Love Is Pink!

“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


The Citro?n 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, our . . . 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 Citro?n’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 Citro?n 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