Butterfly of Venus

by Susan F. MacKay

  She watched Declan’s lean, athletic form stride away until he disappeared into the crowds on the sidewalk.

  * * *

  Back at work, Elizabeth touched The Kiss. She had taken the statuette to her office and kept it on her desk. Every time she looked at it, she remembered the moment when Declan had swung her backwards in the Rodin Museum and the passion of his lips on hers. It was distracting.

  Her phone buzzed. Manny’s voice came through the intercom. “Jayce Corning on line one.”

  Manny knew without being told that she would want to speak to Jayce Corning. He was one of the most successful music producers in the business. His exquisite ear had produced hits for every Canadian artist from Justin Bieber to Céline Dion.

  “Jayce. How are you?”

  “Excellent. Listen, I have a dude with a lot of casino money behind him looking to bankroll the next top star. Hoping you got someone in the wings.”

  “Matter of fact, I do.”

  “Her or him?”

  “It’s a him. Name of Declan Thomas.”

  “How old?”

  “Twenty-four.” Elizabeth looked at Declan’s contract, still sitting on her desk. She noticed his birthday was coming up. “Almost twenty-five.”

  “Hmm. Bit old, isn’t he?”

  “He looks young. Do yourself a favour. Check him out in person. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “Original material?”

  “Yes. Great voice. Looks. The whole package. The girls love him.”

  “You know your stuff, Elizabeth. Get back to me with a date and time.”

  “Will do. Bye.”

  This was good news. Jayce Corning’s name on any production practically guaranteed a hit. Corning’s favourite phrase was “Failure is not an option.” She couldn’t wait to tell Declan, but she’d tell him in person, tonight. She buzzed Manny.

  “Yes, boss?”

  “Do we have any champagne in the staff fridge?”

  “Yes, boss. Three bottles of Veuve left over from New Year’s.”

  “Good. That’s all. Thanks.”

  “Boss?”

  “Yes.”

  “Miss Effie just arrived.”

  “Send her in.”

  Effie blew into the office on a breeze of optimism and bonhomie. She kissed Elizabeth on both cheeks.

  “Sweetie. How was Paree?”

  Effie’s sharp eye caught anything new. She immediately zeroed in on The Kiss. “Oh ho. So we’re a fan of Rodin now, are we?”

  Elizabeth blushed. “It was a gift.”

  “Go on.”

  “From Declan.”

  “Now why would Declan be giving you The Kiss unless he got one?”

  Elizabeth blushed even deeper.

  “He did, didn’t he? Maybe even a little more?”

  “A lot more, actually.”

  “Elizabeth Harding! I am shocked. Tell Auntie Eff all about it.”

  “Oh, Eff. It was heavenly. Paris. Piaf. The moon.”

  Effie swayed her big hips back and forth as if she was dancing. She snapped her fingers. “So I take it there was a little horizontal mambo?”

  “Horizontal and vertical.”

  “Oh my, my. So our boy isn’t such a boy?”

  “Definitely a man.”

  “And his ear?”

  “Deep enough.”

  “How sweet it is. Good for you. And look at the colour in your cheeks. You are hot, sweetie. You are smoking hot. No wonder Declan couldn’t resist.”

  “I think it was me who couldn’t resist. By the way, Eff, thanks for tossing in the vibrator.”

  “I trust it came in handy?”

  “Well, it might’ve, but the batteries were dead.”

  Effie guffawed with laughter. “Long as you found something that was working.”

  “Working just fine.”

  “So was it just a holiday romance or does the affaire de coeur continue?”

  “I’m seeing him tonight.”

  “Good for you, sweetie. What sign is he?”

  Effie dabbled in astrology. She claimed she could always tell when a relationship would work.

  “His birthday is coming up, March 28. What does that make him?”

  “An Aries. Perfect for you.”

  “A lot of nonsense, Effie.”

  “Don’t knock it. If the moon can affect the tides, why shouldn’t planets affect our lives?”

  “So what about Aries?”

  “Nonsense, you say. Do you really want to know?”

  “Just give me the encapsulated version.”

  “Strong. Determined. Stubborn.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “And very ambitious. Watch you don’t get hurt.”

  “Why would I get hurt? It’s just a bit of—”

  “What? Fun? Sex?”

  “I was going to say a diversion. But yes, primarily sex.”

  “Uh-huh. And how do you think love starts?”

  “Love? C’mon. I am certainly not going to fall in love. You know me better than that.”

  “Where the pussy goes, love can follow. I know that for sure.”

  “The lawyer?”

  “Oh yes, sweetie. It’s the ‘L’ word.”

  “You haven’t been in love since when?”

  “Since platform boots went out of style.”

  “I’m happy for you, Eff, I really am. So when do we get to meet?”

  “I’m thinking of having a small dinner party for Stevie next Saturday.”

  “Stevie, huh? I’ll be there.”

  “Bring Declan. Maybe he can play for us. I just had the baby grand tuned.”

  “I’ll ask him.”

  “Terrif. See you there at eight.”

  Elizabeth was thankful her afternoon flew by. She left on the dot of six o’clock, with champagne, and had Eddie wait while she showered and changed. She put on her sexy lace underwear. Bad girl, she told herself as she dabbed a little Cartier perfume between her thighs. A green silk blouse that accentuated her eyes, a green skirt, suede boots, a leather jacket, a minimum of makeup and she was done. She pulled her hair back into a thick braid. Declan, she decided, could undo it. She grabbed her Hermès bag and told Eddie to drop her off at Declan’s address. If she wanted to go home, she could take a taxi, but maybe she wouldn’t go home at all. She would wait and see how things turned out. She felt a shiver of anticipation.

  * * *

  Declan lived in Liberty Village in an old warehouse that hadn’t yet been converted into expensive condos. Elizabeth walked up three flights of stairs covered in matted and stained beige carpet.

  “Hello, beautiful,” said Declan, swinging open a heavy fireproof door. He greeted Elizabeth with a kiss and raised his eyebrows at the sight of the champagne. “Are we celebrating?”

  “Yes, I suppose we are.”

  Declan was barefoot, wearing jeans slung low on his hips and no shirt. She watched his back muscles ripple slightly as he led her, lithe as a panther, down a narrow hallway into a large, airy, messy living space. A keyboard and amps took up a corner of the room. One wall was covered in shelves of vinyl records. Clothes, music magazines and notepaper were scattered about, along with several fast-food containers.

  “Do you live with someone?” asked Elizabeth.

  “I have a roommate, Ted. He’s away right now on a course, so we’re completely alone.”

  Elizabeth removed her jacket, kicked off her boots and curled up on a leather couch while Declan opened the bottle of Veuve Clicquot. The cork popped across the room, landing in an empty pizza box. Declan poured out two glasses and settled close beside her. She couldn’t help but notice how the hair below his navel thickened and curled into an enticing mass. The streetlight outside cast a bea
m onto one of Declan’s arms, illuminating the fine leanness of his muscles. He was so fucking hot, completely gorgeous, completely desirable. Elizabeth had to restrain herself from licking him. Instead, she took a sip of the icy Veuve bubbling in her glass.

  “So, what are we celebrating?” Declan gave her a lopsided grin as he sipped his champagne.

  “I’ve got good news for you, Declan Thomas.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Are you familiar with Jayce Corning?”

  “Who isn’t? He’s a recording legend.”

  “Well, he’s looking for a new artist to produce. I suggested you.”

  “Wow!”

  “I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “That’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

  Declan leaned across and kissed her firmly on the mouth. He smelled citrusy and clean. She wrapped her arms around his strong back and pulled him towards her. Declan’s fingers found the buttons on her silk blouse and slowly began to undo them. As their tongues met, Elizabeth felt a fierce hunger rise in her.

  Declan suddenly pulled away. His eyes gazed into her own until she felt she was being hypnotized into submission. “I believe I owe you a certain physical sensation,” said Declan in a low voice. “I’m about to settle the debt.”

  Oh no. This felt like pressure. What if she couldn’t come with him? She clearly couldn’t fake it. Would he be angry with her again?

  Declan slipped her blouse off and ran his tongue lightly over her shoulders. Goosebumps rose on Elizabeth’s arms. Beginning at her ears, he kissed his way slowly down the side of her neck. He unhooked her bra. He fingered its delicate silk and lace.

  “Mmm. It’s beautiful on you, but even more beautiful off.”

  He began playing with her nipples, nipping and blowing on them with a cool breath. They became so hard it almost hurt. Declan undid the zipper of her skirt and slid it down, along with her lace panties. When she was naked, Declan led her up a stairway to his loft bedroom. He casually dropped his jeans. He was commando. When she saw how erect he was, Elizabeth put out her hand to touch him, but he steered her away.

  “Not yet.”

  Declan laid her gently on the bed. His mouth found hers. He kissed her deeply, running his hands over her breasts and thighs. His fingers probed inside her. She was wet as could be.

  “Now,” said Declan, pushing her hand down to her sex, “you take over.”

  “What?”

  “I want to see you touch yourself, Elizabeth. I need to learn your rhythm.”

  Elizabeth was mortified. This was too intimate. No man had ever asked such a thing before.

  Declan took her finger and began moving it lightly over her clitoris. “Go on. I want to see you do it.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes. She was too embarrassed to look at Declan. Was he really asking her to masturbate? Apparently he was. She felt his body leave the bed.

  “I’ll be right back. Think dirty thoughts. Just keep doing what you’re doing, but don’t come.”

  Dirty thoughts? That was her secret territory. Elizabeth imagined she was alone in a crowded bar. An extremely handsome man was sitting beside her, talking to another man. She felt the man’s hand take her own and place it in his lap. She could feel his erection through expensive suit material. Without breaking off his conversation, the man unzipped and placed her hand inside his trousers. He was very hard. Elizabeth knew what she must do. She slipped off the barstool and made her way to the back alley. She knew the man would follow her. In a second he was there. He lifted up her tight skirt, spread her legs and fucked her hard.

  Elizabeth was panting. Her orgasm was building. Where was Declan? He’d told her not to come. She must not come. She stopped touching herself. The waves of orgasm ebbed, waiting for permission to engulf her.

  Was she imagining a soundtrack to her fantasy? She swore she heard a guitar. A stranger was fucking her in an alley and someone was accompanying them on guitar? Elizabeth propped herself up on her elbows. Declan sat naked at the end of the bed, a guitar on his knees. His voice was a husky whisper.

  “Play yourself, Elizabeth. Play.”

  Oh God. This was too much. Elizabeth’s clitoris felt swollen and hot. It was a vibrating string. Her index finger played faster and faster. Declan watched intently, his fingers strumming faster and faster on the guitar. She was being played. The stranger in the alley was fucking her faster and harder. Was this really happening? Her orgasm approached like a tsunami. Declan moved her hand and took over with his tongue. His rhythm was intensely perfect. Something small and hard was touching her. The stranger in the alley could do whatever he wanted. She submitted willingly. She was bad. So bad. So bad. Here it was, coming to engulf her. She couldn’t hold back any more. An orgasm consumed her body in one spasmodic shudder.

  “That’s it. That’s it, baby,” said Declan.

  Elizabeth felt as if she was floating above her body on an ebb tide as the overwhelming sensation that absorbed her slowly subsided. She opened her eyes and saw Declan smiling. “What was it? What was that feeling? What did you do to me?”

  Declan opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. It was pierced with a small silver ball. He waggled his tongue back and forth as he’d been doing to her body. He grinned playfully. “That was the real thing.”

  “Oh God, yes,” she agreed. “Yes, it was.” She was ecstatic.

  Declan got up from the bed and padded down the stairway. He returned with a glass of juice, which she sipped gratefully. He lay beside her, propped on one elbow, and stroked her hair.

  “Now that I have a sense of what Elizabeth Harding is all about, I’d like to practise further.”

  “Practise? Like learning to play the piano?”

  “Yes. Do you play anything?”

  “The violin. Badly.”

  “The analogy of an instrument works. I practise every day. I write songs or work on them every day. Practice makes perfect, or at least helps you work towards it.”

  “How do you know all this, Declan? You seem much too . . .” Elizabeth’s words trailed off.

  “Young? That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, young.”

  “My mother was a great believer in education. Her whole life was about educating others.”

  “You don’t mean . . .”

  “She was friends with women from all walks of life. Charlotte Rousse was an illiterate but ambitious hooker. My mother taught her to read and write. She had no idea that Charlotte was repaying her by teaching me about women.”

  “A hooker took advantage of you?” Elizabeth was aghast.

  “I was sixteen, a willing student. She taught me everything I needed to know,” said Declan, “including the art of making love and the art of fucking.”

  Elizabeth was flabbergasted. Her own sex education had been minimal. When she was twelve, her father had invited Mrs. Lowrie, their neighbour, over to give Elizabeth a “talk.” Elizabeth occasionally babysat Mrs. Lowrie’s shrieking brood, but rarely did Mrs. Lowrie drop in to visit the Hardings. Elizabeth, who was doing math homework, looked up in surprise as the billowing, sweating figure of Mrs. Lowrie puffed into the living room, holding a pamphlet. Jack excused himself, saying he was taking the dog for a walk. Mrs. Lowrie, chins quivering, dabbed at her perspiring face and pushed the pamphlet in Elizabeth’s direction. It was titled “What Every Girl Needs to Know.”

  “So,” said the overweight woman, “soon you’ll begin to bleed down there. Once that happens, you can have a baby. Now, the way you get a baby is, the man puts his hairy thing inside you. You won’t like it, but you’ll have to put up with it best you can. I find eating chocolate helps. Any questions?”

  Dumbfounded, Elizabeth shook her head.

  “G
ood. Anything else you need to know is all in there.” Mrs. Lowrie patted the pamphlet. “Poor thing. Should be your own mammy telling you this. May she rest in peace. Now you know everything there is to know. If you think of something else, I’m right next door. Oh, one more thing, when the blood comes, you’ll need to use one of these.” From inside the fold of her gigantic polyester muumuu, Mrs. Lowrie pulled a thick cotton pad and placed it on the table. “You buy them at the drugstore. Put one between your legs. Don’t let your father see. Men get embarrassed. They don’t want to know about the curse.”

  A loud wailing arose from the front yard.

  “Damn kids,” said Mrs. Lowrie. “If I was you, I wouldn’t have any. More trouble than they’re worth.” She heaved her bulk up and waddled outside to deal with yet another of her children’s squabbles.

  Elizabeth took the pad and pamphlet and hid them inside her schoolbag.

  Blood? Curse? Hairy things? Maybe Mrs. Lowrie was a witch.

  Jack returned with a strained look on his face. “Everything okay, Lizzie? Was Mrs. Lowrie helpful?”

  Rendered dumb by the information she’d been given, Elizabeth nodded. Jack seemed relieved.

  “That’s all sorted, then. And look here, I got us a treat.”

  Jack produced a bar of chocolate from his pocket. He looked astonished as Elizabeth ran crying from the room.

  An older girl named Eleanor Wiseman soon filled in the blanks at school. For a dollar a girl, Eleanor Wiseman conducted her own sex-ed classes behind one of the school’s portables. Her main teaching tool was a pornographic magazine she’d stolen from her brother. The girls pored over lurid pictures of penetration, giggling and gasping in disbelief.

  “Eeew. That’s gross.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “No one’s ever gonna do that to me.”

  Eleanor was smug. It was a well-known fact she’d done it with Leif Millar, editor of the school newspaper. “Don’t worry, girls. One day you’ll like it.”

  Cries of “No!” and “Never!” filled the air.

  Elizabeth thought she’d rather die than subject herself to anything like that. She resolved to become a nun, a resolution that went out the window as soon as she turned sixteen. She thought long and hard about virginity. It was something to be dispensed with, a physical deformity, like a wart. She made herself up to look twenty, a transformation that wasn’t difficult. She headed downtown with fake ID and a mission in mind. Pete, a construction worker, was sitting at a bar, nursing a beer. He was in his twenties. He was cute. He would do. He bought her two rum and cokes. When he suggested going back to his apartment, she agreed. The whole process was over quickly. She felt bad about the blood on his sheets.