Page 11 of Tattooed Sweetness
For a moment I toy with the idea to run away. But then I remember I haven’t even paid my debts yet. I pull out my wallet again and look for the bills in it. “How much was the shirt?” I ask Pauline. “In the meantime, I could pay.”
She glances at me with a dismissive shoulder check. Casually, she hands a selection to the new customer in the fitting room and then takes tried-on clothes from the lady in the box next door. “Seventy-nine euros.”
“Seventy-nine?” I can’t stop myself from gasping.Fine, Mr. Sandtmann really looked scrumptious in this turtleneck. But just under eighty euros?“I don’t have that much on me,” I confess. “You’ll have to accept my card.”And Kevin the unexpected withdrawal from my account…Actually, I cannot afford such extra expenses. Because in addition to my share of rent and utilities, I usually cover all running costs for food and drink.
Pauline lets her gel nails, painted to match her outfit, clatter over the keys of the cash register and plucks the plastic rectangle from my fingers.
Charging the amount triggers almost physical pain in me.
“So, tell me now,” she comments as she returns the Maestro card. “Under what circumstances were you able to convince yourself that your Antony was tattooed from head to toe?”
I emphatically put the card back in its holder. “First of all, his name is not Antony. Secondly, he is not mine in any way, and thirdly—”
“Come on!” She snorts out her disdain. “He’s your client, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is,” I admit thinly. “But that’s all! Besides, you interrupted me.” I step aside as Pauline begins to scan the other customer’s extensive stack.
“473.40 Euro,” she finally announces the total, and I gulp.
That’s about my annual budget for clothes—which I’ve just clearly upset from its well-calculated balance by buying the turtleneck.
The lady, on the other hand, doesn’t give the impression she has to worry about such things. She nonchalantly hands Pauline a stack of bills. “Five hundred. Keep the change.”
“Thank you very much,” Pauline says politely, sorts the money, and puts the bonus in the squeaky-pink tip-saving piggy bank next to the cash register. With a smile, she hands the lady two of the black glossy paper bags with squiggly gold prints. “And goodbye.”
“Ciaooo,” the customer flutters, waves to me, too, and hurries through the store. “See you next time!” she adds from under the door, then she’s gone.
“Sooo,” Pauline says, turning to me. “Now come out with it—”
“Until next time?” I interject, hoping to deflect her attention from the subject of Mr. Sandtmann. “How often does this customer honor you with a visit?”
“About every six weeks,” Pauline informs me. “But don’t distract me: I need to know how you know that your Antony’s astral body is completely tattooed.”
Fudge.I shift to another strategy. “All right. Persuaded. But only after you enlighten me about your unexpected bed company this morning. Because I thought after your breakup with Lukas, you wanted to enjoythe freedom of single lifefor now.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s what I’m doing…” Pauline flutters her eyelash extensions and brings the young lad the desired trousers in a slimmer size in the changing room.
“Single?” I giggle. “And how’s that working out with the gentleman this morning?”
“Him. Pah.” Pauline makes a gesture of refusal. “This is just a bedtime acquaintance.”
“Did you two have sex?”I never heard such things from Pauline.So far, she’s been almost manically careful not to kiss until the fifth date at the earliest, and not to end up in bed until three months later.
“There’s Something About Mary?” she throws at me, leaving me completely stumped. “The movie…” She groans at my obtuseness. “…do you remember?”
“With Ben Stiller and Cameron Diaz? Yes, of course. But what makes you think that now?”
Pauline pulls the corners of her mouth almost to her ears. “Remember the scene when Mary knocks on Ted’s hotel room door, just after he’s been jerking off—”
“Thehair gel?” I interrupt her with a squeak. “Eeeehh.” We made the movie screen shake with our screeching that time. “Sure, we could watch that one again…”
“That, too,” Pauline adds. “What I really meant was the advice Dom gives Ted in the film is brilliant. And not just for men. Even a woman comes across as considerably more seductive and attractive when she doesn’t exude the hung-over angst sweat of beingC-U-F…”
“C-U-F?” I inquire, though I have a rough idea.
“Stands forchronically underfucked, sweetie,” Pauline enlightens me.
“Oh my God!” I turn my eyes up to the ceiling. “If this is the case, at least I have an explanation for why I reacted as parched as a neglected potted plant to that Adonis-like guy this morning,” I add in a lowered voice in view of the customer.