“Have you noticed how he’s been undressing us with his eyes?”
Denise turned around. The guy had a short thick neck and was smiling slyly at them from behind his half-empty beer bottle, while his friends leaned in over the table with folded arms. He was obviously the self-appointed pack leader.
Jazmine looked directly at the man, waving him over to them. He looked momentarily confused, but there was no doubting that he was interested.
“Watch and learn,” whispered Jazmine as she raised her head toward the man when he stood before them in a haze of cheap aftershave.
“Hi,” said Jazmine. “You look good. And that’s why you’re the one who’ll pay our tab.”
He looked taken aback, turning toward his friends, who sat back in their seats attentively.
He caught Jazmine’s gaze again. “Pay? Why should I do that?”
“Because you’ve been eyeing us up. Haven’t you been imagining what our pussies look like?”
He pulled his head back and was just about to protest when Jazmine interrupted.
“You can see mine, but then you’ll have to pay. I’ve got a photo of it that my boyfriend took.”
He smiled. He obviously knew what the deal was even if he wasn’t entirely sure what it entailed.
“You’ll just show me some other pussy you found on the Internet.” He turned toward his friends and laughed. Out of earshot, they didn’t fully understand what was going on but laughed back anyway.
“Are you in or not?” Jazmine took out her cell phone from her purse. “You just have to pay the bill. We don’t have any money.”
He stood for a moment, swaying in his work boots.
Denise tried to keep a straight face. Jazmine was totally cool and the man was caving in: brilliant to watch.
The bricklayer turned to the bar. “Waiter! How much do these ladies owe?” he shouted.
He checked the cash register. “One hundred and forty-two,” he answered.
The guy turned toward Jazmine. “I don’t normally pay to see pussy, but I’m a gentleman and can’t refuse to help ladies in distress.” He took out a plump wallet and found the money.
“Keep the change,” he said, slamming the notes down on the bar. How generous: eight kroner as a tip.
He’s working on the side, thought Denise, staring at the wallet. She had a builder sugar daddy who was much the same.
Jazmine held out her phone and let him have a good, thorough look.
He nodded, breathing a little heavier through his slightly dilated nostrils. He alternated his gaze between Jazmine and the screen. If you want more than that, I’m game, his expression said. Denise was impressed.
“If you want to see one where I’m not shaved, it’ll be two hundred extra,” she offered.
The guy was apparently in his own world, his neck and ears flushed with blood.
He put down two hundred on the table. “But then you have to send it to my e-mail.” He gave her the address letter by letter while Jazmine typed.
When he heard a tone on his cell a few seconds later, he turned to his friends, sent them a good-bye glance, and left.
“Do you think he’s running straight home to jerk off?” Michelle said, laughing.
It was easy money. Denise nodded appreciatively. “Was that your secret?” she asked.
Jazmine shook her head. “Hell no. That was just a trick. I’ll tell you the secret later.” She shoved the two hundred kroner in her back pocket, packed her handbag, and suggested they leave.
But then a guy stood up from one of the tables by the bar and slammed another two-hundred-kroner note in front of them.
“I saw what you did. I want in on it.”
Jazmine smiled, taking her phone out of her bag.
Denise looked the man over. There were many reasons why he was standing there. Even though he was no more than thirty-five, his face had lost its glow. No ring on his finger to indicate a serious relationship. His clothes were nice enough but put together wrong. Dandruff on his unironed jacket. A typical guy with a permanent job and no one to come home to.
Denise didn’t like him. Frustrated men could explode at any moment, which was exactly what happened.
In a surprising move, he grabbed Jazmine by the wrist so he could soak up the image on the screen in his own good time. Denise was about to intervene, but Jazmine shook her head. She’d deal with this herself.
“I want to see the whole body,” said the guy. “Two hundred is too much for a few pubes.”
Cocky, thought Denise, as alarm bells rang.
“Come on, bitch. Full frontal or I won’t let go.”
Jazmine wriggled loose, pulling her cell phone back. Even Michelle showed initiative, grabbing the two hundred kroner from the table and stashing it away.
Then the guy started shouting, calling them whores and thieves and saying they all needed a knock to the head.
That was when the waiter got involved, demonstrating that he could make things happen. He masterfully grabbed the man, asking him whether he should call the gang back or if he would leave the place quietly.
The guy managed to spit on the table before storming out the door.
The waiter shook his head, taking the cloth from his apron.
“Lively young women, aren’t you,” he said as he wiped away the spit. “A little too lively for a Thursday afternoon for my taste,” he said. “So when that guy has reached the end of the street, I’d appreciate it if you’d find yourself another hunting ground.”
It was difficult to argue with.
Five minutes later they were standing out on the street, bent over double laughing. Denise was about to say that they could learn a lot from one another but was interrupted by the unmistakable stench of aftershave from the bricklayer Jazmine had just pulled a number on. She turned toward the entrance of the building next to them just as the bricklayer stepped out.
Threatening, determined, and with lightning speed, he grabbed the strap of Jazmine’s bag and, despite her attempts to pull away, managed to stick his hand in and pull out her cell phone.
“Give me the PIN code or I’ll smash your phone on the cobbles,” he warned, raising it in the air above his head to show he meant business.
Jazmine’s expression showed that she knew this was a fight she couldn’t win, that the easy money would soon be back where it had come from, and that her cell phone was worth more than she stood to lose.
“Four-seven-one-one,” she said, watching him type in the code and open her picture gallery. He scrolled back and forth before finding the file he was looking for. When he opened it, Jazmine’s hand was already in her back pocket to get the money.
“I knew it!” he shouted. “You bitch, this isn’t you!” He shoved a photo in her face of the woman who had provided the titillation. There was apparently a whole series.
Jazmine shrugged her shoulders. “We couldn’t pay and you were the one who seemed most like a gentleman; wasn’t that the word you used to describe yourself?”