Painted Faces

by L.H. Cosway

  A small smile forms on her lips as she replies softly, “Yes, thank you Freda.”

  I turn and make my way back over to the kitchen to start on the food. Dorotea disappears into the bathroom to freshen herself up. Phil comes and sits by the counter to watch me cook.

  “Did you train professionally?” he asks as he takes in my movements.

  “As a chef you mean? Not exactly. I did a Culinary Arts degree.”

  “I thought so, you can really tell by way you work with the ingredients.”

  I smile and continue cooking.

  “By the way, nothing happened between Nicholas and Dorotea last night after you left. He went to his bedroom in a bad mood and everyone else went home. Myself and herself stayed up and had a few more shots at the karaoke, as well as one too many glasses of wine before passing out on the sofa.”

  “Good to know,” I reply, as a small feeling of happiness rushes through me. Maybe - just maybe - I'm more special to Nicholas than all of the other women he's known. I hold on tight to this morsel of futile hope. “I bet you never expected to wake up with a woman wrapped around you this morning,” I tease him.

  “Definitely not,” Phil laughs, taking off Dorotea's blouse.

  Dorotea comes out of the bathroom wearing her white blazer and joins us in the kitchen. She grins and hands Phil his shirt as he hands her the blouse. Then her expression becomes serious as she turns to address me. “Freda, can I please apologise for my behaviour at the party? I was drunk. I was out of line. I didn't mean to be so crazy, but that man, you know, he has a powerful affect on me. On most women I imagine.”

  “And men,” Phil puts in.

  We both eye him.

  “What?” he exclaims. “I didn't mean me. He works at my club. I can't help noticing the way the customers look at him, now can I?”

  “I guess not,” I answer with a laugh before turning back to Dorotea. “Don't worry about it. All is forgiven.” I've never really been the kind of person to hold a grudge. All it takes is one “I'm sorry” and I'm putty in their hands.

  I serve them their breakfast and then dish up some plates for Nicholas and myself.

  Dorotea takes a bite and says, “You certainly know how to cook Freda.” She pauses and frowns as she studies me, then points her fork in the direction of Nicholas' bedroom door. “That one in there, he will break your heart. He only wants the first rush of lust, anything that comes after isn't exciting enough for him. You save your heart, don't ever give it to him. Find a nice man, a good man. One capable of accepting another's love.”

  Her words give me a little shock of reality, because she's voicing the reservations that I've had all this time. “I'll keep that in mind,” I tell her, as I put the plates and cups on a tray and make my way into Nicholas' room. “It looks like his Lordship isn't going to grace us with his presence, so I'll have to bring the food to him.” I call behind me.

  I use my elbow to push down the door handle and then shoulder my way inside the room. The sight of Nicholas' ruffled mane of black hair and bare chest, not to mention the blanket strewn across his nether regions hits me like a bomb to my long unattended libido.

  He couldn't look any more appealing if he tried. I really shouldn't be carrying a tray of food right now, as it's in danger of crashing to the floor. Still, I maintain my grip and set it down on his bedside dresser.

  “Morning Sunshine,” I chirp. “Get your mouth ready for a taste sensation.” I walk across the room and pull his curtains open to allow some day light into the place.

  “Morning,” he replies with a dazzling smile. “That's a lovely t-shirt Fred.”

  I glance down at the low cut navy top I have on. Hmm, I wonder why he think it's so lovely.

  I smirk at him and hand him his breakfast, before sitting down on the edge of his bed. I'm very curious as to whether he has anything on beneath the blanket.

  He takes a sip of the coffee and then looks down at the plate hungrily. “You're my little breakfast angel,” he exclaims. “What are you doing all the way over there? Come sit beside me.”

  I slip off my shoes and crawl to the top of his bed. We eat side by side in companionable silence.

  “Did you sleep well?” I ask past a yawn, just as I set my empty plate back on the tray on the dresser.

  “Better than you did, clearly. You seem tired,” Nicholas replies, his eyes taking all of me in.

  “You continue to forget that you're not the only person I work for. I had to be up this morning to make my cupcakes.”

  “Aw, poor baby,” he purrs and grabs my wrist, pulling me closer to him. “Let's take a nap now, get you caught up on your sleep.”

  He throws open the blanket and mercifully reveals himself to be wearing boxer shorts. He yanks me under with him and throws it back over us. Then he wraps his arms around my waist from behind and pulls me close to him. I want to feel the affection he's offering, just for this moment. I don't want to resist. So I don't.

  “Mr Turner, is that morning wood?” I ask, feeling a distinct hardness press up against me.

  “Shut up and deal with it, Fred,” he laughs and buries his face in my neck. “You always smell so clean,” he mumbles.

  “You smell like last night's whiskey,” I comment, while keeping to myself that he also smells faintly of aftershave and man.

  “You're cheeky,” he says and pinches my stomach.

  “Ow Viv, that hurt!”

  “I'm sorry, can I kiss it better?” He asks darkly.

  “You probably shouldn't. Dorotea and Phil are still out in your kitchen. I made them breakfast too, they spent the night on your couch.”

  Nicholas gives me a confused look. “Now that's something you don't hear very often.”

  “I know. Dorotea apologised for her behaviour last night and everything. She also warned me not to trust you.”

  I'm saying this mainly because I want him to tell me that he can be trusted. I want to be able to trust him.

  He becomes still all of a sudden. “She did, did she? Do you think you can trust me Fred?”

  “I want to. I'm not sure if I should though.”

  He remains silent then. I wait with bated breath for him to say something to prove Dorotea wrong, but he doesn't. He just runs his hand over my stomach and then up to cup my bra. It's infuriating. I twist around in his arms to face him.

  “Hey, can we just sleep?” I ask. I want to see if he can lie here with me and not try to turn it into sex.

  He searches my eyes for a moment, and answers, “Sure, come here.”

  I sink back into his embrace and he trails his fingers up and down my back, paying extra attention to the curve of my spine. I'm so exhausted and his touch feels soothing. Moments later I drift off.

  When I wake up again Nicholas has his hands levelled on either side of my head and his torso is resting between my open thighs. My calf length skirt is pushed up around my hips. He's staring at me, had probably been staring at me while I slept! Is that supposed to be creepy or sexy? Perhaps a little bit of both.

  He seems pensive.

  “What? Was I drooling?” I ask, trying to avoid the serious expression on his face.

  His eyes drift across my lips. “No.”

  “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  “Watching you. I enjoy having you here.”

  “I'm sure you do. Just like you enjoyed having Dorotea here the other week.”

  “We fucked on the couch. She never got as far as the bedroom.”

  I shift my hips to try and roll him off me, but he stays firmly in place.

  “Did you have to tell me that? I spent half of last night sitting on your couch.” I make my voice sound disgusted, but on the inside I'm secretly thrilled that she didn't get to sleep in his bed with him. Like I just did. And, I didn't even have to go as far as having sex with him.

  He eyes me shrewdly. “It didn't mean anything with her, you know.”

  My breath catches. “Oh.”

  He sighs. “Losing my
self in women I've just met, it's this habit that I can't seem to shake off.”

  I don't know how to respond to him. In the end I make a joke, effectively ruining the serious moment. “I thought you said you weren't a sex addict.”

  He smiles and keeps on looking at me, silently drinking me in. Then he grins broadly and shakes his head.

  “Shut up, Freda,” he says hoarsely, before taking my mouth in a hard kiss. I can feel it everywhere, zinging through me. He's pouring all of his unspoken feelings into this one kiss. I can tell. Perhaps I am too, as I match his enthusiasm by nipping at his bottom lip. I expect him to try and take things further, but he doesn't. He pulls away and smiles at me for nipping at him. “Naughty. I like it. Come shopping with me today.”

  “Shopping for what?” I ask.

  “Clothes. I need some new things. Oh and possibly a second hand car.”

  I stare at him, wide eyed. “You're going to buy a car, just like that?”

  “No, not just like that. I'm living here permanently now. I need transportation.”

  “You do realise that this city isn't very big. It only seems that way when you're unfamiliar with it. You can walk just about anywhere within a half an hour or so. A car won't get much use. But I'll go with you, so long as you buy me a nice lunch.”

  He gives me a look that's half smirk, half tender. “I'll buy you lunch if you let me buy you a new dress too. Of my choosing.”

  I scoff at him, but I am intrigued. “Am I obligated to wear this dress that you pick out?”

  “No. But I'd like it if you did.”

  “It's a deal then, and we'll see about me wearing the dress.”

  I make a quick trip next door to my apartment to brush my teeth and change into a top that hasn't been slept in. When I come back out Nicholas is waiting in the hallway, casually leaning up against the wall. He's got those aviator sunglasses on top of his head again, the ones that sort of make me want to swoon like a loser. He smiles and holds out his hand to me. I smile back and take it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mirrors and Changing Rooms

  Nicholas shops like a pro. He knows exactly what he likes and what he doesn't like, and he deals with the shop assistant like they're old pals having a chin wag. I've always found clothes shopping to be the ultimate nightmare experience, especially when I was younger.

  I've been chubby since the day I was born, so picking out clothing is never fun. Even if I find something that I like, there's always a chance the shop isn't going to have it in my size. And then sometimes when they do have it in my size it just doesn't seem to sit right on me.

  We're in a fancy men's clothing store at the moment and I'm feigning interest in those shelves behind the counter where they have every shade of business shirt you could possibly wish for. The shelving unit reminds me of those cardboard charts you get when you're buying paint. Little rectangles of colour.

  I glance back to where the shop assistant is helping Nicholas and I'm struck by the contrast between how he dresses when he's on stage and how he dresses when he's being himself. Vivica Blue is all lace, silk and high heel shoes, while Nicholas is sharp shirts and designer slacks. The odd time you'll catch him in a t-shirt and jeans.

  Nicholas ends up leaving with several bags of shirts and trousers. As we step out onto the street he says, “So lead the way darling, show me where you like to shop.”

  “You're not still set on buying me a dress, are you?” I ask, with a sigh that a moody fifteen year old would be proud of.

  “Of course I am. Take me to your usual boutiques.”

  “You do realise that clothes shopping is one of my top three most hated life activities, just below doing my taxes and having a smear test.”

  “Don't be silly, if I had a body like yours I'd be dressing it up all the time. You could give Christina Hendricks a run for her money.”

  I snort. “My arse I could.”

  Nicholas gives me the frown he always seems to give me when I'm being down on myself. He shakes his head and purses his lips.

  “Fine, if you won't lead the way then I'll just have to pick somewhere myself.”

  I trudge along behind him and when we get to Grafton Street he all but drags me inside an irritatingly fashion forward women's clothing shop. Manikin legs at the front of the store display a whole range of multi-coloured skinny jeans. I've always found half body manikins to be strangely disconcerting. Like some window dresser chopped off the upper part because they didn't need it.

  I become unnecessarily annoyed when Nicholas begins pulling dresses off the racks in exactly my size, despite the fact that I've never told him what size I wear.

  Okay, so I'm also kind of flattered that he paid enough attention to notice.

  “If you think I'm trying all of those on you've got another thing coming,” I tell him, while my stomach growls as if to ask, where exactly is this lunch I was promised?

  “You're moody today,” Nicholas remarks, leading me into the changing rooms. He hands the dresses to the shop assistant as if it's a completely normal thing for a man to be doing. I think it's his confidence that stops the girl from telling him that he's not supposed to be in here.

  He opens the curtain to one of the cubicles and gestures for me to go in. I step past him and moan as I glance around. “These things are torturous, look at all of the mirrors. They show every part of your body that you don't want to see.” I absolutely despise seeing myself from behind. I can remember the first time I peered over my shoulder in one of these changing rooms like it was yesterday. The horror, oh the horror.

  “Let me in and I'll look for you,” he grins, one arm stretched up, his palm leaning flat against the wall outside the cubicle.

  “Fuck off,” I scowl, grabbing the dresses and yanking the curtain closed.

  Nicholas' laugh filters through. “Perhaps your moodiness can be attributed to the fact that you never got around to coming last night in the bathroom,” he suggests, loud enough for everyone in the dressing room to hear. I could strangle him. The shop assistant up at the front snickers.

  “Jesus, would you shut up?” I hiss as I shimmy out of my clothes. I peek my head out past the curtain. “And how do you know I didn't take care of myself when I went to bed?” I whisper at him with a wink. I didn't. I'm still dying for his touch, but my evil side wants to torture him.

  His eyes grow hot and he groans. “That's a real pretty picture you're painting for me. Did you?”

  I smirk and pull the curtain back over. “None of your business.”

  “Come on Fred, I'm dying here. Please tell me you thought of me while masturbating. It'll make my day. My year even.” He's still talking way too fucking loud.

  “Are you incapable of whispering?” I ask him quietly, picking out a purple dress, since it's one of my favourite colours. I step into it.

  At this he slips quickly in behind the curtain and pins me up against the mirrored wall. The purple dress is sitting at my waist as I haven't yet had the chance to pull it up all the way. He grabs both of my wrists and holds them tight by my sides.

  “Tell me,” he pleads, now finally deciding to whisper.

  “Tell you what?” I grit out.

  “About how you touched yourself,” he murmurs, eyes glued to my bra.

  I look at his lips for a minute before returning my gaze to his eyes. “It was a joke.”

  He smiles and releases my wrists. “Too bad. Now I've got the image of you with your hands between your legs stuck in my head. You're going to have to do something to alleviate me.”

  I push him away, although since we're in a tiny box of a cubicle I can't push him very far. “Alleviate yourself,” I say, and pull the dress up the rest of the way.

  He makes a tut tut noise and raises an eyebrow. “Doing it myself is never as much fun, Fred. You of all people should know that.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, as I try to reach the zipper at the back of the dress. Nicholas swipes my hands away and does it for me, before runni
ng his fingers down the curve of my spine. It feels...nice.

  “My apartment a fortnight ago, lying on my chaise longue, ring a bell?”

  I let out a huff. “I knew I shouldn't have allowed you to take things that far. I'll never live it down.”

  Nicholas stands behind me, staring at me in the mirror. It reminds me of how he'd done almost the exact same thing last night in his bathroom.

  “It was a beautiful moment, don't regret it. I don't.”

  I scrunch up my nose. “Beautiful...” I say on a breath.

  He places a hand on my stomach. “You certainly felt beautiful.”

  I drag my eyes away from him and look at the dress I'm wearing, changing the subject. “I'm not sure about this one, what do you think?”

  “The colour suits you, and the fabric is pretty. I particularly like this bit,” he traces his fingers over the lining where there's a dip in the cleavage.

  “You would,” I snort, but my heart isn't in it. I want him to continue talking. I want him to keep saying words that make me feel warm inside.

  He smiles at me through the mirror. “You know Fred, when you sang that song to me last night, I don't think I've ever seen anything sweeter.”

  “I was trying to be funny and subversively mock Phil's seduction karaoke.” I roll my eyes at him.

  “It was the cutest thing ever. You always manage to make me smile.”

  I look away from his gaze. There's too much affection in it and I can't take it. “Well I'm happy to be of service.”

  “Hey,” he whispers seriously. I glance back up at him. “You'll always be my friend, won't you Fred? Don't let me fuck this up. I need you in my life now. I need the golden eyed girl who can make me smile.”

  His words are far different than they've ever been. I've never heard him speak so sincerely.

  “Of course not.” I muster a grin. “You'll be hard pushed to get rid of me Viv. I'm like a cold sore.”

  He shakes his head. “You've got a wonderful way with words, disgusting but wonderful,” he says, repeating what he'd said to me all those weeks ago in his apartment when he'd first asked me to be his assistant.