Draw Me A Picture

by Meredith Greene

  “I’m good, love,” he said, gently. “'Tis cold out here. Let’s get you inside.” The young woman smiled; her face appeared serene again.

  Michelle followed William to the door, knowing there was something he wished to say, but held it inside for some reason. She’d known this since the dinner at his flat. Unable to really read this man yet, Michelle had been over it and over it in her mind as females are wont to do. Hope sprung up again in her, melting into a sort of calm. Michelle knew he would speak his mind to her eventually; he was the sort of individual that did not leave one in doubt for long. The man was just complicated enough to be interesting, yet open enough to ward off suspicion.

  William rang the doorbell, waiting with Alfred and his lovely companion by the door; he reached down and took the bakery box from Michelle, all the while regarding her with a heated gaze.

  Michelle felt his scrutiny and stared down at her boots; she’d never known a look to incite so many simultaneous feelings in her as William did with his azure eyes; exhilaration, uncertainty, excitement, diversion, bliss and the soft sighs of contentment, not to mention feeling uniquely vulnerable and feminine. Michelle decided she very much liked the enigma that was William and hoped fervently she’d get the chance to figure him out. His silence, now, was especially intriguing; it was as if he was harboring sneaky, romantic plans.

  Margaret answered the door herself, holding a slender cup of coffee; her welcoming smile lit up the doorway. To Michelle, the lady embodied the gracious hostess in her cream-colored dress and jacket; she cheerfully greeted them all and motioned them all in, out of the cold.

  “I am so glad you came, Michelle!” Margaret said, clasping her guest’s hand. “I hope the trip wasn’t too tiresome.” William smiled down at his mother and handed her the box of baked goods. “Oh, of course I am glad to see you, too, dear,” she smiled up at her son and gave him a fond peck on the cheek. “Ah, I love these pastries; you know that, don’t you? There goes my diet…”

  The home appeared to be everything Michelle thought it would be, minus the hundred guests. It was decorated surprisingly simply, in a quaint, English style but still, Michelle could ascertain that everything was enormously expensive. The long, wide staircase to the upper levels took up most of the entryway. Margaret ushered them all into a large sitting room to the right. A smart butler in a gray suit nodded at them and informed them that dinner would be ready in twenty minutes.

  “Thomas will take your things up to your rooms,” Margaret was saying, indicating with a gesture of her hand for everyone to sit down.

  The ‘parlor’ was delicately furnished with lovely wooden pieces and tasteful rugs. The best thing about the large room, in Michelle’s opinion, was the large, shiny black concert piano up on a slight dais. Her fingers itched to play it; the last time she played the piano after her parent’s funeral, on their old wall-piano; it was the last things she’d done before the house was sold. Her mother had truly loved to play; most evenings in their home had after-dinner music and singing. Especially near the holidays. A lump rose in her throat; Michelle turned to the conversation of the others, blinking the oncoming tears away.

  “You cannot be thinking of decorating for Christmas already,” William was saying. Nearby, Margaret held up a garland of some kind; it was a woven garnet-red rope with little crystals dangling from it.

  “Apparently I can,” she said, smiling. “The girls informed me that there is an unwritten law where one can begin ‘holiday’ decorating as early as next week; I’ll put up the fall ones for Thanksgiving… and these ones here are for Christmas.”

  “...and live animals for new years,” William put in, rubbing his forehead. “Festoon your house with dollar bills for all I care; it’s your house. This is why I never decorate for holidays.”

  At his words, Michelle smiled.

  “Not everyone decorates,” she said, quietly. “I have not either, since moving to New York.” William looked up at the young woman as she spoke. Her tone was amiable, but he realized the meaning of her words; it occurred to him that she had not had a Christmas, or any kind of holiday in three years. With her parents gone and no family or friends, he supposed the very idea was daunting for her.

  Margaret put the garland down in a box at her feet.

  “Well, come on… let me show Michelle the rest of the ground floor,” she said, happily. “You probably want to stretch your legs a bit anyway.”

  “Indeed madam,” Alfred said, with conviction. William grinned at Michelle and offered her a hand up.

  With an easy stroll, Margaret took great pride in showing her guests around her home.

  “I have actually made a little money on the side living here,” she said, showing them into an echoing all room. “Two of my friend’s daughters had their wedding receptions here... dancing, dinner, the whole works. They took care of all the preparation and cleaned up when they were finished.”

  “Well done, Mother,” William said, rubbing his chin.

  “It is a lovely room for a party,” Michelle agreed, looking around. Light sage-colored walls looked well with the burnished red-brown wood floors; several glowing chandeliers hung overhead from a vaulted cathedral-style ceiling. The room itself was mostly empty, save for a couch and an easy chair set up by a large fireplace on the far left side of the room. One wall was almost comprised of glass windows, with glass doors that could be opened outward. A few pieces of exercising equipment stood near the glass wall.

  “My physical therapist comes twice a week now,” Margaret informed them, waving at the equipment.

  “Did you have an accident, or surgery?” Michelle asked, concerned. Margaret chuckled.

  “No, my dear, I merely wish to keep in good shape,” she said, smiling. She guided Michelle gently over to the far right wall, which bore many pieces of art, all framed beautifully and lit with gallery-quality spotlights.

  A picture in the middle caught Michelle’s eye. It was her portrait of William, looking a hundred times better in a simple, polished, burgundy-colored wood frame and light gray matting. The beauty of it touched her; her eyes grew a little misty to see her work treated so well.

  “I told you it was well situated,” Margaret said; she spoke much like a mother would. The look on Michelle’s face moved the lady greatly.

  “It looks so well,” Michelle managed to say. “As if it is cherished; I thank you for that... and for having me here. Your home is simply breathtaking.”

  Margaret patted her arm.

  “I am honored you came to visit me, dear,” she said, smiling.

  “Thank you,” Michelle repeated, giving the lady an earnest smile. “And thank you for not filling every corner of your home with nick-knacks.” Margaret laughed; she had a clear, real laugh… much like William’s. “No, my dear,” she said, smiling. “I’ve not descended into that madness, yet.”

  William drifted over to them. He looked from the portrait to Michelle.

  “It does look well there,” he agreed. Leaning closer to Michelle, he whispered in her ear. “But it also looked well on the cardboard display, right next to the pretty girl.” Michelle blushed and looked at the floor, managing to draw Margret’s attention by commenting on her lovely flooring.

  “Oh, yes...” Margaret said, brightly. “It’s Egyptian wormwood, or so William tells me. Isn’t it nice?” William took Michelle’s arm as they followed her through the hall, studies, the large dining room and finally into the kitchen.

  The kitchen was not as big as Michelle feared, but still massive compared to an average middle-class family’s kitchen. It resembled a place an Italian villa may have to cook meals in: wide open spaces and muted earth tones, stone flagged floors with plenty of granite counter space for food preparation. Michelle longed to cook something in this gorgeous place. The chef eyed them from behind a counter; he was about a foot shorter than William, stocky with dark black hair and a white, button-up jacket. No chef-hat sat on his brow, however; instead he wore a dark green bandanna over
his hair.

  Alfred, in his English-accented French, began arguing with the chef about the tea; at least Michelle assumed it was about tea. William's valet gestured at a small counter across the kitchen with a formal service set up and a long line of tea canisters. After a moment of heated banter the chef picked up a knife, his expression dark.

  “Jean-Claude, really...” Margaret said, laughing. “Let him prepare the tea... you know how he is.” In answer the chef began chopping vegetables; he hurled them with force into a nearby stockpot, muttering to himself.

  Fairly close to the final counter sat a small, simple table, just big enough to seat six people. Michelle was relieved to see it was all set up for dinner; she was grateful they weren’t using the huge, formal dining room. This seemed much more comfortable.

  “Michelle, let me show you your room so that you can go freshen up for dinner,” Margaret said, beckoning to her guest.

  “You have her in the pink room, I imagine,” William spoke up. Margaret smiled.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said, wagging her finger at him. “Jean-Claude?” The chef looked up at Margaret, his expression softening, a little. “How long?” The man held up ten fingers then went back to chopping. “Excellent; we’ve just enough time. This way, please.” Michelle went with her, following through the hall and up the grand staircase.

  As they ascended the young woman admired the smooth wooden banister; she touched it lightly with her hand and let it guide her upwards. Margaret walked in front of her, all the while smiling.

  “Again, let me convey how very glad I am that you came, Michelle,” the woman said as they gained the top of the stairs. “It’s been too long since I had such good company.” Hearing this, Michelle was tempted to point out that she was pretty much just a stranger, but refrained. Margaret seemed to glow with an inner happiness and Michelle did not wish to dampen it; this was her house, and the lady could invite whomever she wanted.

  The pink room was thankfully not swathed in some frilly, garish pink decor; it was tastefully and simply done with muted, rose-colored walls, wood floors, a light brown rug, taupe bed linens and graceful drapes. The low lighting lent a cozy look to the entire room. A small vanity stood on one wall with unopened hygienic essentials on a tray; a fine wooden armoire stood tall by it. Michelle could see her bag was already on the queen-size bed. Through an open door, Michelle could see a sizable bathroom, decorated with white, gray and faded blue tones.

  “Wow,” Michelle said, wishing she could come up with a better exclamation. “It’s huge.” Margaret chuckled.

  “I’m glad you like it,” said she. “I trust you’ll be comfortable here.”

  “Yes,” Michelle said, nodding. She touched the bed cover briefly. “It’s very serene in here.”

  “Good,” Margaret said. “Dinner will be in a few minutes; we’ll eat in the kitchen. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I prefer it,” Michelle said, earnestly. Smiling, Margaret nodded.

  “I do as well,” she said, moving towards the door. “No need to dress up that way. We shall expect your presence downstairs shortly.”

  “Thank you,” Michelle said, as Margaret exited; the lady smiled and closed the door after her.

  Shaking out her coat, Michelle hung it on a hook located on the wall, by the door. Scratching her head a little, she walked over to her pack and undid the zipper on an outside pocket. Taking out her brush and the bottle of apple blossom spray, Michelle sat down at the vanity. It was an adorable piece of furniture, very feminine in shape and style. The mirror alone must have cost a pretty penny. At this thought, Michelle shook her head.

  “If I start scrutinizing the value of everything, I’ll be awake all night,” she thought, smiling. She brushed her hair and smoothed it a little; after using the bathroom she washed her hands and put on a tiny bit of perfume. After applying a little lip gloss she felt amply ‘freshened’. Smiling, she made her way out of the room and back down the wide staircase. William was waiting for her at the bottom; he greeted her with a kiss on her forehead, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  “I thought you’d get lost trying to kind the kitchen,” he offered. Michelle wasn’t fooled.

  “I’m not that brainless,” she said, smiling. “What do you really want?”

  Grinning, William reached up one hand and smoothed her hair. It felt very soft; William was grateful Michelle wasn’t the type to use a lot of hairspray; her long tresses were never stiff or untouchable. Realizing his girl wanted an answer, William decided to give her one. He leaned down, kissed her lips then pulled her along with him down the corridor.

  “Oh,” Michelle said, blushing. “Well, that is a good reply.”

  Whatever feelings of insecurity Michelle harbored around Margaret, they vanished during dinner; lady did her utmost to make her feel at home. The conversation was open with an easy flow; William added bits of humor here and there and a few cerebral objections. The petulant chef even joined them to eat, though he made a great show of sitting far away from Alfred. The man bristled just a little when the latter made comments about the strip steak being slightly overdone. Margaret laughed it off and spoke a few words to Jean-Claude in French.

  Listening to them, Michelle wished she’d taken French lessons after all; she resolved to someday soon. It seemed to be a handy language, especially in this circle. After dinner Margaret served coffee herself, playing the hostess with ease. Michelle’s admiration for the matronly woman grew and she spurred herself to answer questions and comment when looked at.

  The clock struck ten. Michelle hid a yawn in her hand. The company was good, but she normally was in bed by now.

  “Well, it is getting late… I’ll just head up to bed, myself,” Margaret said, to William. “Just to let you know, Michelle, we eat breakfast at eight sharp. There is an alarm clock on your night stand, if you wish to set it.”

  “Thank you, Margaret,” Michelle returned, smiling at her. The lady paused and looked at her young guest.

  “You know, Michelle, when you say my name it sounds lovely,” she said, smiling back. “I’ve always disliked my name. But your accent gives it just a hint of beauty.” Michelle smiled at this; she never considered herself having an accent, but she supposed and Englishwoman would think so.

  “It’s a great name,” Michelle remarked. “Like Margaret Thatcher, or Princess Margaret.”

  William’s mother laughed, lightly.

  “I am flattered you know they exist,” she said, smiling. “Thank you, my dear. I’ll let you turn in now. Oh, er…. if you cannot sleep or wake early, there is a large reading library four doors down from you on the right. Large, arched doors; you cannot miss them.”

  “I adore looking at personal libraries,” Michelle said, feeling a little more awake. “The variety of tomes always reflects the taste of the owner.”

  “Feel free to peruse it, my dear,” Margaret said, smiling at the young woman’s enthusiasm.

  “Thank you for your kindness, Margaret,” Michelle said, gratefully.

  “Nonsense, my dear. Sleep well. Goodnight.” The lady of the house took her cup to the sink and gracefully left the room.

  Michelle stood up, feeling both tired and excited. This was such a strange situation for her to be in. Almost constantly, she expected to wake up and find this all a dream. Michelle was fairly certain it was not but still, she wondered if the fates were just sporting with her and one day she’d wake up still on her street corner, pining fruitlessly after William.

  Almost immediately she felt his eyes on her face.

  “I should turn in as well,” William commented, standing to go; his eyes never left Michelle. He fervently hoped he’d get a chance to make out with his pretty girlfriend a little before bed. As if sensing his plans, his valet stood up, too.

  “As should I,” Alfred announced, smiling. He saw William’s chagrined look and chuckled to himself.

  Michelle earned a few points with the chef by thanking him
shyly for the dinner, emphasizing its delicious properties. The man beamed and captured her hand, kissing the back of it devotedly. William made a face at the man but Michelle’s surprised expression made his smile return. Blushing, Michelle got her hand back and turned to William and Alfred.

  “I guess I’ll say good night to you then,” she said, biting her lip. “The trip here turned out very pleasant, I thought.” William stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking impatient. He wanted everyone to disperse and go to sleep, except Michelle of course.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said, instead. “It was one of the better car trips I’ve taken up here, for certain.” His eyes held a look Michelle liked very much, somewhere in between gratitude and desire.

  “I second that,” Alfred said, ambling towards the door. “Far more riveting company than usual.” Hearing this, William snorted.

  “I was going to say the same thing, old boy,” he said, grinning. “At least you didn’t bring out a crossword puzzle this time, causing us meaningless agony over pop-culture terms.” Michelle giggled softly as she followed them out of the kitchen. As she ascended the stairs, she glanced back at William, wanting to give him a proper goodnight kiss but not daring to in front of everyone. Some things she still considered very private.

  An hour later, Michelle lay on the ‘pink room’ bed, looking up at the canopy; despite the comfortable surroundings sleep eluded her. Her clothes were already hung in the armoire. She already succumbed to the lure of the shower; the hot water had felt divine, the soap smelled of sandy beaches, the hot water relaxing... but there was just something about being in a strange place that Michelle was having a bit of trouble settling into; she missed William. The idea of the library nearby appealed. Maybe just a look...

  “William’s probably asleep by now,” she thought, sitting up. She hopped out of bed, restlessness driving her actions. A mirror on the back of the bedroom door reflected Michelle’s outfit: pajamas, and not even proper pajamas at that but cream-colored yoga pants and her Stanford camisole. Slipping on her robe, Michelle glanced at the clock. 11:05; surely everyone would be asleep. The house had been silent for some time.