Kamila // Munich // 09 April 2013
It’s a mystery to me how the beauty of Bavaria’s state capital has passed me by during all these years. For so long I have been looking at cities like New York, Tokyo, and Sydney mainly from airplanes, and eventually, they began to feel like home. Mankind always somehow clings to what they are used to, and if the only thing you are used to is constant change, then eventually the journey will become your home, and strangers your family.
But today I stand at the open window of my usual suite in Palander Munich, breathe in the ever warm city air and am suddenly really happy to be right where I am.
I was in Beijing last week. That’s always great, apart from the fact that you can’t breathe and the smog is so thick I don’t even crave cigarettes. But as a blonde, tall, thin girl, I am ultra-exotic and celebrated in Asia, and I can just look down on the top of everyone’s head. So it’s not a total waste of time.
Rico doesn’t even knock when he enters anymore. Now he simply comes in and leans in the doorway.
I, on the other hand, still stand at the window every time, with my back to the door. I have grown addicted to the anticipation and sound of his approach. I hear the elevator arriving at my floor, hear Rico’s footsteps evenly and quietly on the burgundy carpet, and count the seconds that pass before his distinctive, irresistible scent is blown from the hallway, ensnaring my senses. It is the now-familiar scent of fresh, sport body wash. I swear, they spiked it with pheromones. My heart feels like a five-year-old child in a bouncy castle.
“It’s good to see you,” he breathes into my ear as he puts both arms around my waist from behind, and gently kisses my hair. In my belly, a thousand butterflies are throwing the party of their lives.
“Nice to smell you,” I reply with a smile and keep looking outside, where the bright sun is slowly retreating.
“Same here,” he says. Then I turn my head to him.
“Oh shit, you are Rico?!” I feigned surprise, pulling my face into a dramatic display of shock.
He’s laughing because this isn’t the first time I’ve come around the corner with this joke. Then he kisses me and I turn my upper body so that we stand opposite each other and I can touch his face and hair with my hands. Short beard stubble tickles my palms. I know he always shaves on match days but likes to grow it during the week.
“How was Beijing?” he asks, as our lips separate.
“Hmm,” I hum and think for a second. “Chinese. Nothing special.”
I grin at him. “But I’ve thought of something special for today.”
“Oh, okay…”He grins back and I feel the unmistakable spark between us, although what I have prepared for today has absolutely nothing to do with what we’re both thinking about at this moment.
“Make yourself comfortable,” I order Rico towards our favorite armchairs and the Chaise Longue. “But the window’s gotta stay open.”
“Okay, okay,” Rico laughs. “Can I use the bathroom first?”
“You know the drill,” I just smile.
He disappears and I make myself comfortable. I pull my wafer-thin cigarette case out of my trouser pocket and place it on the table in front of me. It used to be some shitty Porsche promotional gift that I haven’t used except for cigarettes. If I’m going to be abused as an advertising medium, it’s going to be under my own rules.
A little later I hear the flush and the tap running. But all of a sudden, it’s gushing out like a waterfall.
“Why are you trashing the bathroom?” I shout amusedly towards the bathroom, but it remains silent.
“Rico,” I inquire, still not quite seriously. “Did something hit you on the head?”
I almost took the trouble and lifted my cute little butt off the chaise longue to see what was going on, but just a blink of an eye and Rico finally comes out.
“What’s that?” he asks suspiciously, holding both hands up.
In one he has an inconspicuous white box without an inscription, and in the other, he has a handful of small white pills that actually belong in the box. And although he asked, I can easily tell from his facial expression that he has long since given himself an answer of his own and that he is feeling conflicted.
“Oh, man, shit,” I sigh and stop laughing. “Do you think I’d keep drugs on the bathroom shelf? So totally obvious in that white box?”
“I don’t know what to think. I just want to know what this is.”
“Laxative,” I answer unfazed. “Do you want to know why I need it, too? Or maybe try one?”
For a moment, Rico looks like a cow when it thunders. He gives the tablets in his hand one …