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A questioning look meets me from below.
“That’s bullshit,” I explain. “Who would get the moronic idea to kill you?”
Seeming reluctant, Celine releases her hand from my arm and takes a step back before pointing to the row of houses. “Well, my friend Pauline. She’s very particular about the state of the clothes inChic & Grace…”
I let my gaze follow her pointing and only now notice the boutique we stopped in front of. “The store you got the replacement for my turtleneck from?”
She nods, turns away, and twirls the clothing roundel like there’s no tomorrow. “Where is it now! Here? No… There…? Right here!”
I get her purse and briefcase slapped against my chest as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for me to hold her shit for her. But I don’t snap at her, as I did at the beginning of my relationship with Bella. After all, she shouldn’t get into such bad habits! Instead, I watch in amazement as Celine takes a bright red coat from the hanger and slips it on.
Her nimble fingers close the big black buttons. She smooths the lapels, then gazes up at me expectantly. “Well?”
“Um…”…what does she mean byWell?This woman is not my type. The coat suits my taste to zero point zero. We have nothing in common but a business relationship.But still, the four-chambered muscle rumbles in its rib enclosure like a Duracell bunny on dope.
With energy, she spins once, letting the coattails fly. “How do you like it?”
“Good, very good…”Fuck! It’s her I like!The realization penetrates my consciousness like a headline from a supermarket tabloid. Annoyed with me, I shake my head.
“Now what?” Her wide eyes focus on me. “Good, very good—or not at all?”
I take a step back and focus, as best I can, on the coat only. “None of the above…” I decide to tease her. “It’s perfect. Like it was tailored for you.”
“Really, do you think so?” She strokes the fitted fabric, which accentuates her girlish figure.
Girlish figure…I find myself scanning her slender waist.Shouldn’t there be a slight bulge there by now? A little baby bump? After all, it’s been three weeks since Celine’s colleague voiced her suspicions.
“…really think it’s made for me?” Celine’s words jolt me back to the present.
I shake off the sobering memory, look at her, and unexpectedly drown in her inquiring gaze. “The color…”… exactly matches the red of her beautifully curved lips. Fucking hell! What the heck am I worried about? This woman is possibly carrying another man’s child right now. She’s off-limits!
“Yeeeah?” she inquires with an elongated vowel because I didn’t continue.
Oh my fucking God!“The color suits you…” I choke out as businesslike as possible, trying not to be impressed by the happy twinkle in her eyes. “But why are you trying on a winter coat now, just before summer?” I guide our conversation along more innocuous lines.
She points to the sign jutting up from the axis of the dress rondel. “If I’m lucky, this sweetheart is one of the pieces marked down fifty percent,” she explains as she unbuttons the coat and rummages for the price tag.
Not wanting to put her on the trail of my strange train of thought, I catch my cell phone from my back pocket. I check the messages until a disappointed sigh from Celine makes me look up. “What’s wrong?” slips out of my mouth. “Not reduced to half?”
Celine twirls the red-stickered price tag between her fingers. “Yes, it is,” she says, literally plucking the coat off her shoulders.
What the heck?“But…?”
“Fifty percent of 320 euros will still make 160 euros,” she calculates for me. She slips the coat back onto the hanger, placing it among the others on the rod of the roundel. “At least seventy euros too much for my budget.”
I am touched by the half-affectionate, half-painful gesture with which she strokes the shoulders of the garment as if in farewell.
“This isChic & Grace, right?” My train of thought articulates itself entirely without my doing.
“Yes,” she says, taking her purses from me again. “Why?”
“Because I still owe you the money for the turtleneck,” I explain. “You got it from here, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I bought it here. But you don’t owe anything to me!” She laughs gruffly. “No way! After all, I did ruin your other one with coffee!”
Involuntarily, I look down at myself. Unfortunately, due to the warm weather and informal occasion, I’m wearing one of my band T-shirts under my denim jacket today. “Bullshit; thanks to your gentle and effective cleaning, it’s like new! By the way… while we’re on the subject: I should do some laundry. What detergent do you recommend?” Up until now, I’ve been too happy to leave such things to Bella and her predecessors.But it can’t go on like this! I need to learn to do things for myself.
Celine’s gaze flutters up to me, swerves, and meets my face again. “The trick is to use shampoo,” she murmurs to me. She strokes the fabric of the red coat one last time and literally tears herself away. As resolute as a small steamroller, she tromps up the alley toward the Kandel fountain. “It makes woolen things cuddly soft and doesn’t mat.”
