Love Is Pink!

Emma ran to David and grabbed both of his hands. “You’d better do what Michelle tells you. When she looks like this, you have to obey or she’ll get awfully angry.”


“I don’t understand why,” he said, “but OK.” He turned his back to me, resigned to his fate.

I took off my jacket and threw it in the car. Then I reached under my sweater and unclasped the back of my push-up bra. I pulled the strap over my left shoulder and maneuvered my arm out of it. I did the same for the other side and held the bra in my hand.

I tapped David’s shoulder. “Here,” I said.

He stared blankly at the black garment from Victoria’s Secret. Then he grinned. “You’ll find this hard to believe, but I’m quite familiar with these things.”

“I sure hope so,” I replied. “But what you perhaps don’t know is that this particular specimen has hidden wires.”

“Wire?” he repeated.

“Precisely. Under the cups.”

He immediately grabbed the bra out of my hand and inspected it. Then he went to the driver’s side door, opened it and searched for something in the glove compartment. Emma and I stood where we could watch what he was doing. He brought out a multipurpose tool, opened a knife blade, and got to work. A few cuts later, he was holding two sturdy wires. He got out of the car, handed me the tool, and returned to the rear of the car where he lay down underneath it.

“Pliers, please,” he called out from below.

After fumbling around with the tools and breaking another fingernail, I found the tiny but strong pliers, and handed them to him.

It took a good ten minutes and some hefty swearing on David’s part before he resurfaced. He got up, and Emma and I beat the snow off his sweater.

“Did it work?” I asked.

“The thing will hold for a while.” He seemed spent, but satisfied. “Those are some really strong wires.”

“They need to be, if they’re going to serve their purpose,” I said, and added too hastily, “Not that they’re necessary for me.”

David looked at my face, and then allowed his eyes to wander to my upper body. I crossed my arms.

He grinned. “You’re right. You really don’t need that thing.”

My cheeks flamed.





14


The next town is Besan?on,” David said. “It’s a comparatively big city. We’ll definitely be able to find a service station there.”

The Citro?n seemed happy to have us sitting in it again. The engine started right away and sounded only slightly louder than normal.

So as not to overtax it, David drove a bit slower than usual. But that didn’t bother us. We were completely content from managing to get the muffler problem under control.

“Thanks,” David said after a while.

“For what?”

“For the idea with the wires.”

“Don’t mention it,” I said, waving my hand. “It was just a random thought.”

David smiled. He really looked charming when he did that.

As soon as we reached the plain, the city appeared before us. Thanks to an imposing stone bridge, we were able to cross a wide, half-frozen river. On the other side, we encountered an area of the city with a string of low buildings featuring an ornamental facade. A clear-blue sky soared above us.

Apparently, our Citro?n could hardly wait to get to the service station. The engine got increasingly louder, and its deafening thunder resounded through the narrow streets. Pedestrians stopped in their tracks, looking for the source of the noise, and stared at us with partially incredulous and partially amused expressions. Of course, Emma noticed this and interpreted the locals’ behavior in her own way. She rolled down her window, poked out her pom-pom-hat-covered head, and waved happily at the townsfolk, calling out “Bonjour” to them in a perfect French accent. Coupled with the fact that the muffler was now emitting thick, black clouds behind us, it was no surprise that we drew a certain amount of attention.

I pulled my ski cap farther down onto my face, crouched in my seat, and hoped no one would recognize me here. I didn’t even want to think of a picture of me in this junker ending up on Facebook, Twitter, and who knows where else.

“We need a service station now!” I hissed at David.

“What do you think I’m searching for?”

“Searching is not enough!” I shot back. “You need to actually find one. When I go to a foreign city, I immediately know where to find the boutiques and jewelry stores. You, as an ordinary man—”

“Ordinary man?”

“Well, I mean, as a man who works with his hands,” I attempted to clarify.

David no longer seemed to be amused by my taunting him. “Look for a sign that says ‘Garage Automobile.’?” He pronounced the words painfully slowly and clearly in a German way, as though I had the IQ of a carrot.

“You can just as easily say that in the proper way,” I said. “After all, we’re in France, aren’t we?”

“Of course, but since you’re a German poet and thinker, not an ordinary—”

“There!” I screamed, grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it toward the right. The car screeched, slid, and skidded around the narrow curve.