by Anne Whitney
“Hey, calm down,” I laugh, rubbing my hands up and down his arms. “They clearly love your work, so don’t freak out so soon. There will be plenty of time for that later.”
“Ah, keeping the artist in prime mental condition. I see my new assistant is going a bang-up job already.”
We both laugh before letting the comfortable silence return. My hands slow down at Fitz’s elbows and stop there, my thumb massaging his inner arms. Our breathing is in unison and I can feel its warmth against my head as he inches toward me. A hand snakes up my back, cold and trembling through the thin fabric of my top, and curls around my neck. I fight the instinct to close my eyes, not wanting to miss a moment of this.
His lips stop on my head, remaining there for a few seconds. His free hand stops on my waist, perfectly resting on the exposed flesh between my top and my pants, and suddenly my body is against his. There are no gaps, no hesitation, just me against him. The hand on my neck gently tilts me back and our eyes meet.
“Look at you,” he whispers. “So beautiful.”
I keep my eyes wide open until his lips press against mine, and then I let myself sink into the moment.
My first kiss is not quite how I imagined it would be. Even in my ultimate fantasies, the moment was always a little awkward, more an innocent peck of a childhood romance than anything driven by straight up lust. What I experience instead is pure instinct, almost animalistic. Fitz’s lips are soft but forceful, and I allow him to run his tongue against mine, hoping my lack of skills aren’t too obvious.
I fling my arms around his neck, wanting him to be as close as possible. Stubble rubs against my face, rough but not unpleasant. His hands seem to have a mind of their own, wandering across my body from my neck to my thighs, and pulling up my top to explore the skin of my back. My whole body feels hypersensitive to his touch and my heartbeat is as erratic as my breathing. I may suffocate against his lips, but I don’t care.
Still kissing me, he pushes me backward in a fit of passion until my back collides with a cabinet. The force is enough to make me wince audibly with pain against his lips. He quickly pulls back, a fearful expression on his face.
“Did I hurt you?” Fitz asks.
I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. It’s just the bruises on my back from...”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I know it’s the wrong thing to say. I try my hardest to stop mid-sentence, but the meaning is already out there, floating in the air between us, heavy and pregnant with power.
Panic-stricken, he completely pulls back. For a few brief moments, I can still feel his body against mine, and as that sensation fades, I feel cold. No, this isn’t how things should go.
“Maybe we should...” he stammers. “I mean... You have work in an hour.
I nod, even though it’s the last thing I want to do. I want to have the guts say ‘Screw work’, grab his ragged t-shirt in my hands and yank him back into our kiss. I want us to devour each other and have him fuck me against the wall, the table, whatever surface is closest. I want a release to these primal instincts I’ve never had before. I want him to look at me in that way I had begun to crave like an addict in need of their next fix.
I didn’t know what any of it really meant, guided by some primal urge.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t want him to turn around and walk into his room without another word.
But he did.
I can’t get away from him, I think as the feeling of dejection begins to weigh on my shoulders. I’m not even me anymore and I still can’t get away.
What will it take?
CHAPTER 13.
Fitz’s reaction weighs heavy in my mind as I go out the next day with Viridian. While he chatted to me casually upon my return from work later that evening, acting as if nothing had happened, a painful discomfort had permeated the atmosphere between us and I chose to sleep instead of prolonging it any further. The uncertainty between us irritated me beyond belief. It was entirely unnecessary and ruined the ease we previously shared. I couldn’t bear the thought of our arrangement (I have no idea what else to call it) being irrevocably ruined by my past.
When Viridian offered to take me out shopping, I jumped at the opportunity. It would mean my savings would take a hit, but I felt like I deserved a treat, and I wanted the chance to be as adventurous with my new look as Derek and Viridian had been. I also desperately needed someone to talk to; someone who didn’t demand answers and understood the inherent bizarreness that was my life.
For the occasion, I choose a leather biker jacket over a light cream dress, teamed with ankle boots. I even put on some scarlet lipstick, the application of which took far longer than it probably should have. The hemline skims across my bare thighs in a manner that feels far too daring for me, but I am so sick of panicking and feeling useless.
Dammit, I’m brand new now; I may as well embrace it.
When I step out of the apartment to meet Viridian on the street, she still looks shocked by my new look. Surely that will wear off at some point?
“Miss Fenton, you are truly a sight for sore eyes,” she tells me. “Keeping the men away from you is going to be a full-time job.”
I roll my eyes. “I’d rather we didn’t, thank you. Now come on, let’s shop.”
“You’re speaking my language, sweetie!”
I have no idea where to start with clothes shopping. Never-ending racks of items pack every store I’m dragged into, and I end up letting Viridian pick out most of the items. Luckily, she has a great eye for my new style and chooses accordingly. I do have to drag her away from some of the more flamboyant numbers since there are moments where she seems to think she’s shopping for Zinnia, but as we slump onto a battered couch in some downtown cafe, surrounded by bags and our purses far lighter, I feel pretty satisfied.
“Want some coffee?” I ask her. “My treat.”
“You’re a lifesaver. An espresso would be great, thanks.”
The barista takes my order with a smile and, as I wait, I run my fingers across the shaved parts of my head. It feels very strange, a little like Velcro, and will take quite a while to get used to. When I woke up, I instinctively moved to push my hair away from my face and forgot for a moment that I have significantly less hair than I used to. I can no longer hide my blushing cheeks under curtains of curls; I’m totally exposed in more ways than one.
The flickering TV on the corner wall is broadcasting some cable news channel. I don’t pay much attention to it until my name, my real name, is mentioned.
“While the statewide police search for the missing 21 year old continues, sources have revealed exclusively to us that Marina Phillips may have been taken across state lines. Officials and the young woman’s father, Simon Phillips, continue to urge anyone with any possible information to come forward or to call the confidential hotline.”
The photo from the headlines appears on screen and my stomach churns. If they know I’ve crossed state lines, then maybe someone from the train station recognized me. Maybe they’ll call up to mention the missing girl last seen on a train to the other side of the country. Maybe someone from Penn Station caught a glimpse of me that has stuck in their minds. There are too many possibilities hanging in the air, and it only takes one earnest bystander to notice how much that blonde woman looks like the missing girl.
“Here you go,” the barista says, interrupting my inner turmoil as he lays two cups and a giant chocolate cupcake on the tray.
“Oh, I didn’t order the cake.”
“It’s on the house,” he tells me, pushing the tray forward. “And the coffees, too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. My name’s Max.”
I think I’m blushing again. This rather cute guy slips a napkin onto the tray, and I can see numbers written across it in black ink.
Did he just hit on me? Of course he did, you ass. Even you’re not that naive! And are you so easily distracted by a pretty face?
“Well,” I reply, b
iting my lip. “It’s really nice to meet you.”
“Do I get to know your name?” He asks. My eyes widen with shock.
He doesn’t recognize me and my picture’s right up there! Could it be that I really don’t look like myself?
“Oh,” I laugh. “Of course! I’m Mary. Thanks for this.”
“Pleasure’s all mine. Enjoy your cake.”
“I will. Thanks so much.”
With a growing grin and an overwhelming sense of relief, I take the tray back to Viridian, who seems to have watched everything unfold.
“He’s cute and he gives you free cake?” She picks up her espresso and holds it out for a toast. “I think I speak for many women in the state of New York when I say go for it!”
I lounge against the couch, as surprised as I am happy. Guys do not go for me; it is a basic rule of life. I’m the woman who sits in the corner and watches the world go by, unbothered by others as they go on with their business. After spending so long deliberately trying to avoid attention, being at the center of it, albeit for a brief moment, may be another experience I’ll need to get used to.
“Come on, spill the details!” Viridian says excitedly. “What did you two talk about?”
“Nothing really. He just said they were on the house and I said thanks. Oh, and his name’s Max.”
“That’s it?” She looks at me with disbelief
“Yeah. Why?”
“Didn’t you notice the way he was looking at you? I thought he was going to fall at your feet and beg for you to take him! Didn’t I tell you that you looked damn good? No sensible man could resist you now.”
I flinch a little, remembering Fitz’s words as he went to kiss me.
Look at you... So beautiful... Brand new...
“And there it is again.” Viridian knocks back the espresso as if it’s water.
“Sorry, what?”
“You were doing so well, too. All day you’ve been walking around the city like you owned it, and people noticed. Not just because you look great, but because you have such confidence. But the moment you’re aware of it, you just curl back into yourself, like you’re embarrassed or something. That guy couldn’t be more interested in you if he tried - and he wasn’t the only one looking, by the way. Why don’t you give him your number?”
I sip at my coffee, trying to delay replying. The past few days have pushed me to the limit in many ways, and sometimes I feel more like a spectator than a participant in it all. It shocks me a little how quickly I have become used to being called Mary and to reciting my well rehearsed back story. Yet I still stop whenever I pass a mirror and wonder who that short haired woman is, smiling so freely. My old life may have been chaos and misery, but did I really want to become someone else? Was I really so awful before?
“Fitz kissed me,” I blurt out.
“When?”
“Yesterday, after he got the call for the modern art museum gig.”
Viridian finds this revelation hilarious and falls into spasms of laughter against the couch. I continue to sip at my coffee until she is done and composes herself.
“I fucking knew it!” She says a little too loudly. “Derek and I thought he’d kissed you in the club after the way he’d been looking at you. I’m surprised it took him this long. He’s getting all soft in his old age. So, was it good for you?”
I shrug.
“Why are you so embarrassed about it now? He’s already waved his dick in your face. You practically skipped first base and moved right onto the big show.”
“I wish I hadn’t brought it up now.”
“Mari... Mary, you know I’d never push you into talking about anything you don’t want to talk about, but in the matters of my friends’ love lives, I cannot help but take interest. Just be glad it’s me you told and not Derek. That man is far too knowledgeable about his own half-brother’s love life. It’s unhealthy.”
I decide that now is a good time to eat my free cupcake, which I cut in half and leave a slice for Viridian. While friends weren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other, my relationship with Viridian built its foundations on secrets and the explicit promise that they stay buried if we so choose. Or, to be more accurate, if I so choose. The extrovert painter who calls me her friend remains something of an enigma to me.
“Okay,” I decide. “Make you a deal. I’ll answer one of your questions if you answer one of mine.”
“Sounds fair. But within reason, okay? There are many no-go areas for us both.”
“Exactly. You go first.”
“What happened between you and Fitz?” Viridian leans in and rests her head on her palms. “Don’t skimp on the juicy details.”
“It was awesome,” I admit. “He got the call from the gallery, we both celebrated and then we kissed. It was going great until... Well, let’s just say my past got in the way and he freaked out a little.”
“Ah,” she says sympathetically. “We’ve all been there.”
“Now he’s acting as if nothing happened and I don’t know what to do.”
Suddenly, I miss his body against mine. The sensation of his warmth pressing me toward him lingers in my memory, and I long for it more than anything. How can I crave him like this? If kissing him again meant begging for the privilege like a dog, I’m not sure I’d be able to refuse.
“My turn,” I say, composing myself. “How do you know Fitz?”
“Art school,” she tells me. “Once upon a time, Fitz was a painter and we shared studio space while putting together our portfolios. He hated the studio and the whole idea of having his creativity stuck in one room like that. Eventually he fell into performance and ditched the canvas altogether, but he kept me around.”
“So you still paint?”
“Wait until your second question.”
“Come on, that’s really an extension of the first one.”
“Not fair, but I’m feeling generous. Yeah, I paint. Mostly abstract stuff, but I do portraits, reproductions and things like that to pay the bills. I once painted Derek. That was... interesting. My turn again. Do you like Fitz?”
“Of course I do.”
“Not that kind of like.”
I know what she means, but it’s still hard to admit my feelings because I’m so unsure of them. I do like him, or at least what I know about him, but that isn’t really much. I still don’t even know his surname. My attraction to him is painfully obvious and I am wholeheartedly in lust with the charming, sweet and confident artist. Is there more than that?
“It’s...” I start. “He... I don’t know if I like him or the image of him I’ve formed in my head. My judgment’s a little clouded. I love living with him and having him and all of you guys as my friends, but when it comes to moving onto... something else, I just have no experience there.”
“He was your first kiss.”
“It’s not your turn for a question.”
“That wasn’t technically a question.”
I don’t have to answer that, but since she already seems to know the answer, I slowly nod to confirm it. She shuffles closer to me and wraps her arm around me, pulling me into a hug against her shoulders. I let myself flop against her.
“Sweetie, sex and love are never easy,” she explains. “If they were easy, then humanity would be a hell of a lot easier and the artists of the world would all be out of a job. Seriously though, Fitz likes you. It’s pretty obvious to everyone except you.”
“That leads me to my next question,” I sigh. “Does Fitz like me or does he just like this version of me?”
“Why would you even think that? Of course he likes you.”
“Does he? He didn’t give me a second look when I had the bad hair and baggy jeans.”
“Are you forgetting the club?”
“That night I’d been through an extensive beauty session with you, and he didn’t kiss me there. He just stood close and watched me. What if it’s Mary Fenton he likes and not me?”
“You are Mary Fenton.”
“You’re suddenly acceptable by the world’s standards, and even though people mean well when they compliment you and the comments feel really good, you still think it means people just despised the older you, and you want to punch yourself for daring to take all those nice words.”
I look over at Viridian, who nods with understanding.
“You’re looking at a lighter, less acne ridden version of my younger self with access to hair care, Mare.”
I struggle to think of Viridian as ever being anything less than impeccably turned out and bursting with confidence. She didn’t struggle to fit in or trip up over her own insecurities. That was my job.
“Mare,” she says, reaching out to straighten my jacket collar. “It’s not a crime to change yourself. You’re allowed to dress up and be someone else for a while, and you’re also allowed to freak out about it for a while. You’ve got a lot on your plate now, so it’s understandable if you have doubts. And I promise you that Fitz likes you no matter what you look like.”
I wish I could believe her, but I’m so used to doubt that it’s become my default mode, and the memory of Fitz’s awe over my ‘brand new’ form niggles at my countless insecurities. Even with my uncertainties, I genuinely love my modern new hairstyle and the fashionable outfits that make me stand a little taller and walk with a certain determination.
Given the circumstances surrounding my change, I shouldn’t feel as guilty and confused as I do. Spending so much time obsessing over such matters is exhausting. I never had these problems when I made my own clothes. I definitely didn’t worry so much about what other people, particularly men, thought about me.
“Want my advice, Mare?” Viridian asks.
“You’ll give it anyway.”
“The way I see it,” she continues. “You’ve got two options. One: You march back to the apartment, grab Fitz and throw him to the ground where you ravish him mercilessly until he pleads for release, and then you can continue your lives together as ridiculously good looking lovers making provocative and vaguely narcissistic art.”
