by Kris Tualla
“Hi. This is Hollis McKenna—” She faltered; was the name going to stab her every time she said it? “From the Arizona History and Cultural Museum.”
“What have you discovered about my painting?”
Germans are blunt, she reminded herself.
Sort of like Norsemen.
“I received a call from the museum in Milwaukee which is handling the claim that the painting was stolen.”
She heard a muffled curse. “What happens now?”
“I’m actually going to Milwaukee to meet with the family at the museum there to hear their side of the story.”
“When?”
Hollis held her temper. Barely. “I leave on February ninth and I’ll be there for a week.”
“I will go as well.”
Awww, crap. “There’s no need—”
“Yes there is,” he interrupted. “I want to meet these people who want to take my painting.”
Well… they think your father stole their painting.
“If you make your own arrangements, Mr. Kunst, I certainly can’t stop you from going,” Hollis began. “And I will inform the Milwaukee Museum of History that you wish to be heard as well.”
“Thank you.”
“How do you want me to contact you?” Hollis asked. “Do you have a cell phone?”
Gerhardt gave her his number and Hollis did the same. Before she hung up, she promised to keep him informed of her dealings with the other museum.
“Oh, and I’ll be taking Rachel with me.”
*****
“Sven Hansen?”
Sveyn opened his eyes, assuming the slightly mispronounced name was his. No one else stood, so Sveyn gained his feet and walked stiffly around the rows of chairs to the front table.
The woman’s eyes traveled over his body so intently that he felt as if she had disrobed him. He stuck out his hand to distract her.
“I am Sveyn Hansen,” he said, pronouncing it as Svain.
She shook his hand. “You certainly are.” She heaved a sigh. “I’m Rochelle and this is James. And it is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Shall I sit?” Sveyn asked.
“Not just yet,” James said. “Would you mind doing a slow turn?”
“Like this?” Sveyn turned in a circle.
“Yes, thank you. How tall are you?”
He decided to err on the lower end, since no one else in the room was as tall as he. “Six feet and five inches.”
“Thanks, you can sit now.”
Sveyn lowered himself into the chair, wondering what was next.
“Have you done any modeling before?” James asked.
“No.”
Rochelle stared into his eyes. “Are your eyes really that blue? Or do you wear contact lenses?”
“I do not wear contact lenses.” Whatever those are.
“And your hair—is that its natural color?”
“Yes. Except the sun makes it lighter.”
Rochelle smiled. “You have a delicious voice. Have you done any acting?”
Sveyn shook his head. “No.”
James leaned forward. “Look at Rochelle like she’s a very beautiful woman that you just met, and say Hi. I’m Eric.”
Sveyn’s gaze jumped to Rochelle. “But she is a very beautiful woman that I just met.”
Rochelle gave him a sultry smile. “So say it.”
Sveyn took a moment to figure out what these people were asking of him. Then he looked at Rochelle. He imagined she was Hollis and let those raw emotions loose.
“Hi,” he said softly and smiling with his eyes. “I am Eric.”
Rochelle and James stared at him.
“Can you do that again, but change it a little?” James asked.
Sveyn’s brow twitched. Change it, how?
He leaned an elbow on the table and stroked his unshaven chin. “Hi. I am Eric.” Then he winked like Hollis did with the reporters once.
“Oh. My. God.” Rochelle fanned herself with one of the papers strewn in front of her.
“Smile and say it,” James directed.
That was easy.
James turned to Rochelle. “He’s a complete unknown.”
“And he’s hot as hell,” she replied. “Women will wet themselves to meet a guy like him.”
James nodded. “And he takes direction well.”
Sveyn watched the back-and-forth comments, wondering what they were thinking about doing until they turned and faced him as one.
James spoke first. “Have you heard of the dating site, Match Point?”
That was the one Hollis used.
And where she met Everett Sage.
“Yes.” He managed not to growl.
“Well, we don’t normally do this.” Rochelle folded her hands in front of her. “But we have been asked to cast the face of their brand for a series of commercials.”
“We were planning on auditioning for the part,” James interjected. “But we’d like to go ahead and do a screen test with you.”
Sveyn leaned forward, unsure that he understood their point. “So you want to test me on a screen and see if I can be in television advertisements for Match Point?”
“Jeez he’s green,” James said.
Sveyn looked down at his clothes, wondering what green thing he had brushed against.
“But obviously trainable in our very capable hands,” Rochelle countered.
“True.”
“Sveyn?” She said it right this time. “We’d like to sign you as talent for the Robert Ford Unlimited agency.”
Sveyn wasn’t certain of all the words, but he understood the meaning of the sentence. He grinned and stuck out his hand again.
“Yes. I am very pleased. When do I begin?”
Chapter Sixteen
Hollis stared at him like rabbits were coming out of his mouth. “You walked there? And back?”
Sveyn nodded. “I rested when I was there, and when I returned here.”
“I can’t believe it.” She set her purse and briefcase on the dining table. “And you didn’t get lost?”
Sveyn huffed. “My smart phone has walking directions on the Google’s map. It tells me which way to go.”
“It’s just Google,” Hollis said, her stunned expression not connecting with her words. “Not ‘the’ Google.”
Sveyn shrugged. “Whatever its name, I did what it said and I found the open call.”
“How long did it take you?”
“About an hour.”
Hollis walked around the kitchen’s bar-height counter and opened the refrigerator. She pulled out a thawed pre-made lasagna and turned the oven on before she faced him again.
“I’m impressed that you did that,” she said. “Really impressed.”
Sveyn smiled like it was no large accomplishment. “Thank you. But I do need help with one thing.”
“What?”
Sveyn pointed at the folder on the coffee table. “I called George and asked him to look at the papers before I sign them. Because that has been a wise thing to do for centuries.”
Hollis frowned. “What papers?”
She walked to the coffee table and Sveyn followed her. When she picked up the shiny and colorful folder, he said, “These are the papers from the Robert Ford Unlimited people.”
Hollis flipped the folder open. Her eyes moved rapidly over the first page, then she started reading out loud. “Welcome to Robert Ford Unlimited. We look forward to working with you and building your career.”
She looked up at him, incredulous. “They signed you? As a model?”
“Not just for pictures,” he explained. “So what do you call a person who tests with a screen?”
“Screen test?” Hollis yelped. “You’re going to be an actor?”
“Only in advertisements.”
“Television commercials. You’re going to be in television commercials.” Hollis sank slowly the couch cushion. “I can’t believe it.”
Sveyn frowned. “Why?”
&n
bsp; “Because so many people try to get jobs doing that.” She started to smile. “And you, Mr. Viking, literally walk in and are signed on the spot.”
Sveyn sat beside her on the couch. “I have to test well on the screen first. I am not certain what that means.”
Hollis’s smile widened. “We’ll look it up on YouTube. There must be thousands of screen tests posted, so you can watch and see what they do.”
“That is a good idea. I will do that tomorrow.”
Hollis closed the folder and laid it back on the coffee table. “Did they say who the commercial is for?”
Sveyn snorted. “Yes. Match Point.”
*****
Hollis sipped a delicious Pinot Noir and watched George and Sveyn at the table, poring over the contract while George explained all the different parts.
“This isn’t really my area of expertise,” he cautioned at first. “But I did some research online and called a colleague to see if there were any red flags to look for.”
“There are no flags of any color in the folder.” Sveyn’s confusion washed away. “I remember. A red flag is a warning. It is a figure of speech.”
George grinned. “Yes.”
As he looked over the document, George explained the contract was a standard first-timer contract.
“If they use you in the commercial, and there are positive and measurable results once it’s shown, then we could possibly renegotiate before they use you again,” he said. “But that’s a long way down the road.”
Hollis took another sip of wine and watched Sveyn as he listened to George. His gaze was focused and intense. When he didn’t understand something, he asked clarifying questions.
Intelligent questions.
Hollis always thought Sveyn was a smart man when he was still an apparition. He quickly understood the things that she explained to him, and applied that understanding to similar situations he encountered.
It was helpful that he had watched the world expand and modernize along the way. An awful lot had happened in the nearly one thousand years since Sveyn was born. And his last manifestation was in the nineteen-forties, so things like radios and telephones, airplanes and cars, electric stoves and water heaters were all familiar to him.
But still, so many things had changed since the second World War.
And he’s embracing it all.
Some of her friends’ grandparents still shied away from computers and phones that were capable of more functions than just allowing one person to talk to another.
Sure, there were issues with early internet abuses and phishing emails weren’t always caught by the first spam filters, but technology today was much easier to use and security software was constantly being improved.
“Just use your brain,” she murmured into her glass.
If the English was awkward, delete the email.
Duh.
Today Sveyn looked up an address on the internet, typed that address into Google maps on his phone, and chose an alternative to the default selection of driving directions. Then he followed those directions to the hotel, and presented himself as prospective talent to the agency.
To any one of her friends, that was no big deal. And clearly, Sveyn felt the same way.
Good Lord, but I love him.
Hollis thought Sveyn had a shot at being a print model when she suggested the idea, but she never considered that he might be able to act. While it wasn’t a foregone conclusion, Sveyn told her what they asked him to do and he repeated his responses for her. They were surprisingly good.
“If it’s a national commercial, which means it’s shown all over the country and not just in Phoenix, you can make a lot of money,” she told him.
He looked pleased to hear that. “How much?”
“I’m not sure, but maybe George will know.”
The two men at the table turned to face her and their movement caught her attention.
“Will you join us?” George asked. “We have a couple logistical things to work out.”
“Sure.” Hollis unfolded her legs and got up from her chair. “What sort of logistical things?”
“Transportation for one.”
Hollis sat at the table. “Yeah, we’ve already thought about that. But he can’t drive yet.”
“I will learn soon,” Sveyn stated.
“But not in time for next week’s screen test,” George pointed out.
He returned his attention to Hollis. “I suggest you set up an account with a taxi-type service so he can be driven where he needs to go without having to deal with cash.”
“Phoenix has taxis?” Sveyn asked. “I do not think I have seen them.”
“They’re mostly green cars now,” Hollis said. “But according to their signage, you can book them online.”
Sveyn smiled. “That is a good idea.”
“I’ll call the agency tomorrow and explain Sveyn’s unusual circumstances with his Social Security number so they don’t worry,” George continued. “I’m going to buy some time by encouraging them to go ahead with the screen test, since if it’s a flop his lack of a number at this point won’t matter.”
Hollis nodded, but asked, “Will it freak them out that he had a lawyer look at the contract?”
George smiled. “Probably not. But I’ll assure them that my role in Sveyn’s life is about getting him documented so he can start working for them.”
Sveyn extended his hand across the table. “You are a good man, George Oswald.”
“Will you send me a bill for your time?” Hollis asked.
George looked a little offended. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
George pointed at Sveyn. “Do you grasp the impossible reality that we have an eye witness to Jane Austin’s environment sitting at the table with us?”
Of course.
It all makes sense now.
“And the information you pump him for will be priceless.” Hollis flashed a twisting smile. “You’ll be the rock star of the Jane Austin Society of North America.”
“Well…” The attorney blushed. “Not a star…”
Hollis laughed. “JASNA will never be the same.”
Friday
January 22
Hollis presented Miranda with the schedule for the five Mondays’ worth of visitations by the ghost crazies, which would take place between today and the implementation of her new and permanent position.
Until March first, she would still receive a hundred dollars an hour to show these people both the Collections Storeroom where Sveyn-the-apparition briefly appeared on the security cameras, and the currently-on-display velsignelse av gudene—Blessing of the Gods—whose mythological ability to make its owner immortal pushed Everett Sage to drug and kidnap Hollis in order to steal it.
A large chunk of Everett’s funds were now resting nicely in Hollis’s bank account as a result of that man’s actions. And while that didn’t remove the anxiety she still felt when she thought about the ordeal, the civil judgment against the imprisoned abductor-slash-thief was changing her life for the better.
She still wanted to buy a new car—which she planned to start shopping for on the weekend she nearly died and Sveyn came back to his life. With what happened yesterday, she decided to give Sveyn her car and buy a new one for herself.
Like she did with the phones.
Win, win.
Miranda read through the schedule, nodding her approval. “And on Monday, February fifteenth, you’ll still be on vacation?”
“Not entirely vacation, as it’s turning out.” Hollis scooted forward in the chair in front of Miranda’s desk. “I got a call yesterday from the Milwaukee Museum of History, who is the agent for the recovery of that painting Ezra Kensington had.”
Miranda looked up from the schedule. “That’s a happy coincidence.”
“Yep. And they’re arranging for me to meet with the people who filed the claim to hear their side of the story.”
Miranda’s brows pulled toget
her. “What will our German think?”
“I’ll let you know.” Hollis heaved a sigh, glad to note that the pain in her cracked sternum was definitely lessening. “He’s planning on flying to Milwaukee to hear their story as well.”
“Wow.” Miranda leaned back in her chair. “He really wants it back.”
“It’s the only thing he has left of his father’s and it came from pre-war Berlin.” Hollis wondered if she had anything of her father’s—the real one. “I can understand it.”
Miranda tilted her head. “Is everything all right, Hollis?”
Crap.
Her expression must have shifted without her knowing it.
Hollis forced a grin and decided to distract her boss with the latest news about Sveyn. “I’m just tired. George came over last night to read through Sveyn’s new modeling contract and it went late.”
That did it.
Miranda straightened in her chair. “His what?”
Hollis pointed at the phone on the curator’s desk. “Can you call Stevie in? I’ll tell you both at the same time.”
Stevie walked in a minute later. She looked at the expressions on Hollis and Miranda’s faces and froze. “Good news or bad?”
Hollis laughed and waved her closer. “Good. Sveyn has a modeling contract and a possible commercial.”
“George told me!” Stevie plopped into the second chair. “But he didn’t give me any details.”
Hollis gave her friends a play-by-play accounting of Sveyn’s story, acting out his different responses to the agents’ requests.
“Oh, my.” Miranda fanned herself the same way Sveyn claimed that Rochelle did. “I can only imagine.”
“Right?” Stevie sighed. “Match Point’s servers are going to crash if this ad goes national.”
“How soon will it be on?” Miranda asked.
Hollis snickered. “As soon as Sveyn does the screen test, and it’s exactly what they want, and Match Point approves him, and he gets a Social Security card, and he can sign the contract to be legally hired, and the shoot is scheduled, and air time is purchased, and the ad is edited.”
Stevie shrugged, her eyes twinkling. “So, next week?”
Hollis’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket.