Love Is Pink! (8 page)

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 loo
k . . .
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 smelled 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.

Emma pushed open the bathroom door. “It’s so big!” she said. “And really fancy!”

She flitted past us to check out the first bedroom. “A canopy bed!” she called out. “Extra large! That’s just right for the two of you!”

David acknowledged this comment with an embarrassed smile.

Emma returned to the main living room, bent her head forward a little, and pressed her hands on her belly.

“What’s wrong?” David asked, sounding alarmed.

“I like this place. But my tummy hurts,” she said in a tight voice.

“It’s called being hungry,” I said, making my way over to the telephone. “And the magic words are ‘room service.’ ”

David cleared his throat. He came over to me and looked out the window. While doing so, he spoke out of the corner of his mouth so as not to be heard by Emma. “You know that we don’t have any money?”

“I noticed,” I whispered back.

“This is all insanely expensive,” he said. “A night here will cost ove
r . . .
two hundred euros.”

I gave him a well-meaning smile. “Attach a zero to that, and you’ll be warmer.”

“But, Michelle, we can’t possibly afford this!”

“Trust me,” I whispered. “I’ll explain later.” Louder, I said, “So, what does everyone want to eat? Emma, you start, since you’re the hungriest.”

Emma pressed both hands against her temples, and her face turned beet red. “French fries and a burger,” she announced.

“I don’t know whether the Hilton has tha
t . . .
but what do you think about crepes? They’re—”

“I know what crepes are!” Emma interrupted cheerfully. “Papa always cooks them for me in his special pan.”

“You have a special pan for that?” I asked.

David shrugged. “One must grant oneself a tiny bit of luxury.”

I had no problem understanding that.

“What would you like?” I asked him.

His words shot out as though fired from a gun: “A T-bone steak—big, thick, and juicy. With roasted potatoes, two eggs sunny-side up, and a large Caesar salad.”

Room service answered my call immediately and understood my German without difficulty. I hadn’t expected any problem, though.

For myself, I ordered a green salad without dressing or oil, just lemon and a little bit of salt. Then I ordered us a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Brut, and a red currant spritzer for Emma.

We sat on the sofa and killed time waiting for the food by testing out the huge TV. We ended up watching cartoons on the Disney Channel. Even though they were pretty clichéd, they were still funny in a certain way. Emma’s laugh was infectious, and I could tell that it pleased both her and David that I was entertained, too, by these banal little shorts.

There was a knock on the door. David opened it, and a waiter rolled a large silver serving cart into the room. We sat at the table and the waiter served us. In front of Emma, he placed a plate loaded with delicious-looking paper-thin crepes. They smelled heavenly. David’s steak came on an extra-large platter with a rosette of soft butter. The potatoes were roasted golden-brown, and the eggs were perfectly white and gold. My mouth was watering. Then the waiter presented my dish. The green salad was served in a large bowl and reminded me of the grass in front of my house.

David noticed my disappointment and said something to the waiter in French. The waiter nodded and left the suite.

“What did you say to him?” I asked.

David answered by picking up his silverware and cutting his giant steak right through the middle. He placed one half on my plate.

“What should I do with it?” I said.

“Eat,” David replied. He was just about to carve himself a large bite from his steak.

“Then you won’t have enough,” I said lamely.

“That’s why I just ordered another steak with potatoes. So relax. And eat.”

“But I might get too fat,” I protested.

“Nonsense. You can afford to eat this.” He lifted a juicy bite to his mouth and began chewing. I couldn’t resist any longer, so I armed myself with fork and knife and attacked my portion.

18

T
he Jacuzzi water bubbled and swirled around Emma and me, massaging all of the day’s stress out of my muscles. High-society lady that I was, I had a bikini with me for such occasions. Emma hopped around naked. She climbed over me, tried to dive, inspected the jets, and refilled my champagne. I countered by teaching her how to lie on her back with her eyes closed, while balancing her glass on her mouth and drinking out of it in a distinguished way.

A couple of times she spilled her red currant juice, but it didn’t matter. After all, we were sitting with water up to our necks.

We’d figured out the suite’s sound system. From the ceiling speakers, Eartha Kitt purred her way through “Santa Baby,” instructing her beau to trim her tree with decorations from Tiffany’s. She
had
been good all year, after all. I sighed and drank to the music. Eartha had her priorities straight.

There was a knock on the door, and David came inside. He was wearing a fluffy hotel bathrobe. It suited him as well as lemon suits oysters. The flip-flops on his feet were a touch too big. He stood in front of the whirlpool, looking indecisive.

“What’s wrong, Papa? Come in the water. It’s wonderful!”

“The bellhop brought me swim trunks and flip-flops from the hotel shop.” He didn’t move from his spot.

“That’s good,” I said.

“Papa, stop waiting around and get in here! It’s a really cool bathtub. And when I get bored, I climb on Michelle. Maybe you can do that, too!”

“Uhhh,” David stammered.

I’d just opened up my second bottle of champagne and was feeling totally laid-back. “Emma’s right. Get in here—in the water, I mean.”

David exhaled audibly, then opened his robe and let it slide off his shoulders.

Again I noticed that he didn’t look all that bad for a poor, uneducated type. Now I could examine him. And I liked what I saw. So much that I gasped for air. But maybe that was just because of the bubbles—I
was
on my second bottle of champagne.

David got into the tub. Emma bounced like a ball between us, jumping and splashing and spraying our faces and the bathroom with so much water that we’d probably be sitting in an empty tub soon.

Eventually, her batteries ran out, and she sat next to me with a rapt facial expression, staring blankly at the ceiling like the two adults in the room.

After she’d rested for a while, she climbed out of the tub.

“Where are you going?” David asked.

“I want to watch TV.”

“Put something on,” I said. “I don’t want you catching a cold.”

“I will, Michelle.” She grabbed her father’s bathrobe and slipped into it, then shuffled out like a little Jedi Knight toward the living room. At the doorway, she stopped and turned around.

“You know what, Michelle?”

“What?”

“Today has been the best day I’ve ever had!”

“You’re very welcome,” I said, waving good-bye to her with my champagne glass.

Soon after, we heard the muffled sounds of the living room TV.

“She’s a clever kid,” I said, largely to myself. “She already knows how to use a remote control.”

“What do you expect?” David replied sleepily. “She’s five years old. Every kid is an expert at using every type of electronic device.”

“Where’s her mother?” I asked.

David poured some champagne and took a gulp. “Her mother and I are separated. Our court date for the divorce is in three days.”

“That’s why you need to get back to Berlin so urgently.”

“You got it.”

“What will happen with Emma? Will she go with her mother?” That idea didn’t please me in the least.

David snorted. “No. Definitely not. She doesn’t want her. Emma will stay with me.”

His answer relieved me. But then a new concern popped in my mind. “You must know that Emma really needs a mother, though.”

“That may well be. But as I said, her last one has up and gone.” He laughed. Evidently he found his comment witty.

But I didn’t.

“How can you act amused about your wife leaving you? I’m sure it’s all your fault!” I grew agitated.

“How’s that?”

“You’re the most obtuse man that I’ve ever met. I’ve told you this numerous times, but I’ll say it again: Women require some luxury in order to be happy. Not a lot. But some. And, for that, a
man
needs to have money. And as we both know, you have a lot going for you—maybe you’re extremely good-looking, you’re super nice—but money, you definitely don’t have.”

“You think I’m good-looking?” David asked with a new twinkle in his eye.

“Selective listening.” I sighed. “Now, don’t change the subject. You have no dough, that’s why every woman will walk away from you. And that’s why Emma has no mother.”

“What do you mean
every woman
will walk away from me?”

“Every woman who has a brain,” I clarified. “You already know,” I said, splashing my hand in the water, “no money, no honey.”

“Speaking of money,” David said, “who’s paying this hotel bill?”

“King Valentin. Or, rather, the queen is.” This time, I was the one laughing at my own words.

David gave me a piercing look, and I assumed that any buzz he might have had, had just vanished. “But I thought that your phone conversation with Valentin in the service station wasn’
t . . 
. how should I put i
t . . .
wasn’t a harmonious one.”

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“It wasn’t necessary. Your facial expression afterward spoke volumes.”

I sat myself upright with a forceful motion, putting my hand over my champagne glass to prevent water from splashing into it. “If you want to know the truth, I didn’t speak with Valentin. His wife answered, and she was beyond rude. Horrible, actually.”

I stopped to gather myself before continuing. “Of course, she’s trying to save whatever can be salvaged. It seems that all of their money is hers, and she’s using it unscrupulously to pressure Valentin. But I can be unscrupulous when somebody hurts me, too! So I checked in with Valentin’s credit card—which, technically, is hers.”

“So you plan to dine and dash?” David sounded flabbergasted.

I gave a sly grimace. “Of course not. What are you thinking? The hotel won’t have to eat the cost. Valentin’s wife will scream like a madwoman, but she’ll pay the whole bill. She won’t let it go to court—she’d rather avoid all the negative publicity. We’ll need to sneak out of the hotel first thing in the morning, though. The front desk is still waiting for Valentin’s signature.”

David shook his head. “Michelle, I don’t like this. I’d never have agreed to it if I’d known. Instead of trying to take revenge on Valentin’s wife, you should accept things as they are and forget the guy.”

“Forget him?” I repeated, quite loudly. “Why should I? Valentin and I belong together. His stupid wife can threaten me as much as she likes. As soon as I get back to Berlin, I’ll straighten things out, and Valentin will choose me.”

The corners of David’s mouth curled down with skepticism. “From your lips to God’s ears. Even my daughter knows that the king will never leave his wife. And Emma’s only five.”

With these last words, he got out of the whirlpool and reached for a towel. I stepped out, too, and stood close to him. “We’ll see who’s right.”

David didn’t respond. Our gazes met. His dark-blue eyes were big and full of emotion. Water droplets hung from his eyelashes.

Following a sudden instinct, I leaned forward and kissed him. Cautiously, barely feeling them, my lips touched his—softly, like the stroke of butterfly wings.

He hadn’t shaved since this morning, and as I felt his scratchy stubble on my face, something happened to me. I opened my mouth and groaned. His towel fell to the ground. With both hands, he grasped my buttocks and drew me to him with a jerky, almost rough, movement. His tongue forced itself into my mouth as he pressed my body against his.

I wrapped my arms around him. We were wearing only our bathing suits. I felt his skin rubbing against mine, and I also felt how much he wanted me. I wanted him, too. I was ablaze.

Valentin had never kissed me like that.

All of a sudden, he pushed me away, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and examined me coolly.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, breathless.

“I am not King Valentin’s stand-in.” He was also out of breath.

“What do you mean?”

“You want a rebound man, since Valentin left you in the lurch. You want me to validate that you’re an attractive, irresistible woman. And I’ll tell you—you really are. But I won’t let you use me like a spare tire.”

With that, he picked up his towel and disappeared into the living room. I heard him talking to Emma before going to get changed.

I grabbed my comb and worked it through my hair as though on autopilot.

I was young, had a sexy figure and no wrinkles. But despite all that, I’d gotten two ice-cold rejections from men in a very short span of time. Right before Christmas, no less.

I had to be doing something wrong.