by Hill, Roxann
“That’s fantastic.”
David cleared his throat. “There’s only one little problem.”
“What?”
“The whole thing will cost us. Two hundred and fifty euros, to be precise. He can’t do it for less. I’ve already tried to bargain with him.”
“Two hundred and fifty euros? That’s peanuts! I’m sure he’ll be working on that muffler for a long time.”
“That’s true, but—”
“But what?”
David scratched his head and then looked to the side. “I’ve only got about four hundred euros cash on me.”
“You have what?”
“You heard right. Four hundred.”
I didn’t understand what David was trying to tell me. “So, that’s OK. You have enough to pay him. Just withdraw the rest for whatever else we need on the way.”
David cleared his throat again. He looked down at his feet and seemed to be squirming.
The real problem finally dawned on me: David was broke.
“The four hundred euros—that’s everything we have?” I let slip. “How are we supposed to get home? It’s not like you’ll be able to put snow in the gas tank, right?”
David seemed so ashamed of himself that he still couldn’t look me in the eyes. He didn’t answer. Here it was again. The huge difference between David and Valentin. Valentin would have been able to solve this problem with the blink of an eye, without burdening me in the least.
Despite my thoughts, I said, “Don’t worry about it. One thing at a time. We’ll get the car fixed, and then we’ll figure out the rest.”
15
David and I sat on the steps of a shed—a thick old woolen blanket beneath us—and watched the maestro prepare to work on our car to the sounds of Vivaldi. Wait, why was I starting to think of it as our car? This pink hunk of rust belonged to David. (At least it did for now, until some well-meaning policeman forced him to dispose of the dreadful thing in a junkyard just to get it off the road.)
Funny—the idea of the Citroën being stripped for parts . . . I didn’t like it at all. Despite its many shortcomings, it was a comfortable ride. And the radio worked remarkably well.
I brushed aside my thoughts with a sigh. We had other worries at the moment.
Emma, who’d forced herself between us, poured hot tea from a thermos into a plastic cup. She first offered it to her father, who took a sip, and then to me. In truth, I don’t like peppermint tea, and I like it even less when it’s sweetened, but it didn’t taste half bad.
“Where did you get this?” I asked.
Emma pointed to the mechanic, who was getting ready to do the welding. Our Citroën was waiting on the third car hoist.
“Monsieur André gave me the tea so that we don’t freeze from the cold.”
“You understand French?”
“It’s really easy. The words just sound nicer than ours. We take a course in kindergarten.”
“Kindergarten,” I repeated, taking another big sip before offering the cup to David.
He thanked me but declined with a wave, walked down the steps, and peeled off his jacket. “If I lend André a hand, we can finish up in no time.”
“Good idea,” I said as I took his jacket and rested it on top of Emma’s and my knees. I thought that and the tea would warm us up a bit.
“Papa never wants to finish early,” Emma said.
“He doesn’t?”
“No. He loves to work on old cars. He spends hours and hours in his garage at home.”
“Ah,” I said. I watched as David approached André, and then eagerly threw himself into the work. He didn’t look too shabby while doing it, either. In fact, he looked pretty damn good. Sometimes, when he stretched, his sweater rode up. And since his jeans were low-waisted, this exposed his navel and the start of his happy trail. In terms of physical attractiveness, he differed from Valentin quite clearly. But Valentin didn’t need such external attributes. He possessed far more important ones, like inner strength and values.
And that brought me back to my main problem: This good-looking man in front of me was as poor as a church mouse. Which meant we barely had enough money to get home in the pink-red junker.
I sighed again.
It was clearly up to me to get us the money. The easiest solution would be to call my bank and have them quickly transfer one or two thousand euros to a local bank. But that wouldn’t work. I was stupidly without a passport, and hence without the necessary ID—all because that Swiss Botoxed Heidi (hopefully by now she’d fallen deep into the crack of a glacier while yodeling) stole it from me.
I took another sip of tea and stared aimlessly around the courtyard. Behind a filthy windowpane, I saw an ancient telephone hanging on the wall. It was one of those antediluvian things with a rotary dial, cord, and black receiver.
Valentin.
I had to call and let him know what a jam I was in. He’d get me everything I needed immediately, I was sure. How dumb I’d been not to think of this sooner! Pregnant wife or no pregnant wife, Valentin loved me. He’d remove all obstacles that stood in my way, as he always did.
I stood up abruptly, the rest of the tea sloshing out of the cup and down my hand. I set it on the steps, and then carefully dressed Emma in David’s jacket before hurrying over to him. He was reaching to screw on some part—for which I had no name and never wanted to.
“David?” I said.
He answered with a short, “Yeah.”
“I need to make a phone call.” I pointed to the mechanic standing next to David with his hands in his pockets. He was following David’s efforts with visible interest and admiration.
“Could you ask your coworker here if I could use his office phone?” I said.
The mechanic-maestro turned to me. “Vous voulez téléphoner?”
I gathered all my courage and answered, “Oui.”
He smiled, sputtered out some words I didn’t understand, and pointed at the office.
I was fairly certain what this meant, but I asked David to confirm.
“Yes,” he said. “It’d be his pleasure if you used his phone.”
Despite my anxiety, I made myself pause a moment before dashing off.
“Merci,” I said to André, which caused him to smile even wider.
The office smelled like oil, cigarettes, and tea. I grabbed the receiver and dialed Valentin’s cell number. I knew I’d be able to reach him. He always made time for me. It was one of the certainties of our extraordinary relationship and great love.
My heart thumped as I heard ringing on the other end. My call was answered quickly. Typical Valentin—a true man of action.
“Hello?”
Only, this voice did not belong to Valentin. It was a female’s.
“Yes?” I said, perplexed.
“Who’s speaking?”
“Um—” was all I could get out.
“Is that you, Ms. Krämer?”
Suddenly full of rage, I held the receiver in front of my face and stared at the perforated speaker as though I might see through it to the person on the other end of the phone.
“Don’t you dare hang up!” the voice said in a tone that wasn’t exactly gentle.
I pressed the receiver to my ear, took a deep breath, and said, “I would like to speak to Valentin.”
“You want to speak to my husband, Ms. Krämer? You have the brazenness to call here and ask me to speak to my husband?”
I started to respond, but I was interrupted again.
“I’ll tell you one thing, Ms. Krämer. For a long time, I’ve known that my husband’s been having an affair. An affair with you. My man isn’t very useful, and as a businessman he’s a complete zero. But he’s my husband. Do you hear me? My husband. The stress is on my!”
“But we love each other—”
“I won’t let you ruin this,” I said. “Valentin and I—”
She laughed again, and cruelly. “You think there’s something special between you and Valentin? Sorry to disappoint you. He’s always going after some young thing. And each time he does, he spends a small fortune on her. I let him have these little escapades because when the women reach a certain age, he loses interest. But now I’m pregnant, and the fun is over! Now I need him.”
“But—”
“No buts. If you call here one more time, you’ll see another side of me. I’ll destroy you.”
Now I’d had my fill. “How do you intend to destroy me? I’m on my own two feet. I’m financially independent. I can do whatever I want.”
“Really?” Valentin’s wife paused artfully. “You naive little thing. You work as a real estate agent. Who do you think owns the company you work for?”
“My boss,” I stammered.
“She’s the manager, not the owner. That company belongs to our family. And when I say our family, I mean it belongs to me. Why else do you think you were hired there? With no qualifications whatsoever except for your sexy little ass!”
This time I was reduced to silence.
“You leave your cutely manicured claws off my husband and find someone your own age—and at your own level. This is the first and last time I’ll ever speak to you. Should we for some unexpected reason need to talk to one another again, my legal department will take over. I think we understand each other.”
The drone of a dial tone told me she’d hung up.
I don’t know how I made it out of the office. I just remember staggering through the courtyard. Tears ran down my face. Emma clung to my legs and pressed her head against my belly.
David dropped his tools. André gave me a compassionate look. The sun had just hidden itself behind a cloud, and a thick shadow covered us all. But, after a brief moment, the sun fought its way free. Its rays streamed into the courtyard, onto our faces and the varnish of our Citroën, which glistened with a cheerful, carefree brightness.
16
I opened the car door with the clothes I’d selected in my arms. My suitcases remained on the pavement.
Before I got in, I said to David, “Leave the bag on the left where it is—I’ll need it again. You can put the other one back in the trunk. And don’t come in here until I’m finished.”
“May I ask what you’re planning?”
“No, you may not,” I said firmly. “At the very least, I need to dress myself up a bit.”
We’d driven away from André’s in the perfectly repaired Citroën. However, it had gotten quite late already. The day was nearing its end, and darkness was creeping up from all corners. I’d begged David to look for the next Hilton Hotel, and now we were parked not even 100 meters away from it.
While David and Emma kept a lookout, I climbed in the front seat, shut the car door behind me, and transformed myself back into a woman of the world. Tight black skirt, cashmere sweater, high heels, and a camel hair coat. All by major designers.
Doing my makeup proved difficult at first since there was no light and no proper mirror. But, after a while, I got used to the rearview mirror, and even managed to artfully style my hair.
Just a little Gucci perfume and I was ready.
Michelle Krämer—#fashion #beauty #style.
I got out of the car. David was my guinea pig. The poor guy’s eyes nearly fell out of his head.
Emma was with him. “Michelle, you look kind of funny,” she said.
“Funny?”
“Old,” Emma explained after a moment’s thought.
“She means you look . . . elegant,” David clarified.
“Oh, you philistines,” I said. “You have no idea. Here’s what we’re going to do: I’ll check in at the hotel and get us a really nice room. I’ll go up to the room briefly. Then I’ll come back down and meet you in the lobby, without being noticed, and we’ll all sneak back up together.”
“And how are you going to pull that off?” David asked with a skeptical look on his face. “Since we don’t have any more money?”
“I still have money,” Emma said. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out twenty euros.
“Where did you get that?” David asked.
“Monsieur André gave it to me. He said it was because he didn’t have a Christmas present for me.”
“You couldn’t possibly have understood that!”
Emma nodded emphatically. “I did—that’s just what he said!”
“Could you give me the money, Emma?” I said. “That would be really helpful.”
Emma handed me the bill, and I put it in the Prada bag—which was starting to feel more like my own after all I’d been through with it.
“How do you say in French ‘Is there anyone here that speaks German?’” I asked David.
“Y a-t-il quelqu’un ici qui parle allemand?” he said.
I repeated the sentence three times until David was satisfied with my pronunciation. Then I left him and Emma behind and clattered in my high heels, with my suitcase in tow, to the hotel’s entrance.
A distinguished older man exiting the hotel held the door open for me and waited until I went in. I thanked him with a distant nod. My old charm still worked.
I walked to the reception desk and set my Prada bag on the glossy wooden counter.
“Bonjour, Madame,” I said to the woman behind the desk. “Y-a-t-il quelqu’un ici qui parle allemand?” I said, using a bored, somewhat annoyed, tone.
The receptionist answered with, “Un moment,” disappeared, and then returned with a young woman more or less my age.
“I speak German,” she said. She was tall and blonde, and was wearing a Karl Lagerfeld suit. I knew I’d get along with her perfectly.
“My name is von Gertenbach,” I said. “Valentin, my husband, is still in a meeting. It won’t end until midnight, and I simply can’t wait any longer. My eyes are falling shut. Ridiculous, what men do in the name of silly business.”
“Unfortunately, that’s true.” The blonde smiled politely. “Far too seldom do gentlemen think about women’s needs.”
“You’re right about that,” I said. “So, given the situation, I’d like to check in now instead of waiting. Do you have a suite available?”
The woman tapped on some keys, looked up, and smiled—quite winningly this time. “You’re in luck. The Presidential Suite. It’s our best. It has a living room and two bedrooms.”
“Lovely,” I said. “Surely you found ‘von Gertenbach’ in your computer? We only stay at the Hilton, on principle.”
She tapped at the computer again. “Yes. Of course. Valentin von Gertenbach and spouse.”
“Perfect,” I said. “Our credit card number is 3754-7706-2311-1719.” Then I rattled off the expiration date and security code. I knew all the numbers by heart. They’d served me well these past few years.
The blonde punched in the information and looked at me expectantly.
“My husband will handle the formalities when he gets here,” I said. “As a small thank-you, please add 10—no—15 percent for yourself.”
She beamed, bowed slightly, and said, “Thank you very much, Madame. That wasn’t necessary.”
Oh, but it was! I thought.
A bellhop appeared and took the handle of my suitcase. The blonde gave me a key card, and I followed the bellhop through the huge lobby and past a tastefully decorated Christmas tree to the elevator. Dozens of people came and went. Despite the evening hour, or perhaps because of it, there was as much bustle as at a market square. A decadently chic market square. How I’d missed this! I sucked in the air. It smell
ed luxurious—like leather, expensive perfume, and money. Lots of money.
I used the key card in the elevator, and, after a brief ride, we arrived at my floor. The bellhop and I stepped out.
We stood in front of a double door. It made a little buzzing sound when I inserted the key. The bellhop swung open the door and invited me to step inside with a gracious hand gesture.
As the lady said, a three-room suite, red poinsettias in white pots, Art Deco furniture, real carpets, a lot of gold in the bathroom—or, more accurately, in the wellness oasis—and a welcoming Jacuzzi whirlpool. I struggled not to grin with schadenfreude. Valentin’s wife would be beside herself with joy when she got this bill.
In broken English, the bellhop explained how the plasma TV worked, and then he showed me the room’s thermostat and built-in minibar. I asked him about room service. He nodded and pointed to a cordless telephone.
I said “Merci” and slipped Emma’s twenty-euro bill into his jacket.
He smiled discreetly, bowed his head, and disappeared.
I went over to the enormous panoramic window and looked out at the city lights. Cars seemed to swoosh aimlessly along the streets. After a few minutes, I left the suite and took the elevator back down to the lobby.
I found a free sofa, sat down, and paged through a Vogue magazine, only to stand up again moments later and return to the elevator. As I was about to insert my key card, a handsome man joined me. He was holding a little girl’s hand.
The elevator opened and the three of us went inside.
David, Emma, and I were going up to our suite.
17
I didn’t need to show Emma how the key card worked—she figured it out immediately. With a confidence that only children have, she slid the card inside, paused, and said in a deep voice, “Open, Sesame!”
We stepped inside the Presidential Suite.
I closed the door and leaned against it. We made it.
“Wow!” Emma called. “Look, Papa! Michelle rented us a castle!”
David looked around coolly and seemed to be trying to appear unimpressed. But I could tell that he liked it, and that it wasn’t what he’d expected.
