SLEEPING BEAUTY

 

“Sleeping Beauty” 

This is a true story. 

Berlin, Germany, May 2014 

“They sentenced me to 20 years of boredom

For trying to change the system from within

I’m coming now, I’m coming to reward them

First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin” – Leonard Cohen

I was a party animal. A house music addict, dragon chasing, DJ loving party animal. I planned a trip to Berlin to satisfy my need for a BPM of 130 and booked myself a 5 night stay at the Soho house because I’m a fancy nomad. Also because the Soho house rooftop was the best scene in Berlin for networking and meeting incredibly cool, well-traveled people. It was late May in 2014. Summer was about to start and the music scene that year was at its peak. 

Let there be beats. 

I get myself dolled up for The Bombay Sapphire cocktail party happening on the other side of the city. An invite I received prior to landing. I arrived to a buzzing scene filled with incredibly well-dressed, stunningly attractive people who are anything but shy. I somehow managed to catch the attention of a 6”5 German local named Heinrich, who had a striking presence and not because he was the size of a basketball player. 

 

“What are you doing after the Bombay party?” He quizzes me in his cute, soft German accent. 

“I want to see the city, so whatever you’re doing!” I boldly reply. 

“We will head out to this rooftop club then. You will love it.” He pulls his phone out to show me photos. I’m sold. 

Heinrich towered over my 5’3” self like a German Frankenstein. It was intimidating to say the least, but his presence was so powerful, so glamorous, I knew he was the key to this maze of a city. That night, he took me to a rooftop party where, despite the freezing cold, people were dancing in a meditative fashion to some extremely down tempo, minimal techno that I couldn’t figure out. My eyes grew heavy since it was my first night so I politely bowed out early, but made it clear to him that I was in it to win it. I was going to take Berlin. 

The next couple of nights were a special style of chaos that could only exist in Berlin. Sleep was desired, but sleep was not had. In fact, sleep was not allowed.  A blur of secret doors. Underground alleyways. Back in the taxi. Next spot. No line. The Kit Kat Club. 6am. Berghein. Watergate. 8am. Felix Club. 2am dinners turned into 4am ravers. More alleyways turned into more secret ragers that blew my imagination out of the water and my eardrums to the next planet. Who the F is this guy? 

The stamina in this man (and his will to party at all costs) was undeniably impressive. But soon, I was going to need a new kidney and possibly a new set of eyes. The music was either top notch or absolute garbage. Incredibly melodic house with soft vocals and ethereal samples, or monotonous, obnoxious, drugged out techno that only a zombie could enjoy.

WTF Berlin? I do not get you. 10 years later, I still don’t get you. I didn’t know if I loved it or hated it. I didn’t know what the F was going on 90% of the time. And not just because of the language barrier. 

Heinrich was connected, Mafia-style. It was like being next to a celebrity. I was attracted to him and at the same time, scared of him. He was a lot older than me, probably by a good 15 years. We had a chemistry that felt a bit dark…and I loved it. I’ve never danced so much in my life. I’ve never seen so many famous DJ’s spin such incredible sets right before my face. On night number 5 of coming home no earlier than 8am, he was dead set on making sure I would visit my grave early. 

“Zimmer bar iz next. Be ready.”  He spits in my ear at club number 298. 

“I’m exhausted. I am dying to sleep. Can we call it”?  

“No sleep. Sleep when dead.”

A part of me knew he was right but my bloodshot eyes begged to differ. Nevertheless, we headed out to another club which was highly unimpressive with fog horns and terrible music. I had enough. Heinrich was going to be the death of me. I finally, yet politely, put my foot down. 

“Please. Take. Me. home. I’m. Going. To. Die.” 

The 6”5, energetic German host of mine got us a taxi at 7:00am that morning and took us back to my hotel. This time, he got out of the cab with me and didn’t hesitate to get in the elevator too, despite the lack of an invite. Now, I was no Shirley Temple. There was always room for a foreign romance or a casual hook up in a new city with a sexy local. But something about this situation made my heart race. 

We finally approached my room at the very end of the hallway. I can see sunlight creeping in from under the door. My eyes were tearing up with exhaustion. I looked all the way up at him as he leaned on the wall, looking down at me, way down. He fixed a deep, cold, gaze dead into my eyeballs. I start to sweat. And when I get nervous, I start to ramble. 

“You have been the best host I could have ever asked for. The last couple days were unforgettable. I can’t wait to host you somewhere in the world,” I babble on and on as I open the door to my swanky soho room, fantasizing about diving into that bed fully clothed… alone. 

“I come in with you”? He softly, but sternly asks. 

“I would Heinrich, but it’s 7:00am and I am just so tired. We had some crazy nights.”

He leans his tall frame over me and places a hand on the door stopping me from closing it. 

“I just want to come in. Let me just sit on that chair.” He refers to a posh, velvety chair that is placed directly across from my bed. I look up at him. 

“I just… want to watch you sleep”. 

A cold shiver runs down my spine. 

“I just want to sit in that chair, not disturb you, and I want to watch you sleep”. 

Why. 

The.

Fuck. 

Do you want to watch me sleep? 

My mouth goes dry. Hands numb. Fight or flight. Is this some weird German fetish? I find myself looking for any secret emergency buttons I can tap for some hotel security to come to my rescue. Nothing but fancy fucking wallpaper and too many lighting options. 

“Just…watch me sleep”? I pathetically repeat. 

“Yes.” He almost begs. 

How do you say “Fuck no, you psychopath” in German?
(“Scheiße, nein, du Psychopath” Thank you, Google Translate.)

But… he took me all over town! He showed me the best that Berlin has to offer and he made it a priority to blow out my ear drums and force me into a deep coma! How could I NOT invite him in to watch me sleep? Was this his plan all along? Exhaust the living shit out of me so I can slip away while he fulfills some bizarre fantasy of his? I decided to trust my instincts on this one. 

“Not tonight… I need to sleep… alone… I hope you understand”? 

“Are you sure?” he responds. “Because I will not disturb you. I will just sit on that chair, I won’t wake you. I promise”

I shake my head slowly as my eyes bulge out of my head. 

What would the next step be after watching me sleep exactly?

“I just…want to wear your skin”. 

After I let home down gently (and oh so fearfully), he finally caves. He straightens out his posture and Giraffes his neck. The expression on his face was so serious, so intense, it was the longest 5 minute goodbye of my waking life. He made me promise I would text him soon as I was awake for a late breakfast. I of course assured him I would. He slowly, oh so fucking slowly, walked down the longest hallway in the world, hit the button at the elevator, got in, waved a huge hand good night and left me. Alone. To sleep. Unwatched. 

“I’d really like to live beside you, baby

I love your body and your spirit and your clothes

But you see that line there moving through the station?

I told you, I told you, told you I was one of those” –  Leonard Cohen