through Nancy. I have something urgent to take care of over there,” David said. “Despite the detour, we’ll still make good time.”
“Yes. The ca r . . . ” I made a vague gesture with my already empty wineglass. “It drives quite well.”
“A real classic.”
“Right. A classic.”
“What kind of car do you drive?”
“Oh, a Z4,” I said. It just slipped out of my mouth, and I wanted to slap myself for it. I was making the unbridgeable gap between us very clear to him. He had so little money compared to me. Why, he and Emma could have lived for two years on the cost of my car.
But it didn’t seem to bother him. “A BMW?” he said.
I nodded.
“Nice car.” He refilled both of our glasses.
“When one has money, one can afford beautiful things,” I philosophized.
“That’s true.”
“It makes everything easier. One doesn’t need to worry about anything. Problems seem to solve themselves.” I snapped my fingers to reinforce the point.
“Really?”
“Of course! Rich men, for instance, have no problems at all. They get everything they want.”
For a moment, David looked into his glass as if it contained a deeper wisdom.
“But—” he began.
I stopped him by wagging my index finger in front of his nose. I suddenly felt quite confident and energized. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you simply can’t understand. You’re, wel l . . . ” I wanted to say poor , but stopped myself and continued with “ . . . not particularly wealthy.”
David acknowledged my comment with an indulgent smile. “Nevertheless, I can at least try to put myself in the shoes of a rich guy.”
I leaned back and urged him to go on by emphatically waving my hand. All traces of false modesty had disappeared.
“So, I’m imagining,” David said, “that when somebody’s ric h . . . so incredibly ric h . . . ” He hesitated.
“Keep going! It’s a good start.”
“So, if a very rich man meets a woma n . . . let’s say a young woman who’s good-looking and very congenia l . . . ”
I smiled and nodded.
“How can someone that rich be sure that she loves him for who he is—and not for his money?”
I stared at him, totally perplexed. “And you call that a problem?”
“I think so. A rich man can never know for sure.”
“Ha!” I said. “It’s obvious that you have no experience. The rich guy simply needs to do the following: He needs to act poor—convincingly, though, and paying attention to every detail. Completely poor. Like a church mouse. And the n . . . ” I tried to snap my fingers again, but this time I failed. After the third attempt, I gave up. “And then in no time at all,” I continued, “he’ll be able to tell if the woman truly loves him.”
“But that’s no basis for a partnership. That would be a deception.”
“ Deception —what a horrible word! A little illusion, a trick. Just think how happy the woman will be once it comes out that her great love is also rich. I don’t think she’ll complain! In the inverse scenari o . . . ” I banged my knuckles on the table. “Wow! In the opposite scenario, the guy has a problem. That would be a real deception!”
David studied my face for a moment.
Our bottle was empty. We had no further excuse to postpone the inevitable. But now it no longer seemed so terrible to me.
I stood up abruptly. “I’ll sleep on the right side.”
“That’s fine,” David said. He still seemed deep in thought. Naturally, I’d impressed him with my logic and experience.
“Go to bed,” I said.
My words brought him back to reality. “You want to sleep on the right?”
Without saying a word, I went to the large marital bed, slipped under the covers, and closed my eyes tightly. After awhile, I heard the mattress squeak next to me.
“Good night,” I said.
“Good night, Michelle Krämer. Sleep well.”
I giggled softly. “Since we’re already sleeping together, we could at least drop some of the
“Yes. The ca r . . . ” I made a vague gesture with my already empty wineglass. “It drives quite well.”
“A real classic.”
“Right. A classic.”
“What kind of car do you drive?”
“Oh, a Z4,” I said. It just slipped out of my mouth, and I wanted to slap myself for it. I was making the unbridgeable gap between us very clear to him. He had so little money compared to me. Why, he and Emma could have lived for two years on the cost of my car.
But it didn’t seem to bother him. “A BMW?” he said.
I nodded.
“Nice car.” He refilled both of our glasses.
“When one has money, one can afford beautiful things,” I philosophized.
“That’s true.”
“It makes everything easier. One doesn’t need to worry about anything. Problems seem to solve themselves.” I snapped my fingers to reinforce the point.
“Really?”
“Of course! Rich men, for instance, have no problems at all. They get everything they want.”
For a moment, David looked into his glass as if it contained a deeper wisdom.
“But—” he began.
I stopped him by wagging my index finger in front of his nose. I suddenly felt quite confident and energized. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you simply can’t understand. You’re, wel l . . . ” I wanted to say poor , but stopped myself and continued with “ . . . not particularly wealthy.”
David acknowledged my comment with an indulgent smile. “Nevertheless, I can at least try to put myself in the shoes of a rich guy.”
I leaned back and urged him to go on by emphatically waving my hand. All traces of false modesty had disappeared.
“So, I’m imagining,” David said, “that when somebody’s ric h . . . so incredibly ric h . . . ” He hesitated.
“Keep going! It’s a good start.”
“So, if a very rich man meets a woma n . . . let’s say a young woman who’s good-looking and very congenia l . . . ”
I smiled and nodded.
“How can someone that rich be sure that she loves him for who he is—and not for his money?”
I stared at him, totally perplexed. “And you call that a problem?”
“I think so. A rich man can never know for sure.”
“Ha!” I said. “It’s obvious that you have no experience. The rich guy simply needs to do the following: He needs to act poor—convincingly, though, and paying attention to every detail. Completely poor. Like a church mouse. And the n . . . ” I tried to snap my fingers again, but this time I failed. After the third attempt, I gave up. “And then in no time at all,” I continued, “he’ll be able to tell if the woman truly loves him.”
“But that’s no basis for a partnership. That would be a deception.”
“ Deception —what a horrible word! A little illusion, a trick. Just think how happy the woman will be once it comes out that her great love is also rich. I don’t think she’ll complain! In the inverse scenari o . . . ” I banged my knuckles on the table. “Wow! In the opposite scenario, the guy has a problem. That would be a real deception!”
David studied my face for a moment.
Our bottle was empty. We had no further excuse to postpone the inevitable. But now it no longer seemed so terrible to me.
I stood up abruptly. “I’ll sleep on the right side.”
“That’s fine,” David said. He still seemed deep in thought. Naturally, I’d impressed him with my logic and experience.
“Go to bed,” I said.
My words brought him back to reality. “You want to sleep on the right?”
Without saying a word, I went to the large marital bed, slipped under the covers, and closed my eyes tightly. After awhile, I heard the mattress squeak next to me.
“Good night,” I said.
“Good night, Michelle Krämer. Sleep well.”
I giggled softly. “Since we’re already sleeping together, we could at least drop some of the
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