BERLIN: October, 2000 (Part 12)

The buzzkill on our Charlottenburg experience had me tossing and turning under the Madison's downy comforter. I thought about all the places I'd been in the last month and all the times I'd missed William. My cheeks burned. I'd miscalculated. I'd come rushing back to Berlin believing we both wanted the same thing. That we were on the same page. That we could go forward.

An emotional life of skyscraping heights — and falls — had become tiresome. My acting career had worn me raw, with as much drama offstage as on. Too many near-misses. Too many "you got the job" triumphs, followed by months of perilous bill-paying. A jagged confidence, and angry glances at a telephone that refused to ring. Too many auditions. Too few auditions. Hopes attached to the short film I had directed getting into film festivals. Too many rejection letters.

I didn't want to be in a movie of my life anymore. I wanted stability and staidness, and I wanted us to be together in the same kitchen or in the same living room watching the same television show. And I wanted it yesterday, or soon, or sooner.

But one person alone couldn't make this happen, and if he wasn't with me, then perhaps I was best living alone with a quiet routine, and not racing my heart around the world. I looked over at William's face, lit by a waning moon. He was fast asleep and I envied his peace. His only clock was the morning alarm to get him up and off to work on the types of movies that held the promise of the life I longed for.

In the morning, we showered, dressed and took the elevator downstairs. We hugged and whispered "Six weeks." I waved good-bye from the bus window. William stood on the sidewalk in a grey drizzle, blew me a kiss and mouthed I love you. I smiled with my mouth in a quivery line.

I wanted the driver to be the same burly fellow who brought me here thirty days previous, but he was not. Life does not bookend itself into such clean completion. I wandered around Tegel airport...more lost than when I'd arrived a month ago.

BERLIN: October, 2000 (Part 11)

The night before my flight home to Los Angeles, William left work early and we had a final dinner at a pizza parlor. The pie was savory, its crispy thin crust topped with fresh tomatoes and ribbons of basil. Icy German beer sent each bite on a frothy journey down my throat. All seemed right with the world. And then....

I missed you in Prague. I missed you in Paris and when I walked through the concentration camp...and in little Olomouc. It would be like this, in some pizza restaurant, and I would want to talk to you about these places. About what I'd seen.

William reached his hand across the table.

You know what I love? he asked.

Me?

It's true. Know what else?

Tell me.

I love that you got to go to all those places. I love that I was able to give you this because you're so happy when you're traveling. But I don't crave it like you do. It just makes me happy that you were happy on a train to someplace new and having an adventure.

Blink. Here's what I love: a man who can say what he means.

I flushed and adored him and figured it was time to revisit a distant conversation. As I'd passed through those landscapes on trains and ate alone in restaurants, I'd thought a lot about our conversation back home and my reluctance to even entertain moving in together. I assumed this was as prevalent in William's head as it was in mine. I assumed as I was spending days in travel and contemplation, he was busy at work thinking about...well, moi, and making plans. I assumed all that.

I'm ready to reopen the talk about our future, I started.

He took a bite of pizza and furrowed his brow into a question mark.

You know, the one about living together. The one where you couldn't believe we would never make that move, and how I thought we were fine in our own places. That conversation.

Okay...?

Well, it seems obvious to me now that we should consider how to make that happen. Because I want to be with you and I'm sorry I seemed ambivalent about that.

That sounds good. I can't see it happening any time soon, though.

William took another bite of pizza while a snake of angst crawled up my gut. This clammy coolness would repeat itself several times with us. He, perhaps to please me, perhaps simply speaking off the top of his head, perhaps voicing fantasy, would express a concept — like living together — then backpedal as soon as I came around to the idea.

What do you mean...any time soon?

I can't see buying a new place...and because there might be an industry strike, I can't depend on getting jobs in the future. We can't just jump into a renovation on my house....You said yourself moving in might be too invasive.

What do you mean...any time soon?

Maybe five years.

Five years? I whispered.

And in an instant, the golden romance of our Charlottenburg repast vanished. In its place I imagined a giant clock. Like the clock in Grand Central Station. Like the clock Charlie Chaplin clambered over. A huge ticking monster laughing at me.

Since I had wrestled with the age-difference factor, I thought I was over any misgivings about our relationship...until this particular pizza-pie dinner. For William, five years meant something different. I valued time differently than he did. I hadn't seen this and the knowledge kicked me hard.

William is a careful shopper. Meticulous. Painstaking. It drives me crazy that he deliberates so long before making a final decision. I am quick and impulsive and spontaneous, and had closets full of junk and two divorces to show for it.

But now I felt like a puppy in a store window waiting to be purchased. My flush of love morphed into a rosy fury.

Okay, let's take it right off the table. The whole idea. I'm not waiting around for you to get onboard with this one. Five years. No way. So, we'll continue to date, but no more commitment than that and if I get bored with us sitting on a fence...well, I'll be on my way. because I think five years is ridiculous.

William looked as if I'd slapped him in the face with the remaining pizza. Because of the dramatic tone in my voice and the "I'll be on my way" 1940s movie-type threat...he was close to correct.

He paid the bill and we meandered back to the apartment as if the conversation had never happened. I pretended. I acted. I sucked it up and chatted on about how I loved my life in my apartment back in Los Angeles and heigh-ho, heigh-ho...you're quite right...don't want to rush into anything...don't want to make any more mistakes...had enough of those....

BERLIN: October, 2000 (Part 10)

On my last weekend in Berlin, William and I wandered along Unter den Linden, a wide boulevard closed to traffic at the time because it was occupied by an army of plastic bears. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the fellows, each about two feet tall. Separated into blocs of yellow, green and blue, row upon row of the animals stood facing the same direction, as if frozen in a military parade.

They could have been a symbol of reunification, or a precursor to the upcoming fiftieth anniversary of the Berlin International Film Festival, or something else. We never found out why they were there, but there was no missing them. We stared agape at this fantastical menagerie of plastic beasts.

Across the street, a mother wheeled a stroller and stopped to show her toddler the bears. The tot struggled out of his carriage, careened on chubby legs towards a blue bear and wrapped his arms around it. With a hefty tug he picked it up and dragged it back to his stroller.

The mother caught up to him, pried the prize from her child's clutches, and replaced the statue back in line. The boy broke loose from her grip and raced back to grab the bear. Once again he got his arms around the bear's tummy and pulled the bear along the ground. That bear was going one place and one place only. The mother spoke what could only have been useless logic. She picked up the screaming, bereft child and plopped him back into his seat with tears streaming from his eyes. He stretched his arms to his blue friend.

Seriously, there are hundreds here....Who would miss one little blue bear? I suggested. I know, William said, we should grab one and stick it in the back pocket of the stroller. Otherwise, he'll never be able to look at any blue plastic bear without trauma.

As we watched this picture of loss and longing, William and I were holding hands. I kissed his cheek. He turned to me and our mouths met. The afternoon sun was warm. The bears stared away and we smiled at the whimsy of this happenstance discovery. The mood of the afternoon was more tender because it was time for me to go. William brushed tendrils away from my eyes.

You're growing your hair.

I touched my head. Yeah, I guess.

Women always cut their hair after a breakup or when they're depressed.

Oh, that's your little theory, is it?

It's true. You're in love and you're letting your hair grow. That's no accident.

Hmmm. Just me in love?

Nope, not just you.

BERLIN: October, 2000 (Part 9)

Back at our home base in Berlin, I tugged William out of the apartment on a Sunday afternoon and we visited the neighborhood of Charlottenburg. We left our Potsdamer Platz location via the S-Bahn.

Emerging from a station stairwell, we viewed tree-lined streets with enchanting nineteenth-century apartment buildings. The air, October-crisp as a Macintosh apple, warmed up enough to keep us comfortable. We held hands and strolled under maples dripping in red and gold leaves. We window-shopped and settled on an Austrian restaurant for an early dinner.

Back home in Los Angeles, William and I had explored our city's restaurants a couple of times a month. On other dates I cooked. I love cooking and William is an unfussy audience for whatever cuisine I set before him. Perhaps too unfussy — he wouldn't think twice about making a meal of beef jerky and Coca-Cola.

Does this broccoli have lemon on it?

Yup.

Hmmm.

I'd order two glasses of red wine to his one beer. I'd rattle off exotic menu items and he'd order steak and fries. I'd whip up a sandwich with roasted peppers, fresh tuna and arugula knowing he'd enjoy it as much as he would a McRib.

Seated at a picture window of the Austrian restaurant, we were lit golden by the setting sun. Classical music floated around the hexagonal room that could well have been a family's parlor in another lifetime. White tablecloths and large matching napkins signaled an elegant meal. We were the only customers and grateful for the courtesy of our highly professional waiter. Genteel in his black suit, white shirt and navy tie, he did not look askance at our bourgeois early arrival.

William drank a beer, amber and foamy, in a frosty glass. I sipped a German red wine and we chose an appetizer to share. Warm, breaded slices of duck lay atop braised red cabbage. The meat tender and the salad tangy, and...oh Lord, bring on more wine, this was delicious.

I was in a mood for schnitzel and this was the place to have it. As with the duck, the veal was sweet and the breading light and crispy. My entrée came with boiled new potatoes and a green salad dressed in a lemony vinaigrette. William ordered a beef dish served with horseradish and a freshly-made applesauce.

We took bites, shared forkfuls across the table and savored exquisite flavors. I would always remember this meal as one of our best, in part because we happened upon it at the end of a long walk, but even more because we were far from home and experiencing it together.

And I would remember this dinner forever because of the light. A caramel-colored October light found its way through tree branches to lay its long fingers across our tablecloth. As the sunlight disappeared into twilight, we stirred cups of cappuccino and spooned up a fluffy pancake-type dessert simmering in a warm plum compote. So, so far from home.

It was Auschwitz, in all of its beauty and sadness, that gave even greater value to this dinner in Germany. The idea of together had deepened for me. My awareness of time and how I intended to spend it grew in importance. William took my hand and I could not explain why my eyes were wet. I squeezed his palm with a rush of love.

Time. Together. Home. I turned these words over in my head as if I'd only just learned them.