What a load of crap. If she loved her father, she wouldn't have stayed away for so long. That's for sure. Still, my emotions spiral out of control again as this way-too-attractive woman begins to cry bitterly just a few yards away from me.
An insane part of me wants to comfort her.
No!
She's an illusion. A liar.
Yet I'm running the risk of falling for her ruse again. Damn, what's wrong with me?
She clears her throat. "He wanted to go to Milan, so I'll fly there tomorrow... Are you coming?" she asks with a hoarse voice. "Okay, I understand." Now she sounds sad, but shestraightens her shoulders. "Is the jet still available?" She bites her lip.
My best lead is about to leave Stockholm. I need to do something about it. But I can't force her to stay here. Maybe it would be easier to tail her. But how?
"Why isn't the photographer there?" She nods with a furrowed brow. "From the usual agency? All right, he should come along. Then at ten o'clock. Söderberg is his name, you said?" the redhead asks.
Bingo.
"I'll be there soon, by the way. Would you come by with the key?" She nervously fiddles with her jacket. "Thank you, I appreciate it."
I need to be careful not to let out a mocking groan.
As ifshewould appreciate anything. It's almost a miracle that she even knows the wordthank you. Back inPolarnatt, I never heard her say it even once. Instead, she snapped at me when I served drinks. No matter how busy the club was, I was never fast enough for her.
"Shit, what's taking so long?" she shouts over the thundering bass from the speakers in my memory. "Give it here, I'll drink from the bottle. By the time you pour, I'll have died of thirst." She rolls her eyes, puts the vodka bottle to her lips, and sucks on it as if she's been in the desert all day. Her movements in the bright white light seem jerky.
"Why are you standing around like an idiot?" the guy with the gel-slicked hair chimes in, spreading his arms wide as he sits on the sofa. "Bring more, and hurry up. My babe needs more, can't you see that?"
I actually see that hisbabehas had enough long ago. "Coming right up," I reply even though nothing else makes sense.
I collect the empty glasses, shaking my head. Then I reach for the microfiber cloth, the end of which dangles loosely from my pocket, and I swing it through the air before using it to wipe the table dry for the hundredth time that evening.
As soon as I finish cleaning, the obnoxious woman slams the vodka bottle onto the table so haphazardly that it topples over. "Oooops," she slurs and stumbles into her lover's arms. Despite the darkness, I can see in her face that she feels no shame for her behavior. On the contrary, she thinks she's pretty cool.
Mr. Gel-hair kisses her passionately. "Did you see that, babe? How the server just spilled your vodka? What a clumsy oaf."
The two of them burst into laughter.
"Very funny," I comment dryly and turn around on the spot. I need to get away from here quickly; after all, I know from experience how this ends otherwise.
"Hey, come back. You still have to clean up," someone yells after me, but I ignore it. It's better to watch where I step so they don't have another reason to laugh at me.
I'm so lost in my memory that I only notice at the last moment that the redhead is moving again. She has put her phone away by now.
Quickly, I step out from behind the bare bush and start following her. Each time she steps fully into the light of a streetlamp, it seems as if her body tenses up more. After about twenty minutes, she's so stiff that her legs seem like wooden sticks. Nevertheless, her steps become increasingly faster.
Has she noticed me?
To be safe, I hang back far enough to see her stop at a palatial old building where another woman waits for her. She hands something to the redhead.
That must be this Lil.
I take my camera out of my bag and observe the two through the magnifying lens.
Their greeting doesn't seem very warm. They barely speak to each other; this Lil is constantly shaking her head. I zoom in as much as possible and take several shots. Lil appears to be the same age as the redhead. Her face is mostly hidden by a scarf, and her eyes seem emotionless.
Once the handover is done, Lil rushes away as if she were fleeing from a herd of lions. Blohm's daughter slips through the wrought-iron gate onto the property.
As soon as the gate clicks shut, she starts gently swaying back and forth. It's as if she's seeking peace in the dancing movement, turning first one way and then the other. It's too dark to see her face, but I watch as the tension gradually leaves her body.
Her movements become more graceful, flowing and elegant.
I catch myself getting lost in this sight. Even the voice inside me that should be labeling her as crazy is silent in the face of the effect she has on me.
She's beautiful.
And for a moment, I even imagine that I see something deeply vulnerable in her, something that surely doesn't exist.
