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great deal of us, finally somebody he could depend on, people who knew what they wanted, went for it, and didn’t expect to be handed anything on a silver platter. Steen had reassigned his entire advertising campaign for the Leipzig Fair to us, now didn’t that show pizzazz on his part too? He gave my thigh a slap. We were moving up into the Black Forest now. A few serpentine curves and we had lost Steen. Only after we started back downhill did we link up again. “Demand a thousand marks, a thousand dee ems per page,” Wolfgang said without turning his head. “A thousand D-marks per page,” I replied.
    Georg and Jörg were standing in the Hotel Sonne parking lot, each off to himself, like two eavesdroppers. It was the air! It was so delicate and cold that it hurt to breathe.
    Michaela, more recumbent than sitting, played with the darkened windows, sending them up and down with a hum, and didn’t get out until a hotel employee asked about our luggage. She followed him, while Steen steered us toward the restaurant. Steen was carrying on several conversations at once, and we listened with bated breath. “A thousand D-marks,” I whispered to Jörg.
    The restaurant seemed to be closed; we were the only guests. Steen headed for a corner table and slid along the bench until he was seated under the stuffed head of a stag. I went to the restroom. I wasn’t sure whether Jörg had understood me or not, and so I took my time, but neither Georg nor Jörg followed me.
    Jörg was talking about our planned first printing, the distribution structure, the number of pages, etc. “And you two are the owners?” Steen interrupted, nodding at Jörg and Georg. He intended to “shift his advertising” to us. About how much would that cost?
    Georg and Jörg said nothing. But at least Georg knew enough to ask just what sort of advertising was involved. Steen’s double chin went back into action, but then quickly settled down. “Air Research Technologies,” he exclaimed, “what else? Full page!” Georg began one sentence, then another, then the next and one more without finishing any of them. “Twelve pages to start with, need every column, an ad no one will understand, just twelve pages, sub-tabloid format, isn’t much, and if you, and Air Research Technologies, just getting a handle on it, in the Altenburg area, a whole page, why a whole page?”
    â€œWhat’s he talking about?” Steen cried, turning to Wolfgang.
    â€œThat you have to consider…” Jörg said, but then broke off midsentence and cast a glance Steen’s way, but he had vanished behind his menu—we all had one now. Wolfgang took a deep breath…
    â€œA full page costs one thousand two hundred D-marks,” I burst out, as if I had finally calculated costs. Steen’s head reappeared and looked from one of us to another. “One thousand two hundred,” I repeated, and attempted a smile.
    â€œAhhh,” Steen groaned and threw himself back in his seat. He eyeballed me, which evidently he enjoyed doing.
    Jörg gave me a broad wink, as if I were sitting several tables away. Georg stared at his hands. Wolfgang took another audible deep breath. And I had already begun working up my monologue of apology.
    Steen said something that sounded like “whaddaya know” or maybe it was “I dunno,” braced himself against the edge of the table, and said these exact words: “I’ll advance you
twenty
thousand for now, and then we’ll see, agreed?” He stood up halfway and extended a hand first to Georg, then Jörg, then finally me. His tie dangled into an empty wineglass and was still draped over his plate as he sat down. “How do you want it, check or
hard currency
?”—the last two words in English. The waitress presented us each a glass half-filled with champagne.
    â€œWell, which is it?” Steen