Malin\u2019s fortieth birthday dawns creamy bright, the sort of day she could stride down the street looking Berlin straight in the face. Then Jutta calls.<\/p>\n
\u2018It\u2019s seven in the morning,\u2019 Malin says.<\/p>\n
\u2018Do you have the cake?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I can stop at the International House of Gateaux,\u2019 Malin says.<\/p>\n
Jutta makes a deep, inarticulate sound.<\/p>\n
\u2018Home-made is best.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Who has time to buy fresh ingredients and make a dessert?\u2019 Malin says.<\/p>\n
\u2018I\u2019m not sure you\u2019re taking this seriously,\u2019 Jutta says. \u2018The competition in the office is cutthroat.\u2019<\/p>\n
Any Berliner worth their salt appears to be able to conjure a wholemeal cake out of their navel at a moments notice. Malin cannot bake. For her to play her part in this office tradition requires effort and expense. This seems unfair when really, each year, she is older and slower.<\/p>\n
\u2018Does everyone in this company have a retired grandparent in the cupboard at home? Malin says\u2019<\/p>\n
Jutta \u00a0groans again.<\/p>\n
\u2018Don\u2019t waste my time,\u2019 Jutta says. \u2018Remind me again why I agreed to mentor you?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I do your budgets?\u2019 Malin says<\/p>\n
Jutta is middle management. Malin thinks you can spot Jutta\u2019s dedication by the depths to which the unnaturally green eyes have sunk into baggy sockets.<\/p>\n
\u2018I didn\u2019t tell anyone it was my birthday,\u2019Malin says.<\/p>\n
\u2018Human Resources did,\u2019 Jutta says.<\/p>\n
\u2018Doesn\u2019t that breach some data protection regulation?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018This is what always happens,\u2019 Jutta says.<\/p>\n
\u2018You will get flowers.\u2019<\/p>\n
The Alt-Berliner florist two doors down from the office building hand-delivers the same medium-sized floral arrangement for every birthday.<\/p>\n
\u2018Act surprised,\u2019 Jutta says. \u2018A few tears wouldn\u2019t hurt.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I hate birthdays,\u2019 Malin says.<\/p>\n
\u2018I don\u2019t care,\u2019 Jutta says. \u2018Bring a clean cotton handkerchief, none of those tissues that leave your face covered in fluff. Shave your legs.\u2019<\/p>\n
Malin\u00a0 hangs up.<\/p>\n
Thirty minutes later she is on an express bus to the International House of Gateaux. The S-Bahn train to Neuk\u00f6llnische Allee is early and the Russian shop on the corner is open so to celebrate her first Tinder date and hopefully the very first sex\u00a0 she will have this year, Malin treats herself to a hot wax machine. Soon she is clack clacking down the office hallway. Herr Lucian likes women at work to dress like women. Malin has trained herself to walk in the high-heeled ankle boots. She has worn them to do housework in the mornings when her downstairs neighbour is at work but she is still conscious of the way her butt pushes backwards to compensate for the forward tilt of her pelvis so she has to take short steps. The doors on either side of the hallway are open but no sound greets her. She knows by the silence of her colleagues that Herr Lucian has arrived.<\/p>\n
+<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Ragno Lucian is a self-made man, creative and charismatic.<\/p>\n
As Malin expects from her first impressions of Herr Lucian at the interview, the job is high stress from the start. The pay is moderate but the competition was fierce because Herr Lucian is a true genius at sales, acquiring massive multiyear projects with enviable ease. He is attended at all times by a coterie of carefully groomed young men with rectangular-shaped beards and black, thick-rimmed Buddy Holly glasses.\u00a0Malin considers Herr Lucian himself neither handsome nor unhandsome. The broad cheeks, forehead, the way his features seem to be squeezed into the middle of his face are balanced out by his bearing. The proud tilt of his head reminds Malin of a lightweight entering the boxing ring. When one of the Buddy Hollies asks him what his secret is, Herr Lucian says<\/p>\n
\u2018Charge the maximum, deliver the minimum.\u2019<\/p>\n
He leaves a short pause to gauge the effect.\u00a0The Buddy Hollies hesitate,<\/p>\n
\u2018Only a fraud would believe that.\u2019<\/p>\n
His laugh is delivered like an uppercut.<\/p>\n
Jutta has warned Malin of Herr Lucian\u2019s moods. He gets agitated, is prone to yelling without noticing that he is doing so.<\/p>\n
What Jutta doesn\u2019t say.\u00a0Herr Lucian hurls staplers, an aluminium insulated thermal mug, amber paperweights.When he screams \u2018Fuck, Scheisse, fuck,\u2019 his spittle beads the glass conference table and the Buddy Hollies giggle high nervous trills like birdsong.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
+<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Malin is looking for toner cartridges. She tracks the office manager to the toilet where she discovers Herr Lucian has had a nuclear proportion fit of temper and flicked the water from the glass carafe in the centre of the wooden counter in the office manager\u2019s face. Malin finds the office manager in the front of the bathroom re-applying her mascara, which has run.<\/p>\n
Malin and the office manager are reflected in a rimless mirror that runs the whole width of the bathroom wall. The fresh stems of potted orchids tremble slightly in the blast from the giant air dryer, which is malfunctioning and cannot be switched off. It\u2019s a rare moment of shared vulnerability rendered slightly ridiculous when the two women are forced to whisper-shout over the noise.<\/p>\n
The office manager tells Malin Herr Lucian once trapped her fingers in the drawer of a reinforced plastic filing cabinet.<\/p>\n
While she talks the office manager\u2019s eyelids crinkle upwards with the sort of practised smile Malin reserves for passport photos.<\/p>\n
\u2018It doesn\u2019t seem funny,\u2019 Malin says.<\/p>\n
\u2018Game face,\u2019 the office manager says.<\/p>\n
Malin watches the full lips break apart again.<\/p>\n
\u2018This smile says I can handle anything,\u2019 the office manager says. \u2018It gives nothing away except the white of my teeth.\u2019<\/p>\n
+<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Jutta likes to say, \u2019Treat work relationships like driving a bicycle. Look up while treading down.\u2019<\/p>\n
Malin snorts the laughter back, unsure if Jutta is joking.<\/p>\n
Jutta doubles up, giggling.<\/p>\n
\u2018You\u2019re not as tight-assed as you look. Relax.\u2019<\/p>\n
Jutta\u2019s voice turns low pitched. Her modulation is excellent.<\/p>\n
\u2018Keep hesitations to a minimum. Use pauses instead of \u201cerm\u201d and \u201cmmm.\u201d\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018To hesitate is weakness; to smile first or too long is weakness. He\u2019s just trying to rattle you. Don\u2019t let him.\u2019<\/p>\n
Jutta looks impatient.<\/p>\n
\u2018How do I do that?\u2019 Malin asks.<\/p>\n
\u2018Ignore the questions you do not want to answer. Look him in the eye and answer the question you want or speak about what you choose to.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Go big or go home, Malin.\u2019<\/p>\n
This is why Malin asked Jutta to be her mentor. Malin wants to growl sentences like that out of the corner of her mouth without even a glimmer of irony.<\/p>\n
\u2018I keep my face still, but not wholly unmoving, Jutta says. \u2018That would be unnatural. But avoid ducking the head,<\/p>\n
Ducking can look as though Malin is trying to conceal her eyes.<\/p>\n
The eyes are essential.<\/p>\n
\u2018Do not look away even when you are uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.\u2019<\/p>\n
+<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The rumour spreads through the open-plan offices. It sweeps between the long-feathered leaves of foot high ornamental palms and skitters under desks.<\/p>\n
The company has lost a significant bid.\u00a0On a Tuesday. Four days away from the safety of Malin\u2019s \u00a0fluffy pyjamas, \u00a0blue velvet couch and Netflix weekend. Small discourtesies multiply like weeds; calls not returned, emails from low priority colleagues, unanswered.<\/p>\n
Jutta is in a meeting for long enough for Malin to settle in her office chair and hide her newly bare feet behind her desk.\u00a0When she comes back, Jutta is shaken enough she does not notice the black boots poking out from underneath Malin\u2019s briefcase.<\/p>\n
\u2018Herr Lucian.\u2019 It\u2019s not really a question.<\/p>\n
\u2018I wonder how much he is drinking on those transatlantic flights,\u2019 Jutta says.<\/p>\n
Herr Lucian falls asleep in meetings, lips pouting and pugnacious chin sinking onto his chest.<\/p>\n
According to Jutta, this morning\u2019s meltdown was as bad as it gets.<\/p>\n
\u2018Perhaps we need new jobs, on a new planet,\u2019 the Office manager says.<\/p>\n
Jutta has come in and, after listening for a while, interrupts.<\/p>\n
\u2018You know how our tender\u2019s not due\u00a0 until next week?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Herr Lucian\u2019s brought forward the deadline.\u2019<\/p>\n
The next five hours are a blur.<\/p>\n
Malin pulls her boots back on and excuses herself to plug in the hot wax machine.<\/p>\n
She waits thirty minutes for the wax to heat up. When Malin returns to the toilet she props up a hand mirror against her briefcase and sits on the toilet seat, headphones plugged into the phone that is open on the floor beside her toes.<\/p>\n
She puts on her version of a game face while smearing a small amount inside the borders, modestly defined as a bikini line. Although this body has never respected the lines of a bikini, sprouting curly hair well beyond that little barrier. It is like plucking the quills out of a parboiled hen. The white gauze is spotted with blood and shreds of skin.<\/p>\n
A few sharp tugs later, a mixture of long and short hairs cling to the thin gauze, like mild disappointment after that third lousy date. Malin disconnects her mind from the discomfort, and it\u2019s over in fifteen minutes. Shorter than the morning roundup meeting. The pain is bearable, and her pelvis, altered. She is prepubescent, hairless.<\/p>\n
Washing her hands, Malin throws the hot wax machine in the trash and goes back to her desk, where the cake is set out on display. Jutta is making filter coffee.<\/p>\n
After the office manager hands Malin the bouquet Herr Lucian reaches out. Malin already knows what\u2019s coming. His index finger and thumb settle on her cheeks and gently begin to squeeze the flesh up into two reluctant hills. His top lip presses down a little more firmly on his bottom lip.<\/p>\n
\u2018Chocolate,\u2019 Herr Lucian coos. \u2018You are made of chocolate.\u2019<\/p>\n
The grey eyes shine. He is standing so close to her that Malin notices the faint shadow of blonde hair on his top lip. With the wall behind her, Malin cannot step away. Herr Lucian has her boxed into a corner. Jutta grimaces and coughs a few times. Herr Lucian does not move.<\/p>\n
Malin looks at her desk, where the pot of coffee is cooling and contemplates violence for a short moment. Then she remembers the hair in the bathroom bin. When Herr Lucian has finished his cake says the coconut cream icing goes well with black chocolate curls.<\/p>\n
After work that evening, on her way to the subway station, Malin passes the florist. The price tag on the bouquet displayed in the window is fourteen euros and ninety-nine cents. For two euros more there is a beautiful modern arrangement. It occurs to Malin it\u2019s time to go into business for herself. One where she gets to choose the flowers.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Malin\u2019s fortieth birthday dawns creamy bright, the sort of day she could stride down the street looking Berlin straight in the face. Then Jutta calls. \u2018It\u2019s seven in the morning,\u2019 Malin says. \u2018Do you have the cake?\u2019 \u2018I can stop at the International House of Gateaux,\u2019 Malin says. Jutta makes a deep, inarticulate sound. \u2018Home-made […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":15869,"template":"","categories":[10,41],"class_list":["post-16632","stsp_text","type-stsp_text","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-prosa","category-texthelden"],"yoast_head":"\n