by Kailin Gow
Despite its chaste nature, that night held a cherished place in my memory, in my heart. Her innocence and her passion; her pride and humility; her fear and her strength; she’d mesmerized me and I had fought to keep from ravaging her. My love for her could only bring her pain; my jealous rage could destroy her.
While carrying her back to her apartment early that morning had been difficult, I knew it was the only choice I had. Her budding love for me had already become evident in her eyes, in her touch and in her increased desire to be with me, but logic had won over temptation. Though deep in my heart I’d wanted to hold her, to warm her and to care for her, I knew better. My solace had come in knowing that she was clearly an independent and capable young woman.
New York was hers to discover, to charm and to own. Her strength would carry her through the most challenging of obstacles.
Or so I’d thought.
It saddened me to think that despite her incredible strength she’d fallen prey to Kristine. In hindsight, perhaps I should have kept her at my side.
No sense dwelling on that now. A solution was what I needed, not regret.
I whipped up an omelet, roasted up small cubes of potatoes and prepared a fresh fruit salad. My plans had to look to the future and the future was in greeting Kristine or Annette, whoever awoke first.
When the aroma of fresh brewed coffee wafted through the air and announced the new day, Annette wandered into the dining area. Disheveled and more alluring than ever, she sat at the table and eyed me with interest. She’d borrowed a thick and warm robe and though barely an inch of skin was visible, she was still the most erotic creature I’d ever seen.
“Good morning,” I said. I poured her a cup of coffee.
“Bonjour, Mon amour.”
I hid my disappointment as I set the cup before her. So it would be Kristine after all. Remembering her penchant for what was sweet, I dropped two spoonfuls of sugar in her cup and a soupcon of cream.
“Merci. I’m flattered to see you recall how I enjoy my coffee.”
“As I recall, you also enjoy a rather hearty breakfast.”
As I returned to the stove to dish out the small feast, I marveled at the difference between Kristine and Annette. How could one woman be so filled with hate and deceit while the other displayed such love and compassion? Knowing of the love I now felt for Annette, the sweet yet proud young woman who carried herself with all the nobility and strength of a woman years older, it was difficult to comprehend how I could have once given my heart to a woman as vile as Kristine could be.
Immaturity, I concluded. My insecurities and my need to love and be loved had blinded me to the true colors Kristine hid so well behind a veil of passion and sensuality. Her touch had always held the power to entice me, beguile me.
For all of Annette’s chaste ways and pure honesty, I’d tasted a hint of the passion she was also capable of. I fervently hoped to taste it again.
“Hope you're hungry,” I said.
She looked at her plate with pleasure, but the smile she directed at me clearly displayed where her true hunger lied. “Annette appears to be famished for the feast you’ve prepared. I, on the other hand, would be all too happy to feast on something else entirely.”
“I’ve no doubt.” Though I tried to sound virile and passionate, I heard a tinge of disdain in my words. Kristine…still a seductress…
Nonetheless, she turned her attention to her meal. “Mmm. C’est délicieux. I see you’ve learned a few things over the years. As I remember your cooking was disastrous when last I saw you. But your loving attention to detail has not changed. This fruit salad is perfection.”
I smiled and ignored her reference to our past. With no desire to reminisce, I sat across from her and concentrated on my breakfast. It killed me to know that Kristine was controlling Annette’s every move. And yet there was no way to battle what Kristine was doing other than to play along with her. Kill her with kindness.
“I left this earth far too young, Eric, and the chance to lead my life as I should have was taken away from me.”
I nodded.
“Maybe that’s why you were raised so chaste and demure, dear Annette,” she went on.
My heart jumped to my throat at the thought of Kristine communicating with Annette.
“They didn’t want you to come to the same dishonorable end your Tante Kristine did.”
Her eyes became shadowed with sadness. Whether it was Kristine showing a degree of remorse or Annette filtering through, I couldn’t be sure. Her gaze remained distant and solemn for a long moment and I wanted to reach out to console her… both of them.
“Wealth was all my family ever coveted, all they strived for, though admittedly not always in the most honorable way,” she whispered. She brought her eyes to mine, the eyes that were distinctly Kristine’s. “But then, how many among us become wealthy in a way that could completely be considered honorable? The Aragons were hardly rich due to hard labor and a strong work ethic. Rupert had spent all his days in the most leisurely fashion. His body knew not the ache of eking out a living through toil. In an entire year he didn’t work as much as my mother had in one day.”
With a mind of its own, my hand reached out to take hers.
“All I ever wanted was to prove to my mother that I was capable of making something of myself; of pulling myself out of the misery that was our gypsy way of life. I’d wanted food in my belly when I’d lain down to sleep. I’d yearned for a home that wasn’t rat infested and filthy. I’d wanted the world to gaze upon me with anything other than pity and contempt.”
“I’m so sorry for all that has been brought upon you. No one should ever have to live such pain,” I said. My sorrow ran deep for both Kristine and Annette. Kristine for having been so blinded with her need to better her life and Annette for now suffering the ire of Kristine’s failed attempts at riches. “For too many years I lived with the pain of physical scars so deeply etched on my face that they affected my mind to the point of blinding me to all else. My happiness was hindered by those ghastly scars… the happiness I could have had with the woman I love.” I brought her fingers to my lips and tenderly kissed her warm skin.
Our quiet moment of contemplation was quickly brought to an end with a sardonic chuckle. I glanced up into her eyes and knew the cynical and vengeful Kristine had returned. The warm fingers that had enchanted me just seconds earlier now felt vile and putrid in my hand. I released my hold of her and hid my displeasure.
Her lips curved maniacally with whatever plot she had in mind. One could almost see the triumph glistening in her eyes as she foresaw the success of that mysterious plot.
I’d tossed in my sleep as a good portion of the night had been spent trying to find the motivation for her appearance in New York. How long had she been here, following me, watching me? Did she simply want to seduce me? Was revenge on the Aragons still on her mind? Or did she have a whole new purpose for possessing Annette’s body?
My eyes never left hers as I tried to understand. Was Annette far in there? Could she see me? Hear me? Was she fighting? Or was she already dying?
Picking out a piece of pineapple from the fruit salad with her fingers, Kristine gazed wantonly at me as she licked the sweet juices from her fingertips. “This is pure heaven, Mon amour,” she said with a smile that declared how far from heaven her soul deserved to be.
“Have you taken in New York at all?” I asked, eager to speak and think of anything other than her ruse.
The hand that held her fork aloft was relaxed and completely at ease. Kristine seemed completely at home here, as though we’d never been apart. She scanned my home, scrutinizing and appraising. Her brow rose expressing her surprise or appreciation for the Van Gogh that graced the wall behind me. A Ming vase rested on a marble pedestal in the corner and her appraising eye lingered.
“New York is a bore and a poor attempt to rise to all the pomp, theatrics and glory that Paris has always been. What possible good could come of walking the ble
ak and gray streets of this cold city?”
“I felt very much as you do when I first arrived. I spent years simply wandering the underground tunnels and never daring to see the light of day. New York had little more to offer me than a convenient escape from Paris.”
“Yet you’ve remained here for over a century. I take it something came to interest you along the way.”
“Let me show you. Finish your breakfast and I’ll take you to a few of my favorite places.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips took on a seductive turn. “I remember the place that was once your favorite.” She reached out to take my hand. “As I recall, it was also my favorite. Do you remember, Eric? Have you missed those nights you spent in my arms, in my legs, in my soul?”
Fighting the sneer that worked its way to my lips, I resisted the comment that instantly came to mine regarding her soul. Play nice, I reminded myself.
“I do, and I have; many, many times. You are a woman difficult to forget. In fact, you inspired a great number of songs I’ve written over the years.” I gave her hand a tender squeeze and hoped Annette understood what I was trying to do.
“Ah,” Kristine groaned with a satisfied smile. “I must admit it pleases me to hear that, Eric. Very much.”
“I knew it would.” The nature of the songs she’d inspired would remain my secret. Far from being ballads of love, she’d brought out in me a rage of hard and heartless songs of betrayal and a complete disregard for the heart. “And the New York that I will share with you will please you as well. Trust me.”
Chapter 2
Kristine followed me to my room where I’ve had half my closet filled with Annette’s clothes. Though eager to leave for his much deserved time off, Abner, my butler, brought as many of Annette’s things over late last night, and I was pleased to see he had done a remarkable job arranging Annette’s clothes, accessories and shoes.
As I lay a pair of jeans, a warm sweater and woolen coat on the bed, Kristine watched me with interest and curiosity. From a drawer at the back of the closet, I pulled out a pair of leather gloves and a long, fanciful crocheted scarf. She cocked her brow as I set them on the coat and I replied in like.
“Not quite the elegant couture of Paris,” she said.
“We’re no longer in Paris, nor in the nineteenth century. Besides, we should see some snow today and I’m sure you’ll appreciate the warmth,” I explained. “Looks like we’ll have a white Christmas after all.”
She shrugged and proceeded to remove her robe. Before she could expose too much of Annette’s body to me, I left the room and closed the door.
Moments later she emerged and I could not deny my animal attraction to her. How exquisitely ravaging she was. The gleam in her eye reflected her knowledge of this fact.
“This pleases you, Mon amour?” she purred. She patted the tight jeans that hugged her curves so perfectly. “I must say, I think I rather enjoy the fashions of the day after all. There is a certain allure to such a garment, is there not?”
“Indeed.”
She turned to show me her backside while she twisted around to admire it herself. “Hmmm, yes. Very alluring.”
“Now come and show New York how alluring you really are,” I said, holding my hand out to her.
Her hungry gaze inspected the length of me. “I see you’ve also found an interesting way with fashion as well.”
My jeans were hardly interesting, nor was my black sweater. The long black leather coat I pulled over it all, however, was what seemed to awaken her senses. She ran her hand over my shoulder and leaned up as to kiss me.
“Come now,” I said as I backed away. “New York is fabulous in the early mornings.”
I led her to my garage and heard her gasp at the sight of the collection of automobiles I kept housed there.
“My, my, Eric. You really have done well for yourself.”
Her eyes lingered on the Jaguar, then stared at the 1963 Red Corvette. She gave my motorcycle a questioning tilt of her head.
While Kristine seemed to find the vehicle to be an oddity, I wondered if Annette remembered the night I’d driven her through the darkened tunnels on that bike. I could still smell the sweet fragrance of her hair as she sat before me, her gaze intent on every turn we made. The warmth of her body had pressed me to drive at a reckless speed, so desperate was my need to bring her to my home and be alone with her.
“I have to admit, I’m more than a little surprised. I didn’t think you had it in you to accumulate such wealth.” Her gaze found the sporty silver Mercedes.
I shook the thoughts of that night with Annette aside and concentrated on Kristine. “I’ve had many years to do so. I’ve also worked hard and made many sacrifices. What you see here is the result of many long nights pouring over the harmonious melody, the most touching lyric and perfect tempo to every song I’ve ever written.”
“I knew you had the talent, Eric, but I had never imagined this. Your love of the opera has finally paid off.”
“Yes, but so has my willingness to delve into other types of music. Opera alone would never have afforded me all this.”
“You sold out?”
“Popular music can be immensely profitable,” I said, refusing to feel guilty for my journey into the world of pop culture. “It began merely as a way to make ends meet. Turned out I had a flair for writing songs people wanted to hear again and again. Some of today’s brightest singing sensations owe their success to the songs I wrote for them.”
I opened the passenger door for her.
“Always the gentleman.” She brushed against me as she approached the car and got in.
The drive to the EmpireStateBuilding was quick and quiet. Kristine stared at the series of tall buildings, but set her lips in a line determined not to be impressed. As I parked the car, Kristine remained thoroughly unmoved by it all.
Clouds had already begun to obscure the morning sun and the scent of impending precipitation foretold of the snow to come.
Chilled and clasping her coat tightly to her chin with her gloved hands, Kristine emerged from the car and hurried to my side. “This had better be worth it. On the sunniest of days this city is bleak. With the cold, gray skies, it’s downright intolerable.”
“Let’s hurry to the top before the clouds completely engulf the magnificent view.”
“Top?” She glanced up.
Amused by her surprise, I smiled and nodded. “Paris isn’t the only city to offer a bird’s eye view.”
Her skepticism didn’t diminish on the elevator ride up, but once those doors opened, she was unable to contain her delight. With eyes as wide as a child’s and her lips parted in awe, she ran onto the observation deck and quickly looked around. She seemed unable to take it all in quickly enough as her eyes darted from one building to another.
Pleased to finally see her appreciation of the city I’d come to love, I stepped up behind her. “Over there is Chinatown where I’ve often strolled the streets and taken in the various aspects of a culture I’d never known.” I pointed out various spots that had marked my life here. “And over there is Greenwich Village where I spent a few years collaborating with some rather free-spirited people on a few psychedelic and groovy songs.”
I guided her around the deck. “There’s our gift to the new world,” I said, proudly pointing to the Statue of Liberty.
“Ah, yes,” she said with a smile. “I do recall hearing about the regal statue France bestowed to this new world.”
“The Brooklyn Bridge, the Garment District, Soho, Times Square.”
“You seem to know the city well.”
“I do. Although much of my time here has been difficult and lonely, I have come to feel in tune with this city. Granted, it will never be Paris, there is still a vibrancy and exuberance that is forever exciting.”
“Do you miss Paris?”
“Every day.New York is fabulous and undeniably one of the world’s grandest cities. But it’s not Paris. It was difficult keeping that sentimen
t out of my songs.” I’d naively compared the two cities in one of my earlier works. “Americans are very fond of this great city. Listening to a song that gave favor to another didn’t appeal to them much.”
Sadness played on her eyes a moment before she directed her gaze at the ground between us. “I imagine after everything I did to you, you didn’t miss me much.”
“Actually, I did.”
She seemed genuinely surprised and a childlike grin tugged at her lips as she brought her gaze to me. “You did?”
“Yes.” Though the confession was initially meant to appease her, I remembered my early tormented years here. Although she had ruined me, ruined my life to such an extent that I had to run clear across the Atlantic, I had missed her dearly.”
“How horrible it must have been to be so far away from home and completely alone.”
“Yes, but I ultimately became involved with an opera at the Met and my life turned around. For all the money my foray into pop music had brought me, nothing made me feel as alive as I did when I wrote or heard opera. However, it is when you arrived in New York that I finally found real purpose in my life.” The words were uttered before I realized I had spoken them to Annette.
She gazed at me, her eyes filled with sorrow and joy. For a moment I felt certain it was Annette looking at me.
“I remember this place.” Her voice was small and strangled.
But in an instant Kristine regained control. “Silly thing, thinking she can overpower me.” She brought her hand to the cheek that had once bore so many unsightly scars. “She is immensely touched by your story, as am I. My poor Eric. You are magnificent in your pain. Your pain becomes you; it drives you, moves you and allows you to render such splendid music to a world that hardly deserves your genius. Where would you be without such pain?”
I scanned the horizon that was quickly being swallowed up by the increasingly dense clouds. The gloom of the skies mirrored the darkening in my soul. The acute pain of the past returned. The wounds I had thought healed, reopened and festered. Heartache and betrayal. Treachery and deceit. It was all this beguiling wench was capable of…this Kristine.
