One night with him
Just look, he folds up the newspaper and gets up. Over thirty meters as the crow flies, he saw me gliding down the hall in the glass elevator and knew that was her. This is my client. He extends his hand to me, smiling. We had not arranged a sign. "How did you recognize me?" - "You are the only lady here, in a lobby full of tie-bearers." He is an actor, 1.92 meters tall, as I know from the papers about him, 49 years old, a handsome man in a dark suit and black shirt, clear face, short blond hair; and he seems familiar. I suppose I saw him in a doctor's coat or at the wheel of an expensive car in one of the early evening series. But tonight he's just there for me.
A cultural companion? Just fun, no sex!
For 50 euros per hour I have Jürgen S. booked. He will go around Berlin with me in Berlin, eat at the Italian, then improvise in a bar, a club, something. For elegant cases, he has put a yellow tie in the inside pocket of the jacket. At the end of the evening, we will pass bills and a receipt between two car seats. I will go up to my hotel room, once again look happily at my new shoes and wonder what that was. My first meeting with a cultural guide.
Finding him was not difficult. The Internet is full of pictures of handsome gentlemen who offer themselves in a fine thread or generously unbuttoned as a companion "for every occasion", "with style and charisma" or "outspoken wit". Anyway, it's about sex. Jürgen S. ' Agency, the Berlin cultural escort service, is absolutely erotic-free. "Rent a friend" advertises the website www.kulturbegleitservice.de for something that you can neither rent nor pay. So what does the cultural guide do? Jürgen S. was presented to me as a "gentleman par excellence", "experienced in life and resilient". I liked that, even though I did not quite understand it. Presumably it meant that Jürgen S. was able to cope with difficult ladies. When we go to his car, I can not help asking the question: How does such a nice man to such a strange job?
Carola Ludwig would never ask that. The 53-year-old founded the cultural escort service five years ago. The idea had come to her in London, when she asked in vain for a "personal guide", with which she was able to wander a bit in the evening. "Just fun - no sex", as she does in Berlin. She started making friends, then advertised and suddenly got hundreds of applications.
In the meantime, she has 174 cultural guides, including 90 ladies, in her file. Gentlemen may like to be a bit older; Ladies between 20 and 39. In addition, it would be difficult because "man is man", and the older he is, the younger he wishes the companion. They are supposed to be skilled and - yes, certainly - resilient, because especially when booking ladies, there are often misunderstandings. Gentlemen would be hired by businessmen as bodyguards for their wives, or by women as alibi lovers to keep an obtrusive boss in check. In Ludwig's file are artists, professors, a state secretary, a former Miss Germany, a police officer, journalists, unemployed, yes. Names are not mentioned until they have entered into negotiations with their clients.
I had sent her my wishes in an e-mail: two evenings in Berlin; two gentlemen between 45 and 60 wanted, a small city tour, not too expensive food, interests rather spacious, by no means I wanted to talk all evening about sports, cars, horse racing or computer.
And Carola Ludwig sent me back four profiles with photos to choose from. The first is Eckhard, 56, actor; narrow lips, brooding brow and eyes blinded by the sun directed into the distance. His vita lists engagements and roles, directors, culture awards and audience numbers. This seems to me more than full-length. Maybe I want to say something too. Harald, 46, three-day beard. With his sunglasses, over-thrown jacket and black leather pants, he has something of a civilian driver. "Very good figure - broad shoulders - psychology studies", it says in his profile. I decide on the first evening for Jürgen S., the gentleman actor; on the second for Klaus K., who is as old as I am-and only insignificantly taller; a bald man, eyebrows like an owl, and laugh lines in his cheeks. He has something to do with event direction.
Cultural guides are a special form of tourist guide
Jürgen S. has parked his car in front of the hotel. The roof of the black convertible folds up behind us.From above it is slightly damp, but the seats are heated, and of course you can see a lot more: the CDU federal headquarters, the Mexican embassy, the old congress hall, the bell tower in the tower, which a car company has donated. My interested look belies my speechlessness. Going out with a man I picked out from the attachment of an e-mail employs me more than my companion. This is routine for Jürgen S. He says that through his job he knows what it's like to be alone in a strange city. Lame! Funny job? Tour guides are also paid. No, then we should go up there before it gets dark, there are certainly no queues left now ... Little tip, when you come back: order a table in the roof garden restaurant, maybe just for a cappuccino then you can overtake the crowds in the elevator of the restaurant. "
Jürgen S., born in Mainz, grew up in Swabia, has been living in Berlin for over 25 years. No place has left its mark on his language. He is an elegant professional who plays an elegant pro: attentive and eloquent, perfect in his dark armor. After the Reichstag, we stroll around the Pariser Platz, into the Akademie der Künste, with its staircases as confusing as a picture of Escher acts, and a house on to the "Hotel Adlon" with its as cast of lard marble, where we so pretend we're banquet guests staring at the table layout in front of the ballroom. Where did they put us? So what, we are not loaded!
Are there rules for this pas de deux? A well-tempered circulating circles? Ask questions without having to be prepared for detailed answers? The client pays everything, the hours and the expenses, but she does not want to run out completely empty. Reichstag interesting, but maybe a little more? To decorate yourself with a younger man? No one knows that she pays. Approach carefully. Laugh together. It's getting warmer already. He waits for the Italian in the Ackerstrasse until I have chosen - pasta with pork tenderloin and asparagus - and orders the same. He proposes the house wine, drinks only half a glass. Did he ever get towed? Never, he says. Also, an offer to travel on a cruise as a dance partner of older ladies ("between 50 and 60, not our generation" - golden!), He has refused. Bad fee, bad status. When I lift my finger for the bill, he discreetly descends a flight of stairs.
"Let's go?" He wants to buy olive oil. The patron of the restaurant runs a few houses down a small delicatessen store. Strumming with the bunch of keys, he goes ahead, switches on the light, searches for bottles and closures, taps oil. Jürgen S. gives me half a liter of the finest.
It's Monday night. The city seems to have enough sleep after the weekend. The windows of the targeted club are dark. Only a few scattered figures are sitting in the "Newton" on the Gendarmenmarkt. We follow a water-green light into a silent bar. All around aquariums are embedded, in which tasteful pale gray fish swim, which meet exactly the shade of the bulging wall padding. He drinks something with mint; I do something with Malt. Then he drives me back to the hotel. We are still with you. He thanks me for the escort, thank you for the oil. Now I'll certainly think of Jürgen S. when making the salad.
Berliner Klaus K., 58, has an event agency, two children, but still time and a large supply of good humor
Klaus K. I meet the next evening. He lets me wait two minutes in the lobby, and thus makes a bit of normalcy. "I am the little man with whom you have made an appointment." He talks discreetly. His white hair wreath is cut short, but his laugh makes him look younger. "So you want to talk to me about sports, cars and computers all night?" Beside his light jacket I feel slightly overdressed in my dark. He directs me to the bus stop of the line 100, which, as even the Japanese tour groups know, is a cheap sightseeing tour, past the Bellevue Palace, through the Brandenburg Gate to Prenzlauer Berg. While he releases the tickets, I keep a space at the top of the upper deck. It's a feeling like going to school. Soon we will start pulling over the others.
The businesslikeness of a rendezvous meeting is not that irritating anymore. Maybe it's the straightforward style of Klaus K., maybe because I've played the game before, that I can sit back. K. has an agency for event management, two children, but still time and apparently a large supply of good humor. It's not like in real life. I do not have to like him; I do not even have to try it. He will nevertheless make sure that it is a really pleasant evening. And I will enjoy it.
What, where, when - the cultural guide takes the lead
At Alexanderplatz we get off and drive to the TV tower.Carpet and studded glass, waistcoats and ties of the elevator guides are a museum GDR design. K. is East Berlin. Under his guidance, we walk down the viewing gallery, then we go to Indian food at the Hacke farms. In the street, Barbie costumed women with tight laced bodices and waiting for suitors.
At the table Klaus K. talks about his job as a "gentleman host". He also had the offer to serve passengers on a cruise: board games, single breakfast, cavalier women traveling alone. He wanted to see Malaysia and accepted. How was it? Two Schneidig. The laugh lines disappear. Not again .... In the meantime, the restaurant has emptied. The Indian raises the chairs. And now? The man is prepared: in the Green Salon of the Volksbühne is salsa night. I can not dance salsa. He does not either, but he dances "uncannily".
Maybe we are an embarrassing couple between all the top dancers, the young Latin Americans and their girls. But also a very funny one. Together, we make a threefold step, turn and spin, find their way back to the rhythm. I have not been dancing for years. He feels safe, a small, solid man who knows where he's going. He leaves everything else to me; the breaking off, the next dance, the last lap - a perfectly impeccable, floating balance.
In the back of the taxi we are back at the store. Silent speech because I do not want the driver, who has certainly experienced quite different transactions, hear that my master has forgotten the receipt. In front of the hotel entrance we hug each other, thank each other for the evening. Only in conversation with the agency, I learn how the 50 euro hourly fee to be shared: 21 earned the cultural guide. Mostly give the client but a hefty tip, which the Lord may keep. Three days later, the receipt comes by mail: "Hello, Salsa Queen!"
