by Vina Jackson
Aurelia let out a sigh of relief. Since her response to Siv’s very minor nudity had brought her such a sharp pang of arousal, she was concerned that somehow her tattoo might appear suddenly in front of onlookers and she dreaded the explaining that might be necessary if it were to become visible through a sheer dress.
‘Come on then, try it on,’ Siv pestered. ‘Though I have to say, I’m not quite sure it’s really you. It’s a little “stage show” with all those sequins.’
‘It once belonged to a burlesque dancer in London, apparently,’ Lauralynn explained. ‘But it’s the right length for you.’
Aurelia felt her cheeks warming under the combined gaze of the two women but she complied in the most modest way that she could by quickly unbuttoning her blouse and pulling the dress on over the top and then slipping her jeans off underneath.
Siv stared at her with a critical eye. ‘It doesn’t look right with a bra on,’ she said. ‘That’ll have to go. And your knickers, too, I think. You have VPL. Only one way to get rid of it.’
Lauralynn nodded her agreement. The mischievous half-smile that she had previously sported had turned into a wide grin that transformed her expression into fully fledged devilish.
Aurelia grimaced but did as they suggested, slipping her knickers down to her ankles and kicking them off, then she reached behind her back and unhooked the hook and eyes that held her bra together and slipped a thin strap over each of her shoulders, carefully fishing her brassiere out from beneath the dress.
Bralessness was an uncommon feeling for Aurelia, who was accustomed to wearing an underwired bra every day as a matter of course. It was a sensation that she enjoyed, although only when alone in her bedroom or on a particularly lazy weekend day when she lounged around the house in just her old Arcade Fire band T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts.
The fine mesh of the dress brushed against her chest and her nipples involuntarily hardened in response.
‘I can’t walk out in this,’ Aurelia hissed at Siv. ‘I’ve got practically nothing on.’
‘It’s not as revealing as you think, honestly. Take a look in the mirror.’
She turned and gasped when she saw her reflection. Even in the unflattering electric lighting of the storeroom, Aurelia was a picture. Black was a colour that she rarely wore as her skin was so pale she worried that it made her look closer to dead than fashionable, but the sheer fabric allowed some of her colouring to show through so that the effect was striking but not harsh, and the shimmering diamanté highlighted the greenish-blue colour of her eyes.
Aurelia had always been tall for her age and she suspected that Siv’s reputation for aggression had been the only thing that prevented her from being teased for her height at school. She hd always been longer and leaner than the other girls and her perceived difference had led her to drop out of the dance classes that Siv had persisted with as she had always felt like such a clunky giant.
Now she rarely gave her body shape much thought, but she would probably describe herself as lanky rather than shapely. She had long ago given up on the idea that her breasts might grow larger or her hips fuller as she grew older. Curvaceousness was certainly not an adjective that she would ever have ascribed to herself.
But the linear pattern somehow highlighted the natural curve of her waist and hips and because the dress fell all the way to the floor even though she looked even taller than usual, she still had her ballet flats on.
‘Here, try this as well,’ Lauralynn said, passing her a slim, pale-wooden circlet that was threaded with tiny, lifelike silk flowers. Aurelia balanced it carefully on top of her head. With her auburn hair rippling over her bare shoulders and the floral wreath resting on the crown of her head, she looked like a pagan goddess.
She stood in front of the mirror and closed her eyes, frightened by her own image. In her mind’s eye another picture leaped forward – the vision was of her, but another her. In it she was sheathed in a white dress, and standing with her face to the wind. Her hair was loose but had morphed into a nest of copper-coloured snakes that writhed sinuously against the sides of her face and hissed with each breath of air that caressed her skin. The terrible fierceness of the serpents was matched only by the ferocity Aurelia saw reflected in her own eyes.
‘See? It’s only if you’re standing right in the light that anyone will notice you’ve got nothing on underneath.’
Siv’s voice shook Aurelia out of her daydream. She was standing in front of her own reflection once more, but this time the dress was just a dress and her hair hung as still and lifeless as it ought to.
‘And there’s a whole load of people wearing a lot less than you two, believe me,’ Lauralynn added. Her arm was stretched straight out in front of her, dangling a pair of strappy black stiletto shoes beneath Aurelia’s nose. The heels were six inches high and each was decorated with a bronze serpent that ran up from the base of the heel so its open jaw would rest against the wearer’s ankle.
Aurelia glanced at the shoes and shivered.
‘No thanks,’ she insisted. ‘I’m a flat-shoe kind of girl. Especially if we’re going to be walking around, and I’m betting there’s lots of stairs.’
‘Suit yourself,’ Lauralynn replied with a shrug, before walking out ahead of them and beckoning for the two girls to follow. She was so stable in her own towering heels, she might have come out of her mother’s womb wearing them.
Aurelia was mesmerised by the swaying of Lauralynn’s hips beneath her short skirt and briefly she wondered how the blond woman’s skin might feel beneath her fingertips in contrast with the smooth, rubbery material of her latex hold-ups. She imagined her hand sliding between Lauralynn’s legs and all the way up her thighs and briefly caressing her. She felt her own lips moistening and she was immensely grateful for the protective covering of the sequins that would prevent anyone from noticing her tattoo if it should suddenly appear again.
Aurelia shook her head. What on earth had come over her? Lately she had been experiencing the uncomfortable sense that she was somehow changing, but her conscious thoughts hadn’t quite caught up with the instinctive responses of her body or the fleeting images that darted into her mind like fireflies and disappeared again just as quickly.
Lauralynn caught her eye as they reached the main desk again and winked at her as if she had been reading Aurelia’s thoughts all along. ‘Enjoy yourselves,’ she said. ‘There’s all sorts of displays up there so make sure you have a good look around.’
‘Come on,’ Aurelia said to Siv. ‘Let’s go and get this over with.’ She feigned reluctance because she did not want to own up to the spark that she felt igniting within her and the corresponding flush of excitement that crept from her toes all the way to her scalp. On each occasion that the stranger had visited her she had been in a place like this and surrounded by that strange sense of having found another world. The same energy that had imbued the air at the funfair and at the chapel was present here, as if something magical were about to happen and perhaps that something magical might involve another visit from the man who had left his mark on her in Bristol.
When they reached the base of the long flight of stairs that Lauralynn indicated led up to the exhibition, Aurelia gripped the winding iron stair rail eagerly. It wasn’t until she reached the top and discovered what lay ahead that she began to wonder what she had got herself into.
They had arrived at a long passageway that was peppered with closed wooden doors and further passageways that branched off the main corridor. There was no sign of any other people or any indication of where they should go next though Aurelia could hear the murmuring of voices and the occasional clatter of high heels. As she strained to catch the source of the sounds, she observed a strange whistling noise, rhythmic thudding and the occasional loud ‘crack’, a symphony of aural vibrations bouncing like balls from the stones so that it was impossible to pinpoint where the noises originated.
They picked a bricked archway at random and wandered through it. Shadows
crept up the walls around them. Torches had been set into the walls and the flames hissed and stuttered. The air was warm and smelled faintly like paraffin, leaving a bitter, acrid taste in Aurelia’s mouth.
‘It doesn’t feel like America, does it?’ Siv remarked.
‘No,’ Aurelia agreed, ‘it feels more like England.’ The place was a maze, and she felt just as she had when she’d been stuck with Siv in the ghost train, but now she could not separate her increasing foreboding from her sense that the stranger might appear again here, just as he had at the funfair.
They passed by several adjoining rooms, each of them either open and empty or closed and firmly locked, and were about to give up on the idea of finding Walter or any kind of art display when they reached another stone staircase.
‘You’d think they’d at least have elevators,’ Siv complained.
‘They probably do,’ Aurelia agreed. ‘We must be in the wrong place.’
She took one step up and narrowed her eyes, looking for some sign of what lay around the corner, but she couldn’t see anything. Then there was movement in the shadows ahead of her and a strange scraping sound and she turned her head and squinted again through the poor lighting. She thought she had seen someone with an animal on a lead. Perhaps it was Walter, with a guide dog. There was definitely something, or someone, crawling along the stone steps above them, but unless her mind was playing tricks on her again she was sure that she had caught a glimpse of a bare arse and a long, slim pair of legs disappearing behind the bend in the staircase. Surely not a person on a lead?
‘There’s nothing up here,’ Aurelia called back to Siv, who was still poking around in the corridor behind them. She was lying, of course, but she couldn’t think of any way to explain her natural distrust of the sculptor. She knew that if Siv got any inkling at all that she didn’t like the idea of tracking him down, then every rebellious bone in Siv’s body would respond by redoubling her detective efforts.
‘It’s okay,’ Siv called back, ‘come down here, I’ve found something.’
Aurelia followed the sound of Siv’s voice down the winding passageway and past all the other locked doors.
The room that Siv had discovered was small but appeared larger because every flat surface had recently been painted white. A small window, barred like a prison cell, provided the only light, but the white paint reflected each ray so effectively that the walls seemed to glow.
Aurelia opened her mouth to speak when she caught sight of the display inside, but Siv had drawn her finger to her lips to indicate that they should be silent.
A woman was hanging from an elaborate series of pale-pink ropes that were fixed in place in various points on the ceiling. She was positioned like a ballerina in mid-grand jeté, with her arms raised above her head and bound at the wrist, her back arched and her legs spread wide apart, her back leg raised higher than her front as if she had reached the highest point of a leap and was now on her way down again. Rope had been wrapped, tied and cinched around her ankles and just above her knees, and then clipped onto the lengths that hung from the roof. She wore a rope harness that wrapped around her hips, inner thighs and buttocks and supported the majority of her weight.
Her expression was peaceful, as if she found serenity in having been caught in flight. If anything, it seemed that the effect of the rope was to prolong her airborne freedom rather than to restrain her. She remained perfectly still and at ease in her bonds and did not move or make a sound to acknowledge the presence of the two young women.
In the corner of the room a man sat on a stool alongside a small workbench. He was not looking at the suspended woman, but Aurelia had the impression that he was analysing her somehow. His head was slightly cocked to one side as if he were seeing her by listening rather than looking. With his hands he was deftly shaping a clay figurine.
She recognised the man that Siv was so taken with.
This must be Walter.
Aurelia peered at him. He was wearing a strange combination of clothes. A pair of cream-coloured hemp trousers and a long-sleeved, collarless purple shirt made from the same fabric, which was thick and looked rough to the touch. Perhaps, in the absence of vision, he enjoyed the texture of things, which would explain both his outfit and his chosen art form.
Up close, his hair was snow white and cropped close to his head. Aurelia noted his features but found them unremarkable. A square jaw and high cheekbones gave him a somewhat animal appearance, an effect that was magnified by the way that he moved and responded to touch and sound rather than to sight. His loose-fitting clothing did not reveal much in the way of muscles or lack of them, but it was obvious that he was of slim build and his straight-backed spine suggested the kind of good posture that comes with fitness.
To Aurelia, he simply looked like an old man. Not an unattractive one, certainly, but far beyond the age that she considered eligible. He must be in his sixties, she thought, at least forty years Siv’s senior. Did her friend really feel that way about him as she had with the now long-jettisoned Ginger? She turned and gazed at Siv.
Siv was standing with her feet spread solidly apart and her thumbs tucked through the belt loops of her severely abbreviated shorts with her fingers in her pockets. She was staring at Walter, transfixed. Aurelia followed the line of her gaze. Siv was not looking at the side profile of his face that was visible to them, but rather she was totally entranced by the movement of his hands as he shaped the clay. Aurelia took a step closer to her friend and pinched her arm to get her attention but Siv had drifted into a sort of daze and was totally oblivious to everything around her – Aurelia, the room, the woman hanging from the ceiling. For a moment, Siv looked as if she was blind as he was.
‘Siv!’ Aurelia whispered under her breath. Siv ignored her. Aurelia waved a hand in front of her face. Finally she broke her gaze from the movement of the sculptor’s hands.
‘What?’ Siv hissed back.
The sculptor did not turn at the sound of their voices. Most likely, Aurelia thought, he had known that they were there all along.
‘Let’s go,’ she said. Siv’s reaction to the sculptor made her hair stand on end. She had never seen her usually straightforward and rational friend behave this way and it made her uneasy.
Siv shifted her weight from one foot to the other but did not make any move to leave.
‘We’ll distract him if we stay here,’ Aurelia added. This had the desired effect. Siv took one more wistful look at the sculptor and then reluctantly began to head towards the door.
Aurelia watched Siv walk. Her steps were slow and heavy, as if her friend were somehow attached by invisible threads to Walter and was having trouble leaving him behind. Again Aurelia felt a strange itching sensation on her skin, the same feeling that she had when she occasionally watched thriller films and wanted to scream a warning at the TV set when the heroine opened a squeaky door or headed down the rickety stairs to the basement.
Why was she so troubled by Siv’s interest in the sculptor? Aurelia hadn’t seen any of his finished pieces but, regardless of the quality, the fact that he could create visual art at all without the ability to see was remarkable, but besides that he seemed fairly ordinary and unfrightening. It was Siv’s reaction to him that was so strange. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about her friend was different. She seemed consumed by her thoughts of this man.
No different to me then, Aurelia thought with a wry smile. Likely it was a passing crush or a phase caused by his unusual talent and Siv would snap out of it.
‘Whoa,’ said Siv, coming to a halt in the corridor ahead of her. Aurelia hurried to catch up with her and see inside whatever new display it was that had now caught Siv’s attention. Some of the doors that had previously been locked were now open and within the first was one of the most alarming sights that Aurelia had ever set her eyes on, but yet she could not pull her gaze away. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion like a film stuck in freeze frame.
A young w
oman – probably around the same age they were, Aurelia guessed – was leaning against a wall with her arms and legs spread in starfish style. This woman too was bound, but only with very thin white ribbons that were wrapped around her ankles and wrists. The fragility of the restraints that bound her only served to highlight the fragility of her wrists and ankles and the delicacy of her frame. Her long hair was jet black and hung loosely around her shoulders and face so that even her profile was obscured. She was standing in perfect en pointe in a pair of peach-coloured ballet slippers. Her lacy knickers were the same shade and had been pulled halfway down her thighs, exposing a pert, naked arse. Clearly visible on each cheek was a bright-red handprint.
A man stood behind her with his arm raised. He paused at the top of his swing like a baseball pitcher gathering speed and power for a throw and then brought his hand down onto her buttock with what seemed to be all of his strength. The girl cried out, releasing a guttural sound that suggested pain but was not accompanied by any attempt to escape her situation. She involuntarily jolted forward, tugging on the ribbons that bound her, but she managed to remain on her tiptoes. Aurelia, though, knew from her own limited experience of ballet that retaining that posture under such circumstances must have taken extraordinary balance and strength of will.
The first moment of impact passed and the girl relaxed again. The man had switched from his heavy blow to a soft caress, cupping her arse cheek in his hand with absolute gentleness as if he was stroking the delicate petals of a flower. A look of total satisfaction crossed his face as she leaned back against his palm. Then his eyes flashed and his smile turned cruel as he raised his hand again and brought it down with a thud onto her other cheek. She hissed between her teeth in pain, jolted forward again and then relaxed once more into his hand. This time his finger slid briefly between her legs and he traced a line from her sex lips up to the cleft of her arse. In response she strained against the ribbons that bound her ankles so that she could shift her legs further apart, inviting him in.
