Handsome and Greta (Seven Ways to Sin 3)

“I’m not doing any climbing,” said Phillip. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll stand. That’s as much effort as you’ll get from me.”

Hans and Greta looked at each other with similar expressions of exasperation on their faces.

I stood and stretched, ready to make my way back to Perth and get on with my work.

“Hey, do you do any modeling?”

I looked over at the three guys seated on the ground. The guy addressing me was sprawled out, his head on one guy's lap, his feet on the other guy’s.

“Me?” I pointed to myself.

“Yeah, you,” he said, not looking at me. “You’ve got a rough outdoorsy look to you.” He turned to me and smiled. “I like the muscles.”

“Be nice,” said the guy holding his head in his lap, and he gave him a little tap on the cheek.

“What? I am being nice. I said I liked his muscles.”

His friend looked at me with an apologetic smile. “You’ll have to forgive Fred, here. He doesn’t get out much.”

I shook my head. “No worries.”

I headed back toward the trail, stopped, and turned to get a final look at Greta. But she had her back to me and was looking through her camera at the view. Instead, I saw Hans who gave me a look I knew all too well—a look of distrust.

I gave him a nod and said. “Have a good day.” Then I took the trail at a jog and went back to the safe confines of my workshop.

5

Greta

It was quite frustrating being back in Perth, supposedly to work but not being able to, as we waited for the clothes and our equipment to be flown to us from Paris.

And after the first day when we took the models to the mountains to shoot some stills, they were quite content to lounge around the lodge. I was not. To say I was feeling restless would be an understatement. I was going stir crazy—emphasis on the crazy.

We stayed clear of the orphanage, and the ghosts from the past didn’t venture out to the lodge to haunt me. For that, at least, I was grateful.

I chatted with my friend in New York, Bonita. She could always make me feel better. She spared me the details but talked about her boyfriends. Bonita and her multiple lovers. I was happy for her, even though her adventures highlighted just how empty my love life was.

“Who knows,” said Bonita, “while you’re in Montana, maybe you’ll meet a sexy mountain man, or two.”

I laughed. “Why not three, as long as we’re dreaming?”

“Make it an even dozen,” she said.

I shook my head. “Bonita, what would I possibly do with twelve men?”

“Believe me, you’ll find plenty to do with twelve men. Don’t worry about that.”

“Believe me, I’m not worried about that. I’m too busy worrying about our agency.”

Despite the trouble with the agency, and despite the absence of a man in my life—let alone the twelve Bonita had suggested—I ended the call in good spirits. Impossible not to be in good spirits after a chat with Bonita.

I joined Hans in the lodge dining room for an early dinner.

“Where are the boys?” I asked.

Hans shrugged. “Philip and Jeff said they were going for a romantic walk.”

“In Perth?”

Hans put his hands up and lifted his shoulders. “Hey, when you’re in love, even Perth can be romantic.”

“If you say so.” The dining room was large, but Hans and I were the only people there. “Kind of creepy how empty it is,” I said as I perused the empty tables.

Before he could respond, a portly old lady came to us wearing a wide welcoming smile. “Well, hello there. My name’s Betty and I’m going to take good care of you. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” said Hans.

Betty set down two placemats and cutlery. “How’s a big bowl of slow-cooked lamb stew sound?”

Hans looked at me. I could tell by his expression that he didn’t find the suggestion as tempting as Betty had hoped he would.

“Could we see the menu, please?” I asked.

Betty shook her head. “We don’t have menus. We make one dish. Changes every evening. Tonight, it’s lamb stew, and it’s delicious.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said.

“We’ll have two bowls of delicious slow-cooked lamb stew,” said Hans.

“Coming right up.”

When Betty was out of earshot, Hans leaned over the table and whispered, “Good thing Kurt didn’t join us.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s a vegetarian. He would have been outraged.”

“Kurt, outraged? I have a hard time picturing that.”

“It would have been an internal outrage,” said Hans.

“Like an in-rage.”

“Yeah, good thing Kurt didn’t join us, he would have been in-raged.”

The lodge might have been short on selection, but the service was fast. Betty returned with two large bowls of steaming stew. And what qualified as large in Montana might have been called family-size back in New York - aunts, uncles, and distant cousins included.