Chapter 5

Fashion, Fitness, Fun

It was Wednesday, and things were quiet at the station. There had been a call about a burglary on Monday very early in the morning, but it had turned out that the teenage son of the residing family had been out with friends until dawn – he had forgotten his key and tried to get in through a window. His parents woke up and heard the noise, so they called the police. When Fidel – who had been on call – and Dwayne arrived at the house, they just found the young man snoring on a sunbed on the verandah. The parents were a little embarrassed, but since their house had been broken into the year before, their worries had been understandable. Apart from that, there were a few incidents on the market, Camille had caught a shoplifter, and Fidel and Dwayne had admonished a few teenage rowdies on the beach… Then, of course, there were the routine tours of the harbour and around town. But other than that, there was only paperwork to do – which got tedious in the long run.

Camille leafed through a glossy magazine that she had picked up at the newsstand on the market this morning. She wasn't a devoted follower of fashion, but she liked to be informed, as she called it. She had settled into her personal style over the past years, she knew what looked good on her and what didn't, and she bought her clothes accordingly. She tended to go for timeless pieces and spiced them up with trendy accessories, and while she enjoyed wearing fashionable things, quality and convenience were more important for her. She was realistic about her life – she wouldn't have any opportunity to wear luxurious long dresses by the dozen, so whether or not she liked them didn't really matter – there was no point in stuffing her wardrobe with them. It was enough to have two or three good long dresses, and other than that, her closet was filled with tops, trousers and skirts in different lengths and a variety of dresses for the occasional party or festival.

Her real weakness were shoes – but then again, she tried to be reasonable about this as well and didn't buy just any pair of shoes that she liked. She didn't have half as many pairs of high heels now as she had owned while she had lived in Paris. It just wasn't practical as she could only wear them on special occasions – for work, she needed flat shoes or sandals as she walked a lot, stood around at crime scenes or had to be quick on her feet when she had to outrun some kid who was pilfering at the market stalls. And on the beach, sandals and flip-flops obviously were better, too – shoes she could take off quickly so she could feel the sand beneath her feet and the water between her toes.

Still, it was nice to see what was "in" at the moment, so every once in a while, she enjoyed buying a fashion magazine – her "picture books", as she called them.

One of her favourites was "Amina". It was in French, and it covered other topics besides fashion, general celebrity chat and the inevitable self-help rubbish, but it hadn't been available this morning, so she had settled for something else. "Amina" was different, but the others all looked alike, anyway. As she had time on her hands, she looked through the magazine leisurely – she knew she couldn't have done that if Richard had been there. He worked so hard himself that you had a bad conscience if you didn't do the same, and if things were slow, he'd find work – and he expected you to do the same. Camille realised that they were a lot more productive when he was around, no matter if there was a murder to solve or not. Even the petty things got done when Richard was there as he just expected everyone to take care of them. Well, that was food for thought. She would have to try harder to be more efficient – but not now. Now she'd enjoy her magazine.

However, somehow that didn't happen today. It was as if everything rubbed her the wrong way. She read the caption of an article that apparently encouraged "the modern woman of today" (whoever that was, as she thought sarcastically) to wear whatever style suited her and not become a victim of the latest fashion trend – and on the next page, they promoted the most recent "must-haves" that you had to have in your wardrobe if you wanted to be in style. "Good grief, how hypocritical they are – so much for finding one's own style" she muttered.

"Huh?" said Dwayne as he passed by her desk on his way to the fridge to get a bottle of water. He glanced at the magazine. "That girl gives me the creeps!" he exclaimed. "Is that a table runner sort of doily she's wearing?" he asked curiously. "No, that's the latest stylish must-have, apparently…" Camille wrinkled her nose and said "I can't claim I like it very much, either. Do you think it would look good on me?" "Nah… it wouldn't look good on anyone!" was Dwayne's clear reply. He snatched the magazine and leafed through it before Camille could prevent it.

"Seriously, Camille – all that stuff looks hideous. Why are you even looking at that! Those girls all look like they are going to starve if you don't give them something to eat rightaway. I don't know why the fashion industry has this idea of presenting their stuff on girls that are so thin. I mean, you are already really slim, but at least you look healthy. The girls in here just look ill and sad. They all need a huge hamburger and a cocktail, and maybe a party so they could have some fun!"

Before Camille could reply to this, the phone rang, and the next thing she knew was that Fidel and Dwayne had left to go and interrogate a victim of domestic violence.

They meant well by taking care of the case, and it was actually really just routine work at this stage, but being by herself at the station at this point gave Camille too much time to ponder the recent conversation, and given her slightly shaken self-confidence at the moment, she couldn't help but wonder if Dwayne wanted to say she was too thin.

She remembered the occasions where she had caught Richard ogling other women – they all had more flesh on their bones than she did. Not to mention their impressive chests. She couldn't compete with that, that much was sure. Usually, it didn't bother her – but recently, she had been a bit more self-conscious – and it hadn't helped that her mother had raised her eyebrows when Camille had ordered another sports bra upon signing up for her fitness class… Catherine's face betrayed her before she actually opened her mouth to ask "Do you really think you need one?" Camille had not been happy with this. All right, she was no Jayne Mansfield, but it was not that she was as flat as an ironing board, either.

While Richard was not oblivious to women's assets, he had never ogled her – at least not that she had noticed. He had looked at her approvingly on various occasions – admittedly, he had said she looked stunning in one situation - but that was about it. Did that mean he wasn't attracted to her after all, and she just had imagined it? He had claimed that he didn't have a "certain type" – what if he did, and she didn't fit the picture? And what if it didn't matter at all because he decided he didn't want to come back after all?

She panicked for a moment. Then she realised she was behaving like a schoolgirl, shook her head in frustration and dismissed the thought. It was pointless to entertain sentiments like that – first and foremost, he had promised to come back; secondly, she couldn't and didn't want to change her body, anyway; and finally, she was too old to worry about stupid things like this. But it kind of struck her then how differently people defined and perceived beauty. To her, beauty was clearly something that came from inside – it didn't have much to do with actual looks. Inspirational people were beautiful. "Human" people were beautiful. Kind people were beautiful. Of course, it helped to have a friendly face, good proportions, pretty hair and all that – and she knew she wouldn't be attracted to a man who didn't look after himself. But a man didn't have to be an Adonis to be attractive.

Well, if that was how she felt, chances were that there'd be men out there who didn't look for a voluptuous Venus – or an Aphrodite, if you wanted to stay in the realm of Greek mythology - and with some luck, Richard might be one of them. He wasn't a complete idiot, after all. Miraculously, this thought cheered her up, and she finally turned to her neglected pile of paperwork.

Eventually, it was time to close the station and call it a day. Camille yawned – it had been a somewhat dull day. With Richard being gone, she didn't even have any chance to engage in provocative conversations or play pranks. It just was no fun without him. Even Dwayne said that he missed the Chief – "you wouldn't believe how you can miss this sour face of his" were his words. On the other hand, they were spared his endless complaints about the heat, the slow internet connection or the bugs eating him alive – admittedly, they didn't miss that in the least.

Checking her watch, Camille realised that time would be a little tight for her – she still had to feed Harry before her class started. So, she shoved the offensive magazine into her desk drawer – maybe she could enjoy it more at another time -, gathered her things and zoomed off. Not that Harry could tell the time, but she didn't want to keep him waiting, anyway.

On her way back from the beach, she stepped onto the accelerator with more intensity than necessary… She was running late! She didn't particularly like organized classes, but she had realised that she needed to get out of the house (and away from her mother's bar and her sometimes rather prying eyes) and get more exercise, and a class like that was the perfect solution – it killed two birds with the same stone. Not that she didn't want to spend time with her mother or at the bar – or combine both – but it was all getting a bit old, and she thought it would be nice to see other people every once in a while. Plus, she had had to admit to herself that it would perhaps be a good thing to do something different for a change. Running was good and well, but coordination, posture and all that were important, too.

The class took place in a hall at the convent – they rented it out to bring in some extra money – because the local gym's facilities were too small for the large group of women that had signed up. It was interesting to see the quiet and graceful Sister Marguerite in her inconspicuous garments unlock the door for all the ladies in their skimpy sports attire who were giddily chattering away with anticipation – what a contrast, indeed! The instructor was a lady in her late 30s, and she came up with something different each Wednesday – so you never knew what would happen. That was part of the fun for Camille as she liked the variety of exercise she got. Sometimes the classes were more challenging for her than at other times, but overall, it did her good, and she enjoyed going regularly.

When Camille arrived as one of the last in the group, the instructor gave her a flashing smile as she plugged in the huge stereo set that must have been a remainder from the stone ages. "Hi Camille, what's up? You look tired!" "Ah, you'll pep me up in no time, Val!" was Camille's cheerful reply. She didn't want to let on that the past few days had been somewhat taxing for her – she was almost angry at herself for worrying so much. Well, it was only two more days. She'd find out soon enough whether or not he'd be back, and everything else… just remained to be seen.

She tied up her hair, put on her sneakers and got in line as the first beats of the music filled the air. Zumba – that was precisely what she needed tonight. She threw back her head and began to dance. It didn't bother her that she didn't get all the movements right the first time – she just enjoyed moving and having fun. And as the rhythm took over and the steps just fell into place, she felt how the dark cloud of her self-doubts and worries lifted. Everything would be all right.

Notes: "Amina" is a monthly French-language woman's magazine aimed at black women in Africa, Europe, the Antilles and North America. It was founded in 1972 and is headquartered in Paris. (Quoted from Wikipedia) – I chose this because it's less superficial than a lot of the other magazines that are out there. I think that Camille sees herself first and foremost as French, but she's got Caribbean heritage and is aware of that as well, so this seemed like a good pick.