How do I look?”
Rochat laid the scissors on the table.
“You look like the picture of Joan of Arc I remember from my schoolbook.”
“What?”
“You said you wanted me to cut your hair short, and I remembered a picture of Joan of Arc from a schoolbook because she had short hair.”
“Oh shit. Where’s the mirror?”
Rochat took the hand mirror from the shelf and gave it to Katherine.
“Hey, it’s really good. Where did you learn to cut hair?”
“I drew the hair on your head with the scissors. It was easy.”
“Easy? Trust me, women in LA would sell their firstborn for a haircut this good. You could be the next big thing in hairstyling.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Don’t worry. It’s a good thing.”
“It’s a good thing, merci.”
“Now, do you have any money you could loan me?”
Rochat dug through the cabinet under the bed and found a tin box. He gave it to her.
“Papa brought me this when I was little. It had chocolates inside but I ate them longtimes ago and keep money in it now.”
She stared at the picture on the lid: the Matterhorn reflected in an alpine lake.
“Zermatt. I was supposed to be in Zermatt next week.”
She opened the lid, saw tightly fitted piles of Swiss banknotes in fifties and hundreds.
“Yikes, how much is in here?”
“I don’t know.”
Katherine counted the notes out on the table. “Jesus, there’re a hundred thousand francs here. What the heck do they pay you to wave your lantern?”
“They don’t pay me anything.”
“So what’s this?”
“Monsieur Gübeli gives me some pocket money for allowances every month. I don’t spend much, so I just keep it in the tin because he told me to keep it in a safe place.”
“Remind me, which one’s Gübeli?”
“He brought me to Lausanne. He takes care of the bank my grand-maman and papa owned before they died. And he takes care of my building in Ouchy.”
“You have a building in Ouchy?”
“I have a building in Ouchy.”
“L’Hôtel de Léman. Half of it is apartments, and it has a little clock on top.”
“I know that place. It’s yours?”
“Grand-maman and Papa gave it to me before they died because I’m not part of the family fortune because Papa’s wife is a Bavarian countess and the children are spiteful.”
“What?”
“That’s what they said.”
“Were your grandmother and father, like, rich?”
“Grand-maman lived in a big castle in Vufflens.”
“You mean the castle with the butler and all the maids you told me about the other day, it was real, you weren’t imagining it?”
“I wasn’t imagining it.”
Katherine stared at him. “Man, you’re so full of surprises.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Yeah.”
“Merci.”
She fingered the cash. “So could I borrow four thousand francs?”
“You can borrow four thousand francs.”
She counted some bills, stuffed the rest back in the tin, closed the lid.
“Okay, got some paper and something to write with?”
Rochat tore a blank page from a sketchbook and gave her a drawing pencil. Katherine took the paper and started writing.
“I’m making a list of things for you to buy. You know where Globus is?”
“Around the corner from Café du Grütli, but…”
Rochat started rocking back and forth on his heels. Katherine touched his arm.
“Marc, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t read very well and I’m not good with numbers. I might make mistakes.”
“Don’t worry, just go to the section where they sell women’s clothes and give this list to one of the ladies behind the counter. She’ll get everything for you. I’m putting down sizes so it’ll be really easy, okay?”
“What kind of things am I buying?”
“Things I need to get out of town.”
“So you can go home?”
“Well, on my way at least.”
Katherine wrote quickly. Blue jeans, tops, lingerie, couple twinsets, makeup. Enough things to travel light for a week. She held the note out to Rochat, then she snapped it back.
“Hey, how do you think I’d look with black hair?”
Rochat imagined it. “Not like you anymore.”
“Perfect. Do you know where there’s a pharmacy?”
“On Place de la Palud, across from Café du Grütli.”
“Is everything in this town next to Café du Grütli?”
Rochat thought about it. “Sometimes.”
“Okay, then. I’m writing some things on the other side of the paper. I’m putting a big star at the top of the page so you’ll know the things on this side come from the pharmacy, okay?”
She handed him the list. “Here you go.”
Rochat took the list, turned, and headed out of the door.
“Here I go.”
She listened as he shuffled down the tower till it was quiet.
She sat on the bed with Monsieur Booty on her lap. The tin box with the cash in it sat on the table like a cookie jar waiting to be raided. Ninety-six thousand Swiss francs inside. Enough to hop a train to Italy or France and get lost and live in a style to which she was accustomed, for a few months at least. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like the way out. No passport checks at the borders, not for someone with a cute smile. Get a place and lie low, figure out the next step. She picked up Monsieur Booty, stared him in the eyes.
“What do you think, fuzzface, think it’d be okay if I take the money and run?”
Mew.
“C’mon, he’s loaded.”
Mew.
“You’re right. He’s been awfully nice. But I’ve still got to get out of this place.”
The timbers creaked and Marie-Madeleine shook the loge eleven times. The mother of all hookers, weighing in with her own advice.
GONG…go and sin no more. GONG…yadda, yadda, yadda.
“Okay, you win. I’ll be a good girl.”
Katherine scooted Monsieur Booty from her lap, folded the duvet, and tidied the loge. She swept the mound of long blond hair from the wood floor and dumped it in the trash can under the table. She picked up the hand mirror and saw her reflection in the glass. The cool bob of a haircut, the scar on her face, the look in her eyes. The look that made all the boys go weak at the knees. Wasn’t quite the same with a sliced-up face, but still workable in a tight spot, she thought. Could still turn a few tricks on the run to make ends meet. And she could start with her roomie in the belfry. Teach him a few things before his big date with the farmer’s daughter. Rock his world, say good-bye. Leave him thinking he’d imagined the whole thing. Face it, she thought, a hooker by another name is still a hooker. That way, it wouldn’t be stealing. Just a little business between friends. Besides, he’s fucking loaded, yeah?
She opened the tin.
Such a lovely pile of cash.
She reached for it as a soft knock met the door.
Taptaptaptap.
“No fucking way.”
Taptaptaptap.
Katherine slammed closed the lid. She walked to the door and pulled it open.
“Don’t tell me, Marc, you forget where Globus—”
“Hello, Miss Taylor.”
“Sorry I’m late.”
“How did you get up here?”
“I walked. Bloody long way up those steps.”
“The tower’s supposed to be closed to tourists.”
“That’s what the sign says on the cathedral doors. I went around to the side door and picked the lock.”
“You know how to pick locks?”
“Rather surprised myself on that score. Mind if I come in, I’m not that comfortable standing out here.”
“Don’t worry, no one looks up anymore.”
“Sorry?”
“Marc says no one looks up, no one’ll see you.”
“Marc?”
“He’s the guy with the lantern.”
“Right. I met him and his lantern last night on the esplanade.” Harper glanced back over his shoulder toward the sky. “Actually, three steps that way and it’s a fast way down to the esplanade.”
“Come again?”
“Heights, Miss Taylor, I’m not keen on heights.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No, actually.”
“Then you’d better come in before you hurt yourself, big guy.”
She turned from the door and Harper stepped into the loge, checking the odd angles of the skinny room.
“What a funny old place this is.”
Katherine sat at the table, suddenly aware of her appearance. The secondhand clothes, the slice on her cheek. She turned away, combed what was left of her hair with her hand, trying to hide the scar on her face. Harper watched her, gave it a moment.
“I like it.”
“What?”
“The haircut. Do-it-yourself job?”
“No, Marc did it.”
“Really? Where is he, anyway?”
“He’s gone to buy me some clothes.”
“Planning to make a run for it?”
“I’m in an awful jam, Harper.”
“So I gather.” Harper set a shopping bag on the table. “I brought you something to eat.”
“Great, I’m starving. I was giving up on you, you know.” She opened the bag: jambon cru and Emmental cheese baguettes. “Swiss fast food. Gee, aren’t you the big spender.”
“There’s also some antiseptic and stitching strips in the bag. You’re lucky, Miss Taylor.”
“On the run and hiding out in a cathedral looks like lucky to you?”
Harper pointed to the slice on her cheek. “I mean your face. The cut isn’t deep or ragged. We’ll clean it and put on the strips. They dissolve from normal washing in a few days. There’s some vitamin-E capsules in there, too. Squeeze one of them on the cut four times a day. Few weeks from now, you’ll hardly know there’s a scar.”
Humiliation burned in Katherine’s eyes. “Oh, I don’t know, Harper. I think it’s a hot new look for me. From perky Playboy centerfold to she-bitch dominatrix. I’ll wear black rubber, do the stiletto-heel number. I hear pain’s where the real money is. It was never my thing. I was always a give-the-boys-a-thrill sort of girl. I liked seeing the twinkle in their eyes when they went over the edge, you know? I’m lucky when you think about it. It’s not like you have to be pretty to give a man pain.”
“Miss Taylor—”
“No, I don’t have to be pretty at all, ugly is good. In fact, the uglier the better. I might have a few more scars done. I’m going to be the ugliest bitch on the fucking planet.”
“Miss Taylor…”
“What, you fucking son of a bitch!”
Pigeons bolted from the carpentry and into the sky. Harper sat on a stool.
“Miss Taylor, I’m not sure what the hell’s going on in this bloody town, but trust me, you’re not the only one neck-deep in shite. Now, I’m going to dress the wound, you’ll eat your Swiss fast food. Then I need you to tell me what the hell happened.”
Does Monsieur see anything that appeals to him?”
Rochat looked around the shop, saw statues wearing lace things, pictures of girls wearing lace things. The lace things looked very small.
“What do girls like?”
The lady patted the pile of clothes on the counter.
“Well, monsieur, judging by the blue jeans and tops selected from your list, I’d say madame enjoys projecting a casual image while showing off a nice figure. The choice of lingerie says she is a woman of elegant, if somewhat naughty, taste.”
Rochat had no idea what any of that meant. “Oh.”
“If I may ask, has monsieur purchased lingerie for a lady before?”
He shook his head vigorously. The lady smiled and arranged a set of black lace undergarments on the counter.
“Then allow me to be of assistance. Why doesn’t monsieur imagine madame wearing these.”
Rochat looked at the things. He imagined the angel on that first night, dropping her robe to the floor of the loge and him seeing her naked body. He snapped quickly back to the lady behind the counter.
“Could you choose?”
“Of course, monsieur. Would you like the items giftwrapped?”
“I’d like the items gift-wrapped.”
Rochat shuffled quickly to the windows overlooking Rue Centrale. He didn’t dare look back and see what the lady was choosing. He kept his eyes busy with cars and people and the policewoman in her gray uniform standing in the middle of the intersection, blowing her whistle and directing all the cars and people. Everyone obeyed.
Sunlight poured down the steep cobblestone lane from Place Saint-François. Skinny elongated shadows followed people walking up the lane and stretched ahead of people walking down the lane. He watched the shadows cross over one another and through one another and disappear when people stepped from the sun, only to pop out in another place and attach themselves to someone else.
“Monsieur?”
Rochat turned to the lady. She had two big shopping bags in one hand and money in the other.
“I was watching teasing shadows.”
“Pardon?”
“Down in the street. The shadows. They’re the teasing kind.”
The lady smiled politely. “Of course. Here are your purchases and change, monsieur.”
“Merci, madame. I’m going to follow the teasing shadows up the hill to the chemist shop to buy more things for the angel.”
“Who?”
“The angel, that’s who the clothes are for. Merci, madame.”
“Bonne…journée, monsieur.”
Rochat shuffled to the escalator machine and stepped on carefully. Just before he sank through the floor he looked to the windows and saw the saleslady standing at the window, staring outside. He jumped from the escalator just before the steel teeth caught the tips of his boots and pulled him under the floor. He shuffled out of the door and into the bright winter sun washing up the hill. A shadow jumped out from nowhere, took his shape and matched his crooked pace, step by step.
“Going my way? Well, you must keep up. I’m very busy today.”
The shadow looked funny with shopping bags at the ends. Rochat swung his arms back and forth making them long and short and long again. He imagined he was a strongman at a circus lifting heavy bags of iron. He watched the shadows of other people coming from behind him and growing bigger, till he saw the feet where the shadows and people were sewn together. The people and their shadows all walking faster than him, their shadows laughing—“Nahnahnah”—as they passed.
“Don’t be rude. I’m carrying these big bags. If you had any manners you’d offer to help. But no, too busy being the teasing kind of shadows.”
A tall skinny shadow moved up on his right and slowed to the pace of his shuffling steps. And on his left, a short and thick shadow did the same. Rochat slowed, the shadows slowed. He looked back over his shoulder—no people were attached to the two shadows. He looked back at his boots. The two shadows were gone. Just his own crooked shadow standing alone, holding the shopping bags.
“I’m very sure it was only an imagination, Rochat. Mustn’t become distracted from your duties.”
He continued to shuffle up the hill. The two strange shadows caught up to him again, following at an even pace. Rochat stopped, they stopped. He moved, they moved. He turned slowly, no one was there again. He jumped to the shaded doorway of a patisserie. The shadows disappeared.
“You didn’t imagine them, Rochat. And they didn’t feel like teasing kind of shadows.”
He waited a moment before stepping back into the sun. A teasing shadow took his shape and led him up the hill. He kept his eyes on the ground all the way to the fountain at Place de la Palud, making sure all the passing shadows had people sewn to their feet. Suddenly, the two strange shadows appeared at his sides again. One tall and skinny, the other short with a little beard on his chin.
“I know who you are. You can’t fool me. Go away.”
He swung the shopping bags at the cobblestones. The shadows jumped back, only to creep closer again.
“No, go away!”
All the shadows across the square stopped and all the people attached to them stopped. Everyone and their shadows looking at him.
“I’m very sorry, mesdames et messieurs! The bad shadows are chasing me!”
The shadows circled around him till they were nothing but a blackish blur spinning over the cobblestones.
“Stop it! Leave us alone!”
He stomped his crooked foot on the ground trying to squash the shadows.
“She’s going home so you just go away!”
He spun around till he lost his balance and fell to the ground. He hit the shadows with his fists but they dodged his blows. The shadows stretched into distorted shapes and slithered down the hill.
Rochat hobbled to his feet, collected his bags. He searched through all the shadows on the ground. They were all attached to the feet of Lausannois. Rochat gave a slight bow.
“It’s only teasing shadows now, mesdames et messieurs. All is well.” The crowd parted, giving him plenty of room to pass. Rochat heard their whispering voices as he shuffled into the chemist’s shop to buy more things for the angel so she could go home.