Mia
The Truth
When we reached her penthouse in Miami I was so exhausted that all I could do was nod dumbly as another female butler showed me my rooms, which were down the hall from Mona’s. I walked straight to the bed and fell on it face forward, closing my eyes as I did so and passing without a second thought into a deep sleep.
After first messing around with Mona in the car, and then with Claude on the plane, Mona had again taken advantage of our being alone in the back of another of her "cars" after the flight, and had left me limp with pleasure and fatigue. If I had not fallen asleep, she most probably would have accosted me as soon as I was through the bedroom door. I was fast realizing that Mona, as it appeared many of her lovers were, was a bit sex-crazed, if not a nymphomaniac.
But she left me alone to dream for awhile, which was all I wanted.
"What does she want?" Raphael stood staring down at Paris lit softly by dusk, looking as if he were in deep thought while the wind blew his thick, wavy hair about. It was actually pretty chilly up on the twenty-first story, with his hands braced against the balcony rail. It lined a rooftop garden and patio, complete with covered and heated pool. He didn't look aside to his assistant but waited silently, feeling the air slide its cold fingers into the pockets of warmth between his sides and the inside of his suit jacket.
"She wants to speak to you, of course, sir. Shall I tell her that you are uninterested?" Raphael said nothing. He could be slow as Christmas when he wanted. He felt too calm, too content, to bother with Mona now.
"Give her to me," he finally said, turning to the side but not lifting his eyes from the spectacular view of the Champs-Elysées, l’Arc de Triomphe, and le Tour Eiffel. A tourist’s vacation dream, to have a view like this, but he wasn't a tourist. He brought the phone to his ear. His first words weren't friendly.
"Talk quickly and get it over with. I have work to do." He continued to look out at the city while the valet disappeared, holding the cell phone calmly to his ear as he spoke.
"Darling, I can’t go on not being sure that you miss me. We both know that you do, now don't we?" Raphael closed his eyes for a moment, and exhaled a long breath.
"Mona, why couldn’t you have stayed in the painting? Hmm? Mona Lisa, destined to smile her irritating little smile, haughty and elegant as always, never setting foot outside the frame, never wreaking general havoc on the lives of innocents. Why can’t you just sit in a frame like your namesake and leave everybody the fuck alone?"
"Mon amour, you mean nothing of the sort." Her voice was low and smug. Husky, like he remembered.
"I am not your love. You proved yourself incapable of that." He turned away from the skyline, unable to enjoy the view with her voice in his ear and his memories of the two of them in his mind’s eye.
"I might prove you wrong if you let me." He heard the imperious note in her voice and shook his head slightly. Always looking to manipulate, always looking for love but on her terms, not realizing that those two just didn't go together. In the end, she was never satisfied, and never happy.
"Darling," he mocked calmly in a British sneer, the one that used to make her laugh, his eyes roaming across Paris. He saw the city lights glowing calmly, like a promise to keep him sane until she finally left his life . . . maybe she would be killed by one of her own. But maybe not. Which would leave him at her mercy, to some degree, however far away from her he managed to get.
Raphael continued in his regular voice, a low musical American alto, "I gave you plenty of chances to prove yourself to me. And you failed at every one of them. Goodbye." He was about to disconnect when her heavy voice grew sharp with command, something that was hard for him to not respond to. It would take more time . . . he’d been trained far too well.
"Wait." He almost listened, almost, but he was tired of her games.
"Mona, the next time I think of you, yes, your legs will be spread wider than reality would allow, and yes, you will be panting roughly, and yes, I will be inside of you, but at the same time, I shall most probably be fucking, most eagerly, most lewdly, and most unrepentantly, a woman that looks nothing like you, and who can satisfy me in ways that you could never comprehend." He hung up, leaving her with a dial tone.
She had no clue that in reality, Raphael despaired that he would forever be stuck in a spiritual limbo of sorts, partly because of what she had taught him, and partly because of what he had unlearned, fleeing from her in moral resistance to the results of her tutelage. It looked like he would be alone for a long, long time. But it was the price he had to pay for having first been claimed by Mona, and then getting the silly idea in his head of escape.
The roar of anger that echoed through the penthouse woke Mia from her sleep, and she rolled over in the bed to hear a slamming door and heavily treading feet. Hoping that the sound would go away, she was unpleasantly surprised by the opening of her own door, which whooshed open, allowing the feet to come closer. It slammed shut behind the intruder and suddenly Mona was on the bed, wrenching her up bodily and flipping her around onto her back.
"What-"
"Shut the hell up!" The redhead growled, tearing the skirt off of Mia’s hips and jerking off her sweater. She pulled the underwear off but did not bother with the bra, and then she shrugged roughly out of her own clothes down to her underwear, which consisted of a lacy bra and crotchless lace panties.
Mona whipped out something long and flexible, made of a see-through green rubber that was like firm jelly. Both ends were thickly knobbed and the entire length was ridged and rippled. It was several inches longer than what they had used in the car, and as she watched Mona mount it, Mia closed her eyes, thinking about pulling away. She started to, but Mona cursed and yanked her closer, and suddenly the tool had thrust itself high between the thighs of the younger woman.
"The bastard, who the hell does he think he is?" Mona cursed between her teeth as she invaded Mia thoroughly, rocking the bed with her brutal movements, while her victim cried out and turned to bite the pillow, closing her eyes because it felt both good, and horrible. It was clearly a violation. The pounding went on for several minutes, Mona heaving above her and cursing about some man that had evidently made her very angry, and finally Mia screamed with her culmination, tossing her head and squeezing the pillows until finally they both came to a sudden stop.
Mona flipped her over on her stomach and Mia closed her eyes once more, while her lover mounted her from behind, the instrument pushing slickly into her sex, this time moving much more ponderously, while Mona’s breasts crushed against her back, her thick and vibrant red hair spilling all over the both of them as she thrust slowly, her raving quieting down gradually, until finally she was silent, pumping continuously. This was how they both finally fell asleep, two women in the aftermath of pleasure, filled from the inside out with something that was nothing, but which tied them together like some great erotic umbilical cord.
"I don’t want to talk about it," Mona said the next day at the breakfast table, while Mia sat down in the chair that a male servant had pulled out for her. They were outside on the terra cotta patio that came with the penthouse apartment, which was two floors of sprawling cream carpet, East Indian art and decoration, and hidden fans and air conditioning that provided cool breezes while the humidity of the city settled heavily outside.
"I knew that before I even woke up this morning," Mia responded, snapping out her cloth napkin and setting it on her lap before nodding at the waiter to fill her glass with juice. Mona said nothing, rifling through her newspaper and not bothering to show her face to the woman she had ravaged so insensitively the night before.
"But aside from that," Mia went on, spreading cream cheese without remorse as thick as it would go on a cinnamon and raisin bagel, "we still have things to discuss. Don’t think that for as long as you like I’ll follow you wherever you please without asking questions. I want to know what you plan to do with me, other than ‘guiding.’ I did have a life. I want to know what happened to it, or what will happen to it."
Mia didn't care if she sounded like the boss now, and didn't give a damn if the servant nearby was shocked at her behavior. Even if she was one of many lovers, she had no intention of being treated like all the rest. She had more dignity than that, and for all that Mona might strip from her, she would still retain some semblance of her female pride.
"What do you want to know?" Mona flapped the paper into its original shape, then slapped it down coolly on the tablecloth beside her plate. She had a huge pile of every fruit imaginable: grapes, orange, apple, pear, kiwi, pineapple, mango, fig, guava and starfruit slices, and others. She had both a cup of tea, a cup of coffee, a tall glass of water, and a short one of juice.
"I guess you like to be regular, don’t you?" Mia looked pointedly at her lover’s meal, then bit into her bagel while Mona raised her eyebrows and speared a mango slice, bringing it to her rouged lips.
"I mean it, Mia. What, exactly, do you want to know? I’ll tell you the truth, if that’s what you’re worried about."
"Oh, it’s not the truth that I’m worried about. More the possibility of exaggeration," Mia replied, sipping her juice and shaking her head no at the waiter when he offered her coffee. She nodded when he changed to tea.
"Oh, come on," Mona muttered impatiently, and Mia laughed, realizing that she was not only irritating Mona, but flustering her. Evidently she was not used to back talk. But it was a family trait for Mia, and she wasn’t one to keep quiet if she had the chance to make a smart-aleck comment when she felt in her element. Strangely, because of last night, she did feel in her element. For some reason, though she’d been used, she’d enjoyed it, and it gave her a sense of power–Mona had taken her as if she needed her, needed something from her, something no other of her many lovers could give her. And both of them knew it.
"Alright," she said finally, and she squeezed lemon into her tea, then added a little honey. "Tell me what happened to Julian. Why did I have to get him out of my apartment as if he had another, important engagement he didn't know about? Why did you seduce him for me, in front of me, and include him in your plans for me the other night?" Mona smirked and made a snorting noise, and looked out across the late morning view, picking up a pair of sunglasses as the sun hit her face.
"Are you sure you really want to know the answer to that one?" The itch in Mia’s brain came again. The idea had been lurking in her subconscious ever since the morning he’d left, but --
"I asked, didn't I?"
Mona turned to look at her, glamorously posed with her legs crossed, her chair turned a little away from the table. Her elbow rested on the arm of the wrought iron chair, her hand curling in midair as if it were waiting to be kissed by Cary Grant.
"Yes, you did," and her smirk settled into a calm, mischievous smile. Her eyes glittered above the rims of her dark glasses as she tilted her head forward to look at Mia. Their green brilliance caught Mia’s own smoky gaze and her lashes swept down and then up before she went on. Mia smiled slightly as her lover milked the moment.
"I had him killed. I would have killed him myself, I really do enjoy the expression on a man’s face when he realizes that a woman he was inside of has no compunction whatsoever about killing him, but Mia, one day you’ll understand that in this life women of my caliber cannot waste their time on pathetic asses like Julian when there are better fish to gut. Non?" Her smile widened, revealing sharp, catlike teeth, and she laughed a low, throaty laugh, seeing the expression on Mia’s face.
"You -- you really killed him?"
Mona didn't even bother to answer, she only let her smile grow even larger, so that she looked radiantly beautiful and frighteningly pleased with herself. It wasn't that she appeared to be crazy; she wasn't that at all. She wasn't psychopathic. She was only so selfish and so shameless that she didn't really have an ounce of remorse for what she had done. Mia stared at her. Mona was apparently the kind of person simply born without a conscience, without the capacity for guilt, and without a damn for social custom or rules. It wasn't that she was dangerous to society, it was just that she was having fun making a game of its rules. Mia saw all of this in that huge, model-material smile, heard it in Mona’s lovely laugh, and then realized that she herself, other than feeling a little queasy and worried for the future, felt nothing at all for what had happened to Julian. Then she understood that Mona was indeed going to take her much closer to her limits before she was through with her.
"Oh, darling, I feel much better, now that it’s all out. How do you feel? I understand that you’re a little shocked, but you don’t look terrified enough to go running to the police. Or is that what you are secretly planning?"
Mona stood up slowly and walked by her on her way back into the penthouse. Pausing, she bent down to tilt Mia’s chin so that her lips were waiting for her kiss. Her tongue delved in lovingly, deeply, and then she broke the spell, walking as smoothly as a dancer toward the French doors of the patio, leaving Mia to think about what she’d just been told.
Later that afternoon Mia left the recreational room where she’d been listening to some music she’d brought with her from San Francisco, and went in search of Mona. But she was told by the butleress that her lover had gone out. The woman handed her the key to the penthouse and an envelope that proved to contain a few thousand dollars in one hundred dollar bills.
"Madamoiselle suggested that you might need to do some shopping. She said that if you like, you might also explore the city, and that you might eat out for lunch. But she would prefer that you return by eight o’clock this evening."
"What is the address of this place? Do you have a card, or anything? I want to be able to find my way back."
"Claude will be glad to chauffeur you to wherever you wish to go," responded the woman, looking very dignified in the tailored livery suit that she wore. It was nearly identical to a butler’s costume. She appeared to be in her thirties, but her youth was canceled out by her reserved behavior, much as Paula’s had been.
"No, I think I’d prefer to walk and maybe take a taxi."
"Madamoiselle?" Perhaps she wasn't used to guests giving up the coddling they were used to under Mona’s care.
"I think you understand," Mia said pointedly and calmly waited while the woman cleared her throat and disappeared for several moments. She returned with a blank index card. On one side she had written the address and on the other she had sketched a pretty good map.
"Thank you," Mia said, taking the card and slipping it into her small black leather purse. Then she moved toward the door, stopping to let the woman open it and heading out on an adventure of her own.
After taking the elevator and stepping out of the lobby, Mia found herself in a warm, wet climate that she wasn’t used to, not even close to L.A.’s suntan heat, or San Francisco’s hottest Indian summer. She had to take a few deep breaths to reconcile herself with the humidity. Then she looked up once at the building, to get a good look at it, before turning left and walking down the street.
She began a game that a teacher had once suggested a long time ago when she was in high school: go in the direction of green lights at intersections. So that was what she did. Twenty minutes later, she encountered a bookstore and found herself unable to resist the temptation.
"Good afternoon, may I help you?" A very confident honey-haired model-type in a chic pants suit left a display that she’d been applying the last details to. She clasped her hands before her with an expression of "kind yuppie with need to satisfy." She had the universal underlying emotions beneath her expression that most sales clerks had: get them to by something, get them to like this store enough to come back, and make them feel like they are God’s gift to mankind. But that was only if the customer looked as if they had money.
"Uh, yes --" Mia was not in the least bit intimidated by the clerk. She hadn’t grown up used to money, and she hadn’t grown up used to being waited on, but over time, and through hard work, she had earned her place in society. She’d therefore become tough enough and arrogant enough to never give a damn about what society, or its more parasitic members thought of her. She knew that it was this very arrogance that made them think she was just like all of them, eager to spend money without questioning whether anything they bought was really worth it. This made her, she knew, a prime target.
"Hmm?" The woman smiled almost too eagerly, raising her eyebrows and making the wordless inquiry sound as if she were simply waiting to pounce on Mia.
"I was wondering if you have any works by Mia Gianni. You know, the horror-"
"Oh, yes, we’re stocked to high heaven with her!" The clerk nodded energetically, her perfect hair bouncing as she pirouetted and made her way over to some shelves.
"Really?" Mia’s eyes widened as she searched for some of her titles among the hardcover bindings. "Why is that?" The woman turned to her, as if in confidence.
"Well, it hasn’t been good for Mia lately, if you don’t mind my saying."
"No, not at all." The woman flashed a smile again and turned back to the shelf she’d stopped at, running her fingertips over the hardcovers until she’d located the name.
"Ha, here it is." She plucked one of each of the five titles up, then proffered the top one to Mia, while holding the others face up in the crook of her left arm, facing her as she talked. "You see, horror is really a booming literary industry. I mean, take a look at Stephen King, and Poppy Z. Brite. And then there are people like Anne Rice, and Clive Barker. Professionals, in the business knee-deep, and they know what they’re doing."
Mia was beginning to realize that for all her talk, the clerk didn't really know what she was talking about. She had no idea that if she just flipped the books over she’d find Mia’s own face on the back of the jacket covers, plain as day.
"Well, with this one, Remains," the clerk tapped the embossed black letters against the indigo blue background of the book that Mia was holding, at the bottom of which her own name was stamped in no-nonsense letters.
The woman sighed. "This one, it made us all think she was like these guys, talented, totally into what she was doing. Real attitude in her prose, if you see what I mean." Mia pretended understanding, her mind clicking behind her expression of concerned interest at this lady’s bookstore gossip.
"I mean, shocking portrayal of a little girl whose mind works as an adult’s. She grows up without remorse for her darker side, even though she’s perfectly aware of it." A description you could find inside of any magazine with book reviews. Or inside the jacket cover. "She satisfies her own darkest urges and -- well, you can guess the rest."
"Yes, I suppose I can." Mia stared down at the jacket front, then opened it to look at the synopsis inside. One of her less known literary friends had written it herself.
"That one, it was stunning, really. Gritty, harsh, unyielding. Kind of like Stephen King in that regard. Doesn’t spare you the graphic violence at all." Mia started to smile, but felt her expression falter. The clerk went on, "But at the same time, you get some of the sensuality of Anne Rice and her kind. With her, you fall in love with the darkness, you’re seduced by it. Well, you end up doing the same with Mia’s prose, but you’re more afraid than aroused."
"I see." The blonde nodded vigorously.
"Yeah, but the rest, the following works—all duds." Mia blinked once, very slowly, then repeated what the woman had said.
"Duds?" The lady gave her an apologetic smile.
"Well, I can see if you’re a diehard fan that maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree -- I mean, she really does have literary merit, but compared to Remains, her other works fall so short, and so hard."
"Is that so?" Mia couldn’t bring herself to say any more. She felt her jaw tightening and her heart speed up so that it was going at twice its usual rate. Duds. Was she really so bad? Maybe --
"Look, think about Fetch, for a moment. Have you read that one, by the way?" Mia could only nod. The woman went on, not seeing any difference in her customer’s passive demeanor.
"Yeah, that one had all the publicity, the book signings and everything, but the content. At first, you’re sucked in, right, by the idea that sells it? Pets in New York turning against their masters, becoming violent for no explainable reason. I mean, that’s a big city, and it has tons of domesticated animals. But the plot, it just doesn’t carry. The explanations don’t hold. It all falls flat. You can start to see that though the woman can write, she really doesn’t know what she’s writing about! And Kiss, you have to really weave a convincing web if you’re going to present vampires in a gothic representation of San Francisco, don’t you agree?" Mia didn't want to hear any more.
"And what about the other two? How do you feel about those?" The woman paused for a moment, trying to gauge Mia’s reaction, then mentally shrugged her caution away.
"Well, I’m no expert really," Mia bit the inside of her lip and blinked again, hiding the momentary flash of distaste in her eyes, and listened to the clerk go on. "But Kill Fast and Harm really had no point. Both were endless, worthless, and pointless. The conclusions were hard to swallow, and so were the characters and the premise. By the way, which ones of these have you read?" The clerk cocked her head, birdlike, to the side.
"All--all of them," Mia managed to say. "I read them at the library. I was wondering if she'd come out with any more. And I was thinking of a copy or two of my own." She put the book she was holding back on the shelf. "I wonder if many more people feel the same way that you do about them."
"Believe me, they do. Our store often holds literary discussions, and Mia Gianni often comes up. We mourn her fall from grace, so to speak. She seemed so promising --"
Mia had turned away and was now perusing a shelf as if she were still interested. She picked up a detailed book on horoscopes.
"I think I’ll take this, since it seems you’ve warned me off of Ms. Gianni." She gave the clerk a slow, calm smile, and the woman, totally unaware of the effect of her words, took Mia’s cash and rang up the purchase, giving her a hearty goodbye as the defeated writer made her way outside.
I had never felt so low in my life. I walked for over an hour, the green light game forgotten, until I came across a well kept park and sat down on an old-fashioned bench.
I’d never write again. I’d never find another agent who would take me seriously, who would even bother to take a look at the first page of any manuscript I struggled to write. And they’d all been right, I didn't know what the hell I was writing about. I wrote based off of what I’d seen in horror movies, read in old twisted comic books and other people’s novels. And now here I was. Nothing.
I sighed heavily and bent forward between my spread knees, holding my head in my hands, trying not to give up, but finding it hard.
"What’s all the theatrics about, doll?" Someone stood over me and I looked up hastily.
"Armand!" He smiled and sat down on the bench next to me, picking up the paper bag I’d lain there and opening it to pull out its contents.
"The one and only," he returned, smiling, and he crossed one ankle over the opposite knee, flipping through the book I’d bought.
"Hey, you believe in this stuff?" He said softly as I continued to stare at him in disbelief, and he looked up from beneath his soft lashes, his smile gentle.
"Kind of. Not really. I just bought it out of a sense of duty." His smile turned into a grin and he reached out to tousle my hair.
"Selective faith," I said, and he continued to look at me.
"You know, you look younger by daylight." His eyes were narrowed thoughtfully. "But when you look younger you look less helpless and more dangerous than you do by firelight."
"Um, you didn't follow me here, did you?" I gestured to the city beyond the low peeling walls of the park. "To Miami?" He shook his head slightly, looked off at some kids playing in a fountain. When he looked back at me, his kind brown eyes were glinting with something akin to mischief.
"I came to handle some business for Mona. But that was earlier today. I’ll be taking care of more paperwork for her tomorrow, and then I’ll have the rest of the week off before I go to Berlin."
"Berlin?" My shocked inquiry got a veiled expression and a change of subject from Armand.
"So, I was on the way back to my hotel when I was passing by the park -- and I saw a very familiar girl staring off into space like it was the end of the world and nobody else knew it. I thought I’d see what was wrong. Even though Mona did expressly mention that I keep away from you until she gave me permission." He traced the line of my lips and then brushed my cheek lightly with the back of his left hand, turning to face me fully.
"I don’t believe you," I replied, and I took my book from where it had fallen off of his well-tailored lap, and slid it back into the bag. He raised one eyebrow in question. "Look, whatever building you were transacting business in would have had a taxi for you to take to your hotel. Or, you would have had a car waiting. I think you followed me to this park, and God knows how long you’ve been following me anyway." Armand started laughing, but I wouldn’t let that get to me. I frowned.
"You’re right!" He exclaimed, grinning, and I stood up, trying to keep myself normal, reasonable. I stared down at him calmly, trying to keep my eyes from straying to the spot on his neck where I’d bitten him in the throes of passion the night before Mona and I left for the east coast. I thought that I could still see a severe bruise in the shape of teeth marks. That made me lick my lips with the memory of him moving above me while I cried out against his neck and did the only thing I could do—bite him. That had been the last time we made love before we fell asleep and I’d woken to meet the touch of Mona.
"Of course I’m right," I finally said, unable to keep from stepping a little closer to the bench. He brought his ankle down from its resting place, but I didn't come between his legs. Instead, I nudged them closed with my left leg and leaned over him, noting how easily he let his head fall back, as if he’d been waiting for this moment, where he would submit to me like he had that night I’d made him pay for breaking me.
"Mia, I watched the two of you make love from my hotel room across from her apartment," Armand breathed and I said nothing, not even blinking, leaning my knee on the bench and swaying forward, my lips a hair’s breadth from his ear. My breath tickled the tiny hairs there.
"And what did you see?" I whispered, pressing my lips lightly against his skin and pulling them away again. I felt my lids grow heavy.
"I saw her rape you. She was angry, she’d just gotten off the phone with someone -- "
"And did it turn you on?" I felt his mouth move against my cheek, and I gasped a little, pulling away slightly. He said nothing for a long moment. The sun bounced golden rays off the tresses of his warm, brown hair.
"Oh, God, you have no idea how hard you made me, bucking against the bed like a tigress–you have the most beautiful skin, pale gold, beige, delicate as flower petals, so easily bruised -- you’ve never been treated like that in bed before, have you?" He said it like he knew the answer.
"No." I said nothing else, letting the moment stretch till it was so painful that I had to touch him with my lips again, light as a feather, against his ear lobe.
"Shall I do it to you?" He asked quietly, and I closed my eyes and opened them, realizing that he hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he was supposed to stay away from me. It wouldn’t be like Mona to share me, I could tell that from her personality already. She would want any lovers that I had to be approved by her, and any rendez-vous plans to be made by her alone. She wouldn’t be pleased if she realized that Armand and I were breaking the rules of her dominating world right now, that without her permission we were ready to make love right here in public, on this bench. And I could envision just how it would be, too.
"Yes, another time." Finally, I turned my face to him and let him see the hunger in my eyes. I saw that it was reciprocated in his. "Mona said that you’re a nymphomaniac." His mouth opened slightly and I took in the way he looked, all warm and ready, right here --
"I am figuratively-- and so are you --"
"Not quite -- but maybe I will be, if I’m around you long enough." I decided that it was time to break the spell. I took his mouth sweetly, sensuously, my tongue slipping in and out like his sex had done to my own before, and when I pulled away, our lips smacked, declaring what they’d been doing. I pulled away and extended my hand to him. He looked up at me silently and waited for me to speak.
"I’ve got to go shopping. Wanna come?"
Mia couldn’t believe how much fun she was having, trying on dresses for Armand and turning in front of mirrors while he sized her up. He said yes to most of the cocktail dresses she tried on at several of the designer stores. He was most fond of the transparent emerald green and black lace dress, with a high, black lace collar and a sleek silhouette. It held close to all her contours and received applause from both him and the clerks of the boutique.
Most of the clothes that she chose were simple day dresses, some shorts, a few t-shirts, several nice blouses and skirts that could mix and match, two pairs of baggy jeans and some over-sized shirts to go with them. She bought dress shoes for her evening outfits, some multipurpose, some extravagantly tailored to one dress alone. She bought more shoes. She bought three snazzy skirt suits, two of them styled after men’s suits with pinstripes and double breasting.
Once that was all taken care of, they merely roved the shopping district with her arm linked with Armand’s. He had been lying about happening upon her after all, and they traveled to several shops via a chauffeured Mercedes Benz, while her purchases piled up in the trunk and the front seat.
"Look at this, Armand, isn’t it lovely?" Mia turned from the mirror to get her lover’s attention. He pulled away from a magazine rack meant for those shopping companions who had no interest in clothing, namely men, and turned to look at her. She was dressed all in white, a sleeveless gown with opera gloves that became her figure very well. Seeing her, Armand froze for a moment, thinking that all she needed was a veil and a bouquet, and she could be a bride. A very beautiful one.
"Yes. Very," he finally responded. He looked around casually, and saw that the sales clerks were all occupied with customers. As far as he knew, so far no one had been in the changing rooms but Mia, and the clerks had not noticed him as yet because he’d been out of sight behind some mannequins.
"It’s beautiful. I think I’m going to get it, but it’s going to be the last one. I’ve got to get back soon. It’s ten past seven." Mia had turned back to the fitting room and disappeared around the corner. As she reached her stall, the last one in the row, she gasped in surprise as Armand’s hand closed tightly around her wrist and pulled it back between them.
"What–"
"Don’t say a word," he said roughly, and he virtually threw her into the stall, closing the door swiftly behind them and locking it. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and put his hands on his belt, watching Mia’s eyes widen as she realized what he was going to do.
"Armand, you can’t–not here!" She hissed fervently, but he shook his head once, shortly, to shut her up, and began undoing his belt.
"Take it off," he directed in a low voice, and without any choice, she pulled off the gloves and slipped her hands behind her back to undo the zipper. She had no trouble, and she stepped out of the gown quickly, turning swiftly to hang it up before Armand closed in on her. She was wearing only her bra, the straps of which she had removed when trying on the dress, and a pair of panties. Armand yanked them off roughly and she closed her eyes at feeling the bruising grip of his fingers against her bottom, as he lifted her up into the air and pulled her toward him.
"We shouldn’t be doing this," Mia whispered, feeling as if she were on the verge of tears, as he thrust into her roughly, again and again, his mouth against her throat, his tongue and teeth working against her skin.
"It isn’t right–"
"It is right," he responded gruffly, "it is so fucking right --" He pumped between her thighs and she clamped her legs around him, responding without a second thought to his sex as it filled her, large and hungry, hot and thirsty.
"Wait–" She somehow managed to scramble away from him, thinking that once anyone discovered them, it would be better to be dressed before they kicked them out. She fumbled for her day dress and slipped it on over her, and immediately after, before she could do anything else, he had pulled her to him and lifted up her skirt. After his left hand gripped her around the waist to hoist her up against him, his right hand was on her abdomen, pushing her downward. His sex made purchase in her own from behind, and she felt herself drowning, his mouth hot against her ear as she panted in rhythm with him, closing her eyes tightly as she sank into it, as she tightened her inner muscles around him, hearing him groan deeply in her ear.
They were like this for several minutes, and then suddenly they both came. To make it easier, Armand flipped her around to him and pinned her against the wall, grinding into her while their mouths fought at each other hungrily, their animal noises lost in each other’s throats, their pleasure kept secret by a tight, compact, furtive tryst against a wall in the back stall of a store fitting room.
"I don’t think I want to see you again."
He turned from looking at the street to rest his eyes on her. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. They were standing just outside a flower shop, under the eaves of the sidewalk cover. He was a foot or so behind her, and now he took a step closer.
"Yes you do. You want me like you've never wanted anybody else." He spoke to her back now, since she’d turned away to avoid a confrontation. Pointless.
"My, you are arrogant, aren’t you?" She frowned out at the street.
He didn't say anything, only reached his right hand out to wrap it loosely around her waist. Sighing, she leaned back into him.
"You can’t help yourself, Mia, and that’s where my ‘arrogance’ comes from." He kissed her lightly on the left cheek, staring out at the cars driving by, beneath the shade of palm trees set in the street island that divided the avenue. "You want me, right now, you think I can’t sense it? I can smell it."
"As if you don’t want me, too. I don’t like sounding like the weak one."
"Aren’t you?" He looked sidelong at her and saw her frown grow harder.
"I think you’re forgetting the lesson I taught you the last time we were together. Do you remember?" He looked back at the street.
"I haven’t forgotten. It’s hard to forget something like that. Anyway, that’s not the kind of experience a man like me could afford to forget."
"It’s Monday," Mia responded wistfully, leaning her head back on his shoulder and looking at the sunset sky, feeling the cool, slightly damp breeze of the sea waft across her skin. "I have only this week with you. And then what are you going to do when you remember that night? Or any night we might spend together after? Are you going to find some other woman to replace me?"
"If I have to. But when I want something, I usually don’t take second best."
"How flattering." Her voice was wry. He turned her around in his arms, then trapped her hands behind her back, holding her against him as he looked down into her face.
"This might evolve into something more than raw sexual need, Mia," he said quietly, but he saw her eyes flicker away from his face as her dark, wispy lashes dropped.
He wondered if she’d read his mind. He’d wanted to see how much out of this she wanted. If she was the jealous type, the lonely, forlorn type, he’d be sorry later that he’d ever bothered. It had happened before. He’d never been able to really care for a woman once she let him know that she cared far too much for him. It was simply the way sexual dynamics worked. But perhaps Mia understood that and perhaps she too, didn't want anything more than mind-bending sexual exploration and voyeurism between them. And perhaps she didn't really want anything at all, but every time he looked at her or touched her, he saw that his own passion elicited a hunger of her own that in the end would make her want just as much, and maybe exactly the same thing, as he did.
"Do you want it to?" Armand pressed, looking at her for so long that she was forced to return his gaze.
"No," she said softly. He was pleased. When he kissed her, he took her by surprise, and when he released her, she stood panting like she’d been running a marathon. She turned her head away and spoke to the street.
"I’ve got to get back. Can you start unloading my things with the driver while I hail a cab?"
He nodded, smiling to himself as he saw her lean out over the curb and flag a yellow taxi. It had no choice but to stop and pull over; the wind had picked up a little and her lightweight, practically see-through day dress was whipping around her body, hugging every curve she had.
As the taxi driver got out and started loading with Armand’s chauffeur, Mia turned to her lover and tugged on a lock of his hair, then gently pushed it back to join his other dark tresses.
"Will I see you again?" He gave her a look, as if to say, What made you think I’d let you go, otherwise? Then he smiled, and took her lightly by the chin. He gave her a very soft, almost chaste kiss on the lips, and as he pulled away, he gave her the answer.
"Tomorrow night, I’ll pick you up at that café you stopped to eat a snack at this afternoon. Be there at six o’clock. Dress up—but casually. Tell Mona whatever you have to, but don’t get trapped in any lies. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you aren’t going to have any trouble deflecting any questions she might have."
Smiling back at him, she turned away and got into the taxi, suddenly remembering the way he’d felt inside her less than half an hour ago, when she’d been trapped against the wall of that stall like a willing victim.
"Miss? Where to?"
"Uh-I’m new in town. Here." She handed him the card that the butleress had given her, then took it back from him once he’d read it. She didn't look out the window to see if Armand was still there, but stared straight ahead, as if he had ceased to exist.