Love Is Pink! (5 page)

9

T
he tires rumbled clumsily over the fresh snow. Night had fallen, and the headlights were tearing yellow holes into it.

“Where are we going now?” Emma asked.

“Well,” David said, “it’s late and we’re all pretty hungry. It’s time to go get something to eat.”

“McDonald’s!” Emma cheered. “We’re going to McDonald’s!”

The shock of hearing that was so big that my heart missed a beat before it started pumping heavily. I had taken for granted that we’d go to a real restaurant—sure, probably one for average people, and, for all I knew, one without a single star, but one that would at least have menus, tablecloths, and waiters. Now it was clear that we were on our way to a greasy fry joint.

“I haven’t any money,” I said.

“That’s OK,” David said. “We can afford to feed one more mouth.”

At the edge of the road, I spotted a sign with the characteristic golden “M” against the red background and the number of kilometers remaining. David slowed down and turned.

“Can’t we go somewhere else?” I asked meekly.

David shook his head. “I’ve tried, believe me. But when we’re away from home, Emma won’t eat anywhere else.”

“Exactly,” Emma chimed. She bounced in her seat. “Michelle, you’ll see! They have the best food! You don’t even need plates or silverware. And it doesn’t even matter if you stain your clothes.”

I gave her a pained smile, looked back at the road, and said to David, “Surely you know that this devil of a company gets children addicted by conning them into eating unhealthy food with the help of plastic toys? I think it’s irresponsible of you to expose Emma to it.”

David gave me a derisive look. “Maybe so, Michelle, but it would be
absolutely
irresponsible to let Emma starve.”

I didn’t want his comment to go unanswered, but the brakes screeched, and he drove into the parking lot. He cut the engine, this time without any grand gestures. From my seat, I could see straight through the glass storefront into the restaurant. Dozens of people sat inside, stuffing themselves with cholesterol-rich fast food. I suddenly felt ill. I could almost taste the disgusting fat on my tongue.

“Well, are you coming with us?” David asked. Emma had already gotten out and was dancing around the car.

“No,” I said. “Go ahead. Please don’t mind me at all.”

David gave me a scrutinizing look before pressing his lips together in resignation. “Your loss. If you change your mind, we’ll be inside.”

He closed the door, took Emma by the hand, and they disappeared into the restaurant. Honestly, I was a bit annoyed by David’s reaction. He could have tried a bit harder to persuade me. Then I would have had the chance to school him condescendingly. But he wouldn’t do me that favor. He might have been poor, but he wasn’t dumb. He knew that he’d end up with the short end of the stick with me.

I kept watching people go to their seats with their big trays and happily stuff their bellies. They lacked any sort of eating culture, not to mention basic table manners.

It was stifling in the car, so I rolled down my window a crack. It put up a fight and made a horrible creaking noise. The chilly air felt good, but the scent of fresh snow was mixed with something else. The smell of fried food.

My stomach growled in pain. I had to bend forward to calm it down.

And then something happened that I never would have thought possible: I opened the door, jumped out of the car, and rushed into the joint. I knew that I’d hate myself for it. I knew I’d be ashamed of it for the rest of my life. But my body proved stronger than my mind.

As soon as I pushed through the swinging glass door, I spotted Emma and David. They sat alone at a small table. I walked over to them. Well, to be honest, I think I ran. Emma and David were just starting to eat. A third plastic tray of food was waiting in front of an empty seat.

Without saying a word, without even looking at either one of them, I sat down, ripped open the cardboard box, took out the huge burger (it was so big that I could barely hold it), and allowed myself to enjoy it. In between bites, I stuffed handfuls of fries into my mouth and washed them down with a sugary cola.

This must have been how a junkie feels when he uses again after abstaining for years.

It was only after I was finished that I realized David and Emma were watching me, spellbound.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. I slurped the rest of my cola through the wide straw.

David made a vague hand gesture. “Nothing.”

But Emma didn’t hold back. “Wow!” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone eat so fast before.”

“It wasn’t that much,” I argued lamely.

David pointed to the empty packaging piled up on my tray. Only then did I realize how much more I’d eaten than I’d actually been aware of.

“Two big burgers,” David said, “and three portions of fries.”

“Papa, you forgot my apple pie. She ate that, too,” Emma added.

I felt my cheeks flush and no longer knew where to look. To make the nightmare even more complete, a small burp escaped my mouth at that very moment.

Emma clapped with delight. “You liked it, Michelle! I told you so!”

David obviously noticed how embarrassed I was and decided to rescue me. As though nothing had happened, he pushed himself up with both hands and said, “I’ll bring you another apple pie, Emma. And I think Michelle and I will need a coffee now.”

“A coffee would be perfect,” I answered faintly, not daring to look up. “But without sugar, please—”

“And with low-fat milk, I know,” David finished as he walked away.

While her father stood at the counter, Emma and I played with the silly little toys that served as advertising bait for the food. The spring-loaded plastic figures hopped amusingly across the table, and Emma and I had fun goofing around with them.

Soon, David was back, and a steaming hot coffee sat before me. Emma bit into her apple pie. She declared it too hot, put it down, and said, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

David got up immediately, but Emma grabbed his arm. “No, Papa, you’re not allowed in there. I’m going with Michelle. She’s a girl, like me.”

This was really the last thing that I wanted to do in life—accompany a five-year-old to the toilet. I was about to say something when I looked into Emma’s expectant eyes.

“Of course,” I heard a voice say. “Let’s go to the bathroom.” The voice was mine.

Emma’s small, greasy fingers—full of salt from the fries and sticky from all the other unspeakable stuff—closed around my hand and pulled me along. Just as we reached the restroom, the door opened. A young lady came out. She looked at Emma and me, and a smile came over her face. “What a charming daughter you have. A real
petit chou
!”

I thanked her with a nod. And I was almost sure that I let her believe I was Emma’s mother simply out of politeness.

10

T
he night, the cold, and the snow had us in their grips again. The Citroën droned unremittingly as we pressed on. Emma had chattered animatedly for the first few minutes, but, soon after, exhaustion got the better of her and she fell asleep.

So that she wouldn’t freeze, I took off my ski jacket and lay it over her. The sweater I was wearing was warm enough, and the car’s heater was functioning rather well.

The snow had started again, and a white wall enveloped us.

“We can’t keep driving in this weather tonight,” David said. “We’d better look for a hotel.”

I sighed. “I’m sure it’ll be difficult for you to find an appropriate one.”

He glanced at me before focusing on the road again.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, because you really don’t have that much money,” I said.

I could see the muscles in his cheeks tighten.

“Nothing to be ashamed about,” I added, even though that did not at all correspond with my true opinion on the matter. “Look for a place just for you and Emma. I can sleep in the car.”

“You’d do that?”

I pretended to be interested in the view through the windshield. “I’ll just get some warm things out of my suitcases. I’ll manage somehow.”

David moved the stick shift lever next to the steering wheel. The gear put up a fight, then the car moved forward dutifully.

“We’ll see,” David said, falling silent. All that remained were the sounds of the engine and the one functioning windshield wiper.

I enjoyed gliding through the darkness without knowing exactly where we were going. I also enjoyed the quiet. With Valentin, I talked constantly. Mostly because he was a highly intelligent conversation partner. But David and I experienced these pauses, which in no way seemed unpleasant or embarrassing. Strange.

We drove past three hotels that seemed too fancy. Then we came upon a two-story house with a modest sign promising an overnight stay with breakfast.

“Shall we try here?” David asked.

I murmured approvingly as we pulled up in front of the entrance.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, climbing out of the still-running car. He rang the doorbell. Just when I thought no one would answer, the door swung in and an older man appeared. David exchanged a few words with him and entered the house. It wasn’t too long before he came back. He summoned me with a wave.

I turned off the engine, and it stopped with a predictable bang. I pulled out the key and stepped out of the car to join David.

“Take Emma upstairs with you,” he said.

“I can easily stay downstairs.”

“No, no,” he said, breezing past me. “We got the last room. It’s a family room. Three beds. I’ll get the suitcases.”

I opened the car’s rear door as quietly as possible. I carefully grabbed hold of Emma and picked her up, making sure that she stayed wrapped in my ski jacket.

Half-asleep she mumbled, “Mama,” and put an arm around me.

In the meantime, David had freed my suitcases from the rust-monster’s trunk; he stood, slightly weary, in front of me. On his shoulder hung another large duffel bag, which seemed to be the only baggage that he and his daughter had with them.

“Isn’t Emma too heavy?” he asked.

“Not a problem,” I said softly. “I’m stronger than I look. I do Pilates every morning.”

“It looks good on you,” David said. And before I could ask whether “it” meant my sporty figure or a sleeping Emma in my arms, he’d walked past me and was holding open the door to the bed-and-breakfast.

Of course, the guest house had a narrow wooden staircase—no trace of an elevator. There were three flights of stairs, and the climb turned out to be strenuous indeed. Finally, David opened a door and flipped the light switch—and we stood in our refuge for the night: an especially small by my standards—but very clean—attic with a wooden roof, waxed floor, and a ’70s-patterned floral rug. There was a plain table with two chairs, a large bed, and a dreadful plastic air mattress in the corner for small children.

I sized up the bed as discreetly as possible. It was definitely one massive mattress, not two pushed together. It would be impossible to separate it. No way could I stay here.

Evidently, David had noticed the direction of my gaze, despite my discretion. And judging from the set of his mouth, he seemed just as skeptical.

Emma became restless in my arms and opened her sleepy eyes. “Are we there yet?” she mumbled.

“Yes,” I said.

“Cool!” She pointed to the horrible plastic air mattress. “A bed all to myself. It’s so nice and colorful.”

I put her down, and she ran to it immediately. She yanked on the protective net that was attached to all four sides of the bed to prevent falls. “Papa, Michelle—I am
so
tired. I want to lie down now.”

“We need to wash up first,” I said. “And only then may the young lady go to sleep.”

David grabbed the car key I’d set on the end table. “While you’re busy doing that,” he said, “I’ll go move the car to the guest parking lot.” And he left.

The bathroom was small. Windowless. A single shower stall, a toilet, a sink. Dark-green tiles from the seventies.
Oh, my God!

Emma fished out her toiletries from the duffel bag, and we brushed her teeth together, combed her hair, washed her face, and—since it was important to her—we washed her feet, too. Then she ran across the room, crawled into the plastic monstrosity at lightning speed, and pulled the covers up to her nose.

“I’m done,” she said. “If you want me to fall asleep, you need to tell me a story right away.”

“What kind of story?” I said, perplexed.

“About princesses and queens. Or about elves and Santa Claus. That would also be fine.”

David was just walking back in, his clothes covered in snow. He shook himself off and acted surprised to see Emma in bed. “You’re quick little soldiers.”

“Michelle still needs to tell me a story!” Emma said.

“Not tonight,” her father replied. “Now it’s really too late.”

Emma’s disappointment was obvious.

“We have the whole day tomorrow,” I said, secretly feeling relieved. This way I’d have time to come up with something. “I promise you an especially cool story. With a princess and a king. I’m totally familiar with that kind of stuff, you know.”

“And a pink-red car,” Emma said sleepily. “And sno
w . . .
”

“If you want.”

David tugged at my sleeve and signaled that we should be quiet. Carefully, we tiptoed into the middle of the room, where David leaned closer to whisper, “You can’t sleep in the car. Even I can’t do it. It’s bitterly cold.”

I held my breath and whispered back, “But there’s only one bed. I don’t know if that’s really a good idea.”

David paused, and I got the impression that he was starting to blush.

“What else
can
we do?” he said. “We’re adults. We can behave ourselves. Or do you have doubts about that?”

“No,” I quickly replied. “We’re two mature people and no longer seventeen. There’s no risk that we’ll—” I didn’t finish my sentence, but David completed my thought with a somewhat too-forceful nod.

He pointed nervously toward the bathroom. “You can go first if you want.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s nice of you.”

“I’ll just sit here,” he said, pointing to one of the chairs. “I’ll sit here an
d . . .
”—a look of helplessness came over his face—“and I’ll wait.”

This was embarrassing! So extremely embarrassing!

Before also turning completely red, I got one of my suitcases and disappeared into the bathroom.

I closed the door, leaned against it, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then a thought began simmering in my head. What should I even wear? The negligees I’d bought for my nights with Valentin all had something of—how should I put it?—an
erotic flair
. They revealed more than they concealed. Much more, to be completely honest.

I couldn’t possibly come out wearing such lingerie.

Hastily, I rummaged through my things until I came upon the track suit I’d packed for my Pilates exercises. It was also quite sexy and emphasized my figure, but it was a thousand times better than Belgian silk and lace.

The blood was shooting to my head again.

I tippy-toed into the shower—God only knows who’d been in there before—made lavish use of the shower gel, shampoo, and special hair conditioner. I carefully used lotion from head to toe and brushed my teeth before slipping into the track suit.

My hair looked rather boring, so I blow-dried it until it showed some life.

A touch of perfume wouldn’t hurt eithe
r . . .

Michelle, what are you getting ready for? Your wedding night?
said a little voice in my head. I immediately zipped my jacket all the way up to my chin and opened the door.

David was still sitting in the same spot, trying to look as relaxed as possible. His eyes flickered at the sight of me, and then he cleared his throat.

Total wedding night feeling
, I silently agreed with that little voice. Aloud, I asked, “Did I make you wait too long?”
Was that casual enough?

“No,” David said as he stretched out his legs and leaned back in the chair.

“Well, it’s all yours.”

David considered what I’d said with a friendly smile. “What?”

“The bathroom,” I added quickly. “You can go to the bathroom now.”

“Oh, right, of course,” he said, sitting up straight. “Sorry. I was just lost in thought.”

“That happens to me, too, sometimes,” I said, which didn’t make the situation any better.

He got up awkwardly and tried to get past me. I rested a hand on his arm. He stared at me, dumbfounded.

“You need your bag,” I said.

“My what?”

“Your toiletries.”

He put his hand on his head. “How could I have forgotten? I though
t . . .
” Pointing to the bathroom door and then Emma and then me, he said, “Oh, it doesn’t matter.” He turned around, grabbed his duffel bag, and disappeared into the wet, windowless cell.

I’d only just sat down on the same chair he’d used when I heard the water running. I made sure Emma was sleeping, and waited, just like David had, a few minutes ago.

Hearing him step into the shower, I thought about how he’d look without any clothes on. The hard jet of the spray leaving pearls of water on his skin. How he’d lather up thoroughly without missing the tiniest spo
t . . .

All of a sudden it hit me that David had listened to the same shower sounds while I was in the bathroom. He’d probably played out a similar scene in his head, but with me in the leading role. That would account for his odd, self-conscious behavior when I suddenly emerged from the bathroom.

This was promising to be a great night.