The Exchange by Carrie Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

often drank there.
    I hadn’t heard of the ‘Love Hotel’, but Konrad quickly filled me in. It had opened a few years before, he said, in a former brothel – and you could still rent rooms for a few hours in the afternoon if you wished.
    I didn’t know what to expect, but once inside, I discovered that the vibe was minimalism meets kitsch rather than seedy bordello. We sat out in the courtyard with its bright chairs, little metal tables and abundant foliage, and Konrad ordered us all caipirinhas. It was starting to grow chilly, but heaters kept us toasty.
    The one girl in the party sat next to me, blowing smoke out into the air, seemingly oblivious to me, lost in her own thoughts. She was exotic-looking – possibly North African by origin, I thought, or with one North African parent. She had somewhat melancholic dark eyes and lustrous black hair.
    I listened to the guys chat away in French and studied Konrad from a distance. There was something fascinating about his rampant self-confidence. Having little myself, and having been surrounded by people much like me, I was intrigued by those who had it in abundance. Of course, being model-level gorgeous must help one’s self-esteem.
    ‘So,’ the girl said suddenly, finally coming to life. ‘How are you enjoying life in Paris?’
    I paused. ‘It’s too early to tell. I’ve only been here a couple of days. And this is the first time I’ve properly been out.’
    She exhaled more cigarette smoke. ‘You’re a photographer, right?’
    ‘I am.’ I patted my camera bag on the table in front of me. ‘What about you?’ I said.
    ‘I dance,’ she said. ‘With Rochelle. My name’s Lisette.’
    ‘Oh, you’re …’
    ‘A stripper?’ She let out a slightly bitter laugh.
    ‘I’m sorry – I wasn’t going to say …’
    ‘It doesn’t matter. Although it’s a bit more than that. And a bit less.’ She looked at me closely. ‘Have you ever watched a show?’
    ‘I don’t think so. I … Well, no, I haven’t.’
    ‘Then you should. How about coming to the club tomorrow night? You can meet some of the girls first. And then maybe you can come out for a drink with us afterwards. I’m dancing tomorrow, so you can see my new routine. I’ve been working really hard on it.’
    ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘I’d like that.’ It was the truth, but only in part. The other half of me feared going to the club. Despite the things I’d photographed, I’d led a very sheltered life when it came to this kind of thing. If I felt out of my depth here in this bar, with this crowd, then that would go double for the club.
    On the other hand, the idea did excite me. I imagined myself floating around, invisible, photographing the faces of the punters as they stared, rapt, at the stage. Photographing the girls, backstage, as they got ready for their nightly display. I would be a ghostly, unseen presence, an invisible eye.
    This would be fertile ground for my art if I could find some way of working it to my advantage. But I wouldn’t know what I could get away with until I got there and sussed out the mood. Neither the dancers nor the clientele might accept the intrusion.
    The courtyard was getting more crowded, noisier. Chic people were fluttering into it like exotic butterflies; DJ beats were floating out from inside the bar itself. Konrad ordered a few bottles of champagne, raising a glass in my direction.
    ‘To our new friend, Rachel,’ he said, ‘and her new life in Paris.’
    I raised a glass back at him and smiled shyly as he winked at me. He was beyond gorgeous, in a different realm to me, but I couldn’t help but react to his beauty. It was like a drug. Rochelle must be very lovely herself, I thought, to have such an amazing boyfriend.
    Of course, I’d seen her pictures on Facebook, and there were several framed photos of her around the apartment, but she looked different in all of them, so it was impossible to fix on any one idea of what she looked like. It’s the same with