As soon as my feet set foot on Karl Johans Gate, Oslo's main, wide street stretching from Central Station to the Royal Palace, lined with expensive boutiques and cafes, I was immediately the object of everyone's attention. My beauty attracted mortals and my outfit attracted beggars. The gypsies in long skirts and ADIDAS trainers were particularly insolent: some shoved pictures of children under my nose, some tried to shove some magazine into my hands for which they would later demand money, others simply said, "Excuse me" and jingled their cardboard glasses with change in front of my face.
At that moment I seriously regretted that I had refused the customer's car, which would have taken me straight to the hotel. And for what? I was anticipating a lovely walk, but instead all I got was pity pressure, crush and disgust. Quickly catching a taxi, I slipped inside, waited for the driver to stow my travelling suitcase with my equipment in the boot, and soon we were on our way to the hotel, where a suite had been arranged for me at the customer's expense.
An hour later I met with the client and learnt that I would be filming a rising young starlet who was starring in a Norwegian youth series. She was present at the meeting and I must say she made a good impression on me. Most importantly, she was photogenic, which certainly made me happy. The customer of the shooting – a rich boyfriend of the young actress, did not take away from me an admiring look, and his protégé – jealous. But he was not my type, so, having negotiated the details of the shoot and the fee, I went to the hotel. Changing into a sexy silver dress, I hailed a taxi and spent the night at the club. Arriving at the hotel at five o'clock in the morning, dancing and satisfied, I didn't leave the room until after dark. The guy I'd brought with me was pushed out the door. I didn't even know his name – I just invited him into my room and he followed me like a faithful dog.
At ten o'clock in the evening the filming took place. Successfully. Both the photographer and the model knew what they were doing.
At four in the morning I flew to Prague, having bought a large flat on Aker Brygge, one of the most popular and expensive neighbourhoods in the city.
And why not?
I remember my birthdays when I was a child: every year I saw the same faces, ageless, beautiful, perfect. The faces of my now grown-up brothers, my parents, my cousins and cousins, and everyone else who had anything to do with the Mroczek clan. And so it was until I turned fifteen: then I urged them not to have these boring meetings. When I turned thirty-five, and the sun gave out my first wrinkles, I forbade my family even to mention that I was growing older. But, what a relief! A vampire's shell never ages or fades, but always remains dazzling.
My parents still hold the record in our society for the number of children born in marriage. Vampire families don't usually have more than two children. Like the Morgans. Gregory Morgan is the only one. Oh, and Fredrik, of course. My parents did their best to raise five children. Two sons and three daughters. And now, thanks to Mariszka, we are related to the Morgan clan, and my parents have a new fledgling to warm their hearts – a long-awaited grandson. I was aware of the fact that our mother selfishly hoped to keep Misha at home, but the clever girl showed character and fled to another's nest. Not Mroczek anymore. Misha Haraldson. Sounds good.
