PORSCHE

"Oh God, what am I supposed to do now?" Porsche nervously tucked a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear. "I can't just leave work in the middle of the day," she knew perfectly well she could.

"OK, I'll be right out. Give me five minutes." She hung up the phone and... tucked her hair behind her ear.

She hadn't seen Piotr in almost two years, when suddenly he showed up. He called work and said he was waiting at the café around the corner.

"Just fifteen minutes," (tucking away a strand of hair) "I'll have a coffee, accept birthday wishes, and tell her I have to get back because I have a very busy day." She knew perfectly well she didn't have to rush, that she didn't even have to get back. In fact, she had nothing left to do today.

She had been working for a year at a small interior design company. The company was small, but she had been getting a lot of work lately. Porsche was responsible for her own projects and didn't have to stay at the office. She could leave whenever she wanted. Which, by the way, she often took advantage of.

"Only fifteen minutes." And suddenly she felt terribly embarrassed. She was doing something she probably didn't want to tell Robert about. Robert wouldn't understand. He wouldn't say anything, but he would just retreat into himself for a week or... three months. Robert always took everything very personally.

"I'm not doing anything wrong," Porsche said, but she knew what Robert would think. "SHE MEETS HER EX-GUY... ON HER BIRTHDAY... WHILE ROBERT WAITS FOR HER AT HOME... WITH A SURPRISE."

She was sure Robert would prepare something special. He was unrivaled in surprises.

"SHE'S MEETS A GUY WHOM...

" "There's nothing between us anymore, just an old friend who wants to wish her happy birthday

..." ... WITH WHOM THEY WERE TOGETHER. THEY LOVED EACH OTHER. They kissed, caressed, and... loved her. And she felt good.

"If she's okay, then why do I feel like a thief?" Porsche put on her coat and left the office.

On the street, she felt a cold wind that refreshed her a little, blowing against her collar and neckline. She wrapped herself in a scarf. It was only early spring.

ROBERT

It was early spring. Nature was just changing its skin from a shy pale yellow to a shy pale light green. It had been over a year since I moved in with Porsche. We lived in a small attic apartment, and the main problem was the cold. The roof was leaky, and in winter (thankfully, winter was starting to leave), when we woke up in the morning, it was 10 degrees Celsius in the room. We heated it all day with a small oil heater, and by evening it sometimes got over 20 degrees Celsius. We'd been turning the heater off at night ever since Porsche had read in some women's magazine that the body rests better in cold weather. Apparently, a queen slept naked in winter with an open window, covering herself with a sheet, and because of that, she lived to a very old age (and died much healthier). Porsche was a bit crazy, but for some reason, I accepted her quirks; I have to admit, even I found them a bit amusing. We did all sorts of weird things and it felt good: a little boy in a grown man's skin, and a Porsche that's hard to categorize.

Porsche had auburn hair that fell to her shoulders, black eyes (either laughing or angry), a model's figure at 160 cm, and a sense of humor that could sometimes bring tears to your eyes and give you stomach aches. We felt really good together... and sometimes really bad.

She was also obsessed with Porsche 911s. She once spent a month with her aunt Nelie in the States. Her aunt, Porsche's mother's sister, invited her on vacation and paid for the ticket. Porsche bought a lottery ticket at the airport on her first day—struck by a hunch, she said—and two days later, she found out she'd won over $3,500. Not much for a lottery win, but a lot for a girl from Poland on vacation. Naturally, she decided to splurge during that month. She and her aunt decided to drive around the States for a while. So my aunt chipped in twice the amount and they planned a vacation. The next day, they bought various necessities and decided to rent a convertible. My aunt then said there was only one truly stunning car, one that made all the Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and Corvettes pale in comparison: the Porsche 911. My aunt had married a wealthy German twenty years earlier and knew her stuff. At the time, it didn't matter to Porsche what car she used to tour the States, but a month later, she couldn't imagine anything else. Then she returned to Poland and decided she'd be rich and that one day she'd buy a Porsche. A 991, of course—the only real one. It would be black and have a targa top—with a removable hardtop.

I met her five years later. We started dating when she and Piotr were still dating. They were actually living together. I don't want to know the details.

Then, at the beginning, one day she asked if I loved her, if I would always be with her and take care of her, if I would buy her a Porsche.

I didn't understand at the time.

"Porsche? No, Porsche, but maybe someday I'll buy you a house with a garden.

" "That sucks," she said, lost in thought. I didn't take it seriously at the time. I thought she was joking. Then she told me about her vacation with Aunt Nelie and mentioned the Porsche 911 a few more times. Then I understood.

She had essentially dumped Piotr for me. She packed up and moved into my rented studio apartment. Then we rented an attic apartment, and it's been like that for almost a year and a half.

To this day, she can't shake the guilt. We don't talk about it, but it's just obvious. You can hear it in her voice when we sometimes talk about the past. You can see it in her eyes. It's not that she still loves him, but she feels it's not right to leave someone like that. Someone GOOD.

She used to love him. They spent a lot of time together, talking for hours about books, movies, and philosophy. He promised her he'd buy her a Porsche someday, and she loved him even more for it.

As I mentioned, it was early spring. That day was Porsche's birthday. I sat at home with all the surprises I had prepared, waiting. It was just after five, and the Porsche should have arrived about half an hour earlier. And that's when I started to get nervous. After all, it was her birthday, and she knew I was waiting.

I spent two days last week searching for a crazy baker who would agree to make a cake in the shape of a Porsche 911. Finally, someone found someone. The price he came up with was a bit steep, five times the price of a normal, large cake. But what can you not do...

PORSCHE.

Porsche walked by, her stiletto heels clicking on the cobblestones. She worked in the old historic district, and the street in front of her company was closed to traffic. It had been paved about fifty years ago and was charming. On both sides were tenement houses dating back a hundred, maybe even two hundred years. On both sides of the street stood charming, lovely lanterns, alternating with charming, lovely trees, turning yellow and green as they did at this time of year. Her mother had once told her that it was very good to be born in spring. That's when all of nature comes to life. People born then are very sensitive and delicate, like delicate spring leaves, and strong, like awakening plants that no one can stop from growing.

She walked along, afraid, and not at all eager to see Piotr. She had no idea how she would behave. Or how she should behave.

She reached the corner and saw a café, and there stood Piotr. He was reading the newspaper and looking... just as he always did. There was a saucer on his table, and Piotr was drinking coffee from a cup like he used to, holding it with his whole hand and ignoring the handle. He never grabbed the handle. It used to really annoy her. Then she'd grown fond of it. Now it didn't matter. She simply remembered it.

She hadn't seen him since last winter. She'd heard he'd gone to the States and found a good job. That pleased her. She wished him the best. If only he'd find someone who... would be as good to him as he deserved...

Across the street were several parked cars, and among them was a light blue Porsche 911.

"That's a good omen," she thought, smiling. Every time she saw the Porsche, and it wasn't that often, she thought, "It's going to be a good day."

She checked her watch. It was almost three o'clock. She'd be back at work in half an hour at the latest. She'd gather her things and leave. She didn't want to be late for her birthday.

She glanced through the glass of the café door at Piotr, hesitated for a moment, and then went inside.

ROBERT

It was about half past five. I started to worry. Maybe she'd crashed her car; she was never late. I thought I had to do something. The table was set, with candles on it. In the fridge was a bottle of Chardonnay and a Porsche. In the oven were pieces of chicken with vegetables and a bowl of rice. And, of course, three kinds of sauce. I loved cooking. Especially for Porsche. When I lived alone, I didn't feel like doing anything fancy. I usually ate out or made something simple. Then she moved in with me and taught me how to make a celebration of food. When she cooked, everything was delicious, and above all, beautiful. Porsche's lunches and dinners were works of art. Everything was beautifully decorated and arranged. After all, she was an interior designer. I think she could earn more by letting people photograph her dishes and have them published in exclusive cooking guides.

I looked at my watch. I thought I'd wait another fifteen minutes and call her on her cell phone. Something had definitely come up. Maybe a meeting. I'm sure she would have called if she could. I paced around the apartment, looking out toward the street. But she wasn't coming.

I'm not nervous at all, I told myself. I'm just a little worried. A little.

I went to the refrigerator and looked inside again. The Porsche was beautiful. It was covered in red marzipan. The windows were chocolate, and the trim was made of various colorful confectionery trinkets. I know nothing about these things. I hoped she'd like it. I loved pleasing her.

I went to the window, and her car wasn't there. I went to the bathroom. How could I waste any more time? I thought. I returned to my room. The alarm clock showed a quarter to six. I picked up the phone and dialed Porsche's cell phone.

PORSCHE

Piotr smiled and stood up. They looked at each other, and Porsche thought she had no idea whether to extend her hand or just sit down. He looked confused too. He smiled and showed her a seat at the table.

"Nice to see you," he said, and before she could answer, he motioned to the waiter. The waiter took two menus and approached.

"Let me invite you in." Piotr looked at her questioningly.

Porsche smiled sheepishly and ordered coffee.

"Would you like something to eat?" she shook her head. "Maybe even a piece of cake." She shook her head again.

The waiter left, and Piotr pulled a small yellow rose from under the table and placed it on the table.

"Happy birthday," he said. "You're twenty-eight, but you know what?" he paused. "You don't look like anything at all."

Porsche thanked him for remembering and still had no idea how to proceed. She was very tense.

"Why the hell did I come here?" She wanted to get up and run away, but she didn't know how.

"How are you?" "I haven't asked anyone such a hopelessly trivial question in a long time," she thought.

A waiter approached with coffee, cream, and sugar, distracting Porsche. When she looked at Piotr, he had a tiny package wrapped in colorful paper and a ribbon. It fit perfectly in the palm of his hand.

"I have a gift for you," he said, "unwrap it."

Now she felt embarrassed. She'd met some guy and was getting gifts from some guy. She felt terribly guilty. Robert wouldn't have allowed something like that.

"I've felt guilty for a long time about leaving Piotr," she thought. "I must be an expert in feeling guilty.

" "I can't accept gifts from you.

" "Why? You'll make me happy."

She thought for a moment. "I'm with another guy now... It's all over..." She wasn't doing so well. "We're not together anymore. I shouldn't accept anything from you. Piotr... listen, I like you and wish you the best, but we shouldn't be seeing each other... Thanks for remembering. It's nice that you remember my birthday, but I don't want any presents.

She hadn't seen Piotr in a year and a half. At first, she was very afraid that she would meet him on the street and have no idea how to behave. And most of all, she was afraid that she would meet him when she was out with Robert, and it would be very... uncomfortable and difficult for all of them, and no one would have any idea how to behave.

" "You don't understand," Piotr looked at her with a smile. "I don't want anything from you in return, I don't want you to be grateful, I just wanted to please you..."

She thought he was smiling like an adult patiently explaining something to a small child for whom many things are still too difficult.

She looked at him, and he nodded encouragingly.

She looked at the package for a moment, then back into Piotr's eyes, and... took it.

ROBERT

I called for the third time in the last fifteen minutes, but no one answered. After a few rings, the answering machine picked up.

"Maybe something happened to her. Maybe... she crashed her car. No. If she had a fender bender, she would definitely have called. Unless... maybe she had... a serious accident."

I paced from window to window. Like a caged wolf (a friend had once said that about me. And indeed, when I was nervous, I paced nervously across the room. Turning and turning). I made myself a sandwich, ate it, put on the water for coffee, and didn't make any coffee until the water boiled. I felt one particularly painful thought break through the tangle of thoughts I was trying to calm myself with – SOME... GUY...

– No, Porsche wouldn't do something like that. If it were any other guy, she would simply say so. Unless it's the "cognitive-provocative phase," when we haven't made up our minds yet because we don't know enough, but we're fascinated by someone. It's a very dangerous phase, because then sometimes it can happen... that..." A red neon sign began to pulsate inside my skull. It was enormous and flickered on and off in a mad rhythm. One red word – SEX.

I went to the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and tried to smile at myself. I caught myself thinking that he would have preferred a crash.

And I felt bad.

PORSCHE.

Porsche unpacked the box, and inside was something that looked like... a car alarm remote. She looked at Piotr. He nodded encouragingly and smiled. Porsche pressed the button on the remote and heard the alarm bark twice. She turned her head in that direction and, through the café window, caught a second flash of the turn signals of a light blue car parked across the street...

Piotr placed the key on the table in front of the Porsche, bearing the inscription...

"It's yours." Piotr's voice rang out loudly in the silence of the café.

"I hope you like your gift." Piotr smiled again.

Porsche slowly shifted her gaze from Piotr to the Porsche parked in front of the café and back again. She was too surprised (what was surprised? She was in severe shock) to say anything. Mechanically, she pressed the button on the remote again. She heard a bark, and the Porsche flashed its turn signals at her encouragingly.

"You bought me a Porsche?" she said slowly and very quietly.

Piotr nodded and smiled.

[ ... ]

PORSCHE

She was driving home to Robert. It was almost seven. She should have been there two hours ago at the latest. He was definitely very worried. Still, she drove very slowly. She had no idea what to tell him. She knew she should tell the truth. She knew that lying starts with one lie. And then it's hard to stop. And things are never the same again. She knew this because she remembered lying to Piotr... when she and Robert were dating.

But she didn't want to hurt someone she loved... who probably wouldn't understand. Robert deserved to be lied to. And for everything to continue in unwavering harmony. On the other hand—THIS IS SO DAMN WRONG!!!

Nothing happened. She didn't accept Piotr's gift. She simply let him talk her into going for a ride and... completely forgot about Robert waiting at home.

ROBERT

A few minutes before seven, I heard a car in the parking lot in front of the house. I looked out and saw the Porsche getting out and running towards the house. I was relieved. Nothing had happened to her. Everything was fine now.

The stairwell door slammed.

"But why didn't she call? She's late sometimes. Everyone has something come up sometimes... but she always called. "

I heard the scrape of a key in the lock, and Porsche threw her arms around him.

"I'm so sorry. I should have called, but...

I loved it when she apologized. Back when we were arguing or something happened, we'd hug and kiss each other gently. And then sometimes we'd make love gently. Or rather, we'd start gently, and then... it was different.

" "Piotr called me." She looked at me searchingly. I have to admit, I was a little chilled. What do you mean, Piotr? It's her birthday, and he knows I'm waiting for her at home.

"Piotr called and invited me for coffee because... he wanted to wish me well. I didn't know how to get out of it, so... I went." And he gave me a Porsche for my birthday..." She looked at me searchingly. And I smiled because she'd made up a really good story today. My smile grew wider.

"So, did you accept the gift?" I asked with a smile.

She looked at me questioningly. "No...

" "Well, everything's fine. Wait a moment." I ran to the fridge and returned with the cake and handed it to her.

"Happy birthday."

And then she was standing there, in her coat and scarf, holding a marzipan Porsche 911 in her hands, and burst into tears. So I took the cake from her. I set it on the table and hugged her just as she was—in her coat and scarf, with tears streaming down her cheeks. I'll never understand women..