Anna K, who was sitting in a brasserie opposite the entrance to the Palais in Cannes, had taken off her sunglasses to wipe the sweat from her nose when she became aware of the young waitress standing over her table.
“What would Madame like?”
The young waitress was wearing a pair of denim shorts in a zebra pattern. Just below the hem of her zebra shorts was a crease that ran round her thigh, where the elastic catches.
Smiling, as she replaced her sunglasses, Anna K ordered a glass of water and a salade nicoise.
The young waitress turned to go. Anna K was in no doubt that the young waitress had been wearing a pair of stockings.
When she had eaten, Anna K placed her business card along with a sizeable tip and got up to go.
Later that evening, she was aboard the Ladybird drinking champagne with a director who was describing a love story set against a backdrop of the Arab Spring.
“There will be no torture chambers,” he said. “Only daffodils in Tahrir Square.”
“So, what do you think?” she said after a pause.
“She’s useless. It will never work.”
“You’re a pig. I will fire you if you don’t work with her.”
He shrugged.
“Your call.”
Anna K did not waste any more time. She made her excuses to the director, stood up and went over to the dance floor where a young woman swayed to a dreamy bossa nova.
In a short time, Anna K was back in her hotel room. She stretched her stockinged foot out on the bed and smiled at the young woman as she undid the top button of her blouse.
“Ma cherie,” she said, “I am very curious to reacquaint myself with the crease below your zebra shorts.”
*
“What do you think her role is?”
“You mean the mysterious Anna K.”
“Yes.”
“She’s a producer, innit.”
“She has all the power. She will fire the director.”
“Meanwhile, she’s following the crease.”