My brief career as a smoking model

"Now light it please! Yes!"

I lit the cigarette and took a small drag that I exhaled at once. I stood and watched the sunset with the burning cigarette close to my face while Dieter was doing close-ups. I tried to look as if there was nothing I would enjoy more in the whole world than this particular cigarette.

"Now start walking," Dieter commanded.

I walked slowly along the beach promenade, carefully avoiding to get my stilettos into the cracks in the pavement. Dieter was moving backwards ahead of me, taking pictures.

"Don't forget to smoke your cigarette," he reminded me.

I inhaled deeply and exhaled an enormous cloud of smoke in his direction. His camera clicked eagerly.

"Do that again!"

I repeated it, almost forgetting the bitter taste in my mouth because I was concentrating on walking in stilettos and inhaling smoke.

"Let's go down on the beach," Dieter suggested as we arrived at some steps leading from the promenade to the beach. I looked to my left toward the beach that was covered by the wicker beach chairs from where German seaside tourists prefer to watch the Baltic and North seas.

I sat down on the steps to take off my sandals and extended my cigarette toward Dieter who was busy photographing me.

"I'm working," he smiled. "Put it in your mouth!"

Dieter's camera kept clicking as I took the cigarette between my lips to unbuckle my stilettos. I shook my head to avoid too much smoke in my eyes. Barefoot I got up, cigarette in one hand and stilettos in the other, and walked toward the water with Dieter taking pictures in front of me. The sun had disappeared into the sea now.

"It's getting dark. Can you still take pictures?" I asked.

"Oh yes! And you are incredibly pretty in this light, Sara."

We reached the water and I enjoyed the cool water around my feet, the beautiful light and the effects of too many glasses of wine -- almost forgetting the cigarette in my hand.

"Don't forget to smoke, Sara!" Dieter insisted.

I took another drag and inhaled deeply, probably to Dieter's satisfaction as his camera clicked continuously. I flipped off the ash and took note of the fact that I was almost through my second cigarette. After a long exhale in Dieter's direction I decided to finish it quickly and immediately took another deep drag to make sure the cigarette was short enough to be considered properly smoked. With smoke in my lungs I bent down and extinguished it in the shallow salt water at my feet.

"Satisfied?" I asked, looking up at Dieter, exhaling smoke as I spoke.

"Yes. Very much. You're getting the hang of it, Sara. I'm sure, our client will like these pictures," said Dieter. His camera stopped clicking the moment the last smoke had passed between my lips.

"What do I do with this?" I asked, holding up the wet butt of my cigarette.

"Don't throw it here. There's a waste basket up there at the promenade. Let's go back to the car."

Side by side we walked back to the promenade where I got rid of my butt. Still barefoot, I walked with Dieter to his BMW. Before putting the key into the ignition he showed me some of the pictures in his camera. I must admit I looked good in the evening light. Dieter was a very skillful photographer. Definitely. A bit strange, though, to see me, Sara Cremers, smoke a cigarette.

"Let's get back to the house. We have an early start tomorrow," Dieter concluded the picture show.

"How early?"

"Your stylist will be at the house at 8:30. She has to be back at her salon in Westerland at 9:30," Dieter explained as he maneuvered his vintage BMW out of the car park.

"So if you want breakfast and a shower, I should probably wake you up around 7:30. If that's all right with you?"

"Sure," I said.

7:30 was probably a bit early after all that wine. But I wasn't on vacation I reminded myself.

"And please feel free to smoke in the car!" Dieter said and opened a clean and empty ashtray in the dashboard.

"Could I also feel free to not smoke in the car?" I asked, maybe a bit too sharply.

"Suit yourself. But we have a very long day ahead of us tomorrow. And a very demanding client who would like you to look like a natural smoker."

"I know..."

"So if I were you, I'd use the time to practice and improve your chances of making another 1500 € at the end of the week."

As I started digging into my handbag, Dieter immediately pushed in the cigarette lighter on the dashboard. Ignoring this gesture I lit my third cigarette with the lighter that had now apparently become mine.

In a childish and defiant gesture I made sure to inhale a lot of smoke and blow it in Dieter's direction without rolling down my window. He didn't roll down his either as I filled the BMW with my cigarette smoke and he didn't comment. We drove in silence with the breathtaking North Sea on our left hand side. I butted out my third Camel cigarette in the ashtray as Dieter pulled into the driveway at our house. I made sure to brush my teeth thoroughly before going to bed. But the bitter taste of stale smoke stayed in my mouth as I fell asleep.

Tuesday, July 13^th, 2004. Wenningstedt, Sylt.

"Good morning, Sara!"

Dieter smiled brightly as he was standing in the door frame. I sat up in bed in the old T-shirt I used to sleep in.

"Good morning!" I mumbled, clearing my slimy throat and sensing an even worse taste in my mouth than the night before.

"It's 7:30. Your stylist will be here in an hour."

"I'm coming."

Dieter stepped into the room and put down a glass of water and a mall box on my night table. It was a pack of Togal effervescent tablets.

"I brought you these. You might need them after all that wine yesterday."

"Thank you. That's very thoughtful of you," I smiled and cleared my throat again. Apart from the burning sensation in my throat and lungs I detected a massive hangover. I fumbled with the medicine pack and threw two tablets into the water.

"Wir empfehlen bei Kopfschmerzen Togal!" Dieter smiled, quoting one of the pill company's old slogans.

"Would you like your egg hard or soft?" he continued.

"Soft please!"

"Breakfast is ready when you're out of the shower. See you downstairs!"

I smiled at him as he went out of the room. Nice service.

As I slowly drank the mixture of acetylsalicylic and ascorbic acids and caffeine, I noticed a grey sky and a light drizzle outside the window. Typical North German summer.

With a decisive move I got out of bed and went to my private bathroom behind the door at the opposite side of the corridor. Dieter had his own bathroom downstairs and we were the only occupants of this fairly large and well-equipped house. I made sure to wash my hair to get rid of the stench of cigarette smoke.

When I came downstairs in my own jeans and T-shirt, it turned out that Dieter's breakfast table had all you could ask for: freshly baked bread, coffee, orange juice, jam, chease, ham, sausage.

I ate with a good appetite and soon felt better. Then I realized that according to the clock on the wall, the stylist would arrive in only a few minutes.

"Feel free to smoke anywhere in the house by the way," Dieter said, as he got up to pick up an ashtray from a shelf. He put it on the table in front of me next to my coffee cup.

"It's a little early, don't you think?" I tried.

"Not at all. You're going to smoke a lot today. So you'd better get started now. I'm told that a cigarette will taste good with your coffee."

"I left the cigarettes upstairs."

"Not a problem," Dieter replied and picked up an opened carton of Camel Blue cigarettes from the shelf where the ashtray had been. "Smoke one of these."

I took a pack from the carton and opened it slowly while using my tongue to get rid of the last crumbs in my mouth. Dieter produced a plastic lighter from his jeans pocket and lit my cigarette.

"Thank you!" I said sarcastically.

Dieter went across the room and came back with his professional Nikon camera that he had used by the lake in Hamburg. He started taking pictures of me smoking.

"Shouldn't you wait? I haven't had my hair and make-up done yet," I protested half-heartedly.

"You look fine," he said and continued to take pictures until the doorbell interrupted him.

I used the opportunity to butt out my half-smoked cigarette in the astray as Dieter opened the door.

A blonde, curly-haired woman in her forties with high heels, a tight skirt, long, red nails and a distinct smell of perfume came into the living room. I got up and took her hand.

"I'm Heike," she smiled.

"Sara."

"Where would you like me to work?" she asked Dieter.

"Over there at the mirror."

He pointed to the far end of the spacious kitchen-dining area and directed me to sit down on a chair in front of said mirror.

When I had done so, he took his laptop and started showing us pictures of a 1950s Sophia Loren with a very voluminous hairstyle.

"I had thought of something like this," he suggested to Heike.

I smiled at the thought of me looking like the young Sophia Loren.

"Yes. I can do that," Heike replied thoughfully while inspecting my hair with her eyes and fingers. "Let me get my gear."

She went to the hallway where she picked up a suitcase on wheels that she rolled over to the mirror and opened, revealing all kinds of hair and make-up tools and products.

"And I'm glad you don't mind that Sara is smoking while you work on her," Dieter remarked to Heike who clearly didn't notice the surprised look I sent him through the mirror.

"No. As I told you on the phone, it will be nice for me to smoke while I'm working. I don't get a chance to smoke indoors at the salon anymore," she answered and picked up a pack of Marlboro Lights and a lighter from the open suitcase, lighting up before getting to work.

Dieter immediately stood next to me, holding one of "my" cigarettes in front of my mouth. I grabbed it with my lips and he lit it.

"You really need a cigarette after breakfast, don't you?" Heike conversed.

"I suppose so," I answered, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

I felt fine by now. The two Togal tablets and the nice breakfast had done their magic. I felt ready for what the day would bring. Even though it would be more or less shrouded in cigarette smoke coming from my own mouth.

"Will the rain be a problem?" I asked Dieter, inhaling from my Camel Blue while Heike was transforming my very straight hair into a 1950s Sophie Loren chevelure.

"I was prepared for that. I brought umbrellas. We'll be fine," he assured me, watching and photographing my transformation with interest.

Heike worked on me with extreme efficiency but had to leave it to myself to paint my nails as she left in a hurry at 9:20. My hair was completely changed. She had done a remarkable job of making me resemble an Italian film star from 50 years ago.

"See you tomorrow!" she smiled on her way out, waving at me with her cigarette while pulling the suitcase with the other hand.

"Bye!" I said, looking up from my nails.

When they had dried, I got to my feet and noticed a slight light-headedness. I had to hold onto the back of the chair for a moment.

"Are you dizzy, Sara? That must be the nicotine. It'll go away as you get used to smoking. It was great that you smoked two cigarettes while she was working on you."

"I guess I had to if I wanted not to be bothered by second-hand smoke from her," I smiled.

"Yes. Heike seems to be a real chain-smoker."

"Yeah. She smoked three while working on me and lit a fourth on her way out."

"Impressive, isn't it."

"I suppose so. What do we do now, Dieter?"

"We go to work. I want you to go upstairs and put on the short, blue dress and the sandals you wore yesterday. We're leaving for Westerland in..."

Dieter looked at his wristwatch.

"...five minutes."

At 10 we were back on the main road towards Westerland with the window wipers going left to right and back in the now more intense rain that didn't seem to worry Dieter. He had made sure that I had the Camels in my bag and he had thrown two extra packs on the back seat as we loaded the car.

My new Sophia Loren hairstyle, my professional make-up and the chic dress made me feel comfortable, and as we parked the car in mid-town Westerland, I felt ready to meet the world through Dieter's camera lense.

Dieter handed me a colourful umbrella that was much needed due to the heavy rain. I unfolded it as I left the car while Dieter went to pay for the parking. Without thinking I dived into my handbag for my cigarettes. And didn't think about it before I found myself in an awkward situation with the umbrella in my left, cigarettes and lighter in my right hand. How should I get a cigarette from the pack and light it with just one hand?

Before I found the solution to this problem, Dieter was back to hold my umbrella.

"Oh, you want another cigarette, Sara? That's good. Let me help you."

"I suppose I want another. That's what our client is paying for, isn't it?" I said as I lit up.

Dieter shrugged with a satisfied grin as he returned the umbrella to me.

We walked slowly along the promenade with Dieter taking hundreds of photos of me in my fancy dress and stilettos, smoking in the rain.

Activity on the beach was limited due to the weather.

At the steps from the promenade to the beach I sat down, cigarette in mouth, to take off my sandals and walk in the sand. The rain was definitely lighter now so I put down the umbrella as Dieter was busy taking pictures and obviously couldn't hold it for me.

Only a few beach chairs were in use, where elderly people read their papers or magazines or simply stared aggressively into the rain, waiting for it to go away. Dieter kept taking pictures as I walked barefoot in the shallow water, enjoying as the waves would hit my feet and legs. Distractedly I noticed that I had smoked my cigarette all the way to the filter and bent down to extinguish it in the water.

Dieter looked up from his camera and smiled at me:

"This is really good, Sara. Do you know that?"

"I'm glad you like it," I say, small clouds of smoke leaving my mouth as I spoke.

Dieter's camera clicked again for a couple of seconds.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" he then asked.

"Yes please!"

"I think you've deserved it, Sara!"

The rain had stopped completely now and the sky seemed to clear from the west. We walked back to the promenade where I kept my bare feet -- too lazy to walk in stilettos unless I had to. We sat down at a café and ordered latte macciatos.

Dieter asked me questions about my -- not very clear -- plans for the future after the summer and we basically did small talk for some minutes.

Then Dieter caught sight of something. He asked me to watch his gear for a moment. He walked toward a canopy twenty meters down the promenade where a bodypaint artist was decorating a little girl's face while her parents were watching together with a couple of other bystanders.

Dieter talked to the artist for a while, then he gave him his business card and shook his hand before stepping away from the canopy to make a phone call. This was 2004 and without the smartphone that I own today I started feeling bored, stuck as I was at the table with Dieter's equipment. Without thinking I dug into my handbag, found my Camels and lighter and lit up.

I had taken three or four drags from the cigarette before Dieter returned to the table and immediately started to take pictures of me.

"So you needed another cigarette, did you, Sara?"

I smiled and shrugged, exhaling smoke towards his incessantly clicking camera.

"I guess I did."

Dieter kept taking pictures of me while we smalltalked, until I butted out the day's fifth cigarette in the ashtray.

"I have good news for you: Our client is very satisfied with your work."

"How so?"

"They really like your face and your smoking style."

"They haven't seen me smoke, have they?"

"Oh yes. I sent them pictures from last night and from breakfast before we left the house. They're very impressed."

"That's nice."

"Yes. Actually I'm authorized to pay you the remaining 1500 € right now."

Dieter reached into his back pocket for his wallet and counted 15 green 100 € bills on the table in front of me.

"And as I said: This can be our dirty little secret or you can report it all to the Finanzamt," he said with a grin.

"Thank you. I'm still thinking about that," I said with a broad smile as I picked up the bills and put them into my handbag.

"Actually... I have another proposition for you," Dieter began.

"What?"

"I just spoke with our client. They're willing to pay you another 2000 € if you agree to do this... And it's absolutely fine with them if you don't... Then we'll just proceed as agreed..."

"What is it?" I asked and noticed that my hand was resting on my cigarette pack.

"Feel free to smoke while we discuss this," Dieter smiled.

Strangely self-conscious I felt an urge for another cigarette and lit up. It seemed so natural now.

"You see that tent over there?" Dieter asked.

"The bodypainter? Yes," I said, exhaling smoke.

"I've made an appointment with him for 9:30 tomorrow morning for you to have a full-body paint."

"Oh!"

"We'd then cancel Heike for tomorrow morning and as I said: It's completely alright to say no. But our client is offering you an additional 2000 €, paid to you in cash-in-hand tomorrow."

"For what?" I said, watching Dieter closely as I took a hit from my Camel.

"Well for getting the bodypaint and letting me take pictures of you here."

"What do you mean 'here'? In public? Right here on the promenade?"

"Yes. Here on the promenade, on the beach and on other possibly photogenic locations on the island."

"Okay... And he is painting directly on my skin... all over me...?"

"More or less. You'd get to wear panties but your... boobs would have to get painted. He'll paint on your panties so they're less visible."

"In Hamburg you told me that my private parts would be covered at all times?"

"I did. And I realize that your boobs fall under the definition of private parts, Sara. That's why this is not part of our agreement and why it justifies an extra 2000 €. But you could discuss the definition of 'covered'. Technically they'll be covered. Not with clothing, however, but with a layer of paint."

"And I don't get to wear a bra? I mean, if he can paint on my panties, he could also paint on my bra?"

"I'm afraid that's not what our client wants, Sara. Sorry!"

I inhaled the smoke from my cigarette in deep thought. This started out as a fun week on Sylt with all expenses paid and 2000 €. Now we were talking a possible total of 6000 €.

"Maybe you shouldn't worry about it. After all, many German women go topless to the beach. Or even naked," Dieter broke into my thoughts.

"I know. But they're not necessarily being photographed while they're there," I said, exhaling.

"True. But we could make the compromise that I don't photograph your tits before they're covered in paint."

"You're going to take pictures while he's painting?"

"Yes. Our client wants pictures of the work in progress. And they want you to be smoking while the artist is working on you."

"I thought so."

"Think about it, Sara. It's 2000 €. I mean, I can still cancel our booking and there'll be no hard feelings."

"How much does he charge?"

"Who? The artist? 300 € for a full-body painting. And I think he's good. I'm sure you'll like it."

"What's he going to paint?"

"Something colourful and abstract. He has some designs."

"And I'd get the money tomorrow."

"Absolutely, Sara. And I won't tell the Finanzamt."

I looked at my cigarette that was smoked almost all the way down to the filter. I took a last deep drag and put it out next to the other butt in my ashtray: