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A gust of wind stirs up sand as I push it aside and let Celine walk through it.
She takes a few steps, then stops and turns to me. “A newly constructed building project?”
“You don’t have to say anything.” I’m interpreting her expression. “According to you, it’s beyond my budget…”
She holds her hair out of her face with her left as she walks toward the elongated rectangular-shaped building. Her gaze scans the modern facade: floor-to-ceiling mirrored glazing on the ground floor, anthracite-colored panels, and an overhead band of windows on the upper level. “Really very, very high quality,” she offers praise. “And now I get it: you were offered a part of the building. Which one?” She starts walking along the front. “And… where is the entrance, anyway?”
Damnit! Where do I start?Preferably with what she said last. “The only thing which doesn’t fit is the entrance. It would need to be changed,” I explain. “Because the building is currently accessed from the back.”
“From the back?” She gives me a concern-raised eyebrow.
“But it’s no problem at all. According to the documents…” I pull the rolled-up copies out of my back pocket, which she takes from my hand on the spot. “…the window elements are standardized. When I went to your place, I called the craftsman: It’s no problem to exchange the element with the door for one of the fixed-glazed ones. It will cost something around five hundred euros. In no case more than a thousand with Fairy Tale Tax added, he said.” With a wave of my hand, I invite her to follow me to the back. At the rear corner of the building, the gravel surface ends, and I let her go ahead on the walkway over the mud.
“Do you hear that?” She stops so abruptly that I almost run into her.
The wood tilts, and only with difficulty do I balance us. “What do you hear?” I ask as a bump in the dirt is averted. “I hear nothing.”
“Yeah, exactly!” She turns, smiling up at me. “Me neither! You can’t hear anything from the expressway back here at all! This is really cleverly done! All the sound is shielded by the L-shape!”
I haven’t thought about that at all.
“In which part of the building are the rooms you want to buy?” she asks as she walks on. “In the long leg facing the street? Or in the short one which goes out the back?”
We’ve reached the makeshift wooden pallets covering the muddy earth in the inside corner of the building. I pass Celine, dig the key out of my jacket pocket, and open the door. “Neither the first nor the second,” I say, letting her lead the way.
“What do you mean neither—” She interrupts herself, spinning around once in the light-filled entryway. Tilting her head back, she looks up. “Oh my God! Open to the top? With a two-sided wraparound gallery—and floor-to-ceiling windows opposite?”
“Fancy, isn’t it?” I slip my sneakers off my feet, careful not to mess up the slate-look vinyl tiles with mud.
“Wait…” Celine holds out her hand to me. I barely clasp her cool fingers before she’s already unlacing her shoes, standing on one leg. She parks them neatly next to mine on the scouring pad, where they look absurdly tiny next to my size 14½ hooves.
…Specimens of two species from the farthest corners of our earth… In no way belonging together. And yet so perfectly harmonizing…
“…this hallway?” Celine’s question snaps me out of my misplaced daydream.
My gaze follows the indication of her hand. I have to get my bearings for a moment before I can answer. “The corridor opens up a series of rooms…” With a nod, I invite her to come with me, leading the way. “…which face out to the backyard. Those are where I would put the tattoo compartments.” I open the first door, letting her look inside.
“I wouldn’t call it a compartment,” she states and tries an appreciative whistle.
Unfortunately, it sounds like a sniffly mouse. But I don’t care about it.
She steps inside, spinning in circles. “More likely a ballroom…”
A smirk nudges the corners of my mouth wide. “The only thing which will be dancing here is the tattoo needle,” I correct her. Then I point to the still-raw plasterboard walls. “On this side, I envision floor-to-ceiling built-in cabinets for the work materials. You’ll have to subtract their depth from the size of the room.”
“Still, almost twice the size of one of the compartments in your current parlor,” Celine insists, revealing that she’s got a good idea of my premises. “And… how’s the plumbing here? You do need hot and cold running water for your work…”
Bullshit!She was really digging deep into my records. “You sure you don’t want to take advanced training to become a tattoo artist?” I challenge her. While this has never been a topic of conversation between us, it’s too much fun to tease her.
“Clearly, you haven’t seen my school grades in art.” She rolls her eyes. “Any moderately gifted three-year-old draws better than me. But don’t deflect: plumbing? Retrofitting will be complex—and expensive!”
“I get it…” I point to a sliding door embedded in the side wall behind her. “Just turn around…”
She follows my instruction, opens the doorway, and peers inside. “A complete wet room with sink, toilet, floor-level shower, and…” Over her shoulder, she gives me a questioning look. “…a bidet? Who uses that anymore these days?”
I prefer to remain silent. Shrug my shoulders.
But Celine doesn’t let up. “The first moment I saw the bathroom…” she continues. “…I thought this had been planned as a hotel, guesthouse, or stylish bed-and-breakfast. But it’s not. Right?”
