"Is this the most expensive fashion shop in Krakow?"
Scarlett is upset: "Have you seen those prices? Four zloty is one euro. That blouse costs 250 euros. That blue dress is over 1.500 euros. How much did you pay for that T-shirt you're wearing?"
"This T-shirt is for leisure time. We're going to buy our working outfit for today's job. If you want to do this right, you'll need the proper equipment."
"We can go to Johnson & Johnson in the industrial area. They have uniforms for every profession: construction workers, mail delivery, cleaners or firemen."
"We should have thought of that when we needed the nurse and doctor uniforms. It would have saved us some trouble at the hospital. But we're not going to dress like electricians or bus drivers. We're going to be businessmen, well… you'll be a businesswoman and I will be your aide, your over-praised but under-paid employee. Where do successful businesswomen buy their uniforms?"
I step inside, look around, look behind me, and find out that Scarlett is still hesitating in front of the entrance: "Come on, Scarlett. Dress for success. We're going to spend a fortune on your image. You might be a bit more enthusiastic."
"Spending so much money for a pig like Axel Conklin is casting pearls before swine, if you ask me.", Scarlett mutters.
I step back, offer my arm and lead her inside the world of Prada, YSL, Versace, Armani, Dior and Dulce&Gamberra: "I don't want to see you shy; I want to see you shine."
A middle-aged woman with blue hair and a professional smile welcomes us: "Are you being served?"
"I hope you can help us, ma'am. This lady, Miss Scarlett, has an invitation for the annual dinner, tonight, with the former Italian President. We wonder if you have any suggestions about what she might wear."
"Is there any limit to the budget?"
I show her William Oglethorpe's platinum credit card: "This is the limit."
The professional smile of the saleswoman turns like magic into the smile of the fairy princess meeting Prince Charming: "Ah. That gives a distinctive dimension to the word «suggestions». Allow me to contemplate the lady… Hm. Can you give me an idea about the creation the coiffeur will have in mind?"
I look at the latest creation of Scarlett's hairdresser, who's obviously a big fan of Whoopi Goldberg: "That would depend on the dress. As you see, her last hair architect, Scary Harry, created this, «Nightmare in Krakow». He thought Miss Scarlett had to present the Horror-movie Oscar Night. Do you have a contact that might help us out?"
"I have. Do you have a second?"
She walks to the counter, picks up the phone, dials a number and says: "Jean Pierre? I have an emergency here. Can you? … Yes, right now… Thank you very much."
Mrs Slocombe returns with her next question: "What jewellery would Miss Scarlett like to wear on the occasion? Would that be silver? Gold? Diamonds, perhaps?"
I visualise Axel Conklin, the swine…
Casting pearls before the swine always seems to work out fine.
"That would be pearls, quite a lot of them."
Mrs Slocombe immediately is our new best friend. I guess I may call her Betty from now on.
"Wonderful. We have something that might be just perfect for the occasion. If Miss Scarlett would be so kind to follow me to dressing room three? I'll be back in a moment."
The shop window serves only to filter the interesting clients from the interested clients. These prices are there to scare people who are looking for a bargain. The exhibited models have nothing in common with the merchandise inside the shop. This is not a supermarket where you can look and try on what you like. It's more like a clinic for cosmetic surgery, where the client asks the glamour doctor for personal advice. Employees get three years of intensive training in haute couture and modern fashion before they are allowed to operate the patients.
The dressing room department is forbidden ground for men. Men are directed to a comfortable couch in the corner, next to the counter where they can hand over their fortunes. Coffee, tea and little bottles of mineral water add pleasure to the waiting.
I try the coffee, which is quite good. A young man comes in, nervous, more jumping than walking, but he seems to know the way and disappears in the direction of the dressing rooms. It's either Mister Humphries or Jean Pierre. I put my money on Jean Pierre and take another cup of coffee: this will take a while.
A while later, the curtains of the dressing room open. All that's missing is an orchestra playing Beethoven's Fifth to accompany the entrance of Miss Scarlett, invited by the former Italian President to be present during the annual banquet. Making an impression would be an understatement, but calling her an absolute knockout would do damage to the class she represents.
Scarlett is covered in black lace, revolved around her soul, pearls jammed everywhere, except for her back, which shows the black of her silk skin, all the way down, where it stops right in time to keep the cleavage of her bottom hidden in mystery. Scarlett is not beautiful, but no man will realise that when caught by her charm. I wonder why I failed to notice it before, and the correct answer is that Scarlett, until today, never decided to make anyone notice. Her reaction to my surprise is a smile that makes her shine, a black sun, and I'm spinning like the earth around her, impossible to escape from her attraction.
"How do I look?"
«I know one day you'll have a beautiful life, you'll be the star in someone else's sky, but today you shine for me, and I suggest that Mrs S. doubles the price because you're worth every cent.», I think, but I don't say that, of course.
"Not exactly what I had in mind, but… it will do. If you like it, you can keep it on. We're already late and we have to get my formal dress suit too, so this way we might save some time and avoid we'll have to hurry."
Betty gives Scarlett a black purse, covered with little pearls, and covers her bare shoulders with a shawl of the same cloth as the dress. She hands me a paper shopping bag, containing the clothes and shoes Scarlett wore when we entered. I give her the platinum card and put some scribbles on the piece of paper that comes with the card's return.
Crossing the road towards the jewellery, Scarlett on my arm, feels like a walk over the red carpet on our way to the Oscar. We buy a pearl collier, pearl earrings and a silver ring with a pearl, and the pawnshop promises that we'll get 75% of the money back if we return the jewels before tomorrow night. Somehow, we also buy some presentable clothes for me in another part of town, but I'm not quite aware of it, obsessed by Scarlett in her black dress.
A slap in the face wakes me up. Another slap in the face brings me back to consciousness. A third slap in the face saves my life, as I am on the point of dying of lack of oxygen, breathless during the last hour. I manage to grab Scarlett's wrist before she hits me a fourth time: "Stop! Please. What are you doing?"
"No, what are YOU doing, Red? I ask you a question, but you don't answer, you don't pay attention at all."
"I'm sorry, Scarlett. You're right. My behaviour is unacceptable unprofessional. I'm terribly sorry. Thanks for reminding me. What was your question?"
"At least you have a bit of colour on your face. You were pale like a corpse since we left that fashion shop. Were you so shocked by the price of my outfit?"
"No, I was shocked by you in that outfit. You have no idea about the effect you have on a man, wearing that dress. Look in the mirror. Do you see the difference with the woman who looked at you in your bathroom this morning? It's pride. It's in your eyes, your shoulders are up, your back is straight, your hands are secure, even your hair is more rebellious than ever. The second you step into that club, all those middle-aged men will fall in love with you, but you don't want them to love you; you want them to lay on your feet like tiger-skin trophies in front of the Queen of the Jungle. You don't show a smile to please them; you'll show your teeth to eat them. Let's go. You're dressed to kill. I can't wait to see your victims bleed."
I look again and hesitate: "Perhaps we should go back and dress you up in a garbage bag. If we go to the K.G.B. with you dressed like this, the entire plan might fail."
"The K.G.B.?"
"Yes. Let's find a taxi. I'll explain everything when we're on our way."