The doorbell rang twice and then, after a short pause, once again. I went to answer. It was Bobby Bjornson, and she was standing there more beautiful than ever. Well, at least she was more beautiful than the previous time I saw her since it was the only time. She wore a black, tight-fitting skirt that accentuated her perfect hips and a cherry-colored blouse with lace on the neckline and cuffs. She also had a black, see-through tulle jacket draped over her shoulders.

“Come on in!” I made room for her.

I had invited her to my place because, when she called, it was early evening and I didn’t want to go back to the office. Besides, my house was considerably more spacious, and we didn’t need to rub our hips here.

The environmentalist smiled faintly at me. She stepped inside, and although there was enough space now, she passed very close to me, almost brushing my chest with her left shoulder. At first, I wondered whether it was supposed to mean something, but then I decided it was accidental. Male thinking is somewhat perverted in such situations, and men easily imagine things, so I figured she just wanted to show off her perfume or something. It was lovely and delicate, by the way.

We slowly went to my living room, and I waved a hand to invite her to sit. She chose the cushioned armchair, so the sofa remained for me. Then I asked if she would like something to drink.

“A glass of white wine, please,” she replied, “if it’s okay.”

I said, “Sure,” and turned around to go to the kitchen and open a fresh bottle. Luckily, I keep a much wider variety of liquor at my place than in the office, so I was prepared for the occasion. I poured a glass of wine, mixed some vodka and tonic for myself, and then carried everything back into the living room.

“So what do you have there? Let me see!” I asked Bobby, handing her the drink and nodding toward the leather bag she had brought. She reached out to grab the glass stem but did it too nervously, and her fingers accidentally touched mine.

“Thank you,” my guest replied, and we clinked glasses. Afterward, she explained, “This is an excellent camera with a set of supplementary gadgets. They all have different levels of sensitivity to light, and you can snap anything with them, but you should be aware the thing is not digital. It’s an analog camera with a celluloid film inside.”

The environmentalist slowly started taking things out of the bag. Most of them were zoom lenses, none of which I knew how to handle appropriately. They were too many, and seemed too chunky for a delicate operation, like snapping mafia bosses at a secret meeting.

“And why is that?” I decided to ask because it seemed strange. “Why do I specifically need an analog device?”

She stopped laying things out on my coffee table for a second and took a long sip of her wine. Her body language expressed uneasiness, but I didn’t know why. There was no apparent reason for that except for the usual disorder at my place, but I was sure it wasn’t that.

“So it’s harder to fake the pictures. In fact, it’d be nearly impossible,” she explained briefly.

“But why would I even do that?” I insisted. “Why would I want to fake them?”

“Well, you wouldn’t, but someone else might think you have. Analog pictures are more reliable as evidence in court because their authenticity cannot be compromised. An expert could easily confirm or deny interference, you know.”

I thought about it, and it made sense. Nevertheless, I was still not convinced the woman was entirely honest with me. There was something wrong, and she kept holding things back.

Bobby played with one of the zoom lenses for a little while, and then she agitatedly put everything aside.

“I guess you’ll be much better with these things than I am.” She shrugged. “I’ve never known anything about photography.”

“But if you’re not into photography, how did you choose the right camera for me?” I asked, surprised.

“I was helped,” my visitor pursed her lips, looking around the room as if curious about my place. I knew she just wanted to change the subject, however. “So you live alone here?”

“Yep, I live here all alone.”

And there’s no Mrs. or… Miss Mellrow?”

“Well, I don’t have a partner at the moment, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said. “The things I do for a living are not exactly girlfriend-friendly, if you know what I mean!”

I deliberately kept my eyes on Bobby’s for a few moments, but soon, she evaded my look, pursing her lips as if afraid she might say something wrong. I was becoming increasingly suspicious about the actual reason for her visit here, but unfortunately, I had no distinctive idea what it might be.

“And you?” I asked her after a while.

“What about me?”

“Is there a Mr. Bjornson around?”

“Oh, no. Like you, I’m too busy with my work. I guess my job is not boyfriend-friendly, then.” She chuckled nervously.

I smiled, partly because I wanted to make her feel comfortable but also because I didn’t know what to say. She tried to smile, too, and her expression came out as one of those weird looks she demonstrated for me in my office: something between surprise, wonder, and sulking. Despite that, she still looked quite cute, and her uneasiness was part of her charm. She quickly took another sip from her glass and gestured in the air.

“Oh, boy! Is it hot in here, or is it just the wine?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s cold. Feel free to remove as much of your clothing as you want.” I grinned rather stupidly and immediately felt sorry because it suddenly made me look lewd. Sometimes, I do make inappropriate jokes like that. It usually happens when I feel awkward, and it brings me so much trouble with women—painting the wrong picture of me.

She took off her tulle jacket, but that was as far as she went for the moment.

“So, how did you get involved with the Green Guards?” I decided to ask her, impatient to hear her story. I suspected she would lie to me again.

“Oh, it’s too long to tell!” Bobby shrugged, almost theatrically. By the way, she was a terrible actor, and by just watching her gestures, one could easily know if she was telling the truth. “Basically, it boils down to chance. I have a master’s degree in pharmacy, and they had an open position, so I applied. I thought it would be more of an academic job, but I was wrong. Instead, I was supposed to help them tranquilize animals in various situations. I was young back then. Now, I’m not so sure if I would have accepted.”

“Wow! You’re an animal hitman!” I tried to crack another stupid joke, and I did. “Maybe I should be careful while playing with you then!”

She attempted to laugh but stopped right in the middle, and because of her nervousness, it looked like a quiet sneeze.

“Well, no! I’m not the person operating the weapon. It’s more of a dose-handling and post-sedative procedures, in fact. And what about your story? How did you get into investigating?”

“Unlike you, I actually love my job,” I explained. “I was in the police academy once but quit. I guess being a cop with all the paperwork and doing grid searches in the fields wasn’t for me. Instead, I preferred to search for whatever I wanted, whenever and however I wanted, but unfortunately, I soon realized nobody would want to pay to make me happy. Until then, though, it was too late—I had already printed my advertising materials, so there was no turning back.”

She laughed again, this time almost successfully. I was delighted to see it because she had a really charming smile when she was sincere.

“By the way, how did you know about me?” I abruptly changed the subject without warning her. I still hadn’t given up on getting her to tell me the truth, and I wanted to try one more time.

“What do you mean?” Bobby pretended she didn’t understand.

“I’ve never worked with Green Guards before, and I’m not even sure I had heard of them before I met you. How did they know about me?”

Miss Bjornson’s face darkened a bit, and she remained silent for a few seconds. It was quite a curious transformation. Her smile just dissolved into something that resembled the expression women usually have when trying to talk with a beauty mask on their faces.

“You were recommended to us by a client we work with,” she answered as she drank again to buy time. Then she realized I was going to ask who the client was and quickly added, “It’s someone close to our boss; I don’t know him, actually.”

“It’s quite strange that your superiors would send you here without any background,” I noted thoughtfully. “They should have provided you with a resume of my previous work, at least. How were you supposed to convince me to accept the job if you knew nothing about me?”

“Well, I convinced you, didn’t I?” She gave me her next weird smile. “It’s always easy when the pay is good!”

“Yeah, right,” I replied, still puzzled. I dug in my memory but couldn’t imagine anyone on the list of people I had worked with who would recommend my service to her organization. Then I thought, angry, “Why are you even considering this? There’s obviously no organization; she’s just lying!”

For the next minute, none of us said anything, and as the awkwardness in the room quickly rose, Bobby started playing with her hair. I remained silent, too, waiting to see where the situation would lead us. Eventually, she moved on to rearrange the zoom lenses on the table.

“Would you like another drink?” I asked after a while because I noticed her glass was almost empty. I also realized if the tension between us continued, she would probably want to leave, and I wasn’t sure I wanted her to do this yet.

“Yes, please!” Bobby eagerly grabbed the opportunity to stay a little longer.

I slowly rose, taking the glass from her hand, and intentionally touched her fingers to see her reaction. She didn’t recoil. She remained still for a moment, looking at me, and I thought there was a pretty good chance that she wanted something more to happen—I could see it in her eyes. Then, I turned around and left the room.

Outside in the kitchen, I took a sip straight from the bottle of vodka before refilling my glass, after which I refreshed Bobby’s with wine. I took the drinks in my hands and looked through the window, thinking. I couldn’t imagine a single reason why my client would want to sleep with me. Maybe she was trying to push me toward doing something she thought I would resist, but I had no idea what that might be because she had already hired me for the job, and I agreed. She had also paid me a significant amount of money, so it couldn’t be an attempt to lower the price, too. On the other hand, she was a beautiful woman, and I was sure she could have every man on this planet, which ruled out the possibility she just craved sex.

I was still thoughtfully looking through the window when I suddenly smelled Bobby’s perfume and turned around, surprised. She stood in the doorway, watching me silently. Curiously enough, she had the second button of her blouse undone now—back in the living room, it was only the uppermost.

“I wanted to see your kitchen,” she excused herself, smiling uneasily. Her cheeks looked flushed, probably because of the wine.

“Well, this is it!” I spread my hands, still holding the glasses. “This is where the magic of Murphy’s cooking art happens. The place has a splendid view of another apartment building across the street, and I can watch other people cook while I’m having a drink and cooking myself.”

She looked out the window.

It was all true, by the way. I could see right into my neighbors’ places from my kitchen, just as they could see into mine. It’s one of the typical features of the old Greenland neighborhoods—streets are pretty narrow. In the heart of the island, the settlements are much more spacious—like in America—but here, within the area of the former Danish colonization, it’s different. To be honest, I have never actually felt the need to poke my nose into other people’s lives, and I rarely cook or stay in the kitchen unless some neighbor decides to throw me a peep show. People get hot in kitchens sometimes, you know.

I reached out to hand Bobby her glass, and after taking it, she turned toward the fridge to examine the magnets from various places I had stuck on the front and sides. I’ve always considered this a stupid habit, but every time I travel, I usually buy one, and I travel pretty regularly.

I moved closer to my weird night visitor and prepared to play tour guide for her. She smelled really nice. I couldn’t tell what her perfume was, but it was enchanting and made me want to grab her in my arms. I had actually just opened my mouth to start explaining about the Honolulu magnet, which, in fact, I bought in Dundas on the north shore of Greenland, when Bobby unexpectedly turned around, and our heads almost bumped. For a moment or two, we stayed like this, breathing just a few centimeters from each other and looking into each other’s eyes. Then her mouth slightly opened, and I decided it was too much. I felt I had to kiss her because there wasn’t a single thing telling me not to do so. A second later, I went for it. I kissed her, and she eagerly kissed me back. Then I kissed her again, and her left hand came alive, wandering along my back, which was definitely a sign. The agreement between us was obviously sealed now.

To be honest, despite my confidence regarding the situation, I expected none of the warm welcomes I was given afterward. Soon after the kissing, Bobby wildly jumped on me, pretty much like a prisoner sentenced to death would jump on a stripper coming to his last birthday party. I barely managed to take the glass from her hand and put it on the kitchen counter, where it tumbled.

A few minutes later, things spiraled almost out of control and got mildly rough at some point. I had Bobby’s back pinned against the fridge door, with her hands embracing my neck and mine on her butt. Her legs were clenched around my waist, and she was practically hanging in my arms. I didn’t like it very much the way it was, and I wanted to take her into the bedroom, but since it all happened so spontaneously and she looked so hot, I was afraid to change anything.

I wouldn’t actually say that this pose was very arousing. Maybe it was at first, but they mostly exaggerate it in the movies. It’s rather distracting and takes considerable acrobatic skills, spoiling spontaneity. Luckily, Bobby was a slim woman, and I could support her in this position long enough, but my poor refrigerator had a really rough time. Again, unlike America, Greenland fridges are relatively small, and the thing banged against the wall so severely that I feared it would eventually interrupt our moment. Anyway, since I couldn’t stop in the middle of the act and start inspecting it, I just had to ignore it. Fortunately, my lover turned out to be relatively quick.

Incidentally, a very curious thing happened before we were over—my damn cell phone started vibrating and chirruping on the kitchen counter beside us at the most critical moment. I tried to ignore it, too, but being so hot, Bobby suddenly reached out to grab the device, and then her hand froze for a moment, holding it between us. Her gesture surprised me so much that I thought she wanted to put the thing to my ear so I could talk. Instead of it, she simply hurled it behind my back, though. I didn’t think she even noticed what she did—it seemed entirely spontaneous.

In my mind, I silently cursed the situation and reluctantly accepted the loss. It wasn’t that big of a deal, actually, but I had just reactivated my account and needed the device for my work the next day. Since I couldn’t turn my head to see where it crashed, I simply went on doing what I was doing and thought that Murphy and cell phones obviously weren’t meant for each other in this world. My only hope was that I didn’t hear any breaking noise.

And just then, another curious thing happened. I was already well advanced in my acrobatics when I noticed Bobby glancing nervously at the kitchen window a few times. I figured she was worried someone might see us because the light in the room was on, but when I made to draw the curtain with my left hand, she grabbed my arm to stop me. Then she quickly pulled her blouse up, exposing one of her breasts, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on the window. About a minute later, Bobby gave out a couple of quick, constrained moans, and shortly after that, I felt the first contraction.

©2016 S.T. Fargo
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(www.stfargo.com)