How To Hide A Body

White Lies Lead to Bigger Lies

The speakers rattled and cracked, while the voice of the director echoed down the marble passages of the museum, telling them that the Regents Diamond exhibition had to be evacuated. This was followed by hushed suspicions, while people made their assumptions why they had to do so. I walked around, hearing utter nonsense, like "terrorist attack", "the Indians trying to get their diamond back". My favourite was when an English man muttered "bloody French", then exited the museum.

Then the director's voice echoed again, asking all cleaning staff to come to the Regents Diamond Exhibition. Tourists looked at me curiously when I said, "that would be me," then proceeded to ask me what had happened. They all immediately demanded what was going on, and all I could manage was a smile and, "Je ne parle as Anglais, pardon!" 

When I finally reached the closed-off exhibition, the director was busy explaining that we had to order the bulletproof glass, seeing's the glass case of the Regents Diamond had shattered.

I raised my hand and said,"I will order it."

Everyone turned to face me, eyeing me curiously, some were asking the person next to them questions like; when I had been employed, who I was if I was trustworthy (which I am most probably not). An elderly lady wearing a bonnet asked if I were a German spy. I made eye contact with the director, in his eyes I read pure fear. I smiled secretly.

"I know an excellent supplier. I will ring him up later," I said, when everyone turned to the director - who was still looking at me- I winked.

He shivered a bit, then told me to go ahead. He then concluded the meeting.As everyone went their separate ways, I watched the director look me in the eye, then run off. I smiled. I liked it when I scared people.

***

I rested my high heels on the hotel room desk, where tons of paperwork was waiting to be read. I picked up one, immediately lost interest, and watched it fall to the floor after I had dropped it. Bart came in, wearing khaki shorts and a white button-up t-shirt, his foot accidentally stepping on that first sheet of paper, leaving a dirty mark. 

"You did well," I said, as I started to paint my nails in a gorgeous shade of purple.

'Thank you, Sol," he smiled, ruffling his hair.

"Where did you go?" I asked. 

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"The Louvre is spotless, why are your shoes dirty?'

"Umm... well, I had to take a detour so that I was not a suspect, so I went through the park and-"

"What's her name?" I interrupted, looking up at his surprised expression.

"I'm sorry, what-" 

"Her perfume still lingers on that shirt; it's not mine. Also, that small piece of paper in your hand has a number squiggled on it. You still have it, if it were a beggar or someone you aren't interested in you would have long disposed of it. So, someone special wearing," I sniffed, "Chanel No 5? Posh, rich... someone who would catch your eye," I winked at him.

"Chiara. Her name's Chiara," he said, blushing slightly. 

"Nice. But she's married. Only married women wear Chanel No. 5, or shop at, "I snatched the paper he still was clutching in his hand, "Envie De Fraise. That's a maternity store you know? So, she's pregnant too. Sorry to burst your bubble." 

He looked at the number, then threw it in the small hotel bin in the left corner. 

"Any idea when the sugar glass is arriving?" I asked, watching him walk to the bathroom to wash his face. I wondered why; it was perfectly clean. Maybe to remind himself that this was the reality, and in reality, no one is who they seem to be. Appearance versus reality was a constant battle.