A Palette for Love

by Charlotte Greene

  I was amused to note that the earlier, drawling stupidity and careful casualness had left her voice. Perhaps, like her clothes, it was all an act. “Please,” she said, pointing to a small door at the far end of the room. “Let’s get out of this crowd before they corner me again.”

  Her office was spotless and modern, with comfortable chairs and an espresso machine. I was once again surprised by this change in style and sat down next to Amelia on the couch.

  “I think you had a chance to view most of the current collection?” Tara asked after she offered us coffee. She perched on the edge of her desk, looking extremely worried.

  “Yes. I’m quite intrigued, Miss Michaels, with many of your pieces,” Amelia said. “I have several clients who have indicated an interest in your work, and it’s good to finally see some of it in person.”

  Tara looked relieved. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I just had to fire my agent, and I’m looking to expand into new markets. I have a secretary that can cover most of the details of shipping and payment and whatnot, and I think I have a current or mostly current catalogue of work around here somewhere.” She stood up and began rifling through her desk drawers before pulling out a professional-looking printed portfolio. She handed this to me. “You’ll find a DVD in there too that should be completely up-to-date with all of the work in the show here.” Her dismissive behavior to me clearly showed me what she thought of assistants. She directed her attention back to Amelia without a second glance at me the rest of the time we were in her office. While her recognition of my position was correct, I hated feeling unimportant. She made eye contact with me briefly when we all shook hands to say good-bye, then gave me her secretary’s office number.

  Back in the car on the way to the hotel, I was still peeved and tried not to show it. Amelia, however, picked up on my emotions immediately. “I’m sorry she was such an arrogant pest. She shouldn’t have treated you that way.”

  Realizing that I had been sulking, I laughed and shook myself out of my mood. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so sensitive. She’s right. I am just the assistant.”

  Amelia agreed but looked troubled. Perhaps, like me, she was beginning to recognize the serious discrepancy between our positions.

  Back in our room, I quickly forgot the stress and annoyance of the day in a rush of tearing clothes and kissing. But, as I lay in Amelia’s arms as I dozed off, a new worry had begun to nag at me.

  Amelia had still not let me touch her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brunch with Lana and Jess on Sunday was more embarrassing than I could have ever expected. Having rarely had boyfriends that I introduced to friends or family, let alone a girlfriend, I was unprepared for their unconcealed curiosity and teasing. I had thought that, without asking them, they would be on their best behavior, both courteous and respectful of Amelia and the fact that we had only just begun to date. I got a version of this behavior from Jess, but not Lana.

  When we showed up, Lana and Jess’s eyes grew about a million times bigger when they saw us holding hands. I hadn’t wanted to make a big deal of bringing Amelia, so I hadn’t told them that she was coming. This, of course, caused an immediately awkward situation, as they’d reserved a table for three, not four. This can be a major issue in the Village, where getting a table for brunch on Sunday morning at a popular place can be something like shopping on Black Friday. I started to panic, but, seeing my face, Amelia told me not to worry and then disappeared for a moment to the host’s station. She came back and we were all moved to a bigger table. Lana and Jess were duly impressed, but Amelia, as usual, took it in stride. I can’t imagine how much she had to bribe the host for us to get the bigger table, and I didn’t ask.

  The insinuations started almost immediately after we ordered drinks.

  Lana leered directly at me and said, loud enough for both Amelia and Jess to hear, “So, what’s Amelia like? Is she, you know, in charge of everything?” As if I didn’t catch what she meant by this, she raised her eyebrows up and down several times to emphasize her point.

  I stuttered a few times and Amelia grabbed my hand, squeezing it to reassure me. “We try to share our…work equally,” Amelia said, meeting Lana’s eyes. “I try not to think of myself as a boss, and I hope Chloé doesn’t feel…pushed around too much.”

  I choked on my mimosa, and Amelia had to slap me on

  the back a couple of times to help me catch my breath. Her

  phone rang a moment later and she excused herself to go answer it outside.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed at Lana. “You’re embarrassing her.”

  “I think it’s you I’m embarrassing, my dear. Amelia knows I’m joking.”

  I couldn’t help but pout. I’ve never been good with teasing. I had no older siblings growing up to get me used to it. “Well it’s not very nice. You’ve just met her. And you don’t have to be such a letch.”

  She held up her hands in defeat. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop talking about your sex life. Still, I have to say, now that I’ve seen her up close and in the daylight—wow. And that voice? It’s so husky and breathy—très sexy. A little like what’s-her-name, from that one movie.” She looked over at Jess, as if what she’d said was enough of a clue.

  For Jess, it was. “Emma Stone.”

  “Exactly—she sounds just like Emma Stone.” Lana agreed. “What a catch, Chloé. And you say she’s rich, too?”

  I blushed and nodded, proud but not comfortable bragging about her yet, either.

  “She’s gorgeous,” Jess said.

  “You look like movie stars together,” Lana added, “especially with your new clothes. You’re both the fashion plate of the new lesbian chic.”

  We laughed just as Amelia rejoined us.

  “Did I miss something?” she asked, looking around at all three of us.

  “Nothing important.” Lana grinned at me mischievously, as if we were hiding something from her.

  “That’s what I get for leaving the table, I guess,” Amelia said, smiling.

  It was one of the first times I’d heard her joke, and it took me by such a surprise that I choked, once again, on my mimosa.

  *

  The rest of our time in New York consisted of a blur of activity, followed by decadent dinners and passionate nights. I’d tried to bring up my concerns about reciprocating, about wanting to explore her body, but Amelia dismissed the conversation without explanation, never allowing my hands to go farther than the outside of her lingerie, and even then, she deftly prevented me from exploring between her legs.

  By Wednesday, I was becoming desperate. Since Monday, we’d been working on separate tasks during the day, and the time by myself had made the problem stand out in greater relief. I promised myself to bring it up during dinner, as she obviously wouldn’t talk about it when we were in bed together. Then, just as I was finishing up with my client—the author from the dinner Friday night—I received a text message on my phone.

  I’m sending you back early. Here is the information for your flight home. It’s a commercial flight, I’m afraid, as I need the jet, but your ticket is first class and direct. I need someone in New Orleans to help sort out all of this new inventory and meet with some desperate clients down there. I know we had plans for tomorrow, and I’m sorry I’m not there in person to say good-bye. Your luggage will follow tomorrow.

  I’m completely booked tonight, so let’s talk tomorrow when you’ve had a chance to catch your breath.

  The surprise change of plans took my breath away, and I stood on the front stoop of my client’s brownstone, completely stunned for several long moments. Anger followed my surprise, and without thinking about it, I instantly called her. She didn’t pick up. “Damn it!” I yelled, scaring a woman walking by with a stroller. I called out an apology, but she pushed her stroller away, quickly.

  My anger lasted as far as the airport, and I continued to try to reach her on her phone and at the hotel. No response. By the time I boarded the plane, howe
ver, my anger had melted into a stony dread. I felt physically ill and gulped at my free champagne like a tonic. Why is she doing this? I wondered. Is she mad at me? Did I do something wrong? The various warnings I’d had from Meghan and my aunt echoed through my head as I flew farther away from New York and from her. Was she just using me? I had a hard time believing this, even in my mildly inebriated state, but the facts seemed to glare out at me. She’d dismissed me like a plaything she’d grown tired of.

  By the time I reached my aunt’s place it was almost midnight and, luckily, completely empty. I stumbled into my room and fell facedown on my bed, too exhausted to even cry.

  *

  I was woken very early by a phone call from New York—a call made by a shipping organizer for one of the galleries, not by Amelia. The day passed in a blur of activity as I coordinated with him and with several other gallery owners and Sotheby’s. Amelia’s administrative assistant, Janet, acted with her usual super-efficiency, making my work much easier, but I still caught myself nearly breathless with anxiety throughout the day. The multi-line telephone in Amelia’s office was ringing off the hook. Just when I’d finish one phone call, I’d be on the next. I had the calls forwarded to my cell so I could go over to the airport to supervise a delivery and was talking nonstop most of the day.

  By seven that evening, I’d been working for well over twelve hours and was sagging with fatigue. Seeing me quite literally drooping, Janet laughed sympathetically. “You’ve been working harder than I have, Chloé, and that’s saying something since I’m about ready to keel over. You should go home.”

  “But there’s still so much to do!”

  “It’ll wait. Most of the delivery services are closed this time of day anyway. Just come back as early as you can tomorrow. I’ll get George to drive you home.”

  Too tired to protest, I agreed, getting home quickly with the light traffic.

  Meghan, Aunt Kate, and Jim were sitting in the living room when I walked in, and all three laughed when they saw me.

  “You look like tired horseshit,” Meghan said happily.

  “Fuck you.” I was too tired to be amused.

  “Language, ladies!” Aunt Kate said facetiously.

  I sat down heavily on an armchair, dropping my bag and keys on the floor. I rolled my head back and closed my eyes. “Holy crap. I’ve never been this tired in my life.”

  “Well, I hope you’re well paid for all this dedication, missy,” Aunt Kate said, clucking her tongue.

  “I am. Very well, in fact.”

  “I just dropped by to wait, and me, Kate, and Jim got to talking,” Meghan explained. “Never thought I’d have to wait so long.”

  Suddenly remembering, my eyes snapped open. “Oh shit. We were supposed to have dinner.” Earlier in the day, Meghan had called right in the middle of three conference calls I was on, and I’d stupidly made plans to see her tonight. “You must think I’m a real ass.”

  “I don’t have to think it. You are,” Meghan said, though it was clear she was joking. “I knew when I talked to you earlier that you were distracted. I shouldn’t have pushed you to make plans.”

  “Really, I am sorry.”

  “Well, you’re here now,” Aunt Kate said, “and knowing you, you probably didn’t have anything all day but coffee.”

  She was right, and I nodded guiltily.

  Aunt Kate sighed. “You go on and change, and Jim and I will go pick up some po’ boys down at Dempsey’s. If I call now, they’ll have them ready when we get there.”

  Not bothering to comment, I pulled myself to my feet, Meghan trailing after me to my bedroom.

  My luggage had arrived at some point during the day, and I felt another stab of betrayal. I’d left a few text messages on Amelia’s phone and tried calling between work calls, but had no response. It’d been well over twenty-four hours since I’d heard from her, which, to me, could mean only one thing: she was dumping me. I still couldn’t understand why she was doing this, however, and had a hard time rectifying the difference between the last time I’d seen her—blissful at breakfast yesterday—and this treatment. What happened? I wondered for the millionth time.

  Hearing me sigh, Meghan said, “What’s up?”

  “Just tired.” I didn’t want to explain. I kicked off my shoes and pulled off my stockings. I was just about to unzip my skirt, but I paused. Something had shifted in my perception of things since I’d gotten together with Amelia, and despite all the time I’d known her, it now seemed strange to undress in front of Meghan. Still, it wouldn’t help to make a big deal of it, so I tried to change as quickly as possible. Turning my back to her, I pretended to sort through my clothes so she wouldn’t see me completely naked as I pulled off my shirt. I heard her gasp behind me and then she was whirling me around.

  “Chloé, what the hell?”

  Surprised, I looked down at myself before remembering the bruises. My breasts and stomach had several dark ones from bite marks, and my wrists were lightly bruised and chafed. I blushed at the memory of how they’d gotten there and tried to turn away.

  Meghan yanked me around to face her. “Are you sick or something? What are all these marks?”

  “No, I’m not sick.” I wrenched my arm out of her grip and stepped away from her before moving across the room again.

  “Then what the hell?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” I tried to put as much warning in my voice as possible.

  “Chloé, we have to talk about this. What happened to you?”

  I didn’t reply and managed to quickly pull on jeans and a T-shirt, covering most of the marks. I couldn’t do anything for my wrists and touched them lightly, the echo of a thrill sweeping through me at the memory of Amelia tying me up. I grabbed a cardigan and, despite the heat in the house, pulled it on to cover my wrists.

  When I turned around, Meghan was sitting on my bed, her face a mask of hurt and anger. She had tears in her eyes, and I quickly walked over to her and sat down next to her without saying anything. I took one of her hands in mine and rubbed it.

  “Are you doing this to yourself?” Meghan asked between sobs. “Are you hurting yourself?”

  I shook my head, tears filling my eyes in sympathy. I couldn’t meet her gaze and kept my eyes rooted to our hands. After another long pause I glanced up at her and could see the tears now falling down her face.

  “I feel like I hardly know who you are anymore,” she finally said, shaking her head as if in disbelief. “You have all these secrets now. I don’t understand why you won’t tell me about this—how you got all these marks on your body. You aren’t sick, and you aren’t doing it to yourself…” I suddenly felt her body stiffen next to mine.

  “Did Amelia do this to you?” she finally asked after a long pause.

  Crying myself now, I didn’t say anything, still looking at our hands.

  Meghan wrenched her hand out of mine and stood up, pacing the floor in anger.

  “Jesus Christ, Chloé!” she shouted. “How could you be so fucking stupid! Why would you ever let a woman like that hurt you like this?”

  “She didn’t hurt me,” I said, quietly.

  “What do you mean she didn’t hurt you? You look like you’ve been beaten up, for Christ’s sake. Is she beating you?”

  I shook my head and kept my eyes on the floor. I heard her pause, and she was obviously staring at me, waiting for a response.

  “Fine. You know what, Chloé? Fuck you. If you’re not going to talk to me, you can just go fuck yourself.”

  She started to storm out of my room and I sprang to my feet, grabbing her arm. She spun toward me angrily, her eyes blazing with rage and hurt. I pulled her into a hug, and gradually the stiffness left her body. Finally, she hugged me back.

  “Goddamn it, Chloé. What’s happening?” she whispered.

  “I’ll tell you, okay?” I was still crying. “Can we sit down again?”

  She agreed and we made our way back to my bed. We sat there for a lon
g time as I screwed up my courage, trying to tamp down my own embarrassment and shame. This time she took my hands in hers, waiting patiently.

  Finally I sighed and met her eyes. “It’s a sex thing.”

  “What?” Meghan said, completely taken aback.

  “It’s a sex thing. I mean, the bruises. She likes to, you know.”

  “To what?” Meghan said, eyes blazing with fury.

  “To bite,” I said quietly.

  “Those are bite marks?” She was nearly shouting.

  “Most of them,” I admitted. “Some of them are hickeys. Anyway, I bruise easily.”

  “Goddamn it! I’m going to fucking kill her!” Meghan leapt to her feet again. I pulled her back down and she sat heavily. “That bitch!” Her face was a mottled red.

  “Meghan…I-I like it.”

  “You what?” she shouted again.

  “I like it,” I said, louder this time and meeting her eyes.

  She looked completely incredulous, but after looking in my eyes for a while, she read the truth in what I was saying. “You like it,” she repeated, brow furrowed in confusion.

  “Yes. I do. At first it was just a little bit of tying up, you know. And then she started biting me.” I couldn’t suppress a shudder of pleasure at the memory. “It hurts but it’s…” I looked up at her face, trying to make myself say it. “But it’s a good hurt.”

  “Huh.” Meghan still looked stunned.

  “I’ve been asking her to do it since we started.”

  “Huh,” Meghan said again, looking at me with a strange expression. We stared at each other for a long time, and I suddenly saw a glint of humor in her eyes. She tried to suppress it, but in a moment she was giggling, her eyes alive with merriment. “You kinky little minx. Who would have thought? Have you done this kind of thing before?”

  I shook my head and then shrugged. “I haven’t, you know, acted on it, I guess, but I’ve thought about it. I asked a boyfriend to tie me up once, but he wasn’t really into it.”

  “Jesus.” She was laughing again. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”