It was a dead cold afternoon in Berlin. She however felt all warm the minute she set foot at the airport. She was relatively excited about this trip. Her book was at last seeing light and she was mildly at ease with pimping her memoir out to readers on mediocre TV and Radio Channels. She had already determined to develop a better sense of flexibility and receptiveness, so there she was, trying to find her way to the Adlon, one of the city’s Top Notch hotels- according to her publisher, particularly following the screening of Liam Neeson’s “Unknown” (not a fan, but she was never one to complain).
The rain was getting heavier outside as she attempted to have what turned out to be a rather awkward conversation with her taxi driver. His French was as poor as her German, and chit-chatting proved to be quite a challenge. She reached out to her diary aiming to work around her one and a half day itinerary in the city instead. Her plans were rather uncomplicated: Grab a bite at the Gel-Gor, the contender of the world’s best Kebab, maybe tonight after her radio interview, and then visit the Pergamon Museum early morning tomorrow before her TV appearance.
Voila, l’Adlon! The feeling of warmth in her belly suddenly jumped up a notch. “What is it exactly about Berlin?”, she wondered to herself as she made her way towards the Front Desk. “Hello, I have a room reservation for tonight please, under the name of Marion Estefan”.
“Of course Madam, allow me a moment please”, said the receptionist with a narrow smile. She could use a nap right now. She might actually doze off a little before heading out tonight. The hotel was busy, quite fancy, and smelled of winter daisies. Her publisher never got it wrong. As her eyes jadedly gazed around the lobby, she encountered a rather familiar sight. Did her heart just stop a little? It was him, at the very left end of the lobby, engaged in what looked like a serious philosophical debate with two fellow poets she once had the pleasure of meeting, while sipping his regular double espresso. His usual bedhead hair was brushed back for a change, a la perfection, and that navy blue outfit was sure working wonders for his demeanor. She secretly panicked, and as he took notice of her presence from afar and excused himself to walk his charm over and say hello, her make-up free face unwillingly lit up.
“What brings you to Berlin?”, he asked pleasantly surprised . “The book is ready, and I’m here for the night”, she said slowly trying to suppress her awe, and curb the overflow of her foolish emotions.
“The famous book is ready at last? Will I get a copy? Am I in it?”, he asked playfully. “I’m afraid not Sir, but I’ll make sure I save an autographed copy for you”, she joked not looking him in the eye (rather lied, as he was there on every single page).
“Hand it to me over dinner tonight. I know a place downtown with exquisite kebabs, Gel-Gor, you must have heard of it. Pick you up at 9:30?”
Oh dear, if he only knew he had her long before Gel-Gor…