Wicked Steps

by CORY CYR

  We’d brokered a deal. This sham marriage depended upon secrecy, and he was right about one thing. My best friend had a thing for poking her nose into everyone’s business; she adored gossip. Coco would never in a million years comprehend why I did this. No matter how many ways I explained it.

  I kept telling myself it was to help him through his final years, but I even had a hard time convincing myself. A once-in-a-lifetime chance had fallen into my lap. I could grab the brass ring without reaching. I could do this—without consequence. I was too naive to realize then that everything we do in life has repercussions, and sometimes it just takes time for judgment to be delivered.

  Three

  Ellery

  I shook my head. It was foolish to dwell on my past sins. I suppose they weren’t actually sins in comparison to murder and mayhem. And I did stay with Hartman until the end. I witnessed everything he became those final years and still remained until he took his last breath. Giving him not only final peace, but allowing me to be free physically as well as emotionally. If I hadn’t had the gallery these past five years, I wouldn’t have been able to survive. I couldn’t ever tell anyone, even my closest friend, what I’d endured. In order to secure this life I wanted so badly, the cost had been high. I didn’t realize back then, but I had sold my soul—to the devil.

  I struggled to twist my hair into what ended up being a messy bun. I did my version of a smoky eye and glossed my mouth with red lipstick. I had heard red was a color for harlots. Well, if the shoe fit. I completed my look with diamond earrings and silver Manolo heels. I needed tonight to be perfect… beyond perfect.

  The gallery had many phenomenal nights previously, but this showing was unique because acquiring these specific works by hard-to-get European artists could make tonight’s showcase the envy of every other gallery in the States. None of these particular pieces had ever shown in America. According to a few of the packing slips I’d seen, it had cost a fortune. I didn’t want to even contemplate what other persuasions Coco might have had to perform in order to procure these paintings, but tonight would either make Salacity world famous or we would crash and burn.

  I went from the bathroom to my office to discard my work clothes. Our function would be starting within an hour. As I entered the showroom, I noticed the caterers were busy pouring the dry champagne and getting the hors d'oeuvres organized. We usually offered champagne only, but because tonight was so important, we went ahead and purchased caviar and some petite crackers. Nothing fancy, but extremely expensive.

  “Oh, dear God,” I murmured to myself when I saw Coco.

  I was definitely right about the stripper pole. Jesus, that dress was short. She appeared to forget we were mid-thirties not twenties. It was a deep blood red, like my lipstick, but had a neckline cut down to—

  “Like my dress?” she questioned while spinning.

  I said a small prayer, hoping she’d worn underwear at least.

  “Actually…”

  She waved her one hand in front of my face “Yeah, I know it’s a little over the top, but I fell in love with the color, and it fits my body great. By the way, your dress is awesome. Although, it’s kind of demure for tonight, don’t you think?”

  I snatched a glass of champagne off a server’s tray as they walked by. “Actually, considering who will be here tonight, I think I dressed appropriately.” I paused to take a sip. “You do understand tonight is about impressions. Hartman’s only been gone a couple months. How would it look if I dressed like a stripper?”

  “You offend me. I look like a stripper? Maybe that’s why my parents named me Coco. They saw future potential,” she replied as she pretended to scowl, acting offended.

  Nothing affected her. She had no moral compass, no boundaries, and she had never cared what anyone thought, least of all me.

  “I suppose it is what it is. I knew I couldn’t expect you to dress like a mature business woman.”

  “What, because I choose to show off my assets rather than smothering them under couture?”

  “Okay, let’s not argue. The guests are beginning to arrive. You made sure Fabrico and Bo got everything perfect? I mean ‘white glove’ sparkling.”

  “Of course, Elle. Don’t worry. Tonight will affirm everything we’ve worked for. I promise. We can relax now. You are allowed to enjoy yourself tonight. We earned this.”

  She had no idea how true her words were. And if she actually knew how all this came to be, Coco wouldn’t be so giddy. Regardless, I couldn’t shake the feeling of apprehension niggling at me.

  I took a very large sip of my drink as the guests began to walk in. I headed toward the Risqué room because I wanted to see it completely set up. Really, I wanted to have proof that she actually draped the art. I slipped under the velvet rope at the entrance and met both Coco and Bo. All three of us stared at the painting in front of us, then at each other.

  “What the hell is that?” I whispered as the three of us tilted our heads in opposite directions. I was praying a new angle might explain what I was currently viewing.

  Bo cleared his throat. Coco held on to the crook of my elbow. As I turned, her lips curved into a devious smile.

  “Is that a penis?” I asked as I gulped, imploring God to make it not so. There was an impending possibility I might black out while looking at this piece.

  Coco began laughing as Bo stepped back to ogle the painting. Actually, it appeared more like gawking. Of course, if I were a man, I’d be envious. Penis envy. It was large and pierced. My one hand fell to the lower part of my dress. I mean, who did that to their genitals? Ouch.

  “I do believe that is a cock. A penis is what little boys have… and wrinkled old men like your dearly departed.”

  “Seriously, Coco.” I cringed at her in disbelief.

  She snickered. “Too soon?” she gloated. “God, his cock is a sight to behold. Shit and they say my tits are more than a mouthful. That right there qualifies as XXL. Damn.” Coco licked her lips as she spoke.

  “Shut up, for God’s sake. You knew about this and still you put it on display? Are you out of your mind? This is not an erotic presentation. This is clearly pornography. We could get arrested,” I hissed.

  “Self-portrait, I think,” Coco quipped, wiping her brow while still licking her lips.

  As usual, my best friend chose to ignore my concerns. She acted very nonchalant about the entire thing.

  “Fuck, we are going to jail. What will our guests think? This isn’t fine art. This is… Oh, good grief—how could you think this was okay? Why would you want to sabotage our most prominent night?”

  “Do you have any idea who painted that? Whose cock that may be?”

  “I don’t care. Just remove it before we get a citation for indecent exposure.”

  I turned to leave the room, my body shaking from the stress. A light sheen of sweat beaded my forehead, and for a moment, I felt like I might have an anxiety attack. That penis could ruin us.

  “Elle, that’s a portrait by Wicked,” Coco said as she padded after me.

  I stopped in my tracks. She’s clearly insane. He never shows his work in America. Ever.

  “No, it’s not. It can’t be.”

  “Why do you think I spent so much money on Paris acquisitions? I’ll be honest. I thought I was buying a muted piece of his erotica. I have to admit this is so much better—especially if it’s him.”

  “I still don’t believe it. He’s never exhibited his work outside of Europe. I’ve never heard of anyone here obtaining even one of his paintings.”

  “Yeah, well, I got two of them.”

  I recoiled. I wondered now what the other painting portrayed. Possibly a vulva?

  “You don’t have to be so freaked out, Elle. People will love this because he painted it. It could be a dog turd and they would claim him as the next Rembrandt.”

  I wish it were dog shit. Better poop than penis.

  “I doubt Rembrandt ever did a self-portrait of that,” I said in an exasperated
tone. “Whatever, fine, but can we cover it until later? Much later. When most of our guests are so intoxicated they won’t be able to decipher it’s a male appendage.”

  “You’re kidding, right? The wives will know. Women always appreciate something beautiful and big.”

  I wagged my finger at her. “Whatever. Just keep that penis concealed for now.” I released an exhausted exhale. “I’m going to get another glass of champagne. I’d like to be inebriated myself, since you decided to exhibit a pierced prick. Who does that? What kind of sick man has rings in his…? Never mind.”

  I stomped to the main room, where more than a hundred guests were now drinking, talking, and perusing the art. I was optimistic we would make many sales tonight. I never asked Coco what the Wicked portrait cost. I once saw his work in a European catalog, and it was close to a million in American dollars.

  Wicked was an enigma. I’m sure his secrecy added to the demand for his art. Everyone speculated on who he was. What he looked like. How old he was. No one knew anything. There had never been a single photograph, other than an occasional hand in front of a face. If the dealers in Paris had any knowledge, they weren’t giving it up. I’m sure their silence accrued quite a payday. He was just a man; it’s not as if he were some celestial being or mystical creature —even if he was hung like horse. Just because there was a huge penis hanging in the Risqué room didn’t necessarily mean it was his anyway. It could be someone else’s.

  I quickly took my glass and walked over to a large group of patrons to introduce myself. The sad part was most everyone already knew me. My reputation was already tainted because when I married Hartman, there was so much speculation concerning our relationship. Now the upper crust of New York would know me forever as his widow. No one loved gossip more than high society, and tonight was a who’s who of tabloid-happy people. I wondered if they were here to view the actual art or check out the wife of the late, great Hartman Wick.

  I mulled around, chatting with some local artists, city officials, as well as celebrities. Having been married to wealth these last five years had prepared me for socializing with influential people. Still, most of these people had been Hartman’s associates and acquaintances. My acceptance by them had been a “package deal.” None of them would have bothered with me if I weren’t his widow. I wasn’t in their uppity circle of friends.

  He had loathed going to parties but enjoyed entertaining in our home. To him, there had always been a difference. Entertaining was a festivity that allowed him to map out his next big takeover and make more money. I didn’t see the point. He had more money than God, and in reality, he couldn’t take it with him. He always claimed everything he did was for my future. But I never believed him. I wanted to. I’d seen his gentle and kind side, but when it came to business, he was shrewd, relentless, and unforgiving. I didn’t like that person.

  Seeing faces I recognized made me feel as though Hartman were here. I wanted the man I’d known in the beginning, the thoughtful and compassionate one, to share this moment with me. To be with me as my one true vision materialized. But he became a monster as the disease ate away his ability to think and reason. He became a man I not only feared, but despised. I tried to convince myself it was his condition, but that was an excuse. One I created in my mind because I never wanted to believe his depraved actions or vile nature had always been part of the genuine man. And in truth, I was happy that piece of him died and no longer existed.

  What I did miss was companionship. I yearned for the tender touch of a man, one who understood love and passion. I’d known plenty of men before, but never love. I had never witnessed unbridled, consuming heat. I ached deeply. I would have Coco believe I was indifferent. That I never thought about sex and I was cold. But I had a desire so deep in my belly it coursed through my veins like fire. Yet I stood here numb and afraid.

  After those years with Hartman, I wasn’t sure if I could trust anyone again. It didn’t matter if I wanted to or not. He’d made me anxious and skeptical. Sometimes I wondered if he planned it that way so I would only ever belong to him. Even from the grave, I could feel his icy presence all around me. I felt scarred inside and out. Even now, I might desire something physical, but I wasn’t sure if I could cross that threshold again with any man. I was lucky. I made sure the gallery consumed my every moment. I envied Coco’s lust for life and her romantic adventures. I never allowed her to see my pain.

  The scent of male cologne wafted all around me. But it was the aroma of musk combined with the man who wore it that drew my attention. I attempted to catch my breath as my fingers touched my neck. My hand shook as I took another sip of champagne, trying to hide my obvious fluster.

  He was flawless. His hair appeared blended with several shades of brown, streaked by lighter, almost silver strands throughout. The perfectly cut style accented exotically shaped eyes with pristine arched brows and thick onyx lashes. His lips were lush and bow shaped. Heavy stubble covered his jawline. He really was captivating, and I wondered what had driven him to spoil such a consummate appearance. He seemed much too refined to mar his look with a pierced brow. Sexy as it was, it was distracting. He was too pretty to be a man.

  My eyes followed the lines of his body downward. He was taller than any man in the room. And while his clothes had been tailored to make him appear mature, the body underneath screamed agility and youth. Dark dress pants hung on long legs, but they couldn’t camouflage muscled thighs. He wore no tie, just a white long-sleeved dress shirt that couldn’t conceal the wideness of his shoulders and a narrow waist.

  Every other man at this event had their collar unbuttoned and their sleeves rolled up. They all looked refined but casual. But not him. His stature was dangerously serious.

  I witnessed him taking a drink of his champagne. The sensuality of his mouth and watching him swallow made my knees weak and my heartbeat faster. Jesus, what is wrong with me? I couldn’t stop staring.

  When our eyes locked, I sensed a familiarity. As much as I wished I knew him, I didn’t. He was a perfect stranger. He continued to observe me through lowered lashes. My nipples hardened against my bra as I felt my panties dampen. He knew. A smug smile of acknowledgement ascended toward my direction. I quickly looked away and moved toward the middle of the room. My entire body quivered.

  It had been a long time since I’d experienced sexual attraction to a man. And certainly never one this strong. I was embarrassed at the fact I was having lustful thoughts. Even though his appearance held maturity, he was definitely in his twenties. I had never considered or even been attracted to younger men. But there was something about him, and I was intrigued. Yes, he was seductively tempting, and it had been a long time for me.

  Good God, why am I even thinking about a man I don’t even know? Obviously, it’s just my libido talking.

  Tonight’s event was now infused with more than just fame and fortune possibilities. Of course, I couldn’t go after any of them. I was a widow with a husband barely deceased—two months. Tongues would be wagging forever if I pursued any kind of frivolous behavior. And a younger man? Oh, I could see the rumors now. Forget the newspapers. I’d be on TMZ. I had to be the example of propriety—the model widow on her best behavior. No wild escapades for me. Besides, I could leave that up to Coco. She was notorious for bad conduct.

  Ogling him all night was not an option if I planned to keep my composure and my panties dry. I had to walk away before I made another huge mistake in my life. I took my drink and strolled back to the Risqué room. True to her word, Coco had draped the display with a scarlet curtain.

  Leaving that pretty man did nothing to cool the ardent fires burning through me. My fingers itched to draw back the material and study the image in more detail. I turned the lights low so I was shadowed and pulled off the covering. It really was beautiful. I mean, for a penis. Both the content and the brush stroke were magnificent, definitely an artistic flair for color and composition. It was twice tonight I had seen piercings. Although, I doubted Mr. P
erfect Stranger had his penis pierced. Well, maybe.

  I chuckled to myself.

  What I wouldn’t give to find out if that were true, just one night of me not being the widow Wick and having to live up to social expectations. One hour of not being scrutinized by the blue bloods of society. Couldn’t I be anonymous and give myself to that stranger? It felt very lascivious and wanton to even consider these things. But the only pleasing touch my body had known in years was my own. And I yearned for another’s.

  “They say art is supposed to stimulate the recipient. Provoke a response in those who view it. What is racing through your mind and body as you study this particular piece? Does the depiction excite you? Tell me the truth. Don’t lie to me. I can smell your perspiration and hear your irregular breathing. Are you aroused?”

  The rich timber of his voice, flavored with sensuality, startled me because I hadn’t heard anyone come in. My focus had been solely on the painting, so his presence had gone unnoticed. But that scent. My entire body went taut as he stood close enough I could feel his breath caress the back of my neck. My heart hammered as I considered the ramifications of this perfect stranger. I closed my eyes and licked my lips as my head tilted back slightly. What did I think was going to happen? This walking perfection was going to sweep me off my feet or maybe seduce me right in front of this massive pierced dick? I had a reputation to uphold, not only as the widow of Hartman Wick, but also as co-owner of the gallery.

  Was I channeling Coco? Because this was something she would have no qualms doing. Between his scent and body being so close to me, I felt dizzy… and reckless. I should have cared about others intruding. I should have worried about someone seeing me with this much younger man in close proximity. But currently, I was overwhelmed by temptation after being starved for so long. All my nerve endings shivered with anticipation.