Vee (Volume 1)

by Alyssa Linn Palmer

  She flinched, a better reaction than I’d expected. She loved my hair being wild colors, the sort of shades she’d never dared do herself. I wondered why. It wasn’t like she worked in an office or had to punch a time clock.

  I reached up and tweaked a lock of her dark hair where it lay in a halo round her head. “And when you’ve done mine, I’ll do yours.”

  “Mine?” She pushed herself up on her elbows and I sat back, leaning against the vanity.

  “It’s the Review’s Halloween party in a few days,” I said. “I thought we should go.”

  “I never go.” She sat up fully, her brow furrowed. So much for post-orgasmic bliss. I thought for sure she’d agree, with all the happy endorphins bopping around in her system. Not that I’d use sex as a means of getting my own way, but it would have been useful.

  “But it’ll be great--I already have an idea for our costumes!” I squeezed her hand and shook it almost maniacally, and finally she cracked a smile.

  “I’m glad you do, because I never know what to be.”

  “You’ll be me.”

  “You?”

  “And I’ll be you.”

  “I don’t know.” Her smile faded to pensiveness.

  I pushed myself to my feet, my hair flying back in a wild wave. I’m sure I looked ridiculous--stark naked, pale but for my tattoos, the splash of stars that run from my ribcage and down over my bony left hip.

  “Remember when you first came to New York and joined the punk scene?” I knew; I’d read about it in one of her notebooks. I reached down and pulled her to her feet. She gathered her robe and tied the sash, but she wasn’t going anywhere, so at least I’d intrigued her.

  “I’ll dye your hair purple with pink streaks and we’ll go raid some thrift shops to find us both some clothes.”

  “It’ll be like Freaky Friday,” she said, drawing me close. The velvet and satin of her dressing gown was soft against my breasts. She stroked the small of my back, sending shivers down my spine. “I don’t think I want to relive my youth, Vee.”

  My heart sank. It was such a good idea. “Please, Alex? It won’t be permanent.” I bent and opened the cabinet of the vanity, pulling out all the hair color I’d purchased on a whim. Dark auburn for me. Purple and pink for her.

  She lifted the packet of pink hair color and read the label. I could feel her wavering. She finally sighed and shook her head, handing me the dye.

  “If it doesn’t come out, do you promise to pay for a trip to the salon?”

  I felt my grin nearly split my face. “Anything.”

  ***

  Oh, Vee. I don’t think I was meant to find this quite so soon. I have a feeling you were going to come back to this notebook while I was in my office, writing, but it has been a busy few days.

  Right now you’re asleep, sprawled out in bed, oblivious to the world. You sleep like a child still, though you are an adult. Is it because you’re so carefree? I can just see the back of your head from my spot in the worn leather armchair you love so much. Your dark auburn hair cascades over the pillow and it still doesn’t seem real.

  I did help you dye it, even though I mourned every strand of blue covered by the conservative color. But I did it, wiping the dye from your ears so it wouldn’t stain, making sure we covered every inch. I didn’t recognize you when we were done--the sophisticated young woman. Once we found you some clothes to fit your new look, you could have been someone else. And in subtle makeup, dark, muted lipstick, you could pass among the young professionals of Wall Street or Fifth Avenue with ease.

  I stopped writing for a moment and rose from my chair, tiptoeing to the side of the bed, watching your chest rise and fall. I smoothed your hair off your forehead and you smiled in your sleep.

  My own hair, now a dark purple with a few strategic pink highlights, falls over my forehead as I sit writing again, for you. I’m glad I did it, though I still have that twinge of worry that I look ridiculous, like some poor old lady trying to re-live her youth.

  “If Betsey Johnson can do it,” you’d reasoned as you made me sit on the edge of the tub, applying hair color with the skill of a master, “so can you.”

  “Betsey Johnson has an excuse,” I’d replied. You stuck out your tongue and I started to laugh.

  “Don’t move!”

  The purple speckles on the bathroom wall will always make me smile. I didn’t think my laughter was so physical.

  While I showered, you tidied up--or so I thought. I’ve obviously been writing too much if you had time to dig in my closet and find the old combat boots I’d tucked away. Don’t think that I’m angry, because I’m not. It just means that we ought to spend more time doing things. When you read these words, come tear me away from the computer. I’ll probably need it.

  You had an entire outfit laid out for me when I emerged, and it brought back memories. Torn jeans, safety-pinned together. A skin-tight black tank top. A studded belt. And, a leather jacket almost exactly like the one I’d had, the one stolen from me a few weeks after Lucie died. You’d studied that one photo of her and I, and recreated my entire look.

  My hair is better now than it was back then. It’ll grow on me, likely just in time for it to fade back to my normal color.

  You watched as I dressed, anticipation in your eyes, lips parted. I could see the lust, the appreciation. You licked your lips as I slid the jeans up my thighs, over my bottom. When I was fully dressed you came over and we looked into the full length mirror at the end of the bed. If you’d had your purple hair, we’d have been punk rock bookends.

  We made quite the impression at the party. The managing editor at the magazine sidled up to me while you were getting our drinks.

  “Very old-school,” he said, looking pleased with himself with his use of modern slang. The man is seventy-five if he’s a day. “But who is that young thing? She’s not your usual type, Alex.”

  I turned to watch you, poised and elegant as you moved through the crowd of expensively costumed drunks. “You’ve met Sylvia, haven’t you, Robert?” I asked, laying on the innocent surprise.

  I had to tap his chin to remind him to close his mouth. He looked properly chastised and he was discomfited enough that the tips of his ears went pink.

  When you arrived with our drinks, I’d never been so relieved--in another moment I would have laughed at poor Robert, and then where would I be? That man without his dignity would be a shell of himself, and I’d never get another job from him.

  I spent the rest of the party itching to leave, to take you home and get you naked. And now that we’re here, I’m going to stop writing, and go wake you up.

  ***

  You did find this earlier than I wanted, but it’s worked out better than I thought. Maybe I have some talent as an erotica writer, since you came to bed so ready. I wish you could wake me up every night with your tongue flicking my clit. Even better that you held my hips so I couldn’t move. And afterwards, falling asleep together, tangled in the sheets--I couldn’t ask for anything more.

  And now I’ll stop--the coffee’s perking and you’ll be awake soon. I love bringing you coffee in bed, seeing your tousled hair and drowsy eyes, the beautiful disarray. If I didn’t love you already, I’d love you just from seeing you like that.

  But I forgot to tell you…my hair dye is temporary, but yours isn’t. I double-checked the label on the purple. So in another week, we will be punk bookends after all. If I find you a silver dress like Debbie Harry’s in Heart of Glass, will you model it for me?

  Love, Vee.

  Other books by Alyssa Linn Palmer

  MOONLIGHT & LOVE SONGS: The Le Chat Rouge Series Volume 2 (Fall 2013)

  When Le Chat Rouge's pianist, Benoît Grenier, meets the club's new singer, his world is turned upside down. He'd given up ever finding someone to love, and his hopes and dreams of a life beyond the club are revived.

  Daniel Marceau has come from Marseille, looking to escape bad decisions and worse memories. He never expected to fall in love,
and when his past catches up with him it could ruin the only thing he's ever found worth living for.

  His reluctance to ask Benoît for help could cost them everything…

  Available at all ebook retailers, and in paperback through Createspace/Amazon.

  THE PARIS GAME: The Le Chat Rouge Series Volume 1 (Released June 2013)

  On the darker side of Paris, it’s dangerous to not pay your debts…

  A singer in a jazz club past its prime, Sera Durand must come up with thousands of euros to pay back her boss, a ruthless gangster. A confrontation with her ex, an art dealer profiting on the wrong side of the law, leads her into a questionable wager, but one that could solve her problems.

  Marc Perron knows a winning proposition when he sees one. Seducing a shy young woman of Sera’s acquaintance will be the easiest thing in the world, and the prize, to have Sera in his bed once again, is worth the chance of losing a sizable sum. What he didn’t expect was the depth of Sera’s desperation.

  When one of his deals goes awry, Marc’s solution could cost them more than money…

  Available at all ebook retailers, and in paperback.

  THE CHRISTMAS GAME (Le Chat Rouge Series #0.5)

  Alone in London on business just before Christmas, Marc Perron meets an intriguing young woman working at a bookshop. A light flirtation seems to lead nowhere, but the night before he returns to Paris, she knocks on his hotel room door.

  Madelaine’s taking a risk, but no one’s ever looked at her the way Marc does, and she’s not about to pass up a chance to get to know him better. When he suggests a game of wagers, she can’t resist challenging him. And herself.

  Their matchup is a fiery one and each wager tops the last, the sexual heat between them crackling. Neither want to lose the game, but Madelaine fears she might be losing her heart as well.

  This novella is a part of the Le Chat Rouge series, but can be read as a stand-alone story.

  Available at all ebook retailers.

  THE ARTIST'S MUSE (Bold Strokes Books, Impressions Editions)

  Broke and desperate after her girlfriend leaves her for a man, Colette finds a job as an artist’s model. When she arrives for an interview, she’s surprised to meet a striking young woman, Lise Beauclerc. Her relief at not having to pose for a man turns to infatuation as she observes Lise during their sessions, creating fantasies in her mind during the hours she poses.

  Colette has no idea if Lise would return her affections, and when she finally gets up the courage to ask her out, their connection is more than she’d ever hoped for. However, a few days later, Lise introduces her to Marcel, her former fiancé. They seem intimately involved, and Colette is devastated. Will her dreams of Lise be unrequited?

  Available at all ebook retailers.

  PROHIBITED PASSION (Bandit Creek Series)

  Ruth wants to escape the boredom of Bandit Creek and the strict expectations of her father, the local pastor. Her life changes the day she meets CeeCee, a world-wise flapper, and an irresistible attraction develops between them. She’ll be disowned and shunned if anyone discovers their prohibited passion, but can they keep their growing affection a secret?

  CeeCee is drawn to Ruth, but things become complicated when her gangster companion disapproves of their liaison. He’s in town to broker a deal with the owner of the local speakeasy, and he’s not above using them to further his own plans. Can CeeCee protect Ruth and their budding relationship?

  As Ruth gets drawn further into their world, she must decide between her familiar life and a new, dangerous path with the woman she loves.

  Available at all ebook retailers.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Alyssa Linn Palmer is a Canadian writer and freelance editor. She splits her time between a full-time day job, and her part-time loves, writing and editing. She is a member of the RWA, the Calgary RWA, and RRW (Rainbow Romance Writers). She has a passion for Paris and all things French, which is reflected in her writing. When she's not writing lesbian romance, she's creating the dark, morally flawed characters of the LE CHAT ROUGE series and indulging in her addictions to classic pulp fiction. You can find her online at www.alyssalinnpalmer.com, or on Twitter @alyslinn.