Standing in front of an old building, I asked myself if I was at the correct address. This doubt only intensified when I walked through the staircase that smelled like cabbage.
On the fourth floor without an elevator, I breathlessly entered the paper thin wooden door, and stood before an empty counter.
"Hello?" I glanced in the empty 'waiting' room, the floor creaking with every step.
"Is somebody here?" Asking louder, I looked around. There were old decorations from different countries on the walls, some masks, and paintings in different styles, looking creepy.
"Yes, hello. Here I am." A dark blonde, disheveled man walked out of a door, seemingly just having woken up, as he combed through his hair to tame a few restless strands. He was unshaved, and I hope he just wants to fit the image of a chaotic but brilliant detective.
"I'm here for a private detective; are you the one?" I asked as he reached out to give me his hand, but the way he wiped it on his thigh told me I should touch him as much as the previous shop owner, which was not at all. Nodding at him, he let his hand fall and grinned.
"We are currently reorganizing the business; no worries, we are competent enough. I am Jerry Lowe. Please come in." He made a motion to the room where he had just emerged.
Nodding again, I followed his gesture and entered. The room was lit and full of files and bookshelves on each side—now this is how I thought a private detective office should look like.
The man sat himself behind his desk and put glasses on, now looking a bit more professional. He should be my age; hopefully he was professional.
"What can I do for you, Miss...?" He asked, a pen in his hand.
"I am searching for a woman who could possibly be my birth mother. Her name is Liliana Humphrey." I also told him the school and year she had been there as a student.
"Do you have a picture? Miss....?" Jerry asked.
"No. But she looks like me, exactly so; I have seen her in the yearbook."
"Then, can I make a picture of you, Miss...?" Mr. Lowe seemed to urgently want my name, but he wouldn't get it. I am a bit paranoid that if he got caught by my husband, for example, he would at least not have my name and no proof that I hired him. Although one would know with hearing a description of my looks anyway. Still.
"No." I reached in my bag and pulled out five thousand dollars, putting it on the table under the detective's eyes.
"Five thousand now, and five thousand after contact with her has been established." I took a little paper and scribbled my phone number on it. If he ran with the down payment, I would still have ten thousand dollars to pay another detective.
Jerry eyed the money expressionlessly, but I could see his delight, maybe because I am accustomed to deciphering micro-expressions.
"Deal."
I nodded at him.
"Can you start working now? I want the results fast. And please don't go around and ask for her openly; I want a full undercover mission without anyone being aware that I am searching for her."
"Yes." He tilted his head, contemplating. "I will carry the search out soon and discreetly."
Jerry printed out a receipt with an old laptop and printer; the former could rival my folding phone, and the latter could rival the printer from the coffee shop in the village twenty years ago.
Are all detectives so poor?
Looking at the receipt, or better said, contract, he had signed it with his name, leaving the client's name empty. The content explained what I wanted from him specifically and mentioned the down payment. All in all, it looked more formal than I thought.
"Thanks. If I don't pick up the phone, just leave a message." Bidding the detective goodbye, I walked out of the building, satisfied with my little errands completed, and went back to the hotel. I made sure to take good, lightened streets when walking, in fear that either the gold shop guy or the detective were out to rob me of the rest of my money, but nothing happened.
In the shopping area of the hotel, I got dried cat food and two bowls; now I regret not bringing the bowls I had pocketed with me. I also bought an emergency cat litter mat in hope for my cat to understand the concept.
I met Derek and the other students when coming out, and he seemed relieved to have found me. The welcoming thing was starting, and he wanted for me to participate.
I followed the class and sat at the back with my bulging bag, a bunch of cash included.
It was nice and boring, but surprisingly, a few unrelated guests came to watch what was going on, filling several seats.
I missed my cat.
And while the kids and a few guests were awkwardly but also happily welcoming each other for the upcoming competition, I felt lonely when thinking of sleeping alone this night, the big cat not visiting and being far away.
***********
After a long weekend together with you, I couldn't wait to see my wife again.
Years ago it was the opposite; I was constantly with you, and if not, I was constantly anticipating to see you again.
Who would have thought that things would change and for me looking forward to the time I would be away from you?
At night, I would hold Lesly, and although I am unclear if it happened every night, my body would still feel warm the next morning. Considerably warmer than it did when sleeping alone.
But this unconscious contact was far from enough. Therefore, in the evening, I asked her to accompany me to a casual get-together with investors. This time, the black-eyed kid wouldn't come along and destroy the evening.
At night, I found my wife sleeping or feigning sleep again, which of it didn't matter at all; what mattered was that with her eyes closed, she looked like you.
Never had I dared to come close to you without your knowledge, never stolen a kiss while you slept.
How would it feel? How would your lips feel?
How would the lips of your untainted copy feel?