It wasn’t too much to ask, she thought. She’d work hard for everything, of course. And she’d be humble, appreciative, the way she’d been raised by her parents, who had retired to Kristiansand on the south coast.
The phone rang in her tiny room. At a quarter to five the afternoon sun was already starting to sink, casting a band of gold across her wrist.
“Hello? Cyrus…It’s Malie, yes.”
He was calling already. They had met just forty minutes earlier. A brief conversation in the lobby. He said he was the friend of an Italian cyclist Malie had met in Lyon last summer when she was volunteering for the Tour de France.
Cyrus was speaking quickly, excitedly, about a friend of his in Malta who was opening a restaurant housed in a fancy hotel.
Malta. “Nice…”
She didn’t catch all the details as he rattled on in heavily accented English. Enough to hear that this friend was looking for a hostess for his new restaurant. Someone young and beautiful. And, more importantly, someone who liked people, could put them at ease with her lovely smile.
Cyrus said that even though they’d talked earlier for only a few minutes, he had a feeling that she was the one. He had called his friend, who said that Malie sounded perfect.
“That’s so sweet.”
Something opened in her chest. A feeling of hope. Then the tremor came again and she remembered she was naked. Wrapped the coarse towel tight.
It was a chance to escape the Residence Kristinelund and the narrow confines of Norway, the cruel winter that made her feel sad and heavy. She imagined sunshine, new friends, money to spend, days at the beach.
“Do you know if they have a ballet school in Malta?” she asked. “It’s important to me.”
“They have everything there,” Cyrus answered. “Absolutely everything, you know. But I’ll find out.”
“I’d love to meet your friend.”
“He’s in the south of France now.”
“Oh…”
“He’s leaving tomorrow for New York.”
“I see…” More disappointment. Hope slipping away.
But Cyrus’s voice remained bright, with a funny accent that she would ask about at the right time. He said, “Maybe we can meet later and Skype.”
“What do you mean, Skype?”
“You don’t know what Skype is? I guess you don’t have a computer.”
“Not my own. No. Not yet.” Her parents were frugal. Things had to be earned.
“Skype is a computer program where you can see the person you’re talking to on the computer screen,” Cyrus offered. “Maybe we can arrange to do one with Michael tonight before he leaves for New York City.”
“Michael is the name of your friend?”
“Michael Mannus. He’s a great guy. Very successful. You’ll like him. Everybody does.”
“I like his name.”
“You know where the Café Con Bar is, yes?”
“Of course.” Café Con Bar was a café/hangout/restaurant/music club near the Spektrum, downtown. Ten minutes away by metro. Get off at Grønland.
“Why don’t we meet there at ten.”
“At the bar?”
“We can meet there, and I’ll take you after.”
“Where?”
“To the Internet place.”
“Yes. But I have to be back here at midnight.” Her employers were strict.
“No problem. We should be able to do this whole thing in an hour.”
“Good.”
“I’ll see you at Café Con Bar, then, at ten.”
“I’ll be there. Thank you.”
“Ha det.”
She dressed carefully. Tight Diesel jeans, a blue V-neck top that highlighted her blue eyes and showed a hint of cleavage, red heels that added two inches to her five-foot-eight height. She struggled with whether to let her hair hang or pull it back. Loose, she thought, made her look younger and sexier. Pulled back, she saw herself as older and more professional.
She chose to wear it down, with little mascara and lipstick. Very subtle. Butterflies spun in her stomach as she entered the metro.
The click-click-click of her heels across the Brugata sidewalk like the beating of her heart.
The club was big. Crowded dark rooms with long sofas. She ordered a White Russian and checked her watch. The numbers glowed 10:05. She stood by the door and looked out, wondering if Cyrus would show.
She felt men’s eyes measuring her. She was comfortable with her body. Nudity at the beach wasn’t a problem. She wasn’t embarrassed to admit that she liked sex, as long as it was with the right person. She even figured one day she’d marry and have children. Saw herself living in another country, maybe in California. But that was at least ten years away. Ten years to dance, explore the world, have fun, learn.
Malie felt a tap on her shoulder and turned abruptly into Cyrus’s big smile.
“Hey!”
Warm kisses on both cheeks.
He said quickly: “I was waiting inside. I have a table.”
“I didn’t know.”
She followed him. A checked pink shirt, unbuttoned over a brilliant white tee. Shredded black jeans. Tan boots, worn at the heel. A brown leather blazer with a stain on the sleeve. Dark hair slicked back. A funny hitch in his stride. A hint of lime cologne. She thought he looked older than she remembered. Like he’d been around.
He smiled a lot. Dark eyes. A dark complexion.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“My father is French. My mother, Lebanese.”
“How do you know Tulio?”
“I spent some time in Rome. We raced together.”
“Bicycles?”
“No, no. Motorbikes. Cross-country.”
“Oh.”
He looked down at his watch, then pulled a cell phone from his pocket and punched in a text.
“Is there a problem?”
“That was Michael. He’s ready. As soon as you finish your drink, we’ll go.”
“You found an Internet café already?”
“Yes. No hurry. It’s not far away. We can drive.”
She took a last sip of her White Russian and said, “Okay.”
He stood and pushed back his hair. “You look very beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She wanted to like him. He seemed confident, worldly, energetic, a little nervous, the way he kept touching his face, his hair, something in his front pocket.
“My car’s in back.”
“You have a car?”
“It’s a delivery van, actually. That I borrowed from a friend.”
Clumsy feet, always getting in the way. She carefully lifted them across the carpeted back room, down the stairs. Her back straight, her chin up, imagining she was already a hostess at a glamorous restaurant. A famous model.
The alley was dark. She had to step around a puddle.
“If you want to wait here, I’ll get the car.”
“That’s okay. I can walk.” She wanted to stay positive and friendly, so she could make the best impression on Michael.
The click-click-click of her heels again. He offered his arm and smiled. “I think you’ll like him.” His teeth were big and white. She caught him glancing down at her breasts, then quickly away.
The van was parked close to the side of a store. Gray with a white roof. Japanese make, Danish plates.
“I’ve been helping a friend move his business,” Cyrus remarked as he unlocked the passenger door. “Electronics. Flat-screens. Stereos. I can set you up with a good price.”
There was something dark on the passenger seat. A coat, maybe. A blanket. He bent in ahead of her to move it.
That’s when she felt rough hands grab her from behind.
“Hey!”
A hand with a cloth over her mouth. A strange smell that reminded her of a hospital. Strong arms lifted her off her feet. Then Cyrus spun and threw the dark blanket he had been holding in his hands.