas running is good quality alcohols, and we as one of their most trusted wine firms, shall provide them with as much alcohol as they need till their blood turns to wine."
He adjusted his spectacles and took a look at the expectant, upturned faces ringed around him.
"Needless to say, they are also very shrewd in their investments, and any shortcoming on our part will most likely result in our fall from their favor."
He stopped slightly to scoop up a sheaf of papers and thumbed through the stack until he stopped and plucked out a sheet in the middle.
"Not all of you will be going—let me make that clear. Only buyers who have distinguished themselves in previous business endeavors will be dispatched to complete this series of transactions."
He began to rattle off names. At each name, murmurs Of congratulations drifted through the room; those whose names had been bypassed wore sullen looks on their faces.
"...Klara Grese...Lea Schwarz..."
I jerked in my chair at the same time Amalie and Luise looked over at me from across the table. Of course, none of this came as a surprise—he had already told me I was to be chosen, albeit underhandedly, yesterday evening.
Quite frankly, I was still rankled over the fact that I couldn't shake a certain blue eyed, blonde haired aviator from my mind.
"...that will be all. Those whose names are not on the list may go resume their work. The rest of you, stay here."
Chairs scraped the floor and shoes clacked on tile; hushed voices floated from the table to the door and spilled out into the hallway.
"Now for you all." Herr Weber lowered himself into a chair and steepled his fingers before his face. "I need not remind you of the importance of this trip. You are not there to sightsee, nor reconnect with any family you might have there. You are to keep up a diplomatic and respectful front at all times, no matter where you are. Failure to do so will subsequently affect your potential to carry out your purpose..."
I scanned the room. Neither Amalie nor Luise had been chosen to go; it bothered me slightly. They were the only two buyers with whom I had managed to establish a good rapport; the others all shunned me because of my age.
I didn't blame them—I wouldn't want an eighteen year old skulking around in my social circles.
"...are there any questions?"
We all shook our heads.
"Very well, then, I'll leave you to go about your day's work. You all leave together on Sunday. That will be all."
He breezed out the door. No sooner had the door slammed shut behind him did everyone leap to their feet and burst into conversation—everyone but me. I pushed my chair in and hastened out the door.
Why am I only thinking about Manfred? I wondered as I walked alone down the hallway to get to my office. I barely know him, and I'll surely antagonize him by not writing back because I spilled coffee on his letter.
Still, my mind couldn't stop toying with the idea of him, no matter what I did to distract myself.

Herr: German equivalent to "Mr"