***
Anna retrieved Madeline’s coat from the coat check at the end of the night, and Madeline put it on for the walk through the restaurant. Once outside, she unbelted the coat and left it carelessly open. The cool night air felt good against her skin, and it was late enough that hardly anyone was around to see her. Anna didn’t say anything; probably she was used to Madeline’s nudity by then.
“Your body paint held up pretty well,” Anna observed as they got into the car.
“It started to get a little smeared with the dancing,” Madeline said.
“Yes. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”
Anna started the car and they pulled out of the parking lot. “You had a good birthday?” Anna asked as they drove.
“It was perfect. I think everyone had fun, don’t you?”
“It seemed like everyone had a great time. So even with the whole birthday suit thing, you still had fun?”
Madeline smiled. “I’m going to tell you the truth, Anna. It might have been even more fun because of the birthday suit thing. I wouldn’t have dared to do such a thing on my own, but since I felt obligated to do it because of your prank, I have to admit it ended up being quite the thrill. I’m glad I was able to do something special like that on my birthday. It was a unique experience.”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” Anna said. “I was so worried I had ruined your birthday.”
“Not at all.” Madeline gave Anna a sly look. “Maybe I’ve started a new tradition. Maybe you’ll decide to try the same thing when your next birthday rolls around.”
Anna laughed. “Maybe I will, Mads. Maybe I will.”
***
Madeline woke up the next morning to the sun shining in her window. She could feel the silk covers against her bare skin; she had ended up sleeping naked. She stretched in bed, and glanced at the calendar on her wall. Today was the day after the day circled in gold glitter pen. The day after her birthday.
She turned the other way and looked at the clock on her bedside table. 7:30. She had overslept.
Madeline slipped out of bed and walked to the bathroom, where she took a long shower. She had taken one before going to bed, but wanted to take another to scrub off any remnants of body paint that remained. She put on her robe and ate breakfast in the kitchen. A banana and some cottage cheese.
Back to her bedroom to get dressed for work. Immediately, she noticed the blue suit that Anna had given her. Well, she hadn’t managed to wear it to her party, so that meant it was clean and available for her to wear to work! Madeline glanced at the clock, which now read 8:30. No way to avoid being late for work, but she didn’t think Michael would give her a hard time. He knew she’d been celebrating her birthday the night before.
Looking sharp and professional in her new outfit, Madeline left her apartment and walked to the train. She got on a fairly empty car and sat across from an old man with a cane.
Madeline checked her phone as the train started to move. 9:01. She was officially late. She had five stops before her stop, but fortunately, her building was right across from the train station. Probably she would be at work by 9:30 at the latest.
She called Michael. He picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, Michael. This is Madeline.”
“Oh, hey, Madeline.”
“Hi. I just wanted to let you know, I’m running a little late. I’ll probably be half an hour late.”
“That’s fine, Madeline. It’s no problem. Did you have a fun birthday?”
“I did! It was wonderful, actually.”
“Great. Just to warn you, they’ve organized another little thing for you today. Be ready to eat some more birthday cake.”
“They did? Oh, they didn’t have to!”
“Eh, you know the people here. Anything for a party. All right, Madeline. See you soon.”
“Okay! I won’t be long. And you’ll get to see me in my birthday suit!”
Michael paused. “Sorry?”
“I’m coming to work in my birthday suit! You’ll see…” All at once, Madeline realized what she was saying. “Wait! I don’t mean…!”
But Michael was already chattering excitedly. “Madeline! I mean, I heard stories about your party last night, but I thought if it was just talk… Yeah! I mean, if that’s what you want to do, go for it! I’ll just go and warn everyone.”
“No, no, no!” Madeline protested. “I’m not going to…” But Michael had already hung up.
Madeline cradled her phone in her hands, completely stunned. Even after everything that had happened the day before, she had made the exact same mistake again. She looked over at the old man across the aisle, and he was looking at her quizzically, having overheard her conversation.
She smiled at him ruefully. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know this is going to seem strange. But I’m afraid I just made a commitment.” She stood up and started to undress.
RESEARCH
Peter appeared in the doorway to Molly’s office at one in the afternoon. “Still going?”
Molly looked up from her computer. She sat at an enormous wooden desk that had been coated in a dark stain and polished to the point where it had a liquid shine. The covers of her bestsellers filled the wall behind her, blown up to movie poster size. All the covers looked the same. A strong handsome man, his long-sleeved shirt open, holding a young woman in a tight dark dress that left her shoulders bare. The names of the novels blazed in bold letters. “A Voyage to Venice”. “Annabella’s Wish”. “Annabella’s Secret”. More from the Annabella series. All of the posters displayed her pen name in the same bold letters. Molly Hart. Molly Hart. Molly Hart.
After the success of the “Fifty Shades of Grey” series, the market was wide open for romance with risqué elements, and Molly had found her first Annabella book suddenly propelled to bestseller status. Now every Annabella book hit the bestseller list. The public couldn’t get enough of Annabella.
Her new book, “Annabella’s Summer”, would almost certainly be another best seller. Her sixth in six years. If she could ever get it finished.
Molly pushed her dark wavy hair out of her eyes. She scowled at the computer screen. “I’m having trouble with this chapter.”
“Let it go for the day?” Peter suggested. “Maybe you’ll have a better time with it tomorrow.”
Molly shook her head. “You know I don’t work like that. I need to hit one thousand words before I quit. That’s my rule.”
“Are you close?”
Molly glanced at the screen. “I need about 600 words still.” She shook her head, scowling in frustration.
What scene are you writing?” Peter asked.
“It’s a typical misadventure for Annabella,” Molly said. “She’s in her villa in the Italian countryside, taking a shower, and she gets confused by the floor plan and accidentally walks outside. The door locks behind her and she realizes she’s stuck outside, totally nude. Marcos has the extra key to the villa hidden under a flowerpot, so she tries to sneak the four blocks to his house. Unfortunately, she runs into a parade.”
“A parade?”
“A parade in honor of the Florentine painters. She ends up on a float commemorating Botticelli’s ‘The Birth of Venus’ and everyone thinks she’s part of the float.”
“Ha! Ha!” Peter threw back his head and laughed. “That’s a very Annabella situation, isn’t it? Ha! Ha!” He had a unique laugh that sounded very much like he was speaking the word “Ha” again and again. Molly occasionally found his laugh grating, but more often she found it charming.
Today, it made her smile. She tapped the top of her monitor. “I can tell you exactly what should happen, and you wouldn’t think it would be so difficult to get it written on the screen. Yet I keep rewriting the same paragraph over and over again. I’m struggling to get inside Annabella’s head. I don’t want to just write a narrative description of what she goes through, like some voice-over on a nature documentary. I want the
reader to feel like they’re actually there with her.”
“Well, how is Annabella feeling while all this is happening?” Peter asked. “Is she embarrassed? Does she think it’s funny? She’s probably used to finding herself in these types of peculiar situations by now.”
“I don’t know,” Molly said. “I don’t know how she’s feeling. Maybe that’s why I’m struggling with this scene.”
Peter waited for her to say more, but Molly had already dropped back into her work, gazing pensively at the screen. She typed rapidly, paused, then scowled as she pressed the delete key just as rapidly. Peter watched her for a moment, then said, “Well, I’m back to my painting. I’ll check back on you in, I suppose, a couple of hours?”
“Okay,” Molly said.
She could hear his steps creaking on the hardwood floor as he walked down the hall to his studio. Molly had moved in with Peter three years before after meeting him at an exhibit of his paintings in Manhattan. She had admired his work for years before she met him, and when she introduced herself to him at the exhibit, he enthusiastically informed her that he had read her first Annabella book and was halfway through the second.
They dated for four months before he asked her to move in with him. Peter had a large house in upstate New York that he barely inhabited, and the downstairs bedroom that she took for her office had previously held six cardboard boxes and no furniture. Peter laughed at her reaction to the house when she first saw it. He explained that when his paintings started to sell, he suddenly had money, and so he bought himself a large house. But he really only needed four rooms: kitchen; bathroom; bedroom; studio. Those were the rooms he used, and the rest of the house remained empty and unused.
After Molly moved in, she spent some months shopping and decorating, making the place feel more like a home. He had his own paintings hung on most of the walls, which she didn’t mind and didn’t change. She loved his work.
They had very compatible work schedules. After breakfast, they would go to their separate rooms. Molly would write. Peter would paint. In the afternoon, they would reconvene. Sometimes they would go out for coffee, sometimes they would stay in and watch TV. In the evening, they would sip tea on the porch and watch the sun set.
Probably they would get married someday. But no reason to rush it.
Molly started typing:
“Annabella heard the men before she saw them, their loud voices echoing through the narrow streets. She looked around, desperate for a hiding place, but the street offered nothing that would grant her modesty. Annabella felt her skin burning with shame, like she had poured a bottle of rubbing alcohol on “
Molly stopped. She stared at the words on her screen. Rubbing alcohol? What? How did that make any sense?
She scowled. Her finger hammered the delete key, expunging those horrible words from existence. “Damn it!” she growled, rubbing her forehead. “This is ridiculous.”
Still 600 words to go. Or to be specific, 614.
She started typing:
“Three men turned around the corner in front of her and Annabella froze in the street. She had no place to hide, even if it had occurred to her to do so. The men gaped at her nudity, and she felt their gazes on her skin like a circus of fleas crawling across “
Molly stopped. Circus of fleas? How was that sexy? She shook her head and hammered the delete key.
She scrolled up on the screen and started re-reading what she had already written. Sometimes that helped her to reset her mind. It was like going upstream and putting a leaf in the current. The leaf would flow with the water, and when she reached that blank part of the page, it would be obvious to her where the leaf was meant to go.
Only this time she reached the blank part of the page and the leaf smacked into a wall.
Molly leaned back in her chair. “Talk to me, Annabella,” she murmured. “You’re naked and trying to sneak through the streets. What’s in your head? What are you thinking about?” Molly reached to the side, a gesture born of long habit, and took hold of the can of Dr. Pepper that she kept there. It lifted easily, too easily. Empty.
Well, that, at least, was something she could solve. She left her office and walked down the hall to the kitchen. She pulled open the refrigerator, only to find that the shelf she usually stocked with Dr. Peppers was empty. “Damn it!” she swore, flinging the door shut.
614 words to go. Taking a break to get a fresh drink from the refrigerator was one thing. But did she dare to abandon her writing for half an hour to drive to the grocery store? Even if she just intended to buy Dr. Peppers, she knew inevitably she would end up buying more than that. Was it cheating, to leave her writing unfinished to run that errand?
She was struggling with her writing, and her cans of Dr. Pepper definitely served as a comfort item while she worked. Wasn’t it permissible, to go to the grocery store, if it ultimately helped her to reach her word count? She could forgive herself that, couldn’t she?
Molly walked to the front door. She found her car keys and put them in her purse, and had started to fish her sandals out of the shoe rack when a thought suddenly occurred to her. She stood up quickly, her heart beating fast, the sandals momentarily forgotten.
Maybe going to the grocery store could help her in more ways than one? Maybe it could be… research?
“No,” she said out loud. “That’s ridiculous.” Yet she realized that she was already greedily analyzing the way she felt, putting her body’s reactions into words. “Annabella’s heart thundered in her chest,” she murmured. “She felt faint, as if she would pass out, yet she also couldn’t deny a feeling of anticipation. Did she really dare to do this?” Molly reached down and took hold of the bottom of her summer dress. She pulled it up and over her head then draped it over the coat rack. Her bra and panties followed, one after the other, joining the dress on the coat rack. Now she stood in front of the front door, completely naked.
Naked as Annabella.
Despite the warm temperature, she felt herself shivering. Probably nervousness. Maybe it would pass. Certainly, she would feel warmer once she stood outside with the sunlight on her skin. Molly slipped on her sandals. She was about to open the door when she realized she hadn’t told Peter where she was going.
She walked down the hall to the doorway to Peter’s studio. He had his back to her, focused on the large partially-painted canvas in front of him. She watched him for a moment as he dabbed a spot of color on the canvas with his paint brush.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m going to the grocery store. We need more Dr. Pepper.”
“Okay.” His eyes remained on his canvas, but he raised his voice to ensure that she could hear. He dabbed another spot of paint. “Did you make your thousand words then?”
“Not yet,” she said. “I’m just stepping away for a bit.”
“Okay. Yes, that will probably help, to give your mind a break and let it occupy itself with something else.”
“I think so,” Molly said. She stood for a moment in the doorway, trying to decide if she should bring her nudity to his attention. Finally, she just shrugged and headed for the front door. She slung her purse on her shoulder and stepped out the door.
Outside, the weather was bright and sunny with only a few wispy white clouds in the blue sky. Molly stopped on the front porch, looking up and down the street. She didn’t see anyone. It was still early afternoon, and most of the neighbors were likely still at work.
She realized she felt a little disappointed that no one was around to see her. After all, the whole point of this outing was to see how it felt to be Annabella. Annabella, who started out desperately sneaking through the narrow streets of Santo Giallo and ended up riding on a parade float in full view of the cheering townsfolk.
Well, it didn’t matter. Even if none of her neighbors were around to see her, she would certainly find some spectators at the grocery store. At the very least, she would be seen by the check-out clerk. Perhaps this initial part of her journey matched up with Annabella r
ealizing that she had accidentally stepped out of her villa without any clothes on.
Looking down, Molly could see the distinct line where the shade of the porch yielded to the sunlight. Her journey began with that first step over that line. Before that first step, she was a naked woman who had slipped out the front door, a naked woman who could easily slip back in. If she saw someone walking down the sidewalk, she could duck back in, like a mouse into a hole, before they could ever see her.
Not Annabella. Annabella couldn’t just duck back in. She had locked herself out.
Molly turned around and opened the front door. She made sure the doorknob was set to lock, then she fished her house keys out of her purse and tossed them inside. She pulled the door closed before she could think too much about what she was doing.
Now she was outside, naked, and she made a show of trying to turn the door knob, as Annabella would have. The knob wouldn’t turn in either direction. Locked. She was locked out of her house, and she was naked. Of course, she could knock and Peter would let her in. For that matter, they had a key hidden under a flowerpot in the side yard. Nevertheless, she felt a helpless thrill knowing that she couldn’t simply open the door and step back in.
Now if someone came down the sidewalk, she would be faced with only two choices, the same two choices that Annabella would have. Hide, or be seen. Molly gathered her nerve and took a step forward into the sunlight, feeling the warmth of it instantly on her skin. Blinking against the brightness, she looked to the left and right, but still saw no one.
“Embarrassed,” she muttered. “Nervous. Annabella didn’t see anyone watching her, yet she still felt as if eyes were on her, perhaps peeking out the windows. She knew that she had a long walk ahead, and someone was bound to see her at some point. She felt anxious, wondering how strangers would react when they saw her.” Molly paused. “Yet… she couldn’t deny she also felt a little excited. And… turned on. A little turned on.” Molly nibbled her lip, then added, “She felt the urge to reach between her legs and touch herself.”
No One Is Awake To See and Other Revealing Tales Page 8