The Luzern Photograph

by William Bayer

  ‘Why show me Queen of Swords? Why suggest I contact Lynx?’

  ‘I showed you the painting because you wanted to know what she looked like. And you’re right, I guess I did know Lynx would tell you about my relationship with Chantal, and then you’d either confront me about my pathetic fabrications or cut me out of your life.’ He smiles. ‘I’m actually glad we’re discussing this. Feels good to clear the air.’ He peers at me. ‘Sure you don’t want something to drink?’

  I stare at him. Beautiful stranger – what’s that about? Does he think flattery will earn him points? Has he even been listening? Does he grasp how I feel about being lied to? Of course not! How could he know that lying was what my charming con man of a father did all the time, that ‘Liar’, as in Larry ‘The Liar’ Berenson, could have been his middle name?

  ‘There’s other stuff,’ I tell him, ‘like your bullshit explanation of why you refuse to paint like Picasso. Lynx says you forged paintings then sold them to dumb-ass collectors. She says I shouldn’t believe a thing you say.’

  ‘She really said that?’

  ‘Did you forge Picassos?’

  He shrugs again. ‘Let’s just say I don’t “do” him anymore.’

  I sniff. ‘So she was right, you are a forger.’

  ‘If you’re an artist you do what you must. Getting by is the trick.’

  ‘Depends how you do it. I think the real trick’s holding on to one’s core integrity in a morally corrupt world.’

  ‘I’m not getting into a discussion with you about the nature of the universe.’ He pauses. ‘Look, I happen to have a talent for pastiche. Maybe I didn’t always put it to good use. Now I do. As for Lynx, sorry to hear she thinks so poorly of me.’

  ‘Did you tell the detectives Chantal has a brother?’

  He nods. ‘I contacted him myself. He authorized me to arrange her cremation. I took care of it and had the funeral home send him half her ashes.’

  ‘The other half?’

  ‘They’re here.’ He speaks flatly as if to disguise his feelings.

  I study him a while then stand up. ‘I’m performing tomorrow night. I need to prep a scene. And I’m sure you want to get back to your easel. So … see you around.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he says. He escorts me out to the elevator. ‘I hope we can still be friends, Tess.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ll have to think about that, Josh.’

  NINE

  Vienna, Austria. March 28, 1913. A fine evening in early spring. Lou and the very handsome young blond-haired psychiatrist Dr Victor Tausk emerge from the Urania Cinema. They’ve just seen an American movie, Cleopatra, based on Sardou’s play, starring Helen Gardner as the queen and Charles Sindelar as Antony.

  Walking amidst the evening crowds along the Donau Canal, they follow Franz-Josefs-Kai to Rotenturmstrasse, reveling in one another’s company and the warm air carrying the aroma of early blooming flowers.

  After a silence, Lou broaches a subject that has recently concerned her.

  ‘Ellen tells me I was discussed before my arrival. At one of Freud’s Wednesday evenings, no less.’

  ‘Does that surprise you, Lou?’ Tausk asks. ‘A famous woman coming to study with him and join our little group – of course everyone was curious about you.’

  ‘Was this an informal discussion, or …?’

  ‘Actually, Hugo Heller presented a paper about your fiction.’

  ‘Really! Heller never mentioned it. He was complimentary, I hope.’

  ‘It was an excellent paper. You’d have been flattered.’

  ‘And after the paper there was discussion?’ Tausk nods. ‘About the photograph?’

  ‘Yes, yes – the “infamous photograph”. Of course that came up. How could it not since it established you as a great femme fatale?’

  Lou scoffs at the notion. ‘Is that really what they think?’

  ‘Please, Lou, everyone was excited you were joining us, in awe of you and perhaps a little worried too that you’d try to dominate discussions. An unnecessary worry as it turned out. You’ve been wonderful, an excellent listener. It’s clear to all that Freud holds you in high regard. Everyone agrees it’s nice to have a woman in our circle, moreover one who’s built a reputation outside the profession and who, by the way, doesn’t happen to be Jewish. None of us wants psychoanalysis to be viewed as an exclusively Jewish field.’

  ‘So like Jung I was especially welcome.’

  ‘The Jung issue is something else. I hear Freud’s about to break with him.’

  ‘You say the photo came up, Victor. Do you mean mentioned in passing, or analyzed?’

  Tausk laughs. ‘There was some analysis, as you’d expect from our group.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘You want me to tell you what was said?’ Lou nods. ‘As I recall, basically two questions were raised. The first was whether it really was Nietzsche who instigated the whole thing.’

  ‘It was!’

  ‘I believe you. The second question was whether as a key participant you understood what the poses seemed to signify, or whether you took part in the naïve belief that it was all just fun and games?’

  Lou exhales: she’s answered this query many times. ‘It was a joyful moment commemorating a serious plan – my plan that we three would live together chastely in a kind of intellectual commune.’ She looks at Tausk. ‘What was Freud’s reaction?’

  ‘He didn’t say much, just listened and smiled slightly the way he often does.’ Tausk chuckles. ‘That, as you know, can carry more meaning than a lengthy speech by anybody else.’ He stops walking, turns to Lou so they’re facing one another, then peers into her eyes. ‘Didn’t you suspect your plan couldn’t possibly work, that if two men, rivals competing for a woman’s love, were forced to live together the end could only be explosive?’

  ‘Yes, a time bomb! I’ve heard that. Call me naïve, but at the time my plan seemed worthy and on the day that picture was taken I was certain great things would come of it.’

  ‘As apparently they did.’

  ‘You’re speaking of Zarathustra. But, you see, I’ve never believed that book was a reaction to our failed plan. Fritz was deeply troubled even then. As I wrote …’

  ‘I know the line, Lou. “The depths of his misery became the glowing furnace in which his will to knowledge was forged.” Do I have it right?’

  Lou nods.

  ‘I still have a question regarding the symbolism. Did Nietzsche want to suggest that, harnessed along with Paul Rée, the two of them would transport you to some undefined but exemplary future destiny, or was he suggesting that under your discipline he and Paul would fulfill the promise of their greatness?’

  ‘That’s a truly wonderful question, Victor, the best one, I think, that’s been raised about the picture. Knowing Nietzsche, I believe the former – that he saw himself and to a lesser extent Paul as mentors who would pull me along.’ She laughs. ‘Who knows? Maybe it was all just harmless fun and these deep hidden meanings, so dear to those of us in the profession, are simply, as Freud so often points out, unprovable interpretations superimposed upon a perfectly innocent joyous shared experience.’

  Tausk stops to light a cigarette. ‘Actually Freud did say something about the photo. He said it seemed staged like a frozen moment in a dream, and the only way to interpret a dream is to put the dreamer under analysis. As a result, he added, anything more he might say about it would be speculative. But he did make one observation. He told us he recognized the Alpine peak in the background, that it was the mountain known as Die Jungfrau, The Virgin. Then he reminded us that in a dream every little detail is important, his way of telling us that choosing the Jungfrau as the background would be an important clue to decoding the dream.’

  Hearing this, Lou smiles knowingly. Tausk, catching her smile, asks her if she agrees.

  Lou shrugs, signaling she’ll have nothing to say about the then-state of her virginity. Then she laughs and takes Victor’s arm.

  ‘Let’s go to
that Italian place we like, grab something to eat, then go back to the Zita. My little friend Ellen’s out for the evening, doubtless seducing another of her numerous admirers.’ She stops, turns to Tausk, looks him in the eye. ‘Her interest in you hasn’t escaped me, Victor. I noticed it when I returned to the room the other day and found you two reading Faust. She makes a fine Gretchen, doesn’t she? So young and devilishly pretty. You’ve been tempted too, haven’t you? I understand. She’s a seductive little creature. But let’s hope she doesn’t take her Gretchen role too seriously and try to poison her old mama.’

  Tausk seems a little unnerved by this. ‘Believe me, Lou – nothing could be further from her mind. She adores you. As do I. Please don’t think such things.’

  Lou giggles. ‘I love her too, so never mind. It’s good she’s out tonight. We’ll be able to fully express ourselves without worrying the little vixen will tiptoe in and interrupt us in our passion.’

  TEN

  I’m sitting on a red leather couch in the Redwood Lounge sipping from a thirty-dollar glass of champagne. The room is large, the lighting soft. The redwood paneled walls glow like copper. Above the long bar, made from a single plank of redwood, bottles of spirits, arranged in tiers, are silhouetted against yellow light. Paintings, slowly dissolving one into the other, are displayed on plasma screens. A warm buzz issues from the couches, chairs, and tables all around.

  Rex, I think, has chosen a perfect setting for this rendezvous. This is just where a high-end escort would meet a john. I feel glamorous in my red dress, the one I usually wear when performing my Weimar piece. A tiny video camera, disguised as a button, has been subtly concealed in the front of it. My high-heeled shoes show off the shapeliness of my legs. The faux black-pearl necklace Rex draped about my neck glows against my bare tanned skin.

  I may be playing an escort, but I don’t feel slutty. On the contrary, I feel secure, confident, in command. I will myself into the proper mindset. Taking another sip from my glass, I think: Now where oh where is my needy date?

  I recognize him immediately as he lopes toward me. With his awkward gait and mop of bed-hair, he looks like a prototypical Silicon Valley nerd, one who likely feels comfortable in a worn T-shirt facing a computer screen but clumsy in a suit and tie in this elegant hotel bar.

  ‘Chantal?’

  I enjoy being addressed by my alias. I show him a feline smile. ‘Mike.’

  ‘C’est moi!’

  ‘Sit,’ I order after shaking his hand. ‘Very nice to meet you. I’ve heard awesome things about you. I’ve heard you’re a very interesting guy.’

  He lowers himself onto the couch so we’re sitting side by side, but, observing first-date etiquette, not too close. He tries to act suave, but I can see he’s embarrassed. I peer into his eyes, again offering a smile. He’s neither handsome nor unattractive. Watery brown eyes, slightly scruffy cheeks; he looks the single-minded internet entrepreneur – late twenties, pale, socially maladroit, unaccustomed to meeting a beautiful and expensively-put-together older woman, the type of woman who excites him even as he fears she’ll eat him alive.

  To relax him, I get him talking about himself. I feign interest as he mentions people at work, people I don’t know and couldn’t possibly care about, colleagues with names like Dan, Rich, Art, Herb, who set up this ‘date’ and the ‘noir adventure’ he’s been promised will follow, and I think (the way I imagine my character would): Like who gives a flying fuck what their stupid names are!

  Finally, when he becomes too tiresome, I interrupt.

  ‘So what turns you on, Mike … aside from algorithms and cool software?’

  ‘Turns me on? Gee, lots of stuff. Cool movies. Comics. Great food. Wine.’

  ‘A man after my own heart. But what turns you on in a woman?’

  ‘You mean sexually?’

  I shrug. ‘Sure, since you bring it up, what turns you on sexually in a woman?’

  ‘Gee, just normal stuff, I guess. You know …’

  ‘Whatever “normal” means, right?’

  ‘Yeah, right!’ He giggles.

  ‘Wanna know what turns me on, Mike?’

  ‘I would definitely like to know that,’ he says, trying his best to keep his cool.

  Oh, I bet you would! I peer into his eyes. ‘An interesting man, accomplished. A man who knows who he is. A guy secure in his maleness … as you so clearly are.’ I lean into him so my mouth is practically against his ear. ‘A guy who’s good in the sack. That’s the real turn-on for me.’ I pull back, giggle, resume my speaking voice. ‘Now how ’bout that?’ I ask bewitchingly.

  ‘Like wow!’

  Mike giggles, embarrassed and also dazzled by my effrontery. Like who would talk that way in the first ten minutes of a first date? He isn’t used to a woman so brazen and seductive.

  ‘So, Mike …’ I draw out his name, tasting it, rolling it around in my mouth like I’m savoring a delicious chocolate. ‘Has anyone ever read your palm?’ He shakes his head. I take hold of his hand, run my finger lightly across it. ‘Good strong lifeline,’ I tell him. I stroke it again, tracing the crease. ‘And this—’ I run the tip of my forefinger up the length of his, then down his thumb, taking special care to massage the loose flesh between. ‘This,’ I tell him, stroking his thumb again, ‘tells me you’re … how shall I put it?’ I lean in again to whisper. ‘On the well-hung side, shall we say?’

  At this I grin and daringly enlarge my eyes, exhibiting some serious lewdness. I can tell he likes what I’ve said by the way he wets his upper lip. But then how could he not?

  ‘I get this feeling you and I are going to have an awesome time,’ I tell him.

  He doesn’t have a response for that and I don’t expect him to. He’s totally attentive to me, can’t tear his eyes from mine. Got him now! I think.

  I lower my voice and speak directly into his ear. ‘I’m going to do things with you I suspect no one’s ever done before. For starters I’m going to coax you into confessing your deepest longings, the ones you never dared confide to anyone. And then, no matter how kinky, you and I are going to bring them to life. We’re going to have awesome mind-blowing sex. Now I’m sure you’ve been told this will be a one-time adventure. After tonight we’ll never see each other again … which is good because that allows us to be totally shameless. So let’s make the most of it, shall we? No one will ever know what we did. Not Dan or Rich or Art or Herb. It will be strictly private, our secret night of ecstasy. And because it’ll be a one-off, I’m going to do everything in my power to make it unforgettable for you. And oh yes, for me too! I want to leave you with terrific memories. Now how does that strike you? Perhaps a wee bit excited, are we?’

  ‘Oh, yeah!’ he agrees.

  ‘Good! Because I’m excited. Very excited.’ I run my hand very lightly across his lap, allowing my fingertips to graze and linger momentarily upon his hardness.

  ‘Oh, we are excited now, aren’t we! Feeling you down there – I can’t tell you what a huge turn-on that is for me, Mike.’

  Oh, I have him going! He isn’t looking much like the computer genius with the PhD from Cal Tech; now he’s leering at me like a horny adolescent. And just in time too, because I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of the pair of goons who’ve come to snatch me away. They stand together by the door of the lounge, a well-matched pair of husky thuggish guys in identical shiny black suits. Their appearance tells me I’ve got just a few more seconds to lock Mike in. I lean in again to whisper into his ear: ‘You know I want to suck it, don’t you? Of course you do.’ I pause, then lower my voice to a throaty whisper. ‘You have no idea how much!’

  The goons are moving toward me now. I tighten as they approach. Mike, picking up on my change of mood, asks if something’s wrong.

  I motion with my head toward the approaching men. ‘I may have to leave you for a while.’ I whisper: ‘Can you remember this address, 2700 Locust – can you remember that?’

  ‘Sure. But who’re those guys? Why d’you
have to go?’

  ‘Can’t talk about it now. Meet me in an hour at that address. We’ll reconnect and I’ll explain. I don’t want to lose you, Mike. But now I gotta—’

  The goons are standing in front of us, ignoring Mike, staring down hard at me.

  ‘Boss wants you, Chantal,’ the first one says. ‘He’s waiting in the car.’

  ‘That means now, Chantal!’ the other one orders. ‘Off your butt!’

  I nod, obey. Rising from the couch, I turn to Mike: ‘Excuse me. Something work-related.’ I narrow my eyes to show him a glimmer of fear. ‘Hope to see you later on.’

  ‘Fat chance of that,’ the first goon mutters, grabbing hold of my arm.

  He grasps it so hard I’m forced to wince, to which I add a little cry of pain to show Mike the goon’s hurting me. I shush him when he starts to protest, shake my head vigorously to warn him these aren’t the kind of guys you mess with. After that I give in, allow the goons, one on each side, to march me toward the entrance. Pausing there I turn, look directly at Mike to again show him my distress – enough, I hope, to encourage him to follow me outside. When I see him rise, I turn and again yield to my escorts, knowing Mike will soon catch up.

  Out on Geary, I see the limo – long, black, ominous. I catch a glimpse of Fat Man in the rear compartment, cigar between his teeth, watching menacingly as I approach. I glance back at the hotel door. Mike’s standing there confused. The goons shove me roughly into the limo. Fat Man stares at me. With the limo door still open so Mike can see, Fat Man smacks me hard across the face. I cry out, Fat Man leers, then the goons slam the door and get in front. Mike approaches. He’s just a few feet away as the goon-driver starts up the engine. I peer out the window at him. I mouth HELP through the soundproof glass. Then the limo lurches forward leaving Mike standing dumbfounded at the curb.