Her shoulders shrugged beneath the thick coat. “Why not,” she said, “This café has a good selection.”
She looked around the room with her strange manner again. She was like a bird, watchful for predators perhaps, and her eyes seemed to rest on each other customer for a fraction of a second before dismissing them as a threat.
I turned around in my stool to look for a waiter and put my hand in the air to attract his attention. I had lost some of my English reserve during my time as a journalist, but, as was to become apparent, not as much as I thought.
I must have been looking away from Mia for no more than two or three seconds but by the time I turned back the fur coat was gone and I was suddenly in the presence of Mia the performance artist. Or, more precisely, Mia the naked performance artist.
I wasn’t sure what the etiquette was, so I said nothing. I was incapable of saying anything as she sat there, seemingly oblivious to her nudity, not even paying attention to how I reacted.
I had seen plenty of photos and videos during my research for this interview but, in the flesh, it was obvious what a truly beautiful woman Mia was. Her skin was a delightful soft cream colour and appeared flawless, although I was trying hard not to stare. There was barely an inch of fat on her and, as she sat with her legs crossed, I wondered if I was just imagining the whole thing.
I looked around the café. It was obvious from some other reactions that I wasn’t dreaming, but although there were glances in her direction, and comments between groups at tables, it wasn’t quite the seismic reaction that I would have expected.
The waiter arrived and I watched his eyes lock onto Mia’s breasts for a second before he gained enough self-control to address her face.