"DUBAI POLICE STATION"

It was Holy Friday. Konrad pulled into our service road promptly at 9:30 a.m. and stopped. "Come on, hop in! We'll get through.

Sheikh Zayed Road is empty." "What's that?" "Traffic jam," he replied. "Aha." He was wearing a suit and tie today. Elegantly dressed in fine goatskin racing gloves, he gripped the steering wheel.

We had a plan. "That scoundrel has to be reported!"

I was so flustered that I didn't even notice the beauty of Sheikh Zayed Road. All those skyscrapers obscured my view, looming like dark figures. My heart was pounding, my hands were clammy. I was scared.

On a white wall, the words "DUBAI POLICE STATION" were emblazoned in large letters. Konrad went ahead and held the door open for me.

I was the first to enter the lobby. My brain instantly shut down, and I functioned only mechanically. There were only men there. In green uniforms with rank insignia, medals, and gold stars. On their heads, they wore red berets pulled diagonally. Konrad walked up to an officer and spoke to him.

The man looked over at me. I was so shaken up I could have fainted. "Eleonore, could you come here for a moment?" "Yes!" "Salam Aleikum," I greeted the locals. We described the situation in several offices. The officers' ranks increased. It was already evening.

Then an Emirati joined us. One of them was wearing a white dish dash. Konrad took me aside and said this was going to be a big deal, a criminal offense. "I'm not going to prison???" "No, you're the victim here." The next day, they were already expecting us. They placed a photo of Hala on the table for me. “Did you paint that painting?” That’s my picture! flashed through my mind.

Konrad said, “The police were at Arik’s last night and confiscated the painting.” “He denied everything and filed a complaint against you, saying you owe him 20,000 dirhams.” My knees buckled and I collapsed. A warm hand caught me. I was offered a chair and something to drink. “Mademoiselle, are you alright?” I couldn’t follow. Konrad completed the complaint. Later, he was informed that Arik had been banned from Dubai for two years.

“FORTUNE HUNTERS”

Meanwhile, things were happening fast back home. Vallery had been exposed and saw no other option but to flee from Dubai to Germany. She took a German employee’s passport, dyed her hair brunette, and booked her plane ticket to Germany under that false name. It was later said that it was the last flight that had taken her. She was already blocked on all subsequent social media accounts. And so she disappeared from the high society scene.

Months later, Vallery's landlord contacted me. He was now free to vacate the apartment. Could I handle the sale of the furniture? There was still a picture of me there: Golden Footprints. My first walk on Jumeirah Beach. We met for coffee. He told me that his family had built the first hotels in Bur Dubai 40 years earlier, and today he invested in hospitality, the automotive market, gold, and real estate. He bought two more of my artworks.

After that, we never spoke again. I often encountered exuberant Germans in Dubai who had been sent there by their companies. They were given villas, cars, and credit cards. This luxurious lifestyle tempted many to delusions of grandeur. They leased expensive cars, dressed in luxury brands, and moved into villas next to the golf course.

There it was, that word: fortune hunters. They guaranteed deals they never honored, and the Emiratis paid upfront. Then came the financial crisis. Sheikh Zayed Road, always bustling with traffic, was suddenly empty. The malls, too. For Sale signs were posted everywhere in front of the villas. Dubai used the financial crisis to reform its entire system, relying on its local residents and Arab guest workers.

50. “VERSACE”

By now, I had been back in Dubai for a month and hadn't heard anything about the orbit, nor had I contacted him. Surely he must have seen me on a camera in his CCTV room by now? Chantal asked me daily if I had heard from him and swore me off never to speak to him again. He had banished me.

I had rejected his proposal. I couldn't wrap my head around her anxious way of thinking. Once, when we were together at the opening party of an art fair, we suddenly found ourselves standing in a gallery alcove, facing a sheikh.

CC's face flushed crimson with shame. Pale-faced, she began to tremble, clutching me in her arms and pulling me away. "Please get out of here!" I glanced at a young man in a kandora whose attention was drawn to a plastic object made of Metal fell. There was a certain excitement in that corner because a member of the royal family was interested in this gallery. Since photography was generally considered impolite and, above all, forbidden back then, it was the murmuring and whispering that interrupted the lively atmosphere of the hall. I was preoccupied with Orbit.

Why had I been allowed to return, and now he was so unapproachable? He had once told me he knew everything about me. Every step I took and where I was. However, in Dubai, we live under constant surveillance and control. If you don't do anything wrong, you live safely, without robberies, break-ins, or scams. Dubai is watching you. I still remember when I was in the Mall of the Emirates and Orbit called me and said, "Please go into Versace and say you're from Mr. Orbit and ask them to pack up the entire new fall/winter collection for you and bring it straight to my villa." I stood in front of this opulent store, too embarrassed to go in. I looked like a penniless day laborer, and I was supposed to go in there. Finally, I went in. A young Filipino man approached me and asked if he could help me.

At that point, I softened and apologized profusely, saying how embarrassed I was. I explained that I had just received a call from an Emirati man who wanted the entire fall/winter collection delivered to his home. "Could you please tell me if I'm in the wrong movie?" They laughed gently and said, "Yes, yes, we know, Mr. Orbit." Immediately, a flurry of activity began around me. I was invited into an armchair and asked if I would like a glass of champagne. It turned into a whole bottle. Meanwhile, two gold luggage trolleys appeared and were filled with boxes and crates. The security service then escorted me through the mall to the VIP entrance with the trolley.

A Mercedes stretch limousine was waiting there, and they were loading the items. They held the limousine door open for me and asked me to get in. "Do you have the address?" "Yes, of course." "Then please take the items to him. I have an appointment and will stay in the mall." I didn't like to play games. Late that night, long after midnight, I received a WhatsApp message. I was to come down to the concierge; there was a gift waiting for me. In the morning, I immediately went to the elevator.

"Yes, Madam, a large box has been delivered for you." There it was in my hand. A woven Versace bag in silver. Model "La Medusa."