Caught in the Venus trap. Between love and crime E-Book

Jürgen Schonarth

• Herausgeber: novum premium Verlag
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 208

Beschreibung

A successful model, a failed marriage, the Parisian luxury life - against this backdrop, a love story unfolds that is put to the test in many ways. The question soon arises as to whether the fateful encounter between Jonas and Adaya was really a coincidence or whether there are more connections between them than they initially believe. Gradually, the entanglements of secret services and family tragedies become apparent. It is the love of the protagonists that keeps the reader captivated until the very last line.

Leseprobe

Caught in the Venus trap. Between love and crime

Table of contents

Foreword

No aspect of life has been sung about so often, nothing has been philosophized about so much and nothing fascinates people as much as love. It can sweeten your life, inspire and enchant you, but at the same time it can also pull the rug out from under your feet. It can sow envy, jealousy and discord between people, creating insurmountable walls.

Chapter 1: The model dream

Most women consider good looks to be the be-all and end-all of a happy life. Some of them would like to go under the knife right away just to get closer to their dream of the perfect body. The saying "If you want to be beautiful, you have to suffer" may apply to many women of the same age, but not to Adaya. A natural beauty, a perfect body and a fascinating charisma - Adaya had it all. She didn't even need to conceal any minor flaws - she had excellent stylists for that. Her height and slim, graceful body had made it easier for her to break into the modeling business. The "scouts" in the industry became aware of her early on. To avoid unpleasant surprises, her French friend of many years, Marie-Claire, helped her to distinguish the serious from the dubious.

Adaya always knew that she wanted to be a model. Even as a young girl, she loved posing in front of the camera, swaying her hips back and forth and trying to imitate the professional walk of models on the catwalk.

Adaya didn't need to diet, she had never even seen the inside of a gym. She was a natural and most of her job was routine anyway. She was discovered by an agency at a beauty contest, promoted and eventually signed. At first it was just test shoots in the studio, but later she was given permanent contracts for various advertising campaigns.

The whole of Paris was hectic in those days. Adaya was well on her way to becoming a star model. The agency had hooked a goldfish with her and Adaya had what fashion designers were looking for. A good "booker", who organizes artists' appearances, sees something like this immediately. Top designers were looking for girls with top measurements and personality.

With the set card, her "book", Adaya went from casting to casting. The client finally chose whether he wanted the girl or not, whether she was his type for the job or not. The agency coordinates the appointments and shows that people seem to consist only of measurements. The demands on good models are very high and the rules are extremely strict. Everything, without exception, is counted, measured and weighed. Adaya was given final instructions on how to behave at a casting. She also had to cope with her marathon schedule. What's more, the French in the industry obviously only speak French and avoid English like the plague. The procedure at the auditions is always the same. Smile nicely, show your "book" and hope that the other person will deign to look at you for longer than ten seconds. Adaya got used to it, as she found out early on:

"The beginning of a modeling career is very hard. It's important to be patient and do a good job. It's no different in any other profession."

Adaya was soon booked by the most prestigious haute couture houses, fashion magazines and some foreign glossy magazines. Her natural charm helped her to push open the closed doors of the fashion business. Her endearing, radiant manner soon made her the "sweetheart" of the industry.

Designer Julien Devin was looking for girls for his next show and Adaya was looking for Julien Devin. Her agency had booked her for a casting at short notice. It goes without saying that the clothes have to fit well, but whether a model is booked depends on completely different factors such as gait and charisma. It was difficult for Julien Devin to sum up his selection criteria in words. Many details count, above all the model has to fit into the concept of the show. Julien Devin remained reserved for the time being:

"Adaya looks good, she moves well, but - well, I'm not sure yet," he told an industry reporter. After Adaya's "trial run", she said: "I have a good feeling." However, she did not receive a verbal commitment. She said goodbye with "Ciao, ciao" and "Bye, bye".

Twenty other girls entered the race at Ives Saint-Laurent, but they were all delighted with Adaya. Often enough, the designers themselves worked to achieve the perfect fit and the grandiose effect of their haute couture.

They treat their creations like cherished children. Every last detail has to be right, nothing, absolutely nothing is left to chance.

Adaya felt like an accolade when the star designer said to her: "Girl, you're wonderful, I want you for my next campaign!"

"That's perfect!" Adaya was delighted, because it's the best a model can achieve for haute couture jobs. But those who are allowed to "walk" for the best prefer to walk comfortably and casually in their private lives.

Adaya showed a reporter her brown boots with a very high heel and said: "Look, these are my most beautiful high heels. But they make your legs very tired, that's why: Bingo! Sneakers are always better in private life."

Adaya had been living in Paris for over a year now and had internalized the rules of the game in the industry. Most models take the metro in Paris. Only very few can afford limousines. Without a plan in Paris - unthinkable! Every girl has a map of the city and metro in her bag.

"Models need to know what they want. Be professional, whatever the time and whatever your mood. Be there three hours before the show for styling, get used to waiting and to being lonely." She smiled mysteriously when asked about her private life: "Whether I have a boyfriend remains my secret. Maybe yes - maybe no. With friendships, you have to imagine it like this: You live in an apartment with several girls for two or three months and then one of the girls goes to this or that country. You see each other again and again, even if you don't know exactly when, at some point you meet again."

Paris in January: Fashion Week. The weather in the city annoys fashion designers and models alike, but Paris doesn't leave its best customers out in the rain. For five days, the most expensive clothes from the most famous designers are presented to an expectant public, and indeed celebrated. The event of the year for the entire industry. The high art of tailoring, haute couture, is only available as a one-off piece that is tailored to fit the customer perfectly. It starts at around 40,000 euros per dress. No more than 15,000 women worldwide want to afford it. Customers feel honored to be part of such an occasion. The front rows are reserved only for the very best regular customers, fashion journalists, high-profile celebrities and friends and relatives of the designers. They like to be secretive, are extremely discreet and keep quiet about money. The fashion czars like to show themselves on set with their best regular customers and vice versa. The industry is very sensitive, but also very vain - an extremely exclusive, almost closed society.

Fashion is an absolutely sober business. One catwalk and back earns the model around 600 euros, only top models can earn six figures or even more. As a newcomer, you certainly have to invest something in the first year, in the second year, if you're lucky, you'll get something out of it - not that much, but you can live off it. But the costs also add up, you have to pay for a lot of things: the set cards, the copies, the book shipments and, above all, the apartment. In Paris, in a good location, the monthly rent is at least 2,000 euros, which is quite a chunk. Adaya shared an apartment with three other girls in Montmartre, the city's most original shopping district. The models come from all over the world, moving in and out in constant rotation. They speak English with each other. When they arrive, they hardly sleep. Life in Paris is far too exciting and they are worried about missing out on something. The fridge is mainly stocked with fruit and vegetables, yogurt and water - lots of water.

Adaya was tired, but her resolution to go to bed early had once again come to nothing. The nightlife on the Champs-Élysées beckoned. The models kept to themselves there - that was everyday life. They got on with it, somehow the girls enjoyed it too. Adaya found the chic crowd boring, she preferred "normal" people. "The stuff dreams are made of" meant something different for everyone. For Adaya, the absolute highlight was when she was featured as the cover girl in the Italian edition of Vogue magazine three months ago.

"A dream job, absolute madness!" she said proudly to herself and nodded approvingly at her reflection in the mirror. And the madness took shape. Carlos, the undisputed fashion czar, had booked Adaya for his haute couture show at the Palais de Chaillot on Place du Trocadéro. Adaya took a cab the evening before, drove home excitedly, made a few phone calls, including one to her parents, and then treated herself to a soothing lavender bath. Six hours of sleep before the big performance had to be enough. The next day, Adaya felt well-rested, fresh and highly motivated. "Amazing," she kept thinking on the way to the final fitting before the big show.

"This is my big chance." It would start in a few hours and she would only be showing one dress, just one, and it had to fit.

The updo of her black, curly hair was fixed, her bright red make-up checked once more. Ready for take-off.

The catwalk had three stops and the models walked in one direction. The catwalk was almost 80 meters long. That was a lot. For Adaya, it was 80 meters to the top tier of top models - the absolute Champions League of the industry. Not only fashion was presented here, but the models were also closely observed by the scouts. Those who proved themselves here could increase their market value enormously. Apart from the fingernails, everything on Adaya was real and everything was slim, extremely slim in fact - many would even say skinny. But almost all the models who presented haute couture looked like this.

One last look in the mirror. "Wonderful, this is amazing! This is the best day of my life! I'm so excited I almost can't speak," she stuttered before her most important appearance in a male-dominated industry.

Catchy, rhythmic music, the finale began, a solemn moment. Adaya floated across the catwalk like a radiant angel on clouds with a gracefully lascivious gait. A fine, even face, a sensual mouth, a graceful, supple body, a tart beauty with an erotic aura that not only the masters of creation enjoyed. Loud applause broke out, which was only meant for her. Adaya threw her arms up in the air and shouted at the top of her voice:

"Amazing, I ran for Chanel!"

At the subsequent after-show party at Hotel Le Meurice, this fine address for departed royalty, artists and nouveau riche celebrities, the champagne was flowing freely. Luxury is a matter of course here and that people talk about it - including a personal welcome from the hotel manager. Adaya hid her excitement behind an elegant reserve. She had no idea what her appearance had triggered in the international modeling industry, otherwise it might have taken her breath away, because a week later Italy's biggest society magazine celebrated her under the headline: "A top model falls from the sky".

Soon the tart beauty was smiling from the covers of countless international glossy magazines. Adaya was suddenly more in demand than ever. She presented skin couture at its finest. She traveled from one fashion week to the next with lavish fees in her luggage. "89 - 64 - 91", these numbers were still the measure of all things when it came to beauty. Whenever a photographer positioned his camera ready to shoot, Adaya would nod her head in approval, toss her shoulder-length hair back with a rehearsed movement and smile directly into the lens.

She thought: "The boys are just doing their job. You can only ever give them a little bit of yourself, then they adore you."

In this business, you need each other. The photographer smiled back gratefully and gushed:

"Amazing, this woman is as beautiful as Evita Perón and Grace Kelly put together."

5 years later

Adaya had said goodbye to the turbulent fashion business. At the express wish of her family, she had returned home to her native Israel. There she wanted to undergo a medically necessary abortion, but another important reason had also become decisive for Adaya. Her father had found himself in a difficult situation that only Adaya could remedy. After five years in Israel, she returned to Paris. She studied law at the Sorbonne, only occasionally worked as a model and led a fairly inconspicuous life. Until the day she met Jonas Théret.

Chapter 2: Marriage in shambles

Comedies and love stories usually end with a happy ending in which the protagonists find each other and stay together happily ever after. However, this romantic notion rarely stands up to reality - disagreements and arguments arise in every relationship at some point, sometimes on a smaller scale, sometimes on a larger scale. Of course, there are marriages that break up.

That morning, Jonas realized what an important decision he was facing. He feared that he had no other choice and looked at his wife Catherine critically from the side.

The lovingly breathed "Good morning" had been missing for some time. There was no longer any great affection between the two of them. The cancer of boredom had long since taken hold of them and metastasized. "Broken" would be the official description. They both realized how fragile reality can be.

"It'll be fine," Catherine said, trying to dispel some of the optimism.

"Jonas, just take it easy and you'll see how our lives will improve in one fell swoop. Believe me, when Dad offers you a job at the company, he only means well for us. He wants to open a few doors for you. Dad says it's a chance to understand and get to know the business, his business, better. Your references and references are excellent, so your acceptance can have a positive effect on our whole life situation."

"I can hardly believe my luck. Catherine, please stop it, I know your father well enough by now. It's not an act of generosity when he makes me an offer. He makes the decisions and others have to bear the consequences. That's how it's been so far. I haven't figured out his true intentions yet, even though he claims to want to retire. It seems to me that he will try to assert his interests in a different way. I also know his preference for playing with people like pieces on a chessboard. As things stand at the moment, I am the only external candidate, after the Supervisory Board has already disqualified the other candidates as 'insufficient'. There will be reasons for this, but I'm not aware of them - yet. I would prefer to throw everything at your father's feet anyway."

"Jonas, I can only advise you to talk to him!"

"You can wait until the day you die. And I would like to tell you one more thing, Catherine: I have respect for everyone, whether they are bricklayers or carpenters, but as far as your father is concerned, I'm sorry to have to say that evolution made a fatal mistake with your father, because anyone who spends a lifetime enriching themselves at the expense of others - and that is exactly his core competence - I can have neither respect nor esteem for him."

"What are you trying to say? Do you have any proof if you're making such claims?"

"Not yet, but soon there will be irrefutable evidence."

Catherine was about to interrupt Jonas: "Jonas, do you realize ..."

"Don't interrupt me and let me finish! Are you afraid for your father when the air gets thin for him? An honest person has nothing to fear in this civilized country. Just think about it!"

The massive reservations and abysmal dislike of his father-in-law Antoine Dessalier were justified. Jonas was silent, he put his book aside, pondered for a while and stared at the ceiling.

"Jonas, what are you thinking about?" Catherine asked after a while. Still annoyed by the previous dispute, Jonas rolled his eyes and answered, lost in thought:

"Oh, you don't know them!"

A lover's quarrel heals quickly. The couple had been arguing more and more frequently recently. But Jonas' response was a disaster that broke the camel's back. Catherine was horrified. She felt his words were like a declaration of war. She had never, ever expected that. And certainly not from the mouth of her husband Jonas. Furious, she jumped up and violently punched the pillows lying around his ears.

"Yes, that's how I know you, you make up the world as you go along. And you prefer to work everything out for yourself. You don't like it when someone tries to look inside your head. Maybe it's because you're an only child!" she shouted at him with a bright red head. Her voice almost cracked, as Jonah's words almost seemed like a whiplash.

Jonas rebutted: "I'm used to thinking for myself and making my own decisions. But when it comes to our marriage, I've long since lost the impression that you're on my side. I wanted someone I could rely on one hundred percent. I haven't had that feeling with you for a long time."

"You're just imagining things, Jonas. It scares me how we treat each other. I feel abandoned by you."

Catherine was furious, but she was willing to calm things down with moderate tones.

"Jonas, if something is bothering you, then tell me, even if you find it difficult to talk about it. And if there's anything I can do for you, all you have to do is say it. I just can't bear to see you unhappy. I don't want to see that pained look on your face either. What is it about our life that you really dislike so much? For God's sake, talk to me and tell me what I can do to put an end to this unbearable situation."

Jonas shook his head, finding it difficult to control his quick temper and hold back his pent-up frustration.

"You annoy me, your questions leave me speechless, they're as unnecessary as a carcinoma. My work is the only thing I enjoy. I can't cope with the way your father keeps interfering in our affairs. I'm also tired of constantly having to justify myself to him. I feel burnt out and empty. I don't feel like having any more discussions with you."

"No wonder, when you're constantly living in the fast lane," scoffed Catherine with a hint of resignation.

Jonas had long since moved on with his thoughts. He wanted to put an end to the constant marital squabbling once and for all. After the argument, he couldn't and wouldn't sleep a wink. Without further ado, he put on his jogging suit, went to the fridge and took a sip of ice-cold milk from the bottle.

Catherine, who had followed him, asked him:

"Jonas, what's wrong with you? Where are you going at this time of night, it's still dark outside?"

"The sun is about to rise, I need fresh air, I'm suffocating here, I feel like I'm cemented in. When we met, it was just us, since we moved into your father's house, our happiness is over. I'm going jogging on the 'Champs', I'll be back in an hour."

Jonas didn't want to hug Catherine that morning, let alone give her a kiss, however fleeting.

Chapter 3: Fateful encounter

Chance is God's way of remaining anonymous.

There are moments in life when you realize that something has to change. Jonas had already left the house in the early hours of the national holiday. After the argument with his wife Catherine, he tried to regain his inner balance; he wanted to clear his head and come to terms with himself.

Jonas came out of Rue Saint Honoré at a gentle trot and jogged towards Rue de Rivoli. When he reached it, he noticed a young woman who was also jogging towards the Champs-Élysées. Her great figure and fascinating appearance caught his attention. At the next set of traffic lights, Jonas crossed a busy street without paying attention to the flow of traffic. As a citizen of Paris, he knew exactly how to cross a busy street without risking his life. They both jogged up the Champs-Élysées at a distance of about ten meters. The slowly ascending two-kilometre boulevard between Place de la Concorde and Arc de Triomphe was all decked out for this special day, the French national holiday.

This was Jonas' favorite route, which was a regular part of his Sunday and holiday routine. He found it much harder to walk than the young woman running ahead of him. He only took a cursory glance at the exclusive shop windows, the jewelry, the sinfully expensive watches and accessories from Cartier, Louis Vuitton and Ives Saint-Laurent to his right.

The jogger had certainly aroused his interest, even if he only had her back in mind. Nothing and nobody could have stopped him from following her. Before the next set of traffic lights, they both walked at a brisk pace, their eyes meeting only briefly. Jonas looked into her dark eyes and noticed a tentative smile. He saw his stubbornness confirmed. His curiosity and courage to approach this young woman grew by the minute. He thought about how he could strike up a conversation with her. At the next stop, however, it was the young woman who beat him to it and suddenly approached him.

"You're really persistent, are you perhaps a stalker?"

"Look into my eyes! What do you see? I'm not some crazy stalker. I'm full of exuberance on such a glorious sunny day and I was just waiting for someone to share my exuberance with me. Judging by your appearance and your accent, you're not French. What are you doing here on the boulevard at the crack of dawn, on our national holiday of all days?"

"Maybe I'm not allowed to do that, even on July 14? I always thought France was a free country. And by the way, what I really do in Paris is my own business. That's my story alone."

"It's a shame you're in such a hurry, I've got time, I've got nothing planned this morning," Jonas asserted.

"But I don't have time, my dear, I have an important appointment this morning."

Jonas felt flattered because the young woman found him cool and likeable, she even took the next step:

"Why don't you come to the bar at 'Au Père Georges', near the Boulevard Hausmann metro station, at 8 p.m. tonight? Then we can continue our conversation," she suggested and got into one of the waiting cabs.

"Yes, ok, I know the bar from hearsay. See you tonight!" Jonas called after her, beaming with joy.

On the way home, one of Jonas' habits was to buy a fragrant baguette from his favorite baker and bring it home with him. For the French, this is a guaranteed staple food that is still made with sourdough. The elongated, crusty white bread with its moist, large-pored and aromatic crumb makes every French person's mouth water. However, this ritual had no meaning for Jonas that morning. From now on, there would be no more favors of this kind.

Chapter 4: A fateful evening

By the evening, the celebrations to mark the national holiday in the French metropolis had come to an end. The countless roadblocks around the Champs-Élysées had been lifted. It smelled of gunpowder and kerosene. The traffic on the Parisian boulevard was as busy as ever at this time of year.