Page 43 of Tattooed Sweetness
I still accompany her up to the parking deck, but instead of jumping into the Dodge after we say goodbye, I wait until she’s disappeared into the Chamber of Commerce and Industries across the street. Then I set in motion and head for Castle Lane again.
As I push open the heavy glass door toChic & Grace, no door chime greets me. Instead, it’s a wild mélange of the smell of brand-new clothes, a wide variety of women’s perfumes, and freshly ground and brewed coffee.
A brunette gives me a quick glance over the pile of clothes in front of her chest. Styled as if she had just stepped off the catwalk, she crosses the store entirely, putting the goods into a tray on the left side wall.
“Hi,” I greet her, “I’d like to…”Yes, what would I like to do?All of a sudden, my spontaneous idea seems completely stupid.How am I supposed to start?Looking for inspiration, I let my eyes wander through the boutique.
“Hello?” Unexpectedly, she appears behind me, forcing me to cover my surprise with a cool move. “How can I help you? What exactly are you looking for?”
Before my gaze jerked over to her, it had lingered on a turtleneck-clad mannequin.Celine bought one just like it for me.I point to it. “How much is that?”
“Whew,” the brown-haired woman says. Her raised eyebrows bluntly convey to me how fucking stupid I’m acting right now. “That quick of a decision? Don’t you want to try it on first?”
“No.”Great. I’m sure she thinks I’m a geeky mouthbreather.Well, since I’ve outed myself as a douchebag, there’s no point in any further stupidity on my part. “Because I already have one.”
“So, you already own one of thoseCedric Pardinturtlenecks…” Celine’s friend speaks in a tone of voice as if she has a petulant little child in front of her. Or a completely hopeless case like me. “But now you want to know how much that one costs?” She sighs, lifts her hand, and with pointed fingernail claws she wrestles the price tag out from under the bent arm of the mannequin. Then she looks at me expectantly.
“Right,” I say quickly. “After a mug of latte landed on my own turtleneck, I was handed one of these as a replacement—”
“You won’t believe it!” she interrupts me, her eyebrows having performed some wilder gymnastics with each of my words.
“Yes?” I draw out the syllable, for I haven’t the foggiest idea of what I should suspect.
“You have to be Celine’s Antony!” she exclaims, and her gaze scans me from top to bottom and back. “You certainly have the matching astral body.”
“Um…”Fuck, I can’t think of a retort. What is she trying to tell me with Celine’s Antony? And what is an astral body supposed to be?
But, stop!With unbearable slowness, the golden-yellow dawn of a memory pushes itself over the night-black silhouette of oblivion.
At our first appointment, as I stood outside her room at the Chamber of Commerce and Industries, my upper body was tucked into a much-too-small sports top.
Celine’s voice came through the ajar door: “His a-do-nis-like astral body,” she whispered. Quietly, but abundantly audible. “Gee, Pauline, if I tell you, under the thin jersey fabric of the turtleneck, every single one of his muscle strands stands out in the clearest possible way—”
Bullshit! I’d have to lie if I claimed I didn’t like her unequivocal confession at the time. Even now, I still like it…I can feel a broad smirk practicing pull-ups at the corners of my mouth.
“I knew it!” The brunette flutters her inch-long false eyelashes. She smiles mischievously, putting her right hand to her chin before pointing an outstretched finger at me. “You’re Antony!”
“No!” I contradict. “My name is Philipp.”
“I know that already.” She makes a gesture of refusal. “The important thing is: you’re the guy who made a lasting impression on Celine with his astral body. Aren’t you?”
If she says so. I mean, she’s Celine’s best friend. Who else would know about this?
“You have to tell me everything!” she demands. “A coffee? Or would you prefer—”
An old-fashioned phone ring interrupts her.
Sorry,she silently forms as she picks up. “Welcome toChic & Grace. Pauline Koenig is on the line for you.… Oh, it’s you, Celine?” Pauline holds the receiver a little ways away from her ear. She points at it dramatically finger and pantomimes:Celine is on the line!
I hide my smirk behind my cell phone.As if I didn’t catch it…Nevertheless, I acknowledge her information with a thumbs up.
“…can I do for you?” chirps Celine’s friend into the phone. “The baby clothes fromPetit Navire?” She purposefully crosses the store, a breeze brushing me as she hurries past. “Supplies just arrived… A complete first set in newborn size? Sure, I’ve got it here… But wouldn’t it be better if you got some pieces in size three months and six months as well? The little mites grow out of the smallest size so quickly…”
Why am I suddenly so cold?I look over at that Pauline girl, who has finished talking.
She is folding up a romper suit she had taken from the pile. With swinging hips, she walks back to the counter, the handset of the phone in her hand. As she does, she drags with her a train of Arctic cold air instantly turning my stomach into a block of ice.
“So, she’s really…?”