The Swedish Sex Bomb (LSD, #7)

10. Two Tribes

Two Tribes

"Hello, dArling. I'm SO excited to have you. I make you gOrgeous."

Maj Wahlöö is irritated. She doesn't like waiting in line. That's why she made an appointment with her hairdresser at exactly 14:00. She doesn't like surprises either. I'm a surprise.

"Who are you?"

"I'm a surprise. Isn't that exCIting?"

"Where's Liza?"

Liza Marklund, of Liza's Likable Lifestyle, is having a nap. We offered her a nice sum to take over her shop and her only client for the afternoon, but it didn't work. Liza isn't that kind of woman. She is loyal to her clients. They trust her. She's an artist. She's not for sale. We had no other choice but to break a small capsule of Tumble Tornado under her nose and put her in the solarium (without turning the toaster on, of course; those things are dangerous if you stay under the grill too long).

"Liza had an emERgency, with the dEntist. She called ME. I'm Gigi. All the way from Milano, dArling. I know ALL the secrets to make you beAUtiful. I'm SO excited to have you. I have grEAt ideas. And we have one more surprise: TadAAAH...

Frieda enters from behind the curtain. She's black, with a wig of long black curls that jump around like rabbits in a box, a broad, round nose, and a spectacular red set of artificial lips.

"It's Mari, dArling. Mari Jungstead. She did the styling for HILLary during her eLECtion campaign. She makes you gOrgeous."

Maj is hardly impressed: "Hillary lost."

"That's because I, Gigi, did the hair of DOnald, dArling. But now, you have us bOth, togEther. You jUst cAn't lOse. We make you gOrgeous."

"I don't want to be gorgeous. I want Liza, my Spanish Harlem Mona Liza."

"Don't worry. Liza will be back soon. You take your seat and relax.", Mari/Frieda smiles. She opens the curtain and shows Maj the way to the chair, the electric chair, which we prepared for her, with creativity, fantasy, and surprises.

Maj isn't quite convinced she wants this, but nevertheless, she takes her seat, leans back, closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, deep enough to inhale the capsule of Tumble Tornado I break under her nose.

* * *

OC-V 340 a.k.a. Tumble Tornado is harmless. When you wake up, you feel depressed, you have a sore throat, and often a slight headache, a few hours of light and temporal inconveniences. But the waking up itself is much slower than opening your eyes in the morning when your alarm clock goes off. It takes about five minutes for the sleeping beauty to realise where she is and what has happened. During that time, her thinking goes rather slow. It's not like waking up from a nightmare; the sleep that Tumble Tornado causes is dreamless. It's more like waking up INTO a nightmare, sitting in a barber's chair, your hands and feet well duct-taped, looking into a mirror that covers the entire wall in front of you, and not believing that the person you're looking at is you.

The alarm clock is me, saying: "Ladies and gentlemen, let me present you: Mrs Maj Wahlöö, possibly the most gOrgeous thing on this side of the world... Look, dArling. It's YOU! Don't you lOve it? Don't you lOve it, Mari?"

Frieda nods: "I love it, Gigi. She wins the elections. I call her President from now on."

I agree: "The hEAd of the nAtion. Isn't it exCIting?"

The head of the nation itself looks puzzled. Every time she looked in a mirror, she used to see the same face: a healthy, round face with a smooth white skin, thick gold-blond hair at the right length (too long makes her look frivolous, and too short makes her look old), a pair of bright blue eyes, and a carefully Botoxed mouth, the Socialist Party leader's favourite tool.