Love Is Pink!

As the lady said, a three-room suite, red poinsettias in white pots, Art Deco furniture, real carpets, a lot of gold in the bathroom—or, more accurately, in the wellness oasis—and a welcoming Jacuzzi whirlpool. I struggled not to grin with schadenfreude. Valentin’s wife would be beside herself with joy when she got this bill.

In broken English, the bellhop explained how the plasma TV worked, and then he showed me the room’s thermostat and built-in minibar. I asked him about room service. He nodded and pointed to a cordless telephone.

I said “Merci” and slipped Emma’s twenty-euro bill into his jacket.

He smiled discreetly, bowed his head, and disappeared.

I went over to the enormous panoramic window and looked out at the city lights. Cars seemed to swoosh aimlessly along the streets. After a few minutes, I left the suite and took the elevator back down to the lobby.

I found a free sofa, sat down, and paged through a Vogue magazine, only to stand up again moments later and return to the elevator. As I was about to insert my key card, a handsome man joined me. He was holding a little girl’s hand.

The elevator opened and the three of us went inside.

David, Emma, and I were going up to our suite.





17


I didn’t need to show Emma how the key card worked—she figured it out immediately. With a confidence that only children have, she slid the card inside, paused, and said in a deep voice, “Open, Sesame!”

We stepped inside the Presidential Suite.

I closed the door and leaned against it. We made it.

“Wow!” Emma called. “Look, Papa! Michelle rented us a castle!”

David looked around coolly and seemed to be trying to appear unimpressed. But I could tell that he liked it, and that it wasn’t what he’d expected.

Emma pushed open the bathroom door. “It’s so big!” she said. “And really fancy!”

She flitted past us to check out the first bedroom. “A canopy bed!” she called out. “Extra large! That’s just right for the two of you!”

David acknowledged this comment with an embarrassed smile.

Emma returned to the main living room, bent her head forward a little, and pressed her hands on her belly.

“What’s wrong?” David asked, sounding alarmed.

“I like this place. But my tummy hurts,” she said in a tight voice.

“It’s called being hungry,” I said, making my way over to the telephone. “And the magic words are ‘room service.’?”

David cleared his throat. He came over to me and looked out the window. While doing so, he spoke out of the corner of his mouth so as not to be heard by Emma. “You know that we don’t have any money?”

“I noticed,” I whispered back.

“This is all insanely expensive,” he said. “A night here will cost over . . . two hundred euros.”

I gave him a well-meaning smile. “Attach a zero to that, and you’ll be warmer.”

“But, Michelle, we can’t possibly afford this!”

“Trust me,” I whispered. “I’ll explain later.” Louder, I said, “So, what does everyone want to eat? Emma, you start, since you’re the hungriest.”

Emma pressed both hands against her temples, and her face turned beet red. “French fries and a burger,” she announced.

“I don’t know whether the Hilton has that . . . but what do you think about crepes? They’re—”

“I know what crepes are!” Emma interrupted cheerfully. “Papa always cooks them for me in his special pan.”

“You have a special pan for that?” I asked.

David shrugged. “One must grant oneself a tiny bit of luxury.”

I had no problem understanding that.

“What would you like?” I asked him.

His words shot out as though fired from a gun: “A T-bone steak—big, thick, and juicy. With roasted potatoes, two eggs sunny-side up, and a large Caesar salad.”

Room service answered my call immediately and understood my German without difficulty. I hadn’t expected any problem, though.

For myself, I ordered a green salad without dressing or oil, just lemon and a little bit of salt. Then I ordered us a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Brut, and a red currant spritzer for Emma.

We sat on the sofa and killed time waiting for the food by testing out the huge TV. We ended up watching cartoons on the Disney Channel. Even though they were pretty clichéd, they were still funny in a certain way. Emma’s laugh was infectious, and I could tell that it pleased both her and David that I was entertained, too, by these banal little shorts.

There was a knock on the door. David opened it, and a waiter rolled a large silver serving cart into the room. We sat at the table and the waiter served us. In front of Emma, he placed a plate loaded with delicious-looking paper-thin crepes. They smelled heavenly. David’s steak came on an extra-large platter with a rosette of soft butter. The potatoes were roasted golden-brown, and the eggs were perfectly white and gold. My mouth was watering. Then the waiter presented my dish. The green salad was served in a large bowl and reminded me of the grass in front of my house.

David noticed my disappointment and said something to the waiter in French. The waiter nodded and left the suite.

“What did you say to him?” I asked.