"There she is." - "There they are." - "I knew it." - "We knew it." - "Our foretelling is always correct." - "What we tell about tomorrow is more reliable than what Tabloidtidningen tells about yesterday." - "I'll tell you your name is Camilla." - "No, Meg. Her name is Ludmila." - "And you're Kjell." - "And you are too well-dressed to be her husband, so you must be Ludmila's lover." - "Of course, he's her lover. He's married to Kristina. Kristina thinks Kjell's in Iceland right now."
Kjell interrupts us: "Stop! STOP! Who are you? And what are you doing here? Can't you see this lady and I are having a business lunch? You're very disturbing."
Frieda and I laugh exuberantly about so much lack of knowledge while we join Camilla and Kjell at their table: "You don't know who we are?" - "Everybody knows who we are." - "And we know everything about everybody." - "The future has no secrets for us." - "I'm Magic Megan…" - "… and I'm Marvellous Margaret…" - "… but everyone knows us as Meg 'n' Maggie, the magical magistrates." - "And we know you're not having a business lunch." - "We know that you, Camilla, work for Kjell." - "A blow job is a job too." - "But you're not working right now." - "You're having lunch." - "You've ordered drunken shrimps and Waldorf salad." - "And Meg and I LOVE Waldorf salad and drunken shrimps…" - "… and because we know everything, we also know there will be enough for four…" - "… and we're hungry…" - "… and we'll tell you about your future…" - "… for just some shrimps and a fork-full of salad…" - "… and we know you are interested…" - "… and it's a fair price for the tips we have for you…" - "… like those six winning numbers of tonight's Euro Million's Lottery…" - "… that will make you a millionaire…" - "… and we also know that you, Kjell, will hit the jackpot with your new line of fashion…" - "… but only when you change the name into Flash Fashion because Fishion Fashion is a smelly idea…" - "… and your wife will find out about your affair, but she will forgive you…" - "… but only if you and Camilla invite her for a threesome…" - "… because she's desperately looking for new sexual experiences…" - "… and you're not giving her what she wants, Kjell…"
"How do you know all that?", Kjell wonders.
"Oh, we know everything, luv." - "We read the cards and we see your future in our crystal ball." - "Oh! We forgot our ball, Maggie." - "Don't worry, my dear. I've foreseen that. We can read the future in a glass of champagne too. Garçon! Two glasses of champagne, please." - "Make that a bottle, and bring two more glasses for our friends, Camilla and Kjell."
It's an act, but our pleasure is authentic. Frieda is having fun because I liked her idea and support her completely, and I'm having fun because she's having fun; I love to see that sparkle in her eyes, and that special smile.
Frieda is Magic Meg. I'm Marvellous Maggie. I'm marginal. Frieda is marvellous.
On the train, we studied every piece of information about Camilla and Kjell we could find. Kjell's lie about being in Iceland was on his Facebook page. The information about his wife came from the Social Report that #2, The Nerd, sent us. On his company's intranet, he read the news that Kjell's colleagues weren't thrilled with Kjell's idea of naming the new line Fishion Fashion. Frieda immediately came up with the much better name Flash Fashion, which was just an idea on top of her original (brilliant) plan to dress up like two gipsies, foretelling the future, so we could get the information about the past in return.
Looking at Frieda, Magic Megan, I cannot do anything else but smile. She stuns in her gipsy outfit. Her long, curly hair is painted black, her face and bare arms have the colour of a sun-burnt Southern European, she has more gold rings, necklaces and earrings than an average American rapper, and her long, exotic dress and bandana, both in all the colours of the rainbow, give her a magical look that bewitches me completely.
I'm looking good too. My long pastel pink dress with long sleeves is stuffed with everything we could find to give me the curves of a gipsy woman. My skin is two tones lighter than Frieda's; the paint hides the putty that gives me a female nose and cheekbones. Frieda did my make-up: I have blushing cheeks, long eyelashes, dark lines under my eyes and kiss-proof lipstick in an ugly shade of grey. A wig gives me black short-cut hair and hides the earplug that connects me to my spiPhone. The flower behind my ear is the perfect place for the camera with the built-in microphone, to record everything. The hardest part of my disguise is my long blood-red nails; I keep forgetting I'm wearing them.
The Nerd discovered Camilla's real name, Ludmila, and how she'd hated it since she could walk and changed it everywhere. He also gave us her actual birth date: she's not 28 like she says on her social media but 32 like hardly anybody knows. We decided to use those two details, to give our so-called foretelling a scent of authenticity. Frieda added the idea of playing word ping-pong with each other; if we're not sure about something, we can debate the two options and let Camilla/Ludmila tell us who's right.
It requires teamwork. We did some training on the train. I taught Frieda some tricks. She has to BE the character. We need to trust each other and help each other out of trouble. How to use small signals for secret communication. The most important is to have fun. Fear is a useless emotion. Our energy and pleasure will convince Kjell and Camilla we're really two gipsies who know everything.
"Why do you call her Camilla, Meg? Her name is Ludmila. Am I wrong, luv?", I say.
Camilla tries to stay serious: "My full name is, in fact, Camilla Ludmila Läckberg."
Frieda bites me back: "You're always wrong with names and dates. What's Camilla's birth date, according to your champagne glass?"
"It's the 11th of November, 1985. She's 32 years old, she's a Scorpio and, according to the Chinese Zodiac, she's an Ox. Her lucky number is 1 because she's the number 1 on the list of the most beautiful women in Sweden. People, born in the year of the Ox, are strong and determined. They're silent thinkers, honest and ambitious, faithful wives, and above all patient.", I explain with confidence.
Camilla wants to object, but Frieda is faster than Camilla: "She's a Scorpio alright, crazy about sex and secrets, enjoying her secret sex affair with Kjell, but she's 28, born in 1989, which means she's a Snake, her lucky number is 2 because there's one in this kingdom who's the fairest of them all, and this year 2018 is the most unlucky one for all the snakes. Their envious, malevolent nature of materialistic selfishness will get them into trouble. Snakes talk a lot, with a double tongue, and it will turn against her. She hides something, but her secret will backfire in her face, making her lose her beauty, her fame, her status and her freedom. Perhaps she'll even lose her life."
And now the three of us look at Camilla. If she's honest, she'll admit she's from 1985. If she's a 1989 treacherous snake, she'll also say she was born in 1985 because she has a lot to hide. If she doesn't say anything, it proves she's a silent Ox rather than a communicating Snake. But Kjell knows she's not as faithful as a 32-year-old Ox, and the world also thinks she's four years younger. It's a dilemma.
Camilla is saved by the bell: the lunch is being served. Now it's me who should worry about being unmasked: it's impossible to eat drunken shrimps with my long nails.
Frieda saves my ass. She takes my plate away and gives me a deck of Tarot cards: "I hate it when your fingers smell fishy. I'll handle your seafood while you lay the cards for our best new friends. Start with Kjell. He has a lot of doubts about his near future. He had a different model in mind and now he got stuck with a second best."
I shuffle the deck, let Kjell take off the top, and start turning the cards, making up fantastic stories that suit nothing but our own desire to find out what those two know about Agneta: "As a Leo, you shouldn't pick a Scorpio like Camilla as your partner, dear Kjell. Leo and Scorpio score about 5% on sexual compatibility and 1% on emotions. Find yourself a Sagittarius, who matches you sexually for 99% and scores 80% on trust and emotions. Look at the Tarot: the first card, the centre of the Maltese Cross, is the Ace of coins, which stands for prosperity and abundance, both spiritual and material, but then we see two women in the next four cards, the Queen of swords and the Empress. The Queen of Swords is reversed, which means she's troubled by the conflicts in her mind. She's bad news for you. But the Empress is the Mother of all things and her card is straight. She's generous and brings life to everything around her. Is this… the mother of your children? Does this mean she's pregnant? But I wonder who the father is. The three of cups means there's a lot to celebrate and there are lots of happy feelings on their way, but the fourth card, the nine of Wands, predicts an upcoming battle that has to be won. The card is reversed too, so the odds foretell me you might lose that battle and the glorious future that lies ahead. Is there something you want to share with us, my dearest Kjell?"
Kjell chokes on a drunken shrimp and says with difficulty: "Pregnant?", while he looks with suspicion at Camilla.
Camilla looks back with anger: "Not me, that's for sure. Do you think I'd take ANY chance to lose my glorious figure because of some unwanted pregnancy? No way."
I turn the next four cards, the indicators of the Maltese Cross, and put them on the points of the arms: "The Three of Swords, the card of sadness, covers the Queen of Swords. The Six of Cups indicates more champagne; you'll become the employee of the month or something. The Five of Coins covers the Empress, which might result in an expensive divorce, but it can also end with an unexpected financial bonus. And finally, we have the card of the Lovers, at the end of the line. What does that mean, Kjell?"
Kjell has some ideas: "I'm not sure."
"It looks like you have to make a choice.", I suggest.
"It looks like I have to make a choice."
I have to make a choice too. Do I empty my plate, full of salad and the shrimps Frieda peeled for me? Or do I turn the cards for Camilla first? I decide to go for the food. Camilla looks relaxed. She has no idea of the time bomb I planted in Kjell's head.
Frieda feels exactly what's cooking. She looks at Kjell through the bubbles of her glass of champagne and throws some more fishy oil on the fire: "It looks like we have to congratulate you, my dear Kjell. You're going to be a father. I foresee it's a boy. Is it your first child?"
It is. The Nerd informed us correctly. Kjell and Kristina have no children. Kjell's wife has a wish for children, not shared by Kjell: "We've been careful."
Now it's Camilla's turn. She has to show she's a Snake from 1989, jealous and mean: "You said you and your wife hadn't had sex in ages!"
"We didn't. I mean… Once a week, to keep up appearances, that doesn't count. You and me, we relax at least three times per day."
"Well… YOU relax three times a day. If I'm lucky, I get one orgasm back for every six I give you.", Camilla bitches back.
Kjell doesn't understand: "But… You seemed so satisfied…"
I explain it to Frieda: "That's what they teach those girls at model school: Fake it until you make it."
"As you foretold: they have barely any sexual and emotional compatibility.", Frieda says to me while she takes a large sip of champagne.
"He should have found himself a Sagittarius. Can't you see the sign of his wife Kristina in your champagne, dear?", I ask.
Frieda looks sadly at the empty glass: "Too late. Perhaps Kjell can help us out. What's your wife's birthday, luv? Is she from the end of November or the first half of December? People born under the sign of Sagittarius are known for their creativity in the bedroom and their playful nature. She's up for a threesome, if you like. After being disappointed by too many men, she's eager to find out how it is to make love with a woman."
Camilla, the faithful Ox, has not enough creativity to play our little game: "It's bad enough to have you on my back, Kjell. So you better make a choice: my way or the motorway. I'm not going to screw around with your wife, just to keep this job."
With my knife, I point at Camilla while my fork in the other hand struggles with my salad: "Faithful and honest. She's an Ox, born in 1985. I foretold you, my dearest Megan. I'm always right."
Frieda pins one of my shrimps on her fork and puts it in my mouth: "I know you're always right, my dearest Margaret. But I'm right about the secret that's bothering her. Can't you tell us which secret she's hiding? Your Tarot never lies…"
"Mmmm. Can it wait until I've emptied my plate? This salad turns me on. I have to satisfy my hunger first."
Kjell keeps looking at his watch, at the door, at his empty plate that hasn't seen any food so far. Even without having access to Marvellous Margaret's mystical magic, I can easily read his thoughts: «Pregnant. I'm going to be a father.»
His years of rock 'n' roll are over. In his head sounds the ballad of 32, the age of life's next stage. Gently, I touch his right hand and whisper: "It's never too late to do the right thing."
Good timing.
Kjell leaves.
He doesn't even say goodbye.
He doesn't pay for our lunch either.
Now Camilla is isolated, we push until she breaks. I shuffle my deck of Tarot cards while I make sure the ace of coins stays at the bottom; it's the card I want to start with.
Frieda opens the battle: "Finally, that awful man has gone. Now it's just girls among each other. Let's share some secrets. What do we know about our sweet Camilla?"
Camilla defends herself like we didn't expect: "And what are you going to do with my secrets? Sell them to the press?"
"It's an idea.", I admit. After all the money I spent on this mission, some extra royalties would be welcome.
Camilla doesn't believe me: "The press already knows about my affair with Kjell, but they say it's not important enough to write about; everybody has affairs nowadays. The same can be said about my drug habits, my eating disorder, the porn videos I made ten years ago, and my tax-friendly routes via the British Virgin Islands and Panama. I tried to sell those secrets myself and the boulevard journalists told me it's just advertising my own image; if I want to see them in print, I have to pay for it, like anybody else. I have no secrets to share."
Frieda looks her in the eye with a cold stare: "It's the secret about what happened between you and my sister…"
Rostov! She drops out of her role! She's not Frieda Larsson. She's Magic Megan. She'll blow our cover. I have to save her, I have to take a bullet for her, and I have to be fast, faster than Camilla. Gently, I strike her cheek, let my hand pass through her long black hair and smile: "Here in sweet Sweden, sweethearts like us call each other cousins, my love, and not sisters. And I told you before: I'm not interested in having an affair with Camilla, not in the past, and not in that impossible future you foresaw."
With a wink of mutual understanding, I turn to Camilla and explain: "My beloved Megan foresaw I would fall in love with the most beautiful woman in Sweden. I think that's her, but she thought it was you. She wants to be sure you don't love me. That's all."
Camilla's eyes grow big as she looks at Frieda: "You are a lesbian? I don't believe it. From her… (she makes a slow gesture with her hand to me) it's obvious. I knew she was a dyke since you two came in. She's so ugly that no man would ever sleep with her, not even if she paid him. But you? You're beautiful enough to get everyone you want. I can't believe you're in love with something like HER."
Frieda smiles, first at me, to thank me for saving her, and then to Camilla: "Now you know our secret. It's fair if you tell us yours."
"The secret of my age? You know I'm 28, but I'm also born in the year of the Ox: hard-working, ambitious and honest. You can't say you're honest. You're lying. You're not in love with that ugly witch."
"You want her for yourself."
"I'm beautiful. I always get what I want."
"But you won't get my Maggie. She's mine."
"Kiss her. Show me how much you love her."
The fun we had with Kjell around has disappeared. This is serious. This is running out of hand. I try to turn the tide, begging Frieda: "Don't do it. This is a public place. You know how I react when you kiss me. Not here. Not now. Not like you kissed me in that restaurant in Rome; they kicked us out before I could taste their prize-winning tiramisu…"
Camilla's eyes sparkle. She's getting the upper hand here: "Kiss her. I bet you don't dare. She's too ugly. You're afraid she'll turn into a frog again."
Frieda smiles back with confidence and a twinkle in her eyes: "Afraid? Me? I'm not afraid of anything. And if I do kiss her, here and now, will you tell me your darkest secret? Will you, honest as an Ox, answer my question?"
"I will. But you have to convince me first. And I know a lot about kissing. And I'm an expert in faking too; that's how I got the model contract from Kjell."
"You know about kissing? Have you ever been kissed by a woman before? Do you have ANY idea why they call me Magic Megan?"
Frieda's mystical smile gives me the creeps. I mutter: "Meg… Please… Don't…", but it's useless. This is war. This is a battle between women. Their honour is at stake. Don't they know there's no happy ending when love goes to war? There has to be a better way. I can break Camilla with the Tarot cards as I did with Kjell. But Frieda has become blind. She wants to know what Camilla did with Agneta, and she's prepared to do absolutely anything to get her sister back. I see her signal, two fingers crossed, meaning «it's just an act, it's not real», and I cross my fingers back to her, to show I've seen and understood. But I don't want her to kiss me. My panic is real. She's a patient. She suffered a major trauma eight months ago. Only yesterday, she left the clinic for the first time. She's going to throw up. She'll get a nervous breakdown. She'll get a panic attack. She'll ruin everything.
Without a sound, for my eyes only, her mouth pronounces the words: "Relax. Trust me." Well, I hear her whisper and her words melt everyone, but she stays so cool. And then she grabs me firmly by the arms, lifts me, turns me around, pushes my stuffed big bum against the table and says: "NOBODY ever loves you like I do…" Bam! In one swift move, she dumps me on the table, sweeping the plates and bowls and cutlery and napkins on the marble floor. She puts her left leg on the fabric of my dress between my knees. Her left hand on my shoulder pushes me down. I can't escape. She licks my fingers. She moves up, plays my pulse, bites my biceps, stalks my shoulder, nerves in my neck…
"Grunt…", so softly that I doubt if I heard it right. But when she nibbles my left ear, I can't grunt anything else but "Uuuuhhh…" I close my eyes. I don't want to see this. I smell her perfume, drunken shrimps, green apples, and toasted walnuts. Something tenderly tickles my neck. "I killed my fears." Something wet and warm enters my right ear. "I burnt my nightmares." Her weight is on top of me. "I've had a courage transfusion." Her hot heaves make me sweat away the skin paint on my forehead. Something touches the eyeshadow on my left eye and licks the lashes on my right eye. Between my heavy breathing and my fruitless "No…" attempts "Meg…" to "Please…" stop her "Oooohhh…" I feel her left hand going through the hair of my wig "Not here…" her right hand moving slowly over the paper towel that shapes my left breast "Not there…", making my chewed-paper nipple hard "You drive me…" and then I feel the tip of her tongue, playing, touching my lips, tasting my kiss-proof lipstick, scouting the right spot for the invasion, where to land her hunger, higher, her lust, and desire, and I want to taste, to feel, I can no longer hold my breath, and I want to get up but she holds me down, not yet, and I want us to meet but she holds the distance, not yet, with the tip of her tongue, and all those stories about fireworks and sirens and flashlights and hit me with those laser beams are lies because the sensation of a real Magic Megan kiss, even before our lips join, is the shatter of broken glass that just doesn't seem to stop like a waitress dropped one hundred and twenty crystal champagne glasses on a marble floor and it's followed by some shouting like: "What the hell do you two think you're doing? This is a five-star restaurant, not some place where people make love on the table. If you don't stop immediately, I'll call my brother. He's six foot ten and he'll throw you out!"
Ashamed, Frieda and I correct our clothes, put some of the fallen inventory back on the table, sit down, grin foolishly at all the other guests in the room and the fifty or sixty people outside, glued against the windows, and mutter an apology to the upset waitress. The girl goes back to the kitchen and returns with assistance, two dishwashers who start to clean the sad slivers of the one hundred and twenty wide crystal glasses that were meant for a champagne fountain on table twelve, while the waitress herself hurries to clean up the mess we're sitting in.
"If you teach me to kiss my boyfriend like that, I won't charge you for your lunch and the damage you caused.", she whispers to Frieda before she leaves.
"Convinced?", Frieda asks Camilla.
"I think I just found out I'm a lesbian.", Camilla stutters.
"And now you're going to have your way with the former most beautiful woman in Sweden, Miss Agneta Larsson, who disappeared mysteriously, which gave you an opening to Kjell and Agneta's contract with Fishion Fashion.", I add, as a good cop.
"You can keep the contract and we will keep your secret. We just want to have a word with Agneta. Nobody touches my girlfriend, not now, and not in the future I foresaw.", Frieda says, with the cold voice of the bad cop.
"But… I don't know where Agneta is. Kjell doesn't know it either. He wanted her, but he couldn't wait. The deadline for the summer collection catalogue is tomorrow, so he called me. But he wanted to pay me less than half of what he agreed with Agneta, so I had to sleep with him, three times, to get the photos I needed to blackmail him, and he refused, so I sent his wife the photos. Then, she asked how much for a threesome…"
"And you don't know where Agneta might be?", I ask.
"You should know. You read the future in a glass of champagne."
I wave my hand towards the pile of shattered glass and the empty bottle on our table: "Not today."
Camilla lifts her shoulders: "My intuition tells me the government is behind this. Agneta wanted to run for President. Both the Socialists and the Liberals were getting nervous about losing their jobs. A good job is hard to find these days."
We sign the peace with a piece of cherry cake for dessert. Marvellous Margaret with her magic LSD credit card signs for the lunch and the damage. #1, The Boss, won't be enchanted when he finds out how much this mission has cost already.
* * *
Back at the train station, Frieda can't hide her disappointment: "Another day up in smoke and still no sign from Agneta."
I try to infect her with my good mood: "We're doing what we can. Today, we discovered Camilla's innocence, and we won an interesting lead for tomorrow: we're going to interview some politicians. And to celebrate this fantastic day, and also save The Boss from having a heart attack when sees how much money I'm spending, I promise to cook for both of us tonight. We can use Agneta's kitchen. I like to cook. I'll make you something special for dinner."
Frieda's worries aren't about tonight's dinner; they are about tomorrow's plans: "Do you want to interview politicians? How do you suppose we get close to them?"
"We improvise. Now I've seen what you're capable of, I'm convinced that together, we can do anything. You were sensational, Magic Megan: your idea worked, Camilla and Kjell were completely fooled by our performance, we had fun, and if you ever try to kiss me like that again, I'll have a heart attack and die in your arms.", I grin.
Frieda grins back: "Yeah, it was fun. I was so angry at her, I forgot everything else. What a horrible woman. I don't understand what men see in her."
"Well… Marvellous Margaret foresees I won't have an affair with Camilla."
"Because Camilla is a lousy kisser?"
"No, because she's 32 years old. I'm 22. At 28, she might have had a chance, but when the band plays the ballad of 32, it's time to go home. I mean it. I want to get out of this dress as soon as possible."
There's that twinkle in her eyes again. There's that naughty smile.
"For the first time in your life, you get under the skin of a woman, and you hop from a love scene on a restaurant table to a striptease on a railway station? Putting on a dress and some make-up isn't enough to act like a woman, my dear Benny. You have to BE the character, which includes decent behaviour."
I'm saved by the bell, as the train enters the station.