City of Women by David R. Gillham

Author:David R. Gillham [Gillham, David R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Historical
ISBN: 9781101599341
Google: 4LOUhx2-4voC
Amazon: 039915776X
Barnesnoble: 039915776X
Goodreads: 13593526
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2012-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

SHE KNOCKS but there is no answer, though she can hear a woman’s voice. A strong voice, engaged in argument. Quietly she tries the brass door handle, and the door pops open with a smooth click. Peering in, she finds that the loft is full of shadows. Heavy drapes are closed over tall windows, shutting out even a blink of light. Only a table lamp, dressed with a red scarf, burns at the opposite side of the room, where she can see, in the warm, blood-red light, a very tall, athletically trim woman in trousers, pacing back and forth on the telephone, shouting into the receiver with a commanding anger. “I don’t care, Dieter, I don’t care! Those are all your problems, not mine. Now, we have an agreement and you will stick to it, is that understood?!” But before poor Dieter, whoever he is, can possibly make a reply, she rings off with a slam. Sigrid stands in the threshold, the corridor leaking light behind her. “You’re late,” the woman announces imperiously. “That’s your first and last warning. Keep me waiting again, and I’ll sack your ass.” She steps away from the lamp glow, and a second later, Sigrid is blinded by a stinging assault of white light.

“Well, don’t just stand there, for fuck’s sake,” she hears the woman demand.

Tentatively Sigrid steps forward, shielding her eyes. “You are Wilhelmina von Hohenhoff?”

The woman steps into the light with an expression of critical appraisal. Her thick bob of curls is dyed henna red. Her eyes are hooded and deeply set. “You’re a little old for this,” she observes.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Most of my girls aren’t much past twenty. But still, you have the eyes, and an interesting bone structure,” she says.

Sigrid backs off half a step as the woman fluffs her fingers through her hair. “Frau von Hohenhoff.”

“Fräulein von Hohenhoff. Good hair. Maybe a braid. But later for the details. Take off your clothes. I want to see your body.”

“I am not here to strip down for your camera, Fräulein von Hohenhoff.”

“No? Then why are you wasting my time? I’m sure you were told that I only do nudes.”

“I am not here to be photographed. Will you please turn off those lights?”

The woman examines Sigrid with a sudden frown. “Then why are you here?”

“My name is Frau Schröder. I’m here about . . . about one of your models. Now, if you please, I’m being blinded.”

The woman retains her frown, and walks off, the noise of her heels on the hardwood floor echoing into the loft’s high ceilings. A metallic click kills the brightness, which is replaced by the glow of a line of studio lights. Sigrid blinks and lowers her hand.

“You have a good look,” the woman informs her. “So I won’t boot you out the door just yet. But don’t get comfortable.”

“I’m looking for a girl named Ericha Kohl.”

“Yes? And you think she sat for me, do you?”

“Well,” Sigrid says, and produces Ericha’s playing card, “she wasn’t exactly sitting.”

The woman observes the card and then Sigrid.

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