Istanbul Noir - Mustafa Ziyalan [13]
“Tolga,” he responded. It would be rude not to shake her hand; he realized his palms were sweaty and felt embarrassed.
The car jerked and jolted, making slow progress in the bumper-to-bumper traffic. Etiler, with its colorful, bright cafés, restaurants, and stores lining the avenue, was drowning out even the noise of the lodos.
“Would you stop at that corner?” Cavidan Hanım hopped out with the agility of a young girl, ducked into a liquor store, and returned with a black plastic bag full of beer cans.
Surprised, the young man remained optimistic. Maybe she’s planning on drinking them at home tonight, he thought. Maybe she’s expecting guests. He made a left turn and drove down the slope. If he hadn’t turned, he could have seen his girlfriend buying flowers from a stand by the corner one street down; after all, their place was just a stone’s throw away. The slope was completely dark, except for the headlights of passing cars and the blinking New Year’s ornaments on the walls of the houses.
Cavidan Hanım took the sights in with a happy smile on her face. All kinds of fantasies played out in her head as she watched the dark retaining walls flow by. All things considered, she thought, I’m lucky to live in this city.
Tolga was uneasy. He had gone beyond the call of courtesy, and besides, what would he say if his girlfriend called? He could turn off his phone and tell her something like, I was in Akmerkez, the reception was bad, but that was hardly believable. His inner voice nagged away at him. (He was right, his girlfriend was worried. She had called his office, and they’d told her he’d already left. She’d thought about calling his cell a few times, and she almost did, and in the end, she would certainly call. Where would a grown man disappear to for so many hours?) And as if all that weren’t enough already, Ella Fitzgerald had launched into another song: “Baby, Won’t You Please Come Home?”
They hit traffic again once they reached the shore. The car slowed down. “Turn left, toward Aiyan.” Cavidan Hanım seemed to be in total control now. She cracked open a can of beer for herself. “Sorry, you’re driving.” At that moment, the young man felt certain this was all just one big nightmare. His knuckles were visibly white, even in the dim light. Truth of the matter was, though, this was only the beginning—he had no idea what was in store for him.
The car obediently cruised forward toward their destination. The young man turned and stopped in front of Bebek Park. Just like every evening, the Bebek meatball vendor was setting up his stand in his white minivan, in spite of the contrary weather. Cavidan Hanım took advantage of their time in stalled traffic to look around, and she did so with gusto. It was crowded, as usual; even in this weather, all the benches in the park were occupied. Cavidan Hanım took a sizable sip from her beer; it had a sour, acidic taste, and she shivered a little as she swallowed. She reached for the bags on the backseat and took out a package: fresh walnuts. She silently congratulated herself; a prescient last-minute purchase, as it were. This time she offered some to her companion. The traffic stirred a little. They barely made it past the taxi stand in front of the Bebek Café when they had to stop again. The lodos did not seem to have impacted the hotel or the seafood restaurants here one bit. The valets were constantly stopping traffic to make way for the cars of customers coming and going. Tolga was quietly eating the walnuts Cavidan Hanım kept offering to him, after removing their delicate shells. She was sure no one had skinned or shelled or peeled anything for this boy and handed it to him, ready to eat, since he was a kid. Now he was smiling too. Finally, the valet impatiently motioned for them to drive on through. “Dear listeners, how about another tune from Ethel Waters? The woman says