The other girl took a step forward and Max placed one hand on the doorpost, blocking her way.
‘Hang on a minute,’ he said. ‘You’re not Tora, are you?’ The girl shook her head. ‘No. So what exactly do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m coming with her.’
‘I’m sorry, but this is a matter of contract negotiations. It’s a discussion between two parties. No outsiders. That’s how it works.’
His authoritative tone made an impression. The girl looked at Tora, seeking support, and Tora said, ‘Teresa is coming with me.’
Max decided to risk everything on one throw of the dice. Without more ado he said, ‘Sorry, in that case we have nothing to discuss,’ and closed the door. Then he stood just inside the room, his heart pounding. The doors were heavily soundproofed, and he couldn’t hear what the girls were saying. He was not going to put his ear to the door. He tucked his thumbs inside his fists and squeezed hard.
After perhaps thirty seconds there was another knock at the door. Max let out a long breath, waited for ten rapid heartbeats, then opened the door with an irritated, ‘Yes?’
Tora was standing there this time. The other girl was sitting on the floor opposite the door. ‘Teresa will wait,’ said Tora, stepping into the room as the other girl glared at Max, who took out his wallet and held out a fifty-kronor note.
‘Here. Go and sit in reception and get yourself a soft drink or something. Sorry, but that’s the way it works in this industry.’ The other girl took the note, but made no move to get up. Max closed the thick, heavy door as if he were sealing a bank vault. First stage completed.
Tora stood in the middle of the room, arms at her sides. She looked at the camera, but as Max was about to launch into his carefully prepared spiel, she had already turned her gaze to the champagne bucket. Max took this as an encouraging sign and said, ‘Let’s have a drop of bubbly, shall we? To celebrate.’
Tora watched as he filled two glasses. As he passed her a glass it almost slipped out of his sweaty hand, which had started to tremble on top of everything else. Tora’s calm silence was confusing him. He had seen every possible variation: hysterical gabbling, rock-hard attitude (assumed or genuine), hesitant seductiveness or something close to panic. Everything but this. A visiting princess who knows that all this is mine, and barely tolerates the presence of others. It left him nonplussed, almost scared and really, really excited.
He clinked his glass against Tora’s and took a large gulp. When she didn’t move he said, ‘Try it. It’s absolutely delicious. Excellent label.’
Tora sipped the sparkling wine and said, ‘No. It isn’t delicious. It tastes bad.’
Something snapped inside Max Hansen and he slumped down into an armchair where he rested his cheek on his hand and simply looked at her. Then he clicked a button to start the camera. If nothing else came of this he would at least have a short film of her. Tora was standing in the middle of the floor with the glass in her hand, gazing at the window.
‘Sing something,’ said Max Hansen.
‘What shall I sing?’
‘Whatever you like. Sing “A Thousand and One Nights”.’
Without hesitation Tora began to sing, and after just a few seconds it was as if a clear, cool stream was flowing through Max Hansen. Her voice washed away his anxiety, and he felt pure inside.
‘There is no one in this world like you…’
When the song was over Max Hansen sat there with his mouth hanging open and realised that he had probably been crying; his eyes felt as if he had. The girl standing in front of him was immensely talented, there was no doubt about it. It wasn’t just that she sang perfectly, there was something about the timbre of her voice that penetrated straight through the breastbone and squeezed, squeezed.
If only he could have been satisfied with that. He wanted to be satisfied with that. He was already exhausted, sated as if he’d had terrific sex. He should have simply rolled over and lit a cigar to celebrate. Not risked this.
But the little red devil that lived in his chest woke up and started swishing his tail around Max’s nether regions, tickling where he could feel it the most. Max Hansen put his strategies to one side; after Tora’s song he just couldn’t do it anymore.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘With a bit of practice I think you could be really good. I’d like to work with you.’
‘Am I going to make a CD?’
‘Yes. You’re going to make a CD. I’ll make sure of it. I’m going to make you a star. A big star. There’s just one thing.’
Max Hansen knocked back the remains of the wine in his glass in order to combat the desert-dryness in his mouth. He didn’t want to say it. He wasn’t going to say it. He had his best chance for a very long time here, and he mustn’t mess it up. But then the devil’s forked tongue shot out and said the words for him.
‘I need to know what you look like with no clothes on.’
There, it was said. The cards were on the table, and Max Hansen’s body tensed as if expecting a blow. The expression, the howl from Tora that would crush all his hopes.
It happened so fast he almost didn’t realise what was going on. Tora put her glass down on the bedside table, shrugged off her jacket, pulled off her T-shirt, stepped out of her trousers and knickers and stood there naked, two metres away from him. Max Hansen blinked. And blinked again. He didn’t understand. He went over what had happened in the last few minutes, how it had come about that he was sitting here in an armchair with the girl he desired standing naked in front of him. The dialogue. What he had said. What she had said. He could see the pattern.
She does whatever you tell her to do.
It was that simple. Max Hansen’s eyes drank in the smooth, slender body in front of him and if he had believed in God, if his prayers being answered had been a possibility, then the moment had come.
She does whatever you tell her to do.
A dizziness came over him. The possibilities. Go there, Tora. Sing here, Tora. Come here, Tora. Lie down here, Tora. Feverishly he tore off his shirt and vest, struggled out of his trousers and underpants and stood up, his arms spread wide. Tora looked at his erection. It wasn’t too impressive, he knew that. Twelve centimetres, and even then you had to press the ruler right down to the root.
But that didn’t matter now. Everything had become so simple when Tora just removed her clothes. They were like two children, innocents before each other’s bodies.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ whispered Max, falling to his knees.
The carpet rubbed against his kneecaps as he crawled towards Tora to bury his face in the blonde bush between her legs. When he was almost there she backed away half a step, bumping into the bed frame. She said, ‘No.’
‘Yes,’ said Max Hansen. ‘Come here, it’s nice, I promise. Just a little…’
‘No,’ said Tora. ‘Don’t touch.’
Max Hansen grinned. Don’t touch. This really was like a game. He couldn’t remember when he had last felt so uncomplicatedly happy. Two naked bodies. Don’t touch. Come on, a little bit, just a little bit. He shuffled forward and grabbed hold of her buttocks, buried his nose in her pussy and stuck out his tongue, sliding over the warm flesh inside.
He heard a crack, and a second later felt as if someone had slapped him across the back. His tongue was just slithering out again when a cramp shot through the muscles in his back, and he felt another blow. And another. He twisted his head around awkwardly, but couldn’t see anything.
Strange, really, because it felt as if someone was standing there pouring warm water over his back. He looked up at Tora and saw that she was holding something in her right hand, although he couldn’t work out what it was. In her left hand she was holding her champagne flute, which seemed to be missing its base.