Matilde in the World of Media & Art

"It is," I say, lighting up.

Steffen gets to his feet, looking at his wristwatch.

"I'd better get going then."

"Yeah. How much do I owe you for the stuff you bought this morning?"

"Forget it. It's on me."

"Thank you!"

Steffen collects his things from around the apartment and we face each other in the narrow hallway of my apartment.

"This was so nice. I really like you, Matilde," he offers.

"Yeah. I liked it too. Be careful out there, Steffen!"

We hug and tongue kiss. Then my phone rings. I pull back from Steffen.

"Here we go again," I say, rolling my eyes. "Bye, Steffen!"

"Bye."

I hear the door close behind Steffen as I reach my phone.

This time I'm relieved to se that it's a call from someone I know: It's Henrik, my former (sort of) father-in-law, Mikkels dad.

"Oh, hello Henrik, long time no hear."

"Hi, Matilde. No. It's been a long time. It's too bad. We really liked having you around. We should see more of each other."

My personal opinion is that my relation with Mikkel's parents Henrik and Charlotte, is a bit strained after my break up with their 18-year-old son, but never mind. I absolutely want to play this nice.

"And wow," I continue, "I met Mikkel and his new girlfriend, Sofie, yesterday. She's so sweet."

Henrik pauses. This is unexpected to him.

"Yes... isn't she."

"We just met at a cafe and sat down and smoked some cigarettes together."

"Mikkel smoked?"

"No. Of course not. You know him. He wouldn't do that. Sofie and I did the smoking. Mikkel just watched."

Another pause.

"So... Sofie is a smoker... I didn't know that."

"No. How could you? They've just been together for a month, haven't they? And maybe it's a bit frightening to come into your - excuse me - artsy, non-smoking home as a new daughter-in-law? You should invite her to go to the balcony where I used to smoke."

Another brief silence.

"We might... Listen, Matilde... I saw you in Ekstra Bladet this morning..."

"Oh. You did?"

I honestly didn't think Henrik read such filth.

"Yes. And it gave me an idea..."

I'm sure it did. I already received several phone calls this morning from men who were inspired by the coverage in Ekstra Bladet.

"It did?"

"Yes. You know we are opening our new exhibition at Louisiana tomorrow afternoon. It's called Body Art."

As an art historian Henrik works as a head of department at the prestigious Louisiana Museum of Modern Art north of Copenhagen.

"Yes...?"

"It's about tattoos."

"Oh..."

"And we've invited this tattooist from San Francisco, Marc Schmelzer, to fly in with some of his work to present it live tomorrow at the vernissage. I don't know if you know his work?"

"I've heard of him. And thank you for telling me about the exhibition. I'll make sure to go and see it some time."

"But the trouble is that I've just received an e-mail from Schmelzer. He's ill and will not be able to make it."

"Oh... that's too bad."

"And that's where you could come into the picture, Matilde."

"What do you mean?"

"I wonder if you'd consider to come and present your full-body tattoo together with your tattooist, tomorrow afternoon at Louisiana."

I inhale smoke for some seconds while I take in Henrik's proposal. He continues into my silence:

"I guess you've received a lot of unwanted attention today. It mustn't be pleasant to be falsely portrayed as a porn queen in Ekstra Bladet."

"No. It isn't," I admit, exhaling smoke into my living room.

"But this is a chance to face the music and change this. This will be an event for all the influential art people in Copenhagen and southern Sweden. All the art critics will be there, and..."

"Like you said, Henrik, I've gotten a lot of unwanted attention. This morning three men phoned me to express their wish to have sex with me. So I think it's a no. But thanks anyway."

"Don't you understand? This is a chance to turn it around. The art world is just the opposite of the world of Ekstra Bladet and Pornhub. Once you are established as an art phenomenon, people will think of you in a completely different way."

"They will?"

"Yes. Believe me. And don't you think your tattoo artist would like some PR?"

"Oh, I'm sure he would."

"Could you please call him and ask?"

"I suppose I could."

"Thank you, Matilde!"

"I haven't said yes yet. And just to get this straight: You want me to walk around at an art exhibition at Louisiana in some revealing dress that shows as much skin as possible?"

"No!"

"What do you mean, no?"

"I mean that I want you to be completely naked. Maybe apart from those nice high heel sandals of yours."

"Completely naked?"

"Yes. I know you wore a pair of panties and those ridiculous stickers down in Amsterdam. But we're not like those narrow-minded, catholic Dutch. This is liberal Scandinavia. And remember, it's the art world. And as a work of art you're allowed to be naked. Anything goes. "

"Oh... yes? Why don't I just call my tattooist and get back to you, Henrik?"

"Will you think about it?"

"Yes."

"You promise?"

"I do."

3.

Sunday, May 17^th:

Casper, of course, was very enthusiastic about getting this chance and soon persuaded me to taking it with him. We spent the rest of the Saturday and all Sunday morning at his tattoo parlour on Nordre Frihavnsgade preparing our presentation and the powerpoint slides.

We selected photos from the many pictures my ex, Thomas, had taken, as the jungle was still a work in progress on my body. It was fascinating to revisit how bare I looked less than two years ago. It's quite a contrast to my present, fully tattooed appearance.

We divided the presentation between us. Casper spoke about his artistic visions, his ideas and his research in order to recreate a tropical rainforest as authentic as possible. I told the very interested audience about my own experience during the process and about the way I'm perceived as my new, tattooed persona.

After the long applause, as Casper and I are both surrounded by artsy people with questions, comments and congratulations, I briefly manage to establish eye contact with him. We both raise our champagne glasses in a silent toast. We're a success.

All of Copenhagen's cultural elite is gathered here. Artists and gallery owners, politicians, writers and actors. The preferred way of greeting in these circles are hugs and cheek kisses rather than the more reserved, Northern European handshake. And people really do get close to you, if all you're wearing is a tattooed jungle.

I hardly get to see the Body Art exhibition as people want to talk to me all the time. I'll have to come back some other time, in clothes, to get a chance to see it.

After mingling for about an hour I spot Mikkel and Sofie, hand in hand, at one of the large photos. I excuse myself to the people around me and greet the young couple with hugs.

"This is absolutely wild, Matilde!" Sofie says.

"Yeah. You like it?"

"Absolutely. You and you tattooist really made a fine presentation. Now I really want a tattoo for my eighteenth. So you'd better start saving money."

Sofie touches Mikkel's cheek with her hand, in which she's holding a pack of Blue Camel cigarettes and a lighter.

"We'll just see the rest of the photos. And then we'll go outside for a bit of fresh air," Sofie smiles at me and waves her cigarettes.

"I'll join you. Do you think I can bum one of yours? Mine are in a locker somewhere and I haven't smoked for like two hours now."

"Sure."

"You know I feel so naked without my cigarettes and my phone," I add.

Sofie laughs:

"You are naked, Matilde!"

"Oh yeah. I forgot," I laugh back at her.

"And thank you for your advice on magic wands. They really work."

Mikkel stands next to her, nodding with a happy smile on his face.

"You're welcome, Sofie!"

"Let's meet outside in 15 minutes," Sofie suggests. "I owe you a couple of cigarettes."

"I'll try to join you outside in 15 minutes. If I can get away from these," I whisper, referring to the group of art enthusiasts who have gathered around us, all eager to hug and chat.

The crowd is very enthusiastic and it takes more than 25 minutes before I finally get a chance to break away. I pick up a long-sleeved, black Louisiana sweatshirt, size XXL, from one of the attendants who kept it ready for me. It covers my tattoos down to my mid-thighs and certainly makes it easier for mee to move discreetly.

At the exit to the park I've shaken off any followers. Right outside, in the warn sunshine, I remove my high heels and walk barefoot on the uneven cobblestones of the art museum's paths. I search in vain for Mikkel, Sofie and her Camels.

Just above a slope leading down to the Øresund coast there is this plateau with a large Henry Moore bronze sculpture and an excellent view of the Swedish coast. I study the sculpture and detect smoke on the other side of it. So I walk around it and find a handsome man in his thirties, casually dressed in a tight, black T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops, smoking a cigarette.

"Can I bum one of those?" I initiate the conversation.

"Well," he says, smiling, "On one condition: You take off that sweatshirt and let me photograph you with the Sound in the background."

He extends a pack of White King's cigarettes toward me. I hesitate despite the fact that I really would like to smoke now.

"Don't you want it?" he asks, teasingly.

"What are you going to do with the pictures? Will they be for your private use?" I ask, sceptically.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm asking in a strictly professionally capacity. I'm Frederik, I work for Politiken as a photographer."

"I'm Matilde. Nice to meet you, Frederik. But aren't you just a bit too casually dressed to be at work as a press photographer?" I ask with a smile as I shake his hand.

"For Politiken? Denmarks leading liberal, free-spirited paper? Not at all. And, by the way... I'm not sure you are in a position to criticize my wardrobe... After all I wear underpants. I don't know about you?"

"Touché!" I laugh. "You got me there. Give me one of those cigarettes and lets do some pictures."

I pull off the sweatshirt, throw it in the grass and reach for one of Frederik's cigarettes.

"I heard your presentation in there," he says, helping me with his lighter.

"Did you like it?" I ask, exhaling smoke from the filterless cigarette.

"Oh yes. And, above all, our art critic Torben Hesselskou liked it. He asked me to take pictures of you out here in the park. This will be big in tomorrow's paper."

"So your art critic likes naked, tattooed women?"

"Only as works of art, I can assure you."

"Oh. How can you be so sure?"

"Well. I happen to know that sexually he's strictly into men. Which is probably why he was having this intense conversation with your tattooist, Casper, when I left the exhibition."

"Let's see how that plays out. I think Casper is open to sexual encounters with all sexes."

"Maybe Torben has detected that. Shall we get to it?" Frederik asks, pointing to a large photograher's bag with all kinds of equipment and putting out his own cigarette against a cobblestone.

Frederik photographs me from all angles with the sculpture, the Sound and the art museum in the background.

"Do you wear contacts?" he asks.

"No. Why?"

"I saw your those snapshots Ekstra Bladet printed yesterday. You had glasses."

"Oh, that... There's nothing wrong with my eyes. That was an attempt to look boring... and a little bit ugly..."

"Well... You failed miserably. You look cute with or without glasses."

"Thank you. That's good to know."

We work for around 15 minutes by which time the dense crowd around us makes it impossible to continue.

"Thank you, Matilde. I think I've got what I need. I've just got to work on these and file them. But I think we'll meet later. I know that Torben would like to sit down with Casper and you and do a longer interview for Tuesday's paper."

"Okay. See you then!" I say, hugging him briefly, and go back to my work.

I give back the sweatshirt to the attendant, get back on high heels and mingle among the reception guests for another hour until the reception ends and the museum closes at six. I slip into the tent-size sweatshirt and sit down on the terrace with Casper outside the cafe with the amazing sea view. Between us is one of the remaining bottles of champagne from the reception and two tall glasses.

"This went well!" I say.

"Yes. You can say that. Skål!"

We raise our glasses and I notice a slight dizziness from the champagne.

"I agreed to do an interview with Politiken. I hope you don't mind. Their art critic will meet us here."

"Yeah. I know. This Torben guy. I think he likes you, Casper."

Casper smiles at me and then moves his glance as Torben Hesselskou and Frederik appear behind me.

"Come and sit down with us. You can grab some glasses in there and have a drink with us," Casper says. I believe that I can detect from his tone of voice that he likes Torben back.

"Sorry, I'm the driver!" Frederik says.

Torben goes inside to get glasses and water for Frederik, who sits down with us to show us some of his photos on his computer screen.

"They're excellent!" Casper remarks.

"Well, Matilde is extremely photogenic. I really like working with you, Matilde. And by the way, help yourself to my cigarettes. You don't seem to be carrying a handbag around."

Frederik puts down his pack of cigarettes on the table.

"Thank you," I say and fish a cigarette from the pack. "I also enjoyed working with you, Frederik!"

Torben returns with two glasses and a bottle of sparkling water for Frederik. He sits down and starts the interview which focuses mainly on Casper and his work, only occasionally asking for my comment.

Frederik, meanwhile, is taking close-up photos of my face in the soft evening light, while I'm smoking his cigarettes. Every now and then he turns the camera to show me the result on the small screen. I smile at him and touch his hand as we hold the camera together.

I notice that his bare feet under the table are touching mine. It happens so often that it can't be just by accident.

Torben and Casper are deeply immersed in the interview until Torben suddenly realizes that we're out of champagne.

"I saw some excellent bottles of red wine in there, Casper. Do you think we could get one of those?"

"Oh, I'm sure Louisiana owes us a bottle of decent red wine. After all Matilde and I helped them out by jumping in instead of poor Marc Schmelzer. Let's go and have a look at what they've got."

Casper and Torben get up to go inside. I pick up Frederik's cigarette pack.

"Oh, it's your last one."

"Take it!"

I place the cigarette between my lips and Frederik lights it for me while I crumple up the empty pack.

Frederik moves his chair around the table and sits next to me.

"It's easier... Like this we can look at the screen together." He points to the screen and continues: "I really like when you do that."

"Do what?" I ask and inhale smoke from my cigarette.

"When you remove a tiny shred of tobacco from your tongue with your thumb and little finger like that... It's such a... feminine gesture."

"Oh yeah? I guess I do it all the time when I smoke filterless."

"You do. I've noticed. And I really like it."

We sit very closely together looking at the small screen. Under the table I feel Frederiks hand move up under my sweatshirt along my inner thigh. I move my right foot to Casper's empty chair next to me to open up my wet pussy. Frederik gladly accepts my invitation and moves his finger inside of me.

"Oh, that's so nice, Frederik!" I whisper. "You're not married, are you?"

"Would I put my finger here, if I were?"

"I don't know... I know some married men who would... and did."

"In that case: No. I'm happily divorced," Frederiks says.

I let him massage my clitoris until Casper and Torben return with an open bottle of red wine and glasses.

They continue their interview while Frederik and I discreetely touch each other under the table, pretending to be admiring his photographic work.

"I'll just go to the bathroom," I say after finishing my cigarette.

"I'll join you," he says.

We get up simultaneously and enter the deserted ladies' room in the basement under the cafe where he fucks me doggy style, wearing a condom he, apparently an adequately equipped man, produces from his pocket.

"I want to do this at home in a bed," I make it clear to him, as we kiss for a long time.

"That could be arranged," he replies. "I think they must be done with their highly intellectual interview by now."

"What took you so long?" Casper asks as we return to the table after some time. "Was there a queue?" he adds sarcastically and winks at me.

"I hope you guys didn't get bored without us here," I reply with a smile.

"No," Torben says. "Certainly not. It's been really inspiring to talk to Casper... and you, of course. But we were thinking... Maybe it's time to hit the road to get back to Copenhagen. Will you take us all in your car, Frederik?"

"Yes. I will. But the back seat is not exactly spacious."

"I know. But Casper and I don't mind sitting a little crammed. Do we, Casper?"

"No, that's fine," Casper answer enthusiastically.

"So your car is very small?" I ask Frederik.

"Not exactly. But there is very little room in the back."

"I see. I just need to get my stuff from the changing room. Why don't you guys go ahead to the car. I'll join you out front in five minutes."

We find an attendant who leads the three men to the exit after explaining me the way to the changing room. I run there in my sweatshirt and bare feet, carrying my high heels in my hands. I throw all my stuff into a Louisiana shopping bag without bothering to get dressed and rush to the exit where I say goodbye to the attendant and walk outside into the warm May evening on my bare feet.

In front of the museum there is a red Mercedes convertible, hood down, with Frederik at the steering wheel and Torben and Casper squeezed into the back seat.

I sit down next to Frederik:

"Nice car you've got."

"Yeah. Isn't it. It's a 1973 Mercedes 350 SL. I found it in bad shape in Germany a couple of years ago and restored it. I'm glad you like it, Matilde."

I find one of my own cigarettes in the bag and light it before holding out the pack to Frederik.

"Want one? I owe you some," I ask.

"Let's just share the one you just lit. I suggest we take the Beach Road."

And then we cruise in the fading evening light down Northern Copenhagen's prestigious Beach Road where the multi-millionaires have their park-like gardens, their mansions and their swimming pools. We pass my Marlboro back and forth between us and exchange smiles filled with anticipation and promises while Torben and Casper in the back are enjoying another fine bottle of red wine they somehow managed to take with them from Louisiana. I get an occasional sip from Casper's glass.

Casper asks Frederik to stop at Trianglen and Torben, not totally unexpectedly, wants to get off there as well.

"Are you sure you don't want me to give you a ride home to Christianshavn?" Frederik asks, and probably knows the answer.

"No. It's fine. I'll take the metro," Torben says.

I get out on the pavement as the car stops next to the small toy store on Trianglen to let our two back seat passengers out. I hug both and get back into the Mercedes. As the cars starts moving again, I turn around to see Torben and Casper walking together away from the metro station.