Fiction
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Sisters
(I really can’t say where this one “came from,” except that I loved the idea of it the moment it occurred to me. Perhaps I should try to get more sleep.
Gentle erotica set in Manhattan. As with “A New Look,” it’s about a desire that’s not merely unfulfilled, but unfulfillable.)
Marie closed the apartment door behind her and locked it carefully. One could never be too careful in New York, even in a secured luxury highrise like hers. Security guards had been known to pinch things, after all.
She considered her options for the afternoon as her elevator descended. Her white silk blouse, knee length black velvet skirt and matching jacket, her black high heeled pumps and her glove leather handbag suggested that she was on her way to some high profile destination, perhaps a society party. She’d labored nearly an hour over her makeup. Yet she’d had no particular destination in mind.
It was free time: an afternoon without cares, a time simply to enjoy being a woman of leisure. There was precious little leisure in Marie’s life. It took determination to carve out time for her own enjoyment.
Perhaps she would shop. A stroll along Fifth Avenue would be pleasant in the crisp autumn air, and it had been a long while since she had been to the Charles Jourdan store. Suddenly a new pair of shoes seemed like just the ticket.
Much to Marie’s surprise, the store was empty except for herself and a lone saleswoman. Jourdan was the city’s premiere ladies’ shoe store. On the occasions of her previous visits it had never been empty, nor had female sales help been in evidence.
The saleswoman looked up from her reading. She was a petite blonde in a severely cut navy blue suit and very high heeled slingbacks. Her makeup was as elegant and perfect as Marie’s own. She approached with a hand extended. Automatically, Marie took the proffered hand. The small fingers were soft and warm beneath hers.
“Good afternoon. So nice to see you. What may I show you today?”
The saleswoman’s fingers lingered against Marie’s.
“I noticed three styles in your window that I’d like to try on. Shall we have a look?” Marie felt her color rising, and her heart rate increasing.
The saleswoman’s eyes locked onto Marie’s. There was a special focus in them, a narrowing of concentration. Despite her small stature and slight frame, she radiated the confidence of a hunter. She smiled.
“Of course.”
When they had returned from the window, the saleswoman went to the back of the store for the selections, and Marie seated herself to wait. She was acutely conscious of her reaction to the young woman, and even more conscious of the woman’s unusual focus on her. It might have been only that, except for the two of them, the store was empty, a condition a Jourdan employee would find unusual at the least, but Marie couldn’t quite believe it. Some elemental current flowed between them. It had been there since their hands first touched.
The saleswoman returned with not three but four boxes. Rather than handing them over to Marie as expected, she dropped to one knee and opened one of the boxes herself. It proved to contain a pair of black D’Orsay ankle straps, shoes Marie had not asked to see. When she had removed the packing material from the shoes, the saleswoman looked up at Marie and said simply, “I thought you might like to try these as well.”
Without preliminary she reached for Marie’s right ankle and slipped off her pump. Again there was that suggestion of a caress, and a disturbing warmth from the hand that cradled Marie’s ankle.
The D’Orsay slipped smoothly onto Marie’s foot. The saleswoman took care to angle it so that Marie’s toes would not be compressed suddenly by the shoe’s pointed toe. As the saleswoman fastened the ankle strap, Marie spread her toes carefully, shaping the toe of the shoe properly to her foot. As always, it brought a unique sense of luxury.
The left shoe followed. When both were on, the saleswoman allowed one hand to slide up Marie’s calf. It sent a thrill through her that she could barely conceal. However innocent her actions might be, the saleswoman was sensuality personified, and she was not troubling to hide it from Marie.
Marie raised her head and found the saleswoman’s bright blue eyes fixed upon her own. She could not look away.
“What’s your name?” The saleswoman’s voice was gently husky.
“Marie.”
“Marie, my name is Anne. You have beautiful legs.” The hand moved gently along her calf, gliding smoothly over the nylon stocking.
It was more than Marie was prepared for. She began to tremble. Not trusting herself to speak, she stood and walked slowly down the length of the room. She became acutely conscious of the sway of her hips, and of the elaborate way she turned before walking back to her seat.
“Thank you very much. I’ll want these as well. If you have any other suggestions, I’ll certainly be pleased to see them.”
Anne’s pleased smile was full of knowledge.
“Shall we try the next pair?”
Marie smiled in return. A curious glow had filled her chest. Undoubtedly it showed on her face, but she found that she didn’t care.
“Of course.”
At the end, it was quite late, and there were, not three or four, but seven boxes of shoes at the register. All were of the highest quality and style. All suited her perfectly. The total was over two thousand dollars.
Marie didn’t care. It had been an afternoon she would never forget. Inexplicably, no one else had entered the store from the moment Marie had arrived. She and Anne had enjoyed unexpected privacy.
Though nine inches shorter and perhaps fifty pounds lighter than Marie, Anne had been in all ways the leader of their dance. She had taken charge of Marie from their first handclasp. Beneath all her courtesy and solicitude was a river of seductress’s energy, a sensuous intent she did not trouble to disguise. Marie had surrendered to it before she knew it was there.
Marie knew they would look good together. Anne’s petite blonde beauty contrasted sharply with Marie’s Mediterranean coloring and Valkyrie build. She knew they would be good together. No other human being had affected her like this in all her years. But her afternoon was over, evening was upon them, and like it or not she had to go.
She presented her credit card and completed the transaction in silence. As she began to gather up her purchases, Anne spoke once more.
“I hope I can count on seeing you again?”
The surge of lust was almost too much for Marie. Her color rose and her knees tried to buckle. She clutched the edge of the counter, hoping Anne didn’t see.
If only Anne had said “we,” as a salesperson should, she could have wrapped her departure in enough wit and ambiguity to allow a graceful withdrawal. But Anne had given her no room in which to maneuver.
“I’d like that.”
Anne extended her hand once more, and Marie could do nothing but take it. The small fingers were still soft and warm. The current of desire that circulated between them was as strong as ever.
“Good night.”
Marie nodded and made for the door as quickly as she could without breaking a heel or forsaking all dignity.
Marie was about a block from her highrise, moving swiftly through the evening gloom, when the mugger struck. He came at her from behind and slammed her against the wall of a building with one hand while brandishing a huge knife directly before her eyes with the other. Her packages went flying, scattered widely about the sidewalk.
“Not a sound, bitch, or I’ll cut you. Drop the purse.”
Breath caught in her chest, eyes riveted to the glittering blade, she squirmed to allow her purse strap to slide from her shoulder. As tall as she was, he loomed large over her, completely blocking her view of the street. But when he squatted to seize her handbag, a small blonde miracle stood revealed behind him, holding a chromed automatic in a Weaver grip.
“Yo, scumbag.”
The mugger whirled, knife raised to threaten or to fend, and immediately saw the gun. His knife came down a few inches. Anne didn’t twitch.
“Drop it, or I’ll put one in your eye.”
Marie was still too frightened to move. She could see the mugger trying to weigh the probabilities. What were the odds that a tiny woman like Anne, dressed as elegantly as she was, would be carrying a loaded gun, and would possess both the will and the skill to use it?
Apparently the mugger stretched Anne’s patience a bit too thin, for she demonstrated her qualifications with a bullet through his knife hand. He screamed, dropped the knife, and fell to his knees, clutching the wounded hand to his chest.
She gave him about five seconds to come to terms with his agony.
“You want to live, boy, you better run.”
He looked up at her with genuine fear. An instant later he was streaking down the street, dripping blood. His knife remained on the sidewalk where he had dropped it.
Anne watched the mugger’s receding form for a moment before pocketing her automatic and retrieving his discarded weapon. Marie was dumbfounded when Anne laid the hilt of the knife in her hand.
“Maybe you should keep this as a memento. This neighborhood’s not safe any more.”
Marie gaped in horror at the thing, and threw it at a nearby sewer grate. It clanked dully against the bars, slipped between them and disappeared with a dull splash. It took her a moment to find her voice. “What are you doing here?”
Anne’s face colored. “I, uh, live near here. What about you?”
Marie shook her head. “No, about a… no, down the street a way.”
Anne nodded, and in the most businesslike fashion imaginable began to gather up Marie’s packages. When she had retrieved them all, she handed them to the taller woman as if they were presents.
“You should have taken a taxi, you know.”
Marie nodded. “I can never thank you enough.”
Anne smiled gently. “Forget it. I would have done the same for anyone. Especially for a sister.” She paused and looked away. “Most especially for you.”
“Sister?” Marie whispered.
“Women,” Anne said. “All of us. Predators home in on the helpless, you know. Some of them would kill you for your shoes.” She grinned. “You’d hate that. But we don’t have to let them.”
She took the gun from her pocket again and weighed it in her hand. “In the middle ages, a knight had to take an oath to do justice and protect the helpless before he was given his sword. It doesn’t say that on the pistol permit application, but maybe it ought to.”
Marie held back her tears by main force. Anne seemed to come to a decision of her own.
“Just tell me I’ll see you again.”
Marie could barely speak. “Yes. At the store.”
Anne’s smile became radiant. Without another word, she turned and walked into the darkness, the click of her heels against the sidewalk resounding unusually in the evening silence. Marie watched her disappear before turning and hurrying home.
Marie looked about her apartment briefly, noted that all was as she had left it, and headed straight for the bedroom. She dropped her burdens directly onto the bed and sat at its foot, struggling to recover from the experiences of the day.
She had lied to Anne, and now must pay the price. There was only one price that could redeem her lie. Marie knew she could never trust herself to meet Anne again; the small blonde woman was too appealing, and much too strong.
Slowly and with great care, Marie lifted off her luxuriant black wig to reveal the completely bald pate beneath. She set it gently upon the wigholder at the corner of her dresser, then sat again on the bed and regarded it awhile in silence.
Marie was good, Marie was beautiful, Marie was a joy to be, but she would have to cease. She would have to become only Martin again, until the tiny beauty who had come to her rescue had forgotten her and moved on to someone else.
When he had undressed and removed his makeup, he slid directly into bed, jostling shoe boxes out of the way, and turned off the light.
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