Cabaret Desire

She was the most progressive, refined, libertine, and sensual woman anyone had ever seen. Her family left her a small inheritance, and she was yet to become the youngest and most brilliant art historian in the country. She was a true revolutionary. Everything about her—from the way she dressed to her paintings and her decision to become a single mother—went against the grain, and she knew it. There were never any men around; she was so discreet, almost secretive. She was the kind of person who rarely spoke. She always used to say, "You have two ears but just one mouth for a reason. You should speak half as much as you listen." Her penchant for silence was far from accidental. It wasn't just that she was a quiet person—she had a lot to keep quiet about. In fact, her livelihood depended on her ability to keep her mouth shut. Few people ever knew about it, but she was a thief. Not a common burglar, though. She didn’t knock off banks, pickpockets, or break into rich people's houses. She was an art thief. She stole one-of-a-kind pieces: from Art Deco jewelry to Renaissance paintings, to modernist works. She especially loved incredibly old first editions from her favorite authors. There was nothing she couldn’t find and acquire. Her intelligence and training in art history made her the best there ever was. If she wanted something, it was hers. There was one thing that made her a legend. She never spoke of it, but it’s said that Interpol nearly caught her once. The detective handling the case fell in love with her, and they had an affair before she vanished. There are always rumors about important men—the director of the Louvre, a famous art restorer at the Prado, private collectors. Curiously enough, these stories often ended with something incredibly valuable going missing. More often than not, it wasn’t even reported to the police.