“Listen up, Madsen,” Doctor Bohr announced. “I have a date tonight, so I need you to stick around after hours and help me out.”
Mending his socks, deworming his cat, painting his porch, and now this? The (not so) good doctor sure had a very odd view of the duties required of a dental assistant. Still, a job was a job, and this one was, at least, educational, so Mikkel kept his face neutral as he asked, “In what capacity, exactly?”
“Well, the lady in question is a person of culture and sensitivity, an artist, so we will need to go all out. Flowers, wine, music, moonlight… the full, perfect package. Make it happen, Madsen.”
Flowers were easy: they grew everywhere. Wine could be purchased from old Agnes for, say, a handful of the doctor’s painkillers. Music… well, Mikkel HAD started learning the trombone. With some luck, this artistic lady would enjoy his scales and arpeggios. As for moonlight, however…
“I will do my best. But moonlight might be hard to come by, on a moonless night.”
“Excuses are the refuge of the lazy and the incompetent, Madsen. When I hear music, and lead fair Frida over to the window, wine in hand, a flower in her gorgeous hair, I had better see a moon.”
A job was a job, but there were limits. Still, Mikkel was nothing if not resourceful.
***
Mikkel lingered on the last note of his last scale for as long as his untrained lungs permitted. Then, he gently laid down his instrument, cast a glance at the upstairs window--as predicted, it showed a bored woman and an irritated dentist--and turned away from the building.
Undoing his belt and dropping his trousers was the work of a second. Strangely, though, the angry screaming did not start until he had leaned forward slightly.
Mikkel listened to the doctor’s words serenely, memorizing a few new curses, until he heard the by-now familiar phrase: “Madsen, you are fired!” Only then, once he was truly off the clock, did he pull his trousers back up.
He was putting away his instrument when he heard the lady call out.
“Ahoy, musician!” She waved from the window, alone, no dentist in sight. “What a nice, solid shape you have there. Almost abstract in its spherical harmony.”
“Thank you,” said Mikkel, closing the trombone-case. “That is exactly the effect I was going for.”
“Oh, very well done. You know, I might have a proposition for you.”
Mikkel had performed many jobs, but propositions from cultured ladies were somewhat outside even his experience. Still, he was always happy to pick up new skills. “What sort of proposition?”
“Have you ever worked as an artist’s model?”
