Aqua Knights

By Roman Cardinal

Jules, Lark, Robin, and Gwen live in a 16th century castle that was purchased by Jules' great-grandfather while in Europe in the 1900s. It was disassembled, and then reassembled in Miami, along with extensive gardens, hedge mazes, labyrinths, and water features, including a moat.

Lark is an astronomy-obsessed poet, Robin is a religion-obsessed artist, and Gwen is a perfection-obsessed model. They all spend their days and nights in Jules' castle where they live a magical and mysterious life, free from societal worries.

These four, young, eccentric, brilliant and beautiful friends eat, drink, talk and, for the most part, live, as if they are in medieval times until one of them murders a little girl and the others make every effort to cover up the crime and protect their friend who is spiraling into madness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Campfire Publishing
• Release date: Nov 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466157040

Roman Cardinal

Roman Cardinal is an American writer & painter who resides in Northern Italy

Book preview

Foreword

There are no easy explanations for what happened. Expect none. In the end, what does it really matter? Where there is truth there will be lies. The main fact of the matter is that the worst that could have happened has happened. Nothing good lasts eternally. I always knew that. No surprise. But over the course of a few short months I found and lost my best friends in the world.

From those who know me, you will think that what I have done has no name. It can be said that I had forgotten all morality, respect, and decent behavior. It's not too far of a stretch to suppose that many people would say that my life should have been forfeited the day I ate that first girl.

I know it's quite a popular trend these days to shrug responsibilities for one's actions, and that it is convenient to blame someone or something else for one's problems. If that were my plan then I certainly do have plenty of support. The media can easily lift a great deal of the weight off of me by suggesting that our culture and our society created me, and loosed a monster like me upon the world. But the media would only be partly right.

What had happened was beyond anyone's central motivations. It was destined to happen. Where there is harmony there will always be chaos. It has never been any big secret that a renewal of the world will come after a great destruction. The history of the world has always trembled in anticipation of the beginning of the end. After all the obsessions with vanity, religion, immortality, beauty, and perfection there will be anarchy, every evil and crime will be performed, degeneration and corruption will plague the humid days and wintry nights. But once the forces of negativity peak I honestly believe there will be a dawning of a New Golden Age and there will be an earthly paradise. Finally.

Everyone needs his or her fantasies. Gwen Rivers was mine. As a celebrity, there was a spell that surrounded her. Oh, how I worshipped her! When I first moved to Miami Beach, Florida from Hollywood, California it was just to escape for a while from all of my friends who were wasting away on drugs while they tried to escape the shadow of their successful - and sometimes famous - parents. I've done my share of drugs. I've wasted way too much time wondering if my life was defined by the fact that my father was famous. I admit there were plenty of times when I had no idea what path to take or what to do or where to go or who to spend my time with so I could be happy. Truly happy. But then one day I made the decision. An ex-girlfriend actually gave me the idea. I could never compete with my father as a Director of award-winning dramatic films. He was one of the best and everyone knew it. Meanwhile, I was creative, too. It would not be fair to me to not do something in order to express myself in a creative manner. I always had a lot of interests and enjoyed documentaries and following that path seemed like a worthy pursuit. I would be a documentary filmmaker. There. I had a focus. Great. Now I needed a subject.

I flew to Miami to visit a friend and then I planned to fly to Europe and walk around and do what I could to invite an inspirational idea to hit me.

My friend was abruptly called out of town a day after I arrived, but he gave me a key and told me that I could stay as long as I wanted to . On one hand I wanted to leave right away because I was eager for my new life to begin, but on the other hand I was a bit scared. I did not know what I was going to do. Maybe I was afraid of wasting my time and failing. I really wanted to become something. I wanted to find out what my true potential was and prove to people that there was more to me than being the son of Evan Goldman.

There was a wonderful cafe downstairs from his Ocean Drive apartment. That's where I was when I first saw her. I was very surprised that I felt that my hands were shaking. I even had to concentrate on keeping my breathing regular. My tongue was suddenly dry and felt flat. I was gulping coffee. I looked around helplessly. Everyone was so calm and cool. Gwen walked right past me and then stopped in front of my table to speak with someone. She did not notice me at all.

I did not understand why I felt that way. Yes, she was beautiful. But I grew up surrounded by beautiful models and actresses who were in my father's film or who would come over for dinner parties. What was it about Gwen Rivers that made me feel like I was both freezing cold and on fire at the same time? I couldn't deal with it so I left some cash, stood up, turned and walked out.

I could not sleep well for days. There was air conditioning in the apartment but I would remain in my bed for hours and when I would get up my back would be all sweaty. My palms and face were also sweaty. I drank some vodka, took some Valium, and tried to meditate in silence, but nothing worked. I couldn't stop thinking about her. I kept returning to the same cafe and waited for her to return. I'd wait for hours while drinking coffee and eating my meals there. I kept myself busy by writing and taking photographs of people walking by. Sometimes I did not want to go to the rest room in fear that she would come in for a coffee and then leave without my seeing her.

I started to become paranoid. Despite the fact that I saw plenty of the same people everyday - many worked on their laptops or talked on their phones - I began to suspect that people might think I was a stalker of some sort. After all, wasn't I engaging in stalker-like behavior? And to make matters worse, Gianni Versace was gunned down by a lunatic just down the street from where I was.

But then I became angry that anyone would have such thoughts. It seems like every since the first O.J. Simpson trial, any female who doesn't want to deal with an ex-husband, ex-boyfriend, potential male suitor, or any guy in general can accuse him of being a stalker and probably get a court to impose a restraining order on him. Whatever happened to passion? Whatever happened to love? What if Romeo and Juliet were around today? Wouldn't Romeo be under a restraining order? How many great love stories throughout history blossomed because a guy did not give up and wanted a gal to know how he felt about her?

I did not want to harm Gwen. I just wanted to meet her. Maybe get to know her. Perhaps become friends with her. And it would be really great if it could happen without her having to know who my father was. I wondered if someone like Gwen would be friends with me just for being me. I hoped someday I would get answers to the questions that plagued my mind.

After more than a week it looked like my hopes would be fulfilled. I was seated in the café and at my usual table when she quickly walked in. She ordered an Iced Tea and waited patiently while it was being prepared. She looked stunning. I picked up my camera and as discreetly as possible, I aimed the lens at her and snapped. To this day I still don't know if she turned because she heard the snap or because of intuition or because of a sixth sense or because she just happened to be turning, but her body shifted and her neck moved slightly to the side and her eyes looked down and then directly at me and into my eyes. She smiled without parting her lips. Her hair seemed to glow. Her eyes sparkled. Her lips reflected light because of the gloss that was delicately spread upon them. I was under Gwen's spell. She immediately approached me. I could not move.

Are you following me? Gwen inquired with a soft melodic voice that was a few octaves above a whisper.

I'm not stalking you, I assured her.

She smiled again. She was so beautiful. Who do you work for? she wanted to know.

No one, I told her, but I said it in such a way that even I wasn't convinced. But with a sense of assurance I added, I develop documentaries.

Gwen thought for a moment but it seemed like an eternity. I could not take my eyes off of her. I wanted to look away because I felt like she could read my thoughts. I wanted to touch her hand.

Why did you take a photo of me? she wanted to know, but without an ounce of anger in her lovely voice. Are you going to sell it?

I cleared my throat and replied, I think you're stunning, and I just wanted a photo of you. For me. Not for anyone else. I have no reason beyond that.

Who do you think I am? she said without a smile.

My mind went blank. I searched it for a reply. I had no idea how to answer her question because I did not know what she meant. But then it hit me. Gwen and her twin sister probably got mistaken for one another all the time. But I knew that at that time that Gwen's sister was acting in a film being directed by my father's friend. They were shooting in San Francisco.

You're Gwen Rivers, I said in such a way that it seemed like I was trying to convince her of the fact.

Gwen's eyes sparkled as she smiled and threw her blond hair back over her shoulders.

What's your name? she asked me.

I quickly answered, Luke.

Tell me the truth, Luke. Have you ever directed a film before?

The question hit me like a brick. I wanted to tell her how much experience I had in the film industry so she would be confident in me, but I also did not want to reveal too much - if anything - about who I was. Finally I told her, I went to film school. I Produced and Directed a lot of student films. I've edited a lot of trailers and music videos for friends. I want to direct documentaries, though.

She looked at me for a while, as if she was searching my eyes to reveal something I had not told her.

The barista brought Gwen's Iced Tea over and set it down in front of her. Clearly he assumed that she and I were friends. Without taking her eyes off of me, she sat down and said, I'm not my sister.

I nodded.

That was when I told her who my father was. For a few seconds before the words left my mouth I was not sure why I did, but then I realized it was because I could see she wanted me to be honest with her. In an industry filled with people who will do or say anything to get a project going, make money, and get into a beautiful model's pants, it is refreshing to know that there are a handful of people who have other interests. She knew who my father was. I told her about my plans and she smiled again. She smiled a lot. She told me she thought my idea was a great one. She told me she could relate because both she and her sister were actresses and models. At some point during our conversation I looked into her eyes and it was obvious that she felt like she could trust me.

I think I have an idea for your first documentary, she told me.

Needless to say, I was intrigued.

How about a documentary on me? she inquired.

My heart skipped a beat and then jumped. My mouth opened and I managed to answer, I would be very interested in that, Gwen.

Gwen. It was the first time I said her name - to her. Gwen. It sounded strange. Gwen. I wondered how it sounded to her. How did my voice sound? Was it clear? Was my voice too deep? Gwen. Saying her name deserved some special delivery because she was so special. Gwen.

My mind went black. No thoughts went in or out. I don't remember what I said next or what she said next but an agreement was made. I would make a documentary of her. She wanted me to document her life. There was no discussion of pay. Who would get paid anyway? She or me? I figured we’d deal with it once it was done.

At first I went with her on photo shoots and on auditions all over Miami and sometimes in Ft. Lauderdale. She would just call my cell phone and tell me where she was going and I'd meet her there. Sometimes I would see her everyday, for hours on end, but other times she would disappear for days at a time. I didn't want to start acting like a jealous boyfriend but sometimes I really missed her. She was my friend. I wasn't trying to develop it into anything more than that. I just liked being around her. I liked seeing her eyes sparkle. I liked seeing the sunlight reflect off of her hair. I liked seeing her smile.

The next time I met with her - at a cafe on Lincoln Road - I suggested that she allow me to spend more time with her when she was not working. She knew what I meant. She knew it would be just as friends. She smiled. I smiled back and told her she could trust me. That's when she invited me to Aztlan.

That's where the real story begins. The story of the Aqua Knights.

So here I am now, caught between compromise and complicity, between loyalty and my own posterity. I am painfully aware of the role Gwen and her friends have put me in. I know that I stand alone, and that unaided, I must do what must be done, say what must be said, and write what must be written.

Aztlan

My eyes shifted out of focus and my breath left me when I first saw Aztlan. The estate was worthy of fairies. As it was, Jules' Great Grandfather had an ancestral European castle disassembled stone by stone and reassembled in Miami on an enormous and secluded ocean-front lot. A twelve-foot stone wall, cornered by towers, surrounded the perimeter. The man-made environs included ponds and streams, and along side them small hills were created, shallow valleys were dug, shrubbery were brought in and arranged, and banks enclosed complex mazes and confusing arrangements of dark yew paths that were twelve feet high.

I dropped the large iron knocker against the door. A moment later Gwen opened it, kissed me on the cheek, took my hand and led me in. I was not too certain that I wasn't going to faint. Would you believe that for a few brief seconds I forgot that Gwen was with me? The interior of Aztlan made me feel as if I travelled back in time. Looking around I noticed crenellated walls, giant Ionic pilasters, rough stone floors, statues and busts, urns and vases that lined the parapets, and solid oak roof timbers.

I, for one, had never been interested in extravagant, brand new mansions - such as my family's Malibu residence. I always much preferred old houses which offered intrigue. When I first entered Aztlan and discovered that the wooden floors creaked and sloped, that the stone walls were chipped and cracked, that the doors tilted on their hinges, and that the furniture needed a good dusting and polish, I was thrilled. It was like medieval times.

Gwen led me to a back balcony that faced the Atlantic Ocean in the distance. Typically, ocean front homes count on the spectacular view of the sea and offer nothing else to look at besides a large swimming pool. This was not the case at Aztlan. The North Gardens were spread out into a series of terraces connected by flights of steps, leading to a central opening that led to a temple dedicated to Apollo.

Grottoes, niches, statues of women and children, along with vases and balustrades enlivened the magnificently theatrical character of the composition.

The South Gardens, on the other hand - between two rectangular ponds with elaborate waterworks - was both decorative and functional. The garden was planted with fruit trees that framed walks, hedges and arbors. The arrangement of lace-like flowerbeds, basins, rows of trimmed yew trees and orange trees in pots were in the tradition of Versailles. If you never left the grounds it was like existing in another time and place.

Gwen looked stunning in a beautiful Annabelle Dress with a flower and leaf pattern. The gown was decorated with green lace frill and closed with laces in the front and the back.

She immediately introduced me to her friends who were waiting together in the Reception Room. First there was Jules, a handsome yet pretty man in his early twenties. He had soft features, was clean shaven, had long dirty blond hair that fell to his shoulders, full lips, hazel eyes, perfect posture, and was dressed as one would picture a 19th Century dandy would have dressed, in a white blouse shirt, and dark blue pants, and was wearing soft white gloves on his hands, the left one of which he reached out to shake my hand with as he approached me.

Welcome, he said in his melodic voice. I felt myself smile after I saw him do so.

Gwen then put her hands on my shoulders and shifted me in the direction of a woman named Robin. For a second it occurred to me that Robin was just as beautiful as Gwen but in a completely different way. There wasn't a similar feature that Gwen and Robin shared, yet they were both absolutely stunning and both had their own heavenly aroma, though they wore completely different fragrances.

Robin was petite, her face was narrow, her complexion paler than pale, with a narrow nose and diamond shaped eyes, thin lips, and long red hair, braided and brought over her left shoulder, falling down just below her perfectly round breasts, which were neither too small nor too large, but perfect for her petite frame. She was wearing a hooded, full-length white & burgundy velvet cloak that touched the ground. I tried not to look at her for too long. Robin reached out her hand to me, and when I extended mine she felt my fingers and looked into my eyes, as if trying to read something that was written in them. I made a slight effort to look away, but was unable to do so. Her eyes were gentle, as if she was feeding me energy, which I felt to be both loving and honest. If I were religious I would have said that it put me in the mind of being in the presence of, and being touched by, an angel from the heavens. That's how gentle she was, how ethereal she appeared, and how heavenly the air was around us.

When our hands finally parted I closed my eyes for a second and collected myself. When my eyes opened again I was nearly blinded by the snowy white complexion of Gwen's friend Lark. And though Lark was as beautifully pale as Robin, somehow Lark looked even paler and practically translucent due to the frame of Lark's cosmic black hair. Shining and healthy, her hair fell all the way down her back, down to her waste. Her eyes met mine and in them I saw two black orbs, floating like planets in the empty void of the cosmos. She, too, had the power to hold my eyes longer than I wanted her to, and when she took my hand she actually reached for the other and flipped them over, averted her eyes for a few seconds, and seemed to read my palms, and then she looked back up, but not at me, but instead toward Jules and then Robin and then Gwen, and seemed to have communicated something to them without having to express it with a physical or facial movement.

I guess I had passed some sort of test or something because Gwen put her arm around me and said, Come on in, Luke. Let me show you around.

As Gwen led me away Jules disappeared down one corridor, Lark went up a flight of stairs, and Robin went through a dark vestibule and I heard the slithering ruffle of her velvet cloak trailing behind her.

We'll see them at breakfast in a little while, Gwen assured me as she led me to a lift and up to the top of an overlook tower.

I was confused. Breakfast? It's late in the day, I reminded her.

She turned to me. Yes. Jules, Lark and Robin usually go to sleep an hour after sunrise and wake four hours later. I'm really the only one who is out and about with the rest of the world. It's because of my career, otherwise I'd do what they do. Oh, well. I see them as often as possible. They are my best friends in the world.

She continued on and my pace slowed. A moment later, Gwen immediately stopped in her tracks in front of a mirror. I watched her eyes and they slowly shifted, scrutinizing every part of her face, millimeter by millimeter.

I tried to take her hand but she pulled it away. I heard her whispering to herself, counting by quarter seconds, backwards from ten. When she hit zero her eyes shifted forward and she started walking straight ahead again.

Gwen let out a slight laugh. Don't mind me. I'm a bit obsessive compulsive. I have lots of habits I can’t control. I count things all the time. Other stuff, too. I can't help it. I used to think that I stared into the mirror because I liked what I looked like. It used to give me joy. But now I am overly critical. Now whenever I gaze at myself I see all my flaws and I try to think of ways to compensate for them. I try to distract people with fragrances, the colors in my wardrobe and jewelry. Anything. Everything.

I was confused. I barely knew what to say, but then said, I think you're beautiful, Gwen. Perfect.

She turned to me and smiled and said, I know. That's one of the reasons why you're here. It's been years since a stranger has entered Aztlan. We don't let anyone here. We like to be alone. Just the four of us … and my reflection, of course.

What about your sister? I asked Gwen. Hasn't she ever been here?

Gwen's eyes narrowed slightly. Do not ever mention her again. If I want to speak about Gwynne, I will bring up her name. Only me.

There was an uncomfortable silence between us that lasted until I said, I'm sorry, Gwen.

She smiled. That's all right, Luke. You didn't know. How could you?

While following Gwen I didn't speak, nor did Gwen, and I had a moment to try to sort my thoughts about the three people I had just met. For a second I was almost envious of all of them, but I stopped myself from such thoughts. How could I be envious of them? All one had to do was be in their presence, feel their touch, hear their voices, look into their eyes, notice their mannerisms, and anyone would realize that outside of Aztlan they were probably defenseless. Obviously they were not playing dress up for a few weeks. This is how they lived. They could not survive as normal people whom went to work everyday, went shopping, pulled into gas stations and filled up the tank, or shopped at the mall. No. Gwen and her friends actually appeared to not only look like they stepped out of a fairy tale, but they behaved as if they were living in one. They didn't belong anywhere else. They couldn't survive anywhere else.

Once outside, the warm ocean breeze blew my hair back and I squinted as I saw as the remaining rays of sun throw pink golden light over the grounds of Aztlan. My heart jumped once again as I realized that one could be perfectly happy at Aztlan if they never left the grounds. The aids to happiness there included: green lawns, labyrinths, card-designed verdures, day and night pools, a saltwater pool, rose gardens, shrubbery in composed landscapes, and, I later found out, secret doors that led to concealed passages which led to underground passage ways.

An hour later we went back downstairs and in the kitchen I watched as Robin tossed a new linen tablecloth across the oak banquet table, then Gwen and Lark set up the table with ornate goblets, large and small china plates, silverware, bread-baskets and pitchers.

Jules came out with a large silver tray and on it was a bowl of fruit and an assortment of cereals and homemade, organic rice yogurts. He placed the tray down and then disappeared into the kitchen again. I glanced over to the serving table and was astounded to see all the pitchers of freshly squeezed juices.

When Jules came back out, we all served ourselves and then sat at the banquet table. I poured myself a glass of orange juice and took a bowl and filled it with some grainy cereal and sprinkled some dried fruit into it, then poured in some rice milk and sat at the table, across from Robin. When I looked at what Gwen was having I noticed that she had five glasses in front of her, each filled with a different type of juice. On her plate were just half an apple and a grapefruit. Each of the other ladies only had one glass of juice, and Jules had a glass of juice and also a glass of sparkling water.

I put my spoon into my cereal bowl but quickly dropped it when I glanced at Gwen and saw her drinking one glass of juice after another, as if her mouth was on fire. No one said a thing to her.

How can you drink so much of that? I thought, but did not say.

Gwen looked up at me and said, Humans are missing an enzyme needed by the liver to make vitamin C, due to a mutation that occurred in an ancestor millions of years ago.

I looked at the others. They all seemed to agree.

There were many questions in my head about Jules’ home, and the way they dressed, and what they all did with their time, but considering the circumstances, they all needed to know more about me.

Do you exercise, Luke? Lark asked me.

I smiled. Whenever I can find the time I do laps in the pool and work out at the gym. But I do not like going to the health club. Maybe it's just Miami and California, but if people spent less time talking and staring at each other, and more time working out, everyone would be better off. It's very distracting.

Gwen shook her head back and forth. I would never go to a public gym. It's impossible. All those sweaty people. And sweat on the machines. No. Never. I could never go.

After answering a series of questions about my personal and professional life, I finally got a chance to ask them what they do to fill their days and nights. I found out that they spend as much time together as possible, which is usually during meals, but before and after they engage in their own private activities. I found out that Robin usually spends her time in an upstairs Art Studio where she pains with oils and water colors on wood and canvas; Lark retreats to the Red Room to write short stories and poetry that have been published under pseudonyms, and she also goes to the Outside Studio to blow glass; and Jules tends to the affairs of his massive estates located in Miami, New England, the South of France, and another that they spoke of fondly, but would not say where in the world it was. I was later told that it was their Heaven and that it was where they could go and live in peace and solitude if they ever decided to disappear.

The friendship that these extraordinary people shared was quite extraordinary. On one hand they could spend twenty-four hours a day with one another and never run out of things to do or say, or tire of each other's company. On the other hand they did not suffer from some sort of unhealthy dependency where they had to be with one another non-stop. Perhaps the most interesting part of their relationship was the intensity and quality of it all. Most people on this earth have feelings of attachment for another individual - that is, the entire person - and not just a quality or an attribute of them, but they only rarely have more that a dim recollection of what those qualities are.

Gwen

Gwen led me up a flight of marble steps and into a large guest bedroom with a wooden floor that had dark green walls covered with mirrors. There were two large windows facing east, overlooking the East hedge Maze, Rose Garden, and Aztlan's Butterfly Farm.

Looking at Gwen I felt a rush of emotion and a sense that Gwen was all the perfection any Lady could hope to achieve.

My eyes focused on decorative theme and items in her room. Deep blue walls, as if matching the color of water at the bottom of the sea, and paintings of fish were displayed along the wall. Starfish. Coral. Near her bed was a polychrome-tinted silver-gilt mirror's frame that was adorned with a variety of mollusks, crabs, fish, and coral. Near the wall was a brightly painted and well-carved sunflower chair. The blossoms rested on stems, which seemed to grow from a deep-green tufted velvet upholstered seat, which in turn was raised on supports carved to stimulate long blades of grass.

Gwen asked me to sit and when I did she handed me a mini vegan cupcake that she told me Jules had made. I remember sitting in an armchair between a pair of impressive brass palm trees. My mind went blank and then I was overcome with a loud ringing in my ears, and then I felt like there was a tremendous pressure on my chest, but it felt good, but also like I was shrinking. I was clearly tired and needed to get some rest. Instead I decided that maybe I needed to walk along the beach. I looked out the window and at the ocean, and put my legs up on a handsome jardinière, next to a matching stand that was brightly painted with a peacock on a deep blue background.

On the far side of the room was a large glass desk, atop of which there were bottles and jars and brushes and Gwen's beauty supplies. It was next to a window so she could check her finished look by daylight. Twenty-five-watt bulbs surrounded the mirror in front of her. Strategically arranged on the table were: a mirror that angled on its sides, a cotton roll (so she could cut her own cotton balls), make-up sponges, cotton swabs, tissues, and brushes. She pointed to each one and explained that they were: a Blush Brush, a Mascara Brush, a Lipstick Brush, a Concealer Brush, an Eyebrow Brush, an Eyelash Brush, a Blending Brush, and a Powder Brush. Against the mirror she had a set of tweezers, a sponge-tip applicator, and a pencil sharpener.

Gwen sat down at the desk and said, They call this a vanity table. Perfect name, right?

Looking at Gwen, and noticing how lovely she was, it was easy to believe that she spent every free moment of her life trying to live up to her beauty potential, but at the same time it didn't look like she had to make an effort at it at all. However, it seemed to me that her reasons to spend so much time trying to be beautiful went beyond vanity. I think she just wanted to be very good at something and that was one area where she could certainly excel.

She didn't need make-up but she understood the blending of the honesty and the fantasy when she applied it in front of the mirror. As a professional model she knew the balance between what was and what could be, the synthesis of truth and illusion. And when it came to application and retouching, she was patient.

I have to meet a film director in two hours and I have to get ready.

Do you want me to leave? I asked her.

Gwen turned to me. Leave? What do you think you're here for? Turn your camera on.

She left the room for a moment and when she came back she was wearing an apple green and crisp white robe. She sat in front of her vanity table.

I looked in the mirror to remind myself what I was wearing: Blue jeans and a t-shirt with a series of robot designs on it, arranged in a secret code that said, Does Not Compute.

Gwen told me she had her room's refrigerator stocked with different beers in anticipation of my arrival. She told me I could have anything in there that I wanted. I walked over to it and was astounded. She clearly expected me to spend a lot of time in her room, interviewing her. She told me where the glasses where. I easily found them. A moment later I poured myself a Berliner Weisse.

What are you doing? I