Claudine

by Barbara Palmer

  “My girl has a nice, tight little cunt.” His hands gripped her hard now and he grunted with effort. She tightened her muscles in tandem with his strenuous thrusts. To help him along she let little cries escape her lips. He rode her and pulled on her nipples as if they were the reins of a horse. The tugging on her breasts hurt, but it was a delicious pain. The grip of her pussy pushed him over the edge. He shuddered as he came.

  She looked up to see Clayton watching them. My turn, his smile seemed to say.

  By midnight the ladies had been excused. In keeping with the Victorian tone, the men dressed, drank port and talked business. Maria flung her cloak around her nude body, slipped into her boots and gathered her dress and undergarments in her arms.

  Her reflection in the mirror showed a face still flushed from her performance, as if her color had been heightened not only by the thrill but also by the tinge of depravity it beckoned to. A mistress of desire, Ferrer had called her as she bid him good-bye. She liked that. She pulled a simple shift from an inside pocket of her cloak, put it on, ran a towel over her face, removed her wig, wiped traces of brown dye from the skin near her hairline and combed her hair. Then she wrapped the apparel in her cloak and went down to the spa lobby where Andrei waited patiently, leaning against a column in his dark blue suit and crisp white shirt.

  “Should we find something to eat?” he asked as he took the bundle from her and opened the door to the street. She often wanted to dine or go to a club after a performance, as much to wind down as anything; she liked never having to be “on” with Andrei. If she wanted to sit through a meal without saying much, she did, knowing he wouldn’t take offence.

  “Yes, please.” She smiled. “With no performance tomorrow I can splurge a little.”

  Her favorite spot had always been Elaine’s—a late-night watering hole for New York’s movers and shakers in the entertainment business. After Elaine had died and her legendary establishment closed, Maria had been upset for weeks.

  Their new favorite spot was on the East Side, a place named The Limelight after the famous nightclub. An intimate, upscale dining establishment, it stayed open past normal hours to service late-night customers. The owner greeted Maria with a double kiss. “Ravishing as always, darling.”

  She ordered red wine; Andrei his usual vodka. They split an antipasto plate and added a salad for her and steak for him. When their drinks arrived, Andrei sat back in his chair and gazed across the room. While he was thus distracted, she took a long look at him. He was quite sexy in his own way. She wondered if he had a woman in his life. She’d asked him once and he’d dismissed her question with a vague response. It seemed odd. He took things a bit too seriously, but when he was in a good mood his laughter was infectious. She found she could easily read his emotions in his eyes. Right now they still carried a hint of worry.

  “You don’t have more bad news, do you?” She toyed with the artichokes in her salad.

  “I talked to a guy I know, like I said I would. A top informer for the cops. He told me the murdered girl with your ID was a Romanian prostitute. Illegal. Only been here six months. Worked out of a slimy massage parlor in the Bronx. She was fifteen years old. Had a couple of regular clients. Of course, no one’s saying who they were. They’re all bastards in that business.”

  She dropped her fork. “A prostitute? How could she possibly end up with a duplicate of my ID?”

  “It gets worse. The cards didn’t have any fingerprints. Not even the girl’s. That means probably whoever murdered her stuck your ID into her purse.” He reached over and gently squeezed her hand. “I don’t want to upset you any more, but it seems clear your stalker must have copied your ID somehow, maybe during one of your performances, and put it back in your purse. It’s not easy to create new cards like that. And it’s expensive. You know what that means? This guy’s willing to go to great lengths. The point of the murder was all about you.”

  Her mind raced. “Maybe he did get my ID at a performance, but what about my birth certificate? How did he get that? Break into my apartment?”

  Andrei shook his head. “He could have applied to Romania for a new copy. Easy enough to pull off. No need to go near your apartment.”

  It was a small consolation. She pushed her plate away, feeling suddenly deflated. “This is a nightmare. Let’s just go home.”

  Andrei took care of the bill. He put his arm around her as they walked to the car. She leaned against him, feeling comforted by his strong body close to her.

  He buckled her in the passenger seat and walked around to the driver’s side. When he got inside, he held her hand again and looked into her eyes. “You might as well know all of it. According to my inside guy, you’ll be hearing from Trainor again. He thinks you’re going to be the next target.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Maria said little in the car on the way home. The butchery inflicted on the Romanian prostitute and the connection to Maria burrowed into her brain like a parasite. And Trainor believed she’d be the next one on the slab. She could no longer deny that the threats against her were deadly serious. All of the pains she’d taken to be discreet, professional and safe had been in vain. She felt exposed and targeted by both her stalker and the police. She’d always thought the choice of when to retire from performing would be hers to make. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  The next morning, she relented and let Andrei drive her to the university. She’d tossed and turned all night and was in no mood to put up a fight. He parked as close to the library as possible. Claire looked up from her paperwork as they passed the library reception desk and gave Andrei the once-over before reaching for her phone.

  “Don’t hover,” Maria said testily when they reached her study carrel. “Nothing’s going to happen in here. In fact, how about getting us some coffees?” She gave him directions to the café and booted up her tablet. He reminded her of a faithful Labrador as he walked away. Sometimes she wished he’d challenge her more.

  With the memory of Andrei’s words about the dead girl still ringing in her ears, de Sade was the last author she wanted to read. Still, she’d put off opening those pages too long already. She was deep into his description of the cruel aristocrat Antonin, who required his young female charges to line up every morning and lift their skirts for his inspection, when faint laughter from the front desk made her look up. Reed Whitman stood next to Claire. He carried an oversized bouquet neatly tied with a raffia bow.

  Through the cellophane wrapping Maria saw roses. The flowers’ pink centers made it look as if each bloom were blushing. Reed caught her eye and strode confidently toward her.

  “Just happened to have these sitting on my desk,” he said, “and I thought of a lady who might like them.”

  “They’re gorgeous.” She felt her color rise, a little taken aback by the unexpected gift. “Thank you. How did you know to find me here?”

  “My informant.” He winked, at Claire who immediately buried her nose in a file.

  Betrayer, thought Maria. Really, whose side was she on? She spotted Andrei returning, two paper cups stuck into cardboard sleeves in his hands. When Andrei took in Reed and the mass of flowers in her arms he stopped short. From the look in his eyes she could see a storm brewing. Thunder and lightning weren’t far off.

  “Reed, one sec—okay?” She set the bouquet down and rushed over to intercept Andrei.

  “Who’s he?” Andrei said suspiciously.

  “Just one of my former professors. No need to be concerned.”

  “Your old professors usually bring you flowers?”

  “Andrei,” she said without bothering to hide her irritation. “Do I need to share every microscopic detail of my life with you? Listen, I’m going to be here awhile. A good couple of hours, probably more. Why don’t you take a walk around campus, get some lunch? Or just drive back to the city. I can find my own way home.”

  “I’ll wait,” Andrei said stubbornly.

  “Suit yourself, but please don’t hang around. I can’t conc
entrate knowing you’re looking over my shoulder.”

  Andrei cast another glance over to Reed, who was patiently waiting with a half smile on his face as if he knew exactly what was being said between them. “Doesn’t look like you’ve been concentrating all that hard.”

  “I’ll call you when I’m ready to be picked up. Can I have my coffee?” She snatched the paper cup. Without saying another word, she turned on her heel and went back to Reed.

  “I have a competitor, I see.” Reed turned his lips up in a smile but Maria got the distinct impression he wasn’t pleased. “Kind of a formal dresser for campus, I’d say.” He was clearly referring to Andrei’s tailored suit.

  “Just an old family friend who gave me a lift here. And I didn’t know there was any competition.” She pinned her remark with a quick laugh, then glanced back, relieved to see that Andrei had left.

  “Well, look. I have two tickets for the Met. Box seats at Verdi’s Rigoletto. I’d love to take you. It’s a rare chance to hear Nancy Herrera sing.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Frankly I’m dying to see you all dressed up.”

  Reed was in fine form today, and quite gallant. He was a little tanned already from the spring sun, which made his dark eyes sparkle. He showed his teeth too much when he grinned, but that was a tiny imperfection in an otherwise perfect face.

  In spite of herself, Maria was flattered. When was the last time she’d been wooed or attended a concert or play off the clock? She needed a little fun to take her mind off her troubles.

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “Great. Pick you up around seven?”

  “Is seven thirty okay? I have a lot to cover here today.”

  “Well then, don’t let me keep you. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.” He leaned over and briefly touched his lips to her cheek. She felt a tingle of pleasure, and after watching him pass by Claire’s desk, she turned back to her book.

  From time to time she opened the cellophane and pressed her nose deep into a bloom, surrounding herself with scent that transported her far away from the marquis’s grotesque scenes. It wasn’t until much later when Andrei returned to pick her up that she realized Reed hadn’t asked for her address.

  CHAPTER 8

  “It’s about time you got a boyfriend.” Lillian raised her voice over the blow-dryer. The rush of hot air and pull of the brush felt good on Maria’s scalp. She closed her eyes. “You have all those men, night after night, but really, when it comes to love, you might as well be a nun.”

  Maria smiled, glad to see Lillian back to her bossy, outspoken self.

  “I’d make a good nun, Lil. I say my Hail Marys often enough.”

  Lillian shut off the dryer and set down the brush, plumped up Maria’s blond tresses with her fingers and used a comb to smooth the strays. Maria stood. “What should I wear—black? I can’t make up my mind.”

  “Black is too severe. White, for spring. That one with those tiny straps.”

  “White’s intimidating. The red Christian Lacroix cocktail dress maybe. Red is more passionate.”

  Lillian helped her into the red dress, which hugged her body without looking vulgar. She patted Maria’s tummy. “Don’t eat too much or the seams will stretch.”

  “Thanks. The one time I’m taken out for dinner and you tell me not to eat!”

  “You dine almost every night with Andrei.” She cast a critical eye over the dress. “Wear a different bra. That one looks like it’s pinching you.”

  “With Andrei, it’s work,” she said, shrugging the straps down and unfastening her bra. “That’s different. Half the time I just have salad anyway. Tonight, I’m going to indulge.” She selected an ivory silk bra, put it on and pulled up her dress. Lillian nodded appreciatively and went to straighten the closet.

  Maria opened one of the drawers in her dressing table and brought out a pink box. Designed as a little girl’s traveling case and decorated with princesses wearing Cinderella gowns, it had solid brass hinges and a leather handle. Her nanny had given it to her for her first Christmas in America. Inside, she kept a few treasures from her childhood in Providence. Three stones she’d gathered from the seashore and painted with her secret lucky symbols, her first ballet shoes, pink satin with the toes and soles marked and stubbed, a necklace of tiny fake gold links with a heart pendant from her first “boyfriend” in fourth grade, and a box containing vials of little girl’s perfume in scents of lavender, rose, lilac and lily of the valley. Last, a little golden cage that held a small porcelain nightingale on a perch. To make the nightingale sing, you turned the key at the bottom of the cage. A present from a neighbor of her parents’ in Romania, an old woman who kept a real nightingale. As a girl, she’d loved to feed the bird and listen to it sing. She dabbed some of the lily of the valley perfume behind each ear. It was a silly superstition but on special nights, she liked to use a little of the scent for good luck. The rose fragrance was strictly for work nights.

  She’d just slipped on her heels when the doorman phoned up to announce Reed’s arrival. She took her silk shawl and called over her shoulder on her way out the door, “Tell him I’ll come down, Lil. There’s no need for him to traipse all the way up here.”

  For a man who was always on a charm offensive, firmly in control of any social situation, Reed seemed at a loss for words when he set eyes on her. “You look lovely, Maria.”

  A taxi waited outside. He opened the door for her and slid in beside her. “Great building,” he said as they pulled away, straightening his crisp white cuffs. He wore a custom-made gray suit, diamond cuff links and gray silk tie.

  “I’m bunking with a friend for the time being. I’m in between apartments.” The lie slipped easily from her lips. Lies were easy to tell to mere acquaintances or the men she serviced. She tailored them to fit the roles she found herself playing at any given time. But they became messy in longer-term relationships, which was precisely why she rarely allowed those entanglements to form in the first place. It got so she couldn’t always remember the first lie she’d told, making the second and third much riskier.

  “By the way,” she said, “how did you know my address? You never asked for it.”

  “I asked your thesis supervisor—hope you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, no. Just curious.”

  Golden light poured through the five massive contemporary arches at the front of the Lincoln Center. Her excitement mounted as she climbed the steps hand in hand with Reed. The lobby hummed with people and she was pleased when Reed stopped to introduce her to some of his distinguished acquaintances. For the first time since the detectives had walked in her door, her fears slipped away and she was able to enjoy herself. As she sat in the plush expanse of the Met with the lights dimmed, a thrill raced through her body when Reed’s warm hand caressed her hip.

  Maria never drank alcohol before her performances, but that night at dinner she made up for it and consumed more than she had in a long time. Amused by Reed’s jokes, she felt the anxiety of the last few days tumble away. Reed insisted on ordering champagne, a sublime Veuve Clicquot, to celebrate their renewed acquaintance. Their talk turned to contemporary erotica and she confessed she’d been unable to finish Story of O, it had chilled her so. She far preferred Joseph Kessel’s Belle de Jour.

  “You’re very sensitive,” Reed said, laughing. “There’s very little actual description of sex in Belle de Jour. I’m beginning to think you’ve chosen the wrong field of study.”

  “But it’s all stunningly inferred. You get such a vivid picture. To me that’s more erotic.”

  When he leaned forward to emphasize his next point, she got a sudden flash, a mental picture of him in a board room or lecture hall, all eyes trained on him, hanging on his every word. It had been Maria’s good fortune that he offered to be her mentor. And if it led to a more permanent relationship, it was hard to see how she could find a better match. He was cultured, attractive and fit for a man in his late forties. They were definitely on the same wavelength.
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  After they ordered double espressos to help them sober up before heading home, Reed leaned back in his chair and gave her a long look.

  “What?” She giggled. The champagne bubbles had gone to her head.

  “I have a proposition to make.” One look from those eyes, she thought, would have you panting for him or quaking in your boots. “I seem to remember from your undergrad years that you liked to perform—right?”

  “Excuse me?” Suddenly she felt very sober and she squirmed uncomfortably in her chair.

  “You remember the play I mentioned that will run at my theater—the Genet?

  “Yes, of course. The one you hired the hookers for.”

  Reed grinned. “I should never have told you that. The show’s shaping up wonderfully and I want you to see a rehearsal. I’d be interested in your opinion.”

  As if a freezing wind had suddenly blown up, she tugged her silk shawl off the back of her chair and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  “The central role is the madam, an older woman,” Reed continued. “We’ve got a top-notch actor for that part. All the same, the scene needs more heat. It takes place in a brothel, after all. A fresh pair of eyes would help immeasurably.”

  Her blood pounded in her ears. Did he know? Did he think a professional’s take on prostitutes would help the production? The whole evening suddenly turned to ashes. She blurted out the first thought that came into her head, “I couldn’t possibly do it. I don’t have time.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze. “You have no worries on the academic front, I can assure you. And I won’t take no for an answer.”

  She wouldn’t budge, but he carried on relentlessly. “Frankly, Maria, I’m surprised at you. I thought you’d jump at the chance. It dovetails so beautifully with your interests.”

  “Which are?” she said, barely suppressing her temper.

  “Theater and the erotic canon, of course. What’s gotten into you?”