Love Is Pink! (14 page)

36

W
e got hungry around noon. Baby nudged me numerous times with his wet nose and had a pitiful look in his eyes. With the exception of a bottle of Veuve Clicquot I’d planned to share with Valentin, my refrigerator was empty.

I briefly considered ordering sushi—as I often used to do—but then I thought about the state of my bank account, which would no longer be magically filled. And I thought about Baby, who surely did not care for seaweed and wasabi.

I vaguely remembered seeing a supermarket in the neighborhood. I put on my ski jacket and said good-bye to Baby. Not five minutes later I was standing in front of an Aldi.

After gathering myself, I grabbed a shopping cart and began wandering down the aisles. No problem. After all, just a few years ago, I used to shop at discount chains without even thinking twice about it. No prong would break off my crown for shopping here.

And it wasn’t bad at all, I soon realized. In fact, I could find everything I needed quite easily here. And more. It wasn’t even expensive. Dog food for Baby, a couple of frozen hamburgers (which I’d recently acquired a taste for), tangerines, stollen, gingerbread cookies, toilet paper, bread, milk, eggs, butter, cheese—and even a digital wristwatch. All this had nearly exhausted my budget. Then I realized that I didn’t have any Christmas decorations in
my
apartment. Valentin’s taste—or, should I say, his strict standards—were no longer of any concern to me. So I quickly grabbed myself a discounted Advent calendar, a string of lights, and a couple of red candles with holders in the shape of reindeer. In the checkout aisle, I found a Christmas CD—also inexpensive. I couldn’t pass it up. I stuffed my treasures in plastic bags and stomped home, weighted down but in the best mood.

Baby greeted me with a hobbling happy dance, as though I’d been gone for hours. It was the first time that someone had cheerfully welcomed me into this apartment.

As I heated up a burger in the microwave, I fed my new roommate. I poured him a big portion of dry food in a Rosenthal bowl made of porcelain, and he went at it with ardent zeal.

After eating, I decorated the apartment as best I could. I taped cotton balls on the string of lights and draped it around the window. I placed the candles on the coffee table. I prominently displayed the Advent calendar on top of the sideboard.

Next, I unpacked the Christmas CD and slid it into the player. David, Emma, and I had heard many of the songs on our trip.

I sat myself down on the sofa, and Baby lay his head on my thighs. I closed my eyes and pictured all of us together again in our pink-red Citroën, driving through the heavy snow.

37

W
ithout a job, I had nothing to do and nobody waiting for me. I ate a few cookies, manicured my nails, polished them, found that color stupid, and chose another one. Then I brushed Baby with his hairbrush, the one that used to be mine.

The time didn’t seem to want to pass.

The doorbell rang.

I pushed Baby’s head off of my lap, got up clumsily, and went to the door. I looked through the peephole and saw my Prada bag being held up on the other side. The concierge had kept his word. The delivery company was reliable.

I opened up and nearly gasped in surprise.

No FedEx messenger, no DHL employee. Instead, there stood David.

He smiled somewhat bashfully and held out the purse. “You left it in the car.”

I grasped it. “Thank you, but it isn’t mine.” I sounded a bit dense, but my mind was otherwise occupied with David’s dimples, the curve of his cheekbones, the fine lines around the corners of his mout
h . . .

David acknowledged my comment with an understanding nod, and we stood across from each other without speaking.

“Would you like t
o . . .
” I pointed over my shoulder to my apartment. “Don’t you want to come in?”

David nodded again. He thoroughly cleaned off his shoes on the runner and came inside.

Baby scuttled off his chair as fast as he could, hobbled over to David, and pushed him with his paw. “Baby!” David knelt to pet him affectionately. Both forgot me for a while.

Typical males.

“How was the court date?” I asked.

David gave Baby another friendly pat, then got up and said, “Good. It went really well. I’m a free man. And I’m officially allowed to raise Emma.”

I smiled. “I’m so happy for you both! How’s the little one doing?”

David let his gaze wander around my apartment, but I had the feeling that he wasn’t really present. His thoughts seemed to be somewhere else.

“She’s well,” he answered. “But she misses you a lot.”

“Is Emma the only one?” I said without thinking.

David now directed his blue eyes at me. In a flash, any uncertainty they contained disappeared. “If I’m honest, I miss you, too.”

“Oh,” I said, before falling silent.

David smiled. But only for a moment. “What’s going on with Valentin?”

“I banished him to his castle.”

“Is it over between you?” His voice sounded almost forced.

“Yeah. He should stay with his queen.” I smiled, and David’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

“If I’m reading things right,” he said, pointing to my chic cotton-puff string of lights and the slightly battered Advent calendar, “you don’t have anything special planned for Christmas. Or do you?”

“What big plans should I have?” I said. “I’ll be sitting here with Bab
y . . .
and we’ll have a good time.”

David went over to Baby’s chair and began folding his blanket. “And look how well you’re doing. Just a little bit better and you’ll be jumping off the roof! Would you and Baby like to come to our place?”

I took a little time to answer. “Do you even have the space?”

“We’ll manage to find a little corner. We’ll huddle together a bit. If you like—”

“Five minutes,” I said. “I’ll pack a few things.”

I went to the bedroom, pulled my Pilates bag out of the closet, and indiscriminately stuffed some underwear and clothing in it. I grabbed my toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, comb, and some perfume and a little makeup from the bathroom.

I was done in a flash, yet I forced myself to breathe slowly so as not to show David just how much I’d hurried.

He’d already put a leash on Baby. “Well, then,” he said happily, “let’s go!”

38

T
he Citroën had been freshly washed. In the halo of the streetlights, the pink paint even managed to shine a little. We helped Baby up to his seat in the back. I placed my duffel bag next to him and went to open the door on the passenger side. I immediately noticed the side-view mirror.

“Those things really make a difference,” I said.

“The trip to Nancy was worth it,” David agreed, and we both had to laugh.

I got in. It smelled just as I remembered: like old leather, Christmas cookies, fuel, and David’s aftershave. It should have been an off-putting combination, but I found it quite pleasant.

“What was wrong with Pinky that it didn’t want to be driven the other day?”

David crinkled his forehead. “Pinky?”

“Well, ou
r . . .
I mean,
your
car. Why wouldn’t it start?”

“I’m not exactly sure. Most likely one of the cables was clogged. I cleaned everything thoroughly and wham, it started again.”

“Strange,” I said.

David started the ignition and waited for the bang before turning to me. “Oh, by the way, before driving home, I need to stop by work again.”

“You have a job?”

“Yeah, of course. What did you think? Today is our Christmas staff party, and I’m supposed to be there. It’s part of my job.”

So David wasn’t unemployed. I liked this unexpected development. I tried to imagine what his job might be. Although, in the end, there weren’t that many possibilities: mechanic, janitor, or doorman.

I surreptitiously eyed his outfit. As always, he wore jeans, a sweater, and a quilted leather jacket.
So, not a doorman
, I decided.

Mechanic? His fingers were too clean, and he also didn’t wear the obligatory blue overalls.

I bet pretty confidently on janitor. I could see that. David was nice and approachable and was certainly capable of making quick repairs. He was probably also a whiz at changing printer toner or clearing a paper jam in a copy machine. I sighed contentedly and settled back in my seat. David had a proper job. And if a Christmas staff party was among his duties, I would support that.

“No problem,” I said. “I don’t mind waiting in the car while you do your work.”

David merged into traffic. “That won’t be necessary. I’m definitely allowed to bring a guest to the party.”

“Oh,” I said, a bit surprised. “But what about Baby?”

“Baby?” David took a quick look at the backseat. “He can wait in the reception area. He won’t bother anybody.”

“Where’s Emma?” I asked.

“Emma’s at a friend’s house. We’ll pick her up on our way home.”

“Well, make haste, young man!” I said, and David stepped on the gas.

Darkness had fallen, and it was raining gently. Individual raindrops landed on the Citroën’s windshield. I turned to look at the people on the sidewalk, the lights glowing in the windows, and the festive street decorations—all of which were slowly but surely putting me in the Christmas spirit. Perhaps David had his own Christmas tree at home. The chances of that seemed high, once I thought about it. Emma had no doubt taken care of it.

This year, I’d have a real fir. I wouldn’t need Starbucks at the Brandenburg Gate. Who would have ever guessed!

David slowed down as we drove through a commercial area from the nineteenth century. In the last few years, a great deal of development had happened here. A mix of chic apartments and trendy offices had been built. A real yuppie neighborhood.

In front of a dark-red brick building, whose massive facade had been rendered more playful through geometrical ornamentation, a number of hypermodern waist-high streetlamps were burning. There were also lamps embedded under thick glass blocks in the path that led to the building. The lights were arranged in a clever way so that they invited one to come closer.

A number of my former friends had assembled at the building’s parking lot: a BMW, a Mercedes, and a Porsche. One parking space, stenciled with the word “Private,” was still unoccupied. David parked the Citroën there without hesitation.

I looked around to see if anyone had noticed. “Are you really allowed to park here? We won’t get towed?”

David shook his head. “A Christmas party is going on. People are celebrating. No one is going to look at the parking lot. Not today.”

We helped Baby out of the car and walked slowly up the brightly lit path to the entrance. In faded, old-fashioned letters on the building’s red bricks, I read:

Coin-Minting Institution

—Founded in 1909

Underneath those words hung a stainless-steel sign:

D. R. Architectural Office

Keep. Renew. Reinvigorate.

We walked into a big lobby, in the middle of which was a huge rug featuring the same company motto. Behind a stylish glass table sat a chic but simply clad older woman typing with two fingers while eating a Christmas cookie.

“There you are, David. Finally!” she said, not sounding upset. “Dr. Stieglitz is already getting restless. He has that very special look in his eye—you know what I mean.”

David smiled apologetically. “Perhaps he’ll forgive me one more time.”

With that, it became clear. David was obviously the janitor. He was well-liked, people found him endearing, and he was allowed to get away with certain things.

“Oh, I’m being rude,” David continued. “Michelle, may I introduce you to Marianne? Marianne i
s . . .
” David turned to her. “What exactly do you do here?”

“You can see what I do, all right—I eat Christmas cookies!” She got up, wiped off some crumbs, and extended her hand. “David has already told me about you.”

“Really?” I said. I wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing.

“Marianne, could we leave the dog here up front, do you think?” David asked.

I added, “We even have his blanket with us. He’ll lie on it, and I’m sure he won’t move from his spot. We’ll take him with us when we leave, obviously.”

“Of course,” Marianne said. “I couldn’t deny David anything around Christmas, now could I? But the dog doesn’t bite—or have fleas?”

I had to laugh, especially because Marianne, while talking, started to pet Baby and feed him cookies. I spread out the blanket. Baby took his place and wagged his tail at Marianne, who unceremoniously emptied the whole bag of cookies in front of him.

The three of us went down a short hallway and wound up in an open-plan office. Black ornamental pillars held up the vaulted ceilings. The entire room was brightly lit. Drawing boards, models of buildings, plans. In between was a seemingly endless sea of glass-and-stainless-steel desks with computers on them. Next to a professionally decorated Christmas tree, approximately three dozen employees stood around an older man in a custom-made Italian suit.

As the man noticed David, Marianne, and me approaching, he gave us a harsh look, coughed indignantly, and then took the microphone. “Now that we’re finally all here, I would like to take the opportunity to open this year’s Christmas party.”

“Dr. Stieglitz is really in a bad mood,” David whispered to Marianne. Even though he spoke softly, at least a few colleagues standing next to us heard him. They smiled stealthily.

Again, Dr. Stieglitz gave us a punishing look and cleared his throat. I secretly planned on personally apologizing to David’s boss during the course of the evening. I’d also accept all of the blame for our delay. I didn’t want the sourpuss to strike the few extra peanuts that David would receive in Christmas money.

“We can look back on a good year,” he said. “In the past twelve years we’ve planned, attacked, and completed many important and demanding large projects throughout all of Europe—and not just projects concerned with landmark preservation. Our profits have nearly doubled. This calendar year was the most successful one in our company’s history. And we owe it all to one man. Our boss, David Rottmann. Dear David, even though you arrived late—as always—I ask that you come over here and say a few words.”

Dr. Stieglitz raised the microphone and tipped it in our direction. I turned around to check if someone standing behind us was, by chance, also called David Rottmann. There was no one. I could see Baby on his blanket in the reception area. He’d probably devoured his Christmas cookies and was now sleeping soundly.

The audience applauded. David smiled, and, to my great surprise, he moved toward Dr. Stieglitz and took the microphone. He put his free arm over Dr. Stieglitz’s shoulders. The latter looked pleased.

“It’s true. I’m late as usual, and our own Dr. Stieglitz—our dear Andreas—is too modest, as always. As he does every year, he’s made a tremendous effort in planning this year’s party. And, for that reason, I don’t want to speak too long. It’s because of this that we’ve been so successful. You’ve all given more than your best, in all endeavors. I think it’s cool to work in a community of such talented and creative coworkers. For that, I thank each and every one of you. And before we start kicking up our heels: the buffet is open. And your work assignment for today is: no leftovers and not a word about business.”

Again, thunderous applause. The employees encircled David. Everyone seemed to want to shake his hand, hug him, or kiss him on the cheek.

I turned to Marianne. “David is the boss here?”

“What did you think?

“I thought he was the janitor.”

Marianne looked contemplative and then snorted. “Sometimes he really acts like one. But it’s true—the business belongs to him. He’s the creative engine. Without him, nothing works.”

“But,” I stuttered, “the old guy. I mea
n . . .
Dr. Stieglitz?”

Marianne was still smiling and wiping tears out of her eyes. “Andreas? He’s our guardian angel. He makes sure we don’t sink into full-on chaos.”

I watched David as he conversed with an employee who was dressed even worse than he was. And I began to understand: the guy David was talking to probably owned the Mercedes or the Porsche.

“David is not at all poor,” I said, mostly to myself.

“David?” Marianne giggled. “He took care of his ex-wife with obscene sums of money and is still as rich as shi—, uh, he’s very rich.”

“So why does he drive that pink hunk of junk?

“You don’t know much about cars, do you?”

“I do,” I said. “But not so much about suc
h . . .
classics
.”

“David searched for that particular Citroën for years. He was overjoyed to finally discover it at a collector’s in France. He went there immediately to get it. In its current condition, the car is worth sixty or seventy thousand euros. But once David finishes restoring it, it will be worth at least two hundred thousand.”

“Two hundred thousand,” I repeated. I’d gotten a knot in my throat. Suddenly, I began sobbing. Loudly.

“But Michelle,” Marianne said, concerned, “that’s a good thing! It’s no reason to cry!”

David fought his way through the crowd to get to me. His eyes were shining. He looked so happy. “Michelle, what’s wrong?” When I didn’t answer, he turned to Marianne.

“What happened?”

I didn’t hear what Marianne said. Instead, I turned around and ran out of the room. David followed and caught up to me in the lobby. He grabbed my arm from behind.

I whirled around and screamed, “You liar—let go of me!”

“Liar?” David said, sounding completely perplexed.

“Liar, cheat, bastard! You choose the name that suits you best!”

“But I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand? You played me. You really played me well, making me believe that you’re a janitor, that you have no money and drive around in a hunk of rust!”

David shook his head. “I’ve done exactly what you said.”

“Oh? That’s just the best! Now I’m to blame for everything! I’m the one who told you to pretend to be a janitor? And we would have almost starved and frozen to death in France! We even had to eat at McDonald’s!
McDonald’s!
And we even slept with each othe
r . . .
I mean, in the same bed! And to top it off, you even dragged poor little Emma into this idiotic game!” I gasped for air.

“I don’t know what you want,” he said, making a helpless gesture. “Don’t you remember our first evening in the small hotel? You told me exactly what you wanted from me.”

“What did I say?”

“You said that when a rich man falls in love with a woman but isn’t sure whether she loves him or just loves his money, then all he has to do is pretend to be poor. And then he’ll quickly be able to tell which way the wind blows.”

“The wind?”

“You know what I mean! And admit it—you said that.”

I felt my cheeks flush as I recalled that conversation. “You idiot!” I said, furious. “I was speaking abstractly. I wasn’t thinking about myself, or about you—or about anyone I know!”

David crinkled his forehead and raised his hands as though he was about to touch me. I took a step back, scared because I didn’t know how I’d react to that.

“Those days in France with you were the most beautiful ones in my life,” he said. “Nothing was missing, Michelle.”

I began shaking my head slowly. A gray emptiness was taking hold of me. “How can something be beautiful when it’s built on lies, deceit, and manipulation? I just ended a relationship like that with Valentin. I’m not letting it happen to me again.”

David took a deep breath. “But we really love each other,” he said.

“Love?” I noticed that I was sobbing again. “It’s just an illusion. Nothing that happened between us is really true. Nothing at all. My name isn’t even really Michelle.”

I went to Baby, grabbed his leash and his blanket, and left the building. Outside, it was raining buckets. I flagged a taxi, and the driver helped me get Baby into the backseat.

As we drove away, I saw David watching from the entrance to his company. He was dripping wet and looked lonely and abandoned.