Lose Yourself (The Desires Unlocked Trilogy Part Two)

by Evie Blake

  She jumps out of bed and starts to pull on her dress, still abandoned on the chair where she had left it, how many days ago, now? She has no idea. She doesn’t bother with underwear or stockings, just slips on her shoes.

  He is watching her, a smile spreading on his face. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

  They run through the slippery streets of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, holding hands. The rain pelts their bodies as they splash through puddles. Maria can feel her flimsy dress sticking to her body, but she is beyond caring what people think of her. There are few out, anyway; most have taken shelter in the smoky cafés and bistros. They run across the square, past Deux Magots and behind the old abbey. Felix pulls her into the doorway of the abbey and she clings to him, feeling his muscled flesh through his wet shirt and trousers. The rain is so heavy it is like night. She imagines they are hidden from the real world, and maybe that is why she lets him do what he does. He lifts up the skirt of her dress and touches her. She pulls him back with her, against the old stone of the abbey, and raises her right leg, wrapping it about his waist. In the matter of just a week, she has become as expert as any experienced lover. It is second nature to her. Felix needs no encouragement. He pushes into her with a small grunt. The rain continues to beat down against them as they make frenzied love. A bolt of lightning cracks just metres from them, but they do not stop – they cannot stop. She could die right in the here and now and it would not matter. For making love with Felix is her life. If she dies in this storm, she doesn’t care, as long as they are together.

  Walking back to the hotel, her body still tingling with sensations, the rain stops quite suddenly. They are splashed by sunlight, the heat of its rays immediately prickling her skin. The wet pavements dry up almost instantly as the rainwater evaporates in the heat. Paris has been washed clean by the storm. The city smells almost sweet to Maria. They walk back arm in arm, their damp clothes crinkling as they dry, her bare legs enjoying the freedom of being stockingless. She doesn’t care how she looks. None of those who live in this distract care either. They have seen far stranger things than a woman with no stockings on. Down the narrow cobbled street, they pass a large door of a porte chochère that is open. Maria glimpses a small courtyard with tubs of red geraniums, a flash of colour in all the grey. To her delight, Felix pulls her through the open door and over towards the flowers. He looks around him furtively and then he bends down, picks three geraniums and hands them to her.

  ‘Oh, they’re beautiful,’ she whispers.

  ‘Come on, before we’re caught,’ he says, catching up her hand again and leading her out of the courtyard.

  When they get back to the hotel room, she fills an empty wine bottle with water and squeezes the stems of the red geraniums into it, proudly displaying the arrangement on the windowsill.

  Felix watches her, bemused. ‘They are nothing special,’ he says to her.

  ‘Oh, but they are,’ she contradicts him. ‘No one has ever given me flowers before.’

  He comes over to her, kisses her on the forehead, takes her hand and places it on his heart. ‘You make me feel young again,’ Felix says.

  She blushes with pleasure, smiling shyly at him. He is right. He does look younger – or is it less worried? In London he had seemed so serious, but here in their den in Paris he is all boyish charm. His distress from the other night is gone like a puff of smoke. She wonders if she dreamt that he was crying, although she remembers the sensation of his wet cheeks against hers. But she had not asked him about it the next morning, and now the last thing she wants to do is remind him of something that will make him sad.

  ‘Let’s go out tonight,’ he says, out of the blue. ‘Let’s eat at Le Petit Saint Benoit.’

  ‘Do we have to?’ she says reluctantly. ‘I would rather stay here.’

  ‘We have to eat more than bread and cheese at some stage, my dear, otherwise we will get scurvy. Besides, I’d like you to meet some of my friends.’

  She stiffens at the thought of other people. She wants it to be just her and Felix, completely exclusive. ‘Maybe I should stay here . . .’ she says, hestitantly.

  ‘Not at all; why would you do that?’

  She convinces herself that this is a good thing. If Felix wants to take her and introduce her to people then this is the first step towards their engagement, isn’t it? She is on the road to being part of his life forever. She wonders who they will meet and how much of Felix they know. For, even though they have been inseparable this past week, she knows no more about his past than she did the day she stepped off the boat at Boulogne.

  She stands by the open window, watching the sun sinking behind the rooftops of Paris, fiddling with one of the red geraniums, its petal velvet against her fingertip. There is no trace now of the earlier downpour; the city is as parched and cracked as it was the day before, the heat slapping her face and making her hands clammy with sweat. She doesn’t want to go out, not just because it is uncomfortably hot, but also because something tells her that, as soon as they break the spell of their love nest, it will be hard to recreate. The honeymoon will be over.

  Of course, the more she examines Anita as herself, the less like her she looks. In fact, in the Bridget Riley-style dress, she looks more like her mother than anyone else. The angular perfection of her black wig and her heavily made-up eyes make her look like a graphic novel character more than a real woman. Even so, it is disconcerting.

  ‘What do you think?’ Anita says, grinning at her. ‘I wanted to pay homage to your mother.’ She does a quick spin in the black and white dress. ‘I am a great admirer of her work as a fashion photographer in the sixties,’ she says. ‘In my opinion, she is up there with David Bailey and the rest of the greats.’

  Anita is now hanging on to Theo’s arm. Valentina wants to push her away from him.

  ‘What do you think of the exhibition?’ Anita asks her.

  ‘Well, it’s certainly popular,’ Valentina says, indicating the packed gallery.

  ‘Oh, these sorts of things are always busy,’ Anita says. ‘Especially given the content. And there’re some big names in the show. We are hanging alongside real erotica virtuosos, Valentina.’

  ‘Your work looks good,’ Theo says to her.

  ‘Thanks.’ She cannot look him in the eyes. He will see the nakedness of her want. And that is humiliating.

  ‘What did you think of my video installation, Beginning of O?’ Anita asks.

  ‘I loved the old film footage,’ she says, avoiding commenting on the rest of the piece.

  ‘That is footage by a man who made some of the most explicit erotic films of the late forties,’ she tells her, enthusiastically. ‘His name was Felix Leduc – a Frenchman; he also made more abstract surrealist stuff.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of him before.’

  ‘He was part of that whole existentialist scene in Paris with Sartre, de Beauvoir and Boris Vian. Later on, Pauline Réage also knew him,’ Theo tells her.

  ‘Pauline Réage, who wrote Story of O?’

  ‘Yes; that book is my inspiration,’ Anita tells her. ‘You see, my grandfather was a dealer in erotic art and literature in London in the fifties and sixties. Somehow, he got hold of Leduc’s footage. After he died, I inherited all of his collection. I found this in a shoebox. I couldn’t believe the content.’

  ‘It is quite remarkable, isn’t it?’ Theo asks her.

  But Valentina is remembering some of the narration from the film: ‘The beginning of O was when her body became a messenger for her heart.’ Valentina can make her body speak for her, but it seems that that is not enough. It is clear now that the voice and words from the film are Anita’s. So is that how Anita feels about Theo?

  ‘Have you read Story of O?’ Anita asks Valentina.

  ‘Of course she has,’ Theo says, before Valentina has a chance to reply. He looks directly at her and she knows he remembers the two of them reading Story of O in bed together, how parts of it had excited her and parts of it had disturbed
her. No woman should submit to that degree.

  ‘What’s the story again, about the author?’ Valentina asks, trying to ignore Anita still holding onto Theo’s arm.

  ‘It was written by a French academic who has several noms de plume: Anne Desclos, Dominque Aury, Pauline Réage. She never revealed her identity until she was an old woman,’ Theo says.

  Valentina loves that look on his face: the academic imparting knowledge.

  ‘When Story of O was first published, people believed that it was written by a man,’ he continues to say.

  ‘But Pauline Réage wrote it as a challenge to her lover, didn’t she?’ Valentina adds, remembering the full story behind the book. ‘He told her that women could not write erotica. So she wanted to prove him wrong.’

  ‘And what did you think of it?’ Anita asks her, looking genuinely interested.

  ‘It’s a strange book.’ Valentina pauses. ‘The way it starts . . . I mean, the content is very disturbing, abusive even, and yet there is something about it that is incredibly erotic. I can’t explain it.’

  ‘Maybe she felt totally free because she thought it was something private between her and her lover,’ Theo suggests.

  ‘But she allowed it to be published and read by the masses,’ Anita points out. ‘On some level she must have been trying to provoke.’

  The three of them are standing in a triangle, herself at the apex, facing the couple: Theo and Anita. Yet, to Valentina, the connection between herself and Theo feels as if it could be visible – as if it is a rope that binds them. They are staring at each other, unable to unlock their eyes. As if sensing this chemistry, Anita lets go of Theo’s arm and takes a step towards Valentina, almost blocking Theo from her view.

  ‘So, did you come with anyone?’ she asks her, her expression a warning.

  ‘I came with Antonella and her aunt Isabella, but I seem to have lost them in the crowd.’

  Just as she is saying this, she sees Antonella on the far side of the gallery and, to her surprise, she is arm in arm with her Russian lover, Mikhail, who Valentina thought was back in Milan. Antonella sees her and gives her a little wave, dragging Mikhail through the throng to meet them.

  ‘Hello, Mikhail,’ Valentina says, kissing the suave Russian on both cheeks. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘He claims he came to see himself on show in your pictures, but I know he’s really here to see me,’ Antonella says, looking pleased as punch. When she notices Theo, she stiffens. ‘Hello, Theo,’ she says, coldly. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Evening, Antonella.’ Theo pecks her politely on the cheek. ‘I am here with Anita Chappell. She is one of the exhibitors, as well.’

  ‘And his girlfriend,’ Anita adds, emphatically.

  Girlfriend. The word cuts through Valentina like a knife. Theo lets Anita call herself his girlfriend. She wonders now whether she has met his parents, too.

  Meanwhile, Antonella is looking Anita up and down, taking in the Bridget Riley dress and black bob wig. She turns to Theo. ‘Well, it seems that, since you can’t have the real thing, you’ve gone for a copy.’

  Valentina cringes with embarrassment. Sometimes Antonella’s outspokenness is downright rude. Yet, for some reason, Anita is completely unabashed. Either she is stupid or she has thick skin.

  ‘Yes, I know of course I don’t look as good as Valentina, especially in that amazing dress,’ she gushes. ‘In fact, I am emulating her mother, Tina Rosselli. She has inspired one of my new routines.’

  Valentina shivers in shock.

  ‘Anita is a burlesque performer,’ Theo tells Antonella.

  ‘Oh, cool,’ Antonella begins to thaw towards Anita. Valentina knows her secret dream is to perform burlesque.

  Valentina looks away, feeling a little sick. She can’t think of anything worse than a burlesque performance based on her mother. She stares down at the white floor of the gallery, swallowing her disappointment. This night has been a disaster. First of all, there was Francesco cornering her, and her unexpected anger and cruelty towards him. Is it karma that she now has to witness Anita and Theo as a couple? It looks to her that Anita is all over Theo. The whole thing has completely distracted her from actually focusing on making contacts and selling any work. Isn’t that why she came to London? But she can’t help it. She just can’t take her eyes off Theo. And, despite the fact that Anita is draped all over him, she can’t help noticing that he only has eyes for her. So why is he with the other woman? She can’t understand it at all.

  She wishes she could escape. What she needs is a saviour to whisk her away, yet the man she wants to save her is the very person it seems she can’t have. She shuts out the chatter of the others and lets her gaze drift over the crowd. She sees a Leonardo lookalike in the crowd: olive skin and brown eyes, with thick black hair, not quite as long as her friend’s. The man looks up; he is obviously searching for someone. To her astonishment, she realises it really is Leonardo with his hair cut short. She blinks; looks again. It can’t be possible. They were only talking on the phone this morning. How could he be here? Yet it is her friend. She feels a well of joy at seeing him.

  ‘Leonardo!’ she calls out and waves.

  ‘I meant to tell you,’ Antonella pipes up, ‘Leonardo and Mikhail came together. We split up looking for you.’

  ‘Leonardo!’

  He sees and hears her, his face breaking into a wide grin. He makes his way over to them, looking dashing as always in a maroon shirt, his black hair as shiny as crow’s feathers.

  Valentina gives him a huge hug. It is unlike her to be so demonstrative but she is so happy to see him. ‘I can’t believe you’re here!’

  ‘It was a spontaneous decision. I really wanted to see the show,’ Leonardo says, smiling at her.

  ‘It’s really good to see you,’ Theo says, slapping him on the back. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m well. Things are changing in my life but I think that’s a positive thing.’

  ‘Leonardo, I’d like you to meet Anita,’ Theo says.

  Valentina watches Leonardo’s reaction to Anita. He politely shakes her hand, giving nothing away. She wonders what he thinks of her adversary. Does he think she is as sexy as Valentina?

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Leonardo,’ Anita says.

  Valentina feels better to have Leonardo beside her. He is a different kind of friend from Antonella. Something about him makes her feel safe, and more confident. He reminds her of her power, of why she is in London in the first place: to showcase her erotic art.

  Their group begins to break up again as they explore different aspects of the show. Antonella and Mikhail go to look at Anita’s Beginning of O video installation, while Kirsti Shaw appears to whisk Anita away to introduce her to a buyer. It is just Theo, Leonardo and Valentina now. They stand in a strangely awkward silence for a few seconds.

  ‘Where are your pictures, Valentina?’ Leonardo asks.

  ‘Over there.’ She waves over to the far side of the gallery.

  ‘I’ll go take a look. See you in a minute.’ He tactfully disappears into the crowd. At last, she and Theo are alone.

  ‘Do you want another glass of champagne?’ Theo asks her.

  ‘No,’ she shakes her head, suddenly nervous that Francesco will reappear and reveal what she has been up to since she arrived in London. Why does she constantly sabotage herself? And yet she has no reason to feel guilty. After all, Theo is with Anita, right in front of her.

  ‘Theo,’ she whispers, gripping her empty champagne glass. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said.’

  He looks anxious. ‘I don’t think we should talk about it here,’ he says.

  ‘But I’m afraid I won’t see you again after tonight,’ she says.

  ‘Of course you’ll see me again.’

  She is unable to say anything for a moment. It is taking all of her self-restraint not to touch Theo. He is so close to her. She smells his Bulgari, and his own unique musky manliness – a scent that turns her to liquid
and makes her want to fall into his arms. She looks at the fuzz of golden hairs on his forearms; his crisp white shirt is pushed up to the elbows and she wants to reach out and stroke his arms. She wants to raise her hand to his cheek, put her finger on his lips and push it into his mouth. She wants to feel his tongue on her fingertip, his teeth clenching, to see his eyes, brittle with desire just for her. She remembers how he felt inside her, how full he made her feel and how wanting when he wasn’t inside her. She wants him now. She wishes she could find a small cupboard somewhere in this gallery and fuck him senseless. She is sure she could win him back then, once he remembered being inside her, once he remembered how much he had loved her.

  ‘I really will see you again?’ she asks. She can’t believe she is being so needy, so insecure.

  Theo puts his hand on her arm and she almost drops her empty champagne glass as her body charges in response to his touch.

  ‘Remember, I told you to trust me . . .’

  She nods. ‘I know; I think I do. I mean, I do.’

  ‘Things are complicated at the moment,’ Theo says.

  ‘About Anita?’

  He nods. ‘I told you the other day that I love you. All I need to know is that you love me and trust me back. It’s simple, Valentina.’

  ‘But I don’t understand why you can’t just break up with her.’ Valentina’s voice cracks. ‘It’s not fair to lead her on . . .’

  ‘I can’t explain right now—’ Theo suddenly stops talking. He is looking over the top of her head, his eyes narrowing, his expression becoming distant. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he hisses.

  Valentina spins round to see the source of Theo’s discomfort. She is not surprised to see their old adversary, Glen, dressed impeccably in a dark suit, milling through the crowd.

  ‘I’m sorry, Valentina; I have to go and head him off.’ He turns back to her, all of sudden reaching out and ruffling her hair playfully. ‘By the way, I love your new hairdo,’ he says, before rushing off into the crowd without another word.

  She is stunned, winded, as if he has punched her in the stomach. Why couldn’t they have just ignored Glen? Or faced him together? Why has he run off and left her stranded, gaping after him in front of everyone? She tries to compose herself but, to her shame, tears begin to sting the corners of her eyes. She feels rejected to her core. She thought that Theo still loved her. He said he did, but his actions speak volumes and, to an outsider, it would seem that he had moved on. Maybe he is just leading her on, ruffling her hair like that. He could be playing some game with her – some sort of revenge for breaking his heart. She can’t believe it. She would never have thought that Theo was the vengeful type. And yet, when she considers her treatment of Francesco, she has to admit that a broken heart can make you mean. She had never forgotten how her first lover had hurt her and now, nearly ten years later, she had been motivated to hurt him back.