How To Hide A Body

Some Sushi And Light-Hearted Blackmail

Bart left his mouth agape as I walked with Cléo out onto the balcony. She had a small metal table with a glass top placed here, where she would sit each morning reading French poetry basking in the morning dawn and sipping exotic coffee. She sat me down on a metal chair with a velvet cushion and pulled the opposite chair closer to mine. The sun was starting to set, and it cast an ephemeral white light over her pale complexion, bringing out her soft freckles like expensive pearls on a woman's neck. On the table was a small potted Dahlia which was such a splash of orange colour in a world of creams, pearls, peach and golds. 

She caught me looking at it, "Ah, that beauty over there is from the French prime minister." 

I creased my brow. 

"Heard of him?" she asked. 

"I had the honour of babysitting his kids a while ago" I said. 

I started at the beginning. I trusted very few people, but Cléo was quite high on the concise list. I talked way into the twilight. Somewhere throughout my anecdote, Serge, a tiny chef with a hat bigger than his whole body, came in and placed a teapot and two delicate mugs on the table, with two croissants accompanied by strawberries and whipped cream. While I spoke, Cléo poured some rose tea carefully into the cup. The steam rose elegantly as she listened intently. Once the sky had been painted with hues of orange and pink, she called Eulalie to fetch a candle and a dressing gown for me. It was as beautiful as hers; black with pink floral designs and lace lining the sleeves. My tea had become cold by the time I had finished. 

"Darling, you've had quite a rough few days," she said. She brushed a streak of hair behind my ear. I shivered at her touch. She misinterpreted that I was getting cold and asked if I would like to go inside. 

When we reentered the lobby, Bart had vanished. We found him later in the kitchen; Serge had felt sorry for him and had asked him to help him with preparing dinner. The kitchen smelt of comfort; brass and copper hung on the marble walls alongside an array of potted herbs like basil and parsley. He was popping raisins into his mouth and seemed happy with the distraction. And food that wasn't couscous. When we both entered the kitchen, he stopped cutting, let out an exasperated sigh and held up his hands in surrender. 

"I'm sorry, your majesty, but the lobby was getting cold and-" Bart explained. 

Cléo waved her hand, which silenced Bart immediately. He rolled his eyes and ate another raisin. 

"What's for dinner?" she asked. 

"Well, mademoiselle Cléophée, we are making sushi. Then, cherry sorbet for dessert- mademoiselle's favourite."

Cléo licked her rouge lips, then grabbed my hand and floated to the lounge. It had the same rose-gold look the rest of the house had. She collapsed on the couch and asked me to join her. 

"I've gone on non-stop about myself. How have you been?" I asked. 

"Ah, très bien! I have been travelling, mostly. I travelled to Bora Bora. Ever been?" she inquired.

"Yes, I went- I think- three years ago? Magnificent! What did you do there?" 

"Community service," she beamed. 

I smiled. That was the substantial contradicting factor between the two of us. She was all things chaste, delicate, pure. I was all things pitch, nefarious, destructive. Might have been what drove us apart in the first place. 

"You're too perfect for this universe. You're everlasting in a world of ephemerality," I said, glancing at the high ceiling, which had beautiful designs engraved into the plaster. 

"Poetry," she whispered, her dimples winked at me. 

I turned to look at her. She was busy looking out the large windows which gave a beautiful view of the Seine and Paris, which was starting to become dappled with tungsten lights. The luminescence began to reflect in her eyes and in that instant I couldn't believe she was human. She turned her head rapidly and looked at me. 

"I caught you," she said, giggling. 

"Huh?" I asked, still in a daze. 

"Staring," her smallest finger flicked my chin. 

Then there was absolute silence. Until Bart came bursting through the doors, holding two trays laden with two bowls, singing the French national anthem. 

"Dinner is served. I don't care if I have interrupted something because I don't like you, Cléo," he announced as he placed the trays on the small coffee table, "Drinks will follow shortly if your highness would be patient enough to-" 

"Bart," I warned. 

"Yah?" he asked. 

I raised my eyebrows and cocked my head to the door. 

"Aha, I'll leave soon enough, but, quick question, how long are you planning on staying here?"

"Eternity?" Cléo suggested. 

"I would love that, but we have unfinished business," Bart answered. 

I looked apologetically at her, "I'm sorry. That reminds me, could I check my e-mails, please?" 

"Sure," she muttered, as she reached for her tray, "Eulalie! S'il te plaît, fetch mademoiselle my laptop!" 

She ran in, balancing another pot of tea in one hand and Cléo's laptop. Cléo took it from her, entered a twelve-digit passcode and signed out of Mail. She then handed it to me and picked up her chopsticks. Once logged in, I found that I had seven hundred unread e-mails. 200 hundred were spam, the rest were all from Steve McQueen. 

Cléo peered over my shoulder, "Who is sending you so many e-mails! Your partner?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, tinted with curiosity. 

I scoffed, "That would be so much less stressful. No, this is the devil himself, Steve Mcqueen." 

"He's desperate, ain't he," she said, dipping a sushi roll in soy-sauce then gently putting it in her mouth. 

"You have no idea." 

I opened the most recent e-mail. 

Bonjour, honey

So, this is the last e-mail I'm sending. Jean has told me you escaped prison successfully. I sent him there to check up on you, maybe even help you. But I know you're beyond that, darling. Now, it's time for the next task. 

Now, July 4th, 1881, the French were feeling generous and decided to send a gift to America. An extraordinary gift. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. I want to make sure you're up for the next task. Then again, you don't really have a choice, so, let me rephrase that. You are going to show that you're still alive by completing the next task. 

The next task is, 

Light up the torch of the Statue of Liberty. To celebrate your newly found liberty.