Mrs. Martin & Mr. Blohm – Episode Nine: Calmness attracts life; restlessness drives it away.

Regina spent a very quiet weekend in Kitzbühel with her friend Elena. Snow fell the entire time, just like in the snow globe Paul had given her for Christmas, when she had been hoping for an engagement ring instead.

She and Elena went on long walks, breathing in the crisp air, while Regina poured her heart out: how misunderstood she felt by Paul, and how she now knew it was truly over, forever.

After Elena picked her up from the airport, Regina switched off her phone. She didn’t want to deal with Paul’s calls, his endless explanations, or his attempts to justify why he always acted differently than she expected. Enough was enough. Four years of back and forth, always hoping, always waiting, like Sex and the City with Carrie and Mr. Big. In that one unforgettable scene, Carrie says:

“When you’re done begging for the bare minimum… Where Mr Big says to Carey, "it is different "Carrie answers, it’s never different. It’s six years of never being different.  This is it, I’m done. Don’t call me ever again. Forget my number. In fact, forget you know my name. Drive down the street all you want, because I don’t live here anymore.”

That was exactly how Regina felt.

A sorrow shared is a sorrow halved

On Monday morning, she felt uneasy flying back from Munich to Hamburg for her La Perla appointments, having not spoken to Paul at all or told him about her decision to break up. Elena gave her the biggest hug:
“I’m so proud of you. You finally broke up with Paul. Now a new life begins!”

Regina felt it too, though she knew it would take time to adjust to being single again. She still kept her phone switched off, avoiding Paul’s messages. Of course, he expected her to take a cab from the airport to his condo—since he couldn’t pick her up—and be waiting there on Friday evening after he finished work. But Regina wasn’t there.

When Regina finally turned her phone back on after landing in Hamburg on January 24, she saw 24 missed calls and several voice messages from Paul. His voice shifted from concerned—“Where are you, Regina? We agreed you’d be at my condo!”—to angry—“I don’t like this game, Regina, it’s not funny. I planned the weekend for us, and now you’re not here. What is wrong?”

What is wrong?” Regina repeated his question in her head. Everything was wrong. The fake fax proposal still cut deep. For her, it was clear: she would only call him one last time, when she returned to Munich with movers to collect her furniture and belongings, including her wedding dress, stored away for more than four years in a cake box. She knew she would never wear it, but it was still her wedding dress. It belonged to her, and certainly not in Paul’s condo. She didn’t need it anymore, yet she couldn’t leave it behind either. With Paul, you never knew—he might even offer her dress to his new future wife. That was just who he was. He always managed to find a use for everything. She would leave the key on the table—and she was determined never to see Paul again.

Driving from Hamburg airport to the showroom through the gray, cold January weather, Regina felt the sadness overwhelm her. She was almost 35, her birthday coming up in May, and suddenly single again. Tears fell onto her coat. She had been living in Hamburg for only three months, without real friends or anyone she truly knew—apart from La Perla customers—and she felt lonelier than ever. Being single in Munich wouldn’t have been easy either, but at least there she could have rung the doorbell at Elena’s, Stephan’s, Claudia’s, or Dirk’s, and sat on their sofas to share her grief over a glass of her favorite Prosecco.

She had been in Hamburg three months already, living in a boarding house arranged by La Perla, and now only six days remained before she had to move out. Forty-three apartments visited, none of them good enough. Yet she refused to settle for less than her dream: a home on the Alster.

By letting go, you free both hands.

Somehow, she wasn’t nervous. Deep inside, she knew she would not settle for less. Worst case, she could sleep in the La Perla showroom. But one thing was certain: she wouldn’t rest until she had found her place by the Alster. Munich was behind her. This wasn’t just about an apartment anymore—it was about her future, about where she might live for the rest of her life. Her phone rang again. Paul’s number. She ignored it. Moments later, it rang once more. This time, it was Henry, her boss.

Henry (energetic):
“Hello Regina, how are things going in Hamburg? Settled in yet?”

Regina (calm):
“Yes, it’s good. The clients are different from Munich, but I have them under control. Sales are good. The only problem is La Perla’s deliveries—the bottoms never arrive at the same time as the tops. It’s not good.”

Henry (confident):
“Yes, I know. We’re working on it. But I’m glad you like Hamburg—who would have thought? The reason I’m calling is this: your boarding contract ends January 24. That gives you only six more days. Did you find an apartment yet?”

Regina thought, I never said I liked Hamburg. And now Henry is putting pressure on me. Just moments before his call, she had felt calm. Now, the pressure was back.

Regina (very confident):
“Yes, I know, Henry. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way.”

Henry (with a stronger voice):
“You know, Regina, we were hoping you’d find something sooner so we wouldn’t have to cover three full months of rent.”

Regina:
“No, I didn’t know that. You told me the boarding house was confirmed for three months—and you also know it’s not easy to find something on the Alster.”

Henry’s voice sharpened.
Henry:
“You’re not serious, are you? Living at the Alster is expensive. I don’t think you can afford it—I know your salary. Perhaps your boyfriend could help you.”

That was exactly what Regina didn’t want to hear. That bridge was burned. But she didn’t want Henry to know she had broken up with Paul.

Regina:
“Henry, let me handle it. I’ll find a way. I’ll be out by January 31 at the latest.”

Henry:
“Okay—your word in God’s ear,” he replied. (Dein Wort in Gottes Ohr, as the Germans say.)

Regina:
“You say it, Henry. I have to move on and don’t want to lose even more valuable time. Servus, Henry—that’s what we say in Bavaria.”

Henry (very firm):
“I trust you and rely on you. Servus.”

Regina did not need this additional pressure at all. On that gray Hamburg day, standing in her showroom, she looked a little desperate. She was already calculating: where would she sleep if she didn’t find something soon? The showroom had no bathroom, only a sink and a tiny kitchenette. No couch, nothing. She was even considering buying a mattress topper just to put on the floor. And for showering? Perhaps at a tennis club where she could become a member—she was looking for one anyway. But she was determined: she would get a condo on the Alster. No compromises this time. No boyfriend, no wedding—at least a condo on the Alster. That was non-negotiable and that was crystal clear for Regina.

Three months in Hamburg had not made her a fan of the city. The weather was relentlessly miserable, gray upon gray. Yet she knew one thing for certain: she would not return to Munich—because Munich meant Paul. And Miami? It felt too far, too much, too soon.

All these thoughts were crossing her mind when the phone rang again. An unknown number. Maybe Paul, calling from a different phone? Regina was too curious—who could it be? (Just a reminder: this was 2005, a time when sales calls were almost nonexistent.) She picked up. On the other end she heard a man’s voice—nervous, fast-talking, and definitely not Paul’s. “Hello, this is Gerhard Meir. I heard you’re looking for a condo?”

Regina:
“Who is this?”

Gerhard Meir:
“Gerhard Meir. Paul gave me your number. I know you’re searching, and since Paul’s friends are my friends, I thought I could help. I can offer you a studio.”

Regina’s mind spun. Gerhard Meir—the famous Munich hairdresser of the 1980s, who had run his salon in Munich for years and kept women waiting months for an appointment—had made his name with wild blow-dry creations for VIP women like Gloria von Thurn und Taxis, and later expanded with a salon in Hamburg. Is this really Gerhard Meir calling me? Regina asked herself. She remembered meeting him at a few events: a fast talker, a fast mover, always with a big smile on his face, laughing so heartily that it was sometimes hard to understand why. She didn’t like the idea that Paul had given him her number, but still—she wanted to know what Mr. Meir had to say.

Regina (answering sharply):
“Yes, Mr. Meir, that’s correct. But I’m not looking for just any condo—it has to be on the Alster.”

Gerhard Meir (without hesitation):
“I know, Darling—that’s why you’re in good hands! I have a one-bedroom, spacious and right on the Alster. Normally I rent it to my hairdressers, but at the moment it’s free. Just come by and have a look. It’s at Rondeel. I live right above the studio. You’re at La Perla on Rothenbaumchaussee, right? It’s only 10 minutes by car from there. Can you come this evening?”

Regina was stunned. A studio on the Alster? That sounded like a dream—and even affordable! Only 10 minutes from her showroom? She could hardly believe it. The only disturbing factor was that the lead had come from Paul. She wasn’t Paul’s girlfriend anymore. Would Mr. Meir still offer her the studio if he knew? Maybe not—that was her feeling.

For a moment, she considered pretending she was still Paul’s girlfriend. But no—she knew that if she wasn’t crystal clear, she’d be dragged back into Paul’s world of half-truths and back-and-forth, just like Mr. Big in Sex and the City. Still, she decided to at least go take a look. Later, in person, she would disclose that she was no longer Paul’s girlfriend. That felt like a good plan—one she could trust deep inside.

Regina (still in shock, answering briefly):
“Yes, I can come today. What’s the address?”

Gerhard Meir:
“Rondeel 31, Darling.”

Regina (confused):
“I have the number, but what’s the street name?”

Gerhard Meir (impatient):
“Darling, Rondeel is the street. I have to go—see you tonight at seven!”

Regina still didn’t really understand how she was supposed to find Mr. Meir with only a house number with out a street name. In Munich, there were only street names—“Rondeel” sounded very strange for a street. But her navigation system, TomTom—the only functional one back then (a big hit in 2005; maybe some readers still remember these first navigation devices)—actually recognized “Rondeel 31.” To her surprise, it found the address.

Still, it took her 40 minutes instead of 10, thanks to Hamburg’s peculiar traffic system on Sierichstrasse: one-way into the city until 3 p.m., one-way out afterwards. TomTom was as confused as she was.

After circling endlessly, she finally called Mr. Meir. Patiently, he explained the detour and told her to use his private parking spot in front of the house. When she finally arrived, she immediately liked the building—and was relieved that Mr. Meir had offered her his parking spot, since every single public space was already taken.

Getting out of the car, she fell in love with the house. The white main door looked both homely and elegant at the same time. Regina walked up the few steps and looked at the name tags by the doorbell—only six in total—and pressed the one for Mr. Meir.

The main white door opened, and on the first floor stood Gerhard Maier in his doorway, holding a glass of red wine. His hair was wild, as if he had just gotten out of bed. Black-rimmed glasses framed his face, and he wore a white shirt with black pants.
“Finally you made it, Darling. Come in, feel at home!”

Inside, Regina was in awe: high stucco ceilings, wide winged doors, a huge living room, and a terrace with a view of the Alster. She fell in love immediately—with the building, with the atmosphere. The lighting was dimmed, and the wooden floors throughout Mr. Meir’s condo gave the place a warm and welcoming feeling.

Mr. Meir instantly handed her a glass of red wine. She had hoped for her favorite Prosecco, but of course accepted it. “Thank you, Mr. Meir.”

“Please, call me Gerhard,” he insisted. “We’re both from Munich—forget this Hamburg formality. Let’s toast to you, Regina.”

He lit a cigarette and offered her one as well. Regina accepted both the informal du and the cigarette

Regina was pleased that Gerhard was a smoker like her. He told her how he had gotten into the building and how much he loved it—only six parties lived there, it was very quiet, and the view of the Alster was spectacular when the light was right. Of course, now it was too dark to see.

Gerhard kept talking while Regina, already on her second glass of red wine and another cigarette, sat with him on his sofa. He smoked and talked nonstop. Regina could hardly wait to see the studio. Gerhard explained that it was located beneath his condo, with a separate entrance from the side, and that it came with full use of the garden. She wanted desperately to see the studio.

Regina asked Gerhard, “Can I have a look?”

Gerhard replied, “Aren’t you hungry? Let’s eat something first at my favorite Italian restaurant, Gallo Nero on Sierichstrasse, before the kitchens close.”

“I love Italian food,” Gerhard added.

Regina answered, “Yes, me too.” Then she thought to herself with a smile: But Italian men love it even more. 

Hungry, she agreed, even though she was disappointed not to see the studio yet. She didn’t want to interfere with Gerhard’s mood. As they left the house, Gerhard noticed her Mercedes parked in his spot.

“Ah, you took my space. Perfect—you’ll have the parking spot too if you rent the studio. I lost my driver’s license, so I don’t have a car anymore. I don’t need it.”

Gerhard had already called a taxi, and during the ride Regina finally asked, “How much is the rent?

Gerhard:
“870 euros. Including electricity.”

Even the taxi driver looked stunned. A studio on the Alster, nearly 100 m², with parking, for 870 euros? Too good to be true.

Regina thought: It’s a dream. But tonight, over pasta and red wine, she would have to tell Gerhard the truth—that she was no longer Paul’s girlfriend. And with that, perhaps the dream would vanish. Still, at least there would be good Italian food with such an interesting personality—Gerhard, who had welcomed her with open arms, as if they had known each other for years in the best way. She could already imagine how interesting life in this neighborhood might be with Gerhard around.

She knew Gerhard was gay, so there was no interest in her as a woman. But she also knew that in the restaurant she would have to disclose to him that she had broken up with Paul—even though she hadn’t yet officially told Paul himself. That, she feared, would also mean the end of her Alster dream. After all, why should Gerhard give her his treasured studio if she was no longer with Paul—the journalist who could make a VIP rise or just as easily fall?

Do you want to know if Regina will get her dream studio on the Alster through a crazy hairdresser—in a good way?

At the very same time, Mr. Blohm was beginning to love not only his own condo at Rondeel 31, but also to get familiar with the neighborhood—and he, too, fell in love with the restaurant Gallo Nero, just a few blocks from his home, which would soon become his favorite spot to invite dates … always best enjoyed with a glass of Mr and Mrs SYLTBAR.