Monday, 12 January 2015

Dextrose (part 1)

He had met his wife in New York, on a roof terrace Champagne social, at one of these semi-formal gatherings for German ivy league graduates in international banking.
She had great table manners. Not acquired by tardy attendance at finishing school, but received effortlessly from a naturally elegant family, with a fine selection of relations. He could see that right away, he was smart that way.

She was blond and well-proportioned, a muted violet dress flattering her shoulders, raspberry lips and a pearl necklace complimented her fresh skin, her nails were healthy and clear. Already he was dreaming of her crawling towards him, between white bedsheets in a loft apartment, flicking her hair and softly running her hands over his legs. He clasped the starchy napkin on his knees, threw it over the back of a chair, and moved towards her like a dolphin, so friendly and intelligent.

 “You know, banking is a good thing. We are good people. We shouldn't feel guilty about what we do. What is bad about banking is just how some people have abused it in a way to further their personal profits and the profits of their firms, rather than guiding the world's economy on the path of equality and to the satisfaction of everybody's needs,” he said to her. That was his edgy pick-up line, it never failed to spark debate.

As she turned around, she saw him for the first time, tall and blue-eyed, clean shaved in a dinner shirt, with Harvard cufflinks, given the occasion.
“People who say that banking is evil are just envious that they aren't able to work as hard as we do. We deserve our money. We work hard, on highly complex problems, and we work long hours”.

“Do you think the Euro will survive?”, he asked.
“No”, she answered. They smiled, and looked towards Ellis Island.
“I disagree with that. You know, all that needs to be done is, the fiscal agreements need to be adjusted”.
“What part of Germany are you from?” she asked.
“Frankfurt”, he said.
“I'm from Mainz”, she said.
“Do you want to live there again in the future?”
“Yes”, she said. “Isn't that the most natural thing for us to do, especially now that the German economy is on top?”
“I suppose so”, he said, “but, as I'm sure you know, it's just a bubble. It will burst”.

They left the party in his car, a silver 4-4, and drove to his loft.
Months later, they took the 4-4 to visit apartments. They wore white leather jackets and white leather gloves, and white leather trousers and boots to the visit. They wore flu masks and white nets in their hair, and yellow sunglasses. She had blue glitter on her face, and his face was painted with silver face paint.
The estate agent was helpful and courteous, and soon they signed a lease for an open plan apartment in Manhattan. They acted as if they were musicians, because that would help them justify their need for soundproof isolation of their new apartment. Styrophone cubes padding the walls inside, a double ceiling, double flooring, and double doors, that was what they needed.

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