Love Is Pink!

Just a little Gucci perfume and I was ready.

Michelle Kr?mer—#fashion #beauty #style.

I got out of the car. David was my guinea pig. The poor guy’s eyes nearly fell out of his head.

Emma was with him. “Michelle, you look kind of funny,” she said.

“Funny?”

“Old,” Emma explained after a moment’s thought.

“She means you look . . . elegant,” David clarified.

“Oh, you philistines,” I said. “You have no idea. Here’s what we’re going to do: I’ll check in at the hotel and get us a really nice room. I’ll go up to the room briefly. Then I’ll come back down and meet you in the lobby, without being noticed, and we’ll all sneak back up together.”

“And how are you going to pull that off?” David asked with a skeptical look on his face. “Since we don’t have any more money?”

“I still have money,” Emma said. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out twenty euros.

“Where did you get that?” David asked.

“Monsieur André gave it to me. He said it was because he didn’t have a Christmas present for me.”

“You couldn’t possibly have understood that!”

Emma nodded emphatically. “I did—that’s just what he said!”

“Could you give me the money, Emma?” I said. “That would be really helpful.”

Emma handed me the bill, and I put it in the Prada bag—which was starting to feel more like my own after all I’d been through with it.

“How do you say in French ‘Is there anyone here that speaks German?’” I asked David.

“Y a-t-il quelqu’un ici qui parle allemand?” he said.

I repeated the sentence three times until David was satisfied with my pronunciation. Then I left him and Emma behind and clattered in my high heels, with my suitcase in tow, to the hotel’s entrance.

A distinguished older man exiting the hotel held the door open for me and waited until I went in. I thanked him with a distant nod. My old charm still worked.

I walked to the reception desk and set my Prada bag on the glossy wooden counter.

“Bonjour, Madame,” I said to the woman behind the desk. “Y-a-t-il quelqu’un ici qui parle allemand?” I said, using a bored, somewhat annoyed, tone.

The receptionist answered with, “Un moment,” disappeared, and then returned with a young woman more or less my age.

“I speak German,” she said. She was tall and blonde, and was wearing a Karl Lagerfeld suit. I knew I’d get along with her perfectly.

“My name is von Gertenbach,” I said. “Valentin, my husband, is still in a meeting. It won’t end until midnight, and I simply can’t wait any longer. My eyes are falling shut. Ridiculous, what men do in the name of silly business.”

“Unfortunately, that’s true.” The blonde smiled politely. “Far too seldom do gentlemen think about women’s needs.”

“You’re right about that,” I said. “So, given the situation, I’d like to check in now instead of waiting. Do you have a suite available?”

The woman tapped on some keys, looked up, and smiled—quite winningly this time. “You’re in luck. The Presidential Suite. It’s our best. It has a living room and two bedrooms.”

“Lovely,” I said. “Surely you found ‘von Gertenbach’ in your computer? We only stay at the Hilton, on principle.”

She tapped at the computer again. “Yes. Of course. Valentin von Gertenbach and spouse.”

“Perfect,” I said. “Our credit card number is 3754-7706-2311-1719.” Then I rattled off the expiration date and security code. I knew all the numbers by heart. They’d served me well these past few years.

The blonde punched in the information and looked at me expectantly.

“My husband will handle the formalities when he gets here,” I said. “As a small thank-you, please add 10—no—15 percent for yourself.”

She beamed, bowed slightly, and said, “Thank you very much, Madame. That wasn’t necessary.”

Oh, but it was! I thought.

A bellhop appeared and took the handle of my suitcase. The blonde gave me a key card, and I followed the bellhop through the huge lobby and past a tastefully decorated Christmas tree to the elevator. Dozens of people came and went. Despite the evening hour, or perhaps because of it, there was as much bustle as at a market square. A decadently chic market square. How I’d missed this! I sucked in the air. It smelled luxurious—like leather, expensive perfume, and money. Lots of money.

I used the key card in the elevator, and, after a brief ride, we arrived at my floor. The bellhop and I stepped out.

We stood in front of a double door. It made a little buzzing sound when I inserted the key. The bellhop swung open the door and invited me to step inside with a gracious hand gesture.