15 comments/ 48903 views/ 1 favorites Another Shade of Red By: dr_mabeuse Rained all day and into the night. Rained the next day too and it was Valentine's Day, and Neely stood at the bus stop watching the raindrops bead on her patent leather boots. Her fingers were bare aside from her two twinned rings-- the big diamond in the wedding ring looking as cold as the ice in the street-- and red from the cold. Her nose was red too, and her coat was pulled tight around her. She stared into the window of the gift shop and tried not to think of the cold. There were red satin hearts and baby cupids and a big, white, cardboard Eros with lace wings: a King Cupid, revolving slowly, sweeping out a circle with his arrow, pointing first at her, then at the hearts, and then back into the store. Neely looked with distaste at the baby cupids. At Christmas Ronnie had declared that he thought they should start thinking about children, and since then he had started bringing her pictures of babies and contented families and even giving her crib toys. He'd already given her a dozen red roses today and a box of candy, and if he was anything like last year he'd give her more tonight: candles at dinner and more red hearts, and champagne in an ice bucket and the special glasses. Last year he'd made fondue so that their forks could mingle in the thick cheese and whenever her bread fell off her fork he made her kiss him. This year she supposed it would be the same if not worse, and she dreaded it. Last year too there'd been a red negligee in a box lined with pink tissue too, and he'd showered and waited for her on a bed made up fresh with red satin sheets. This year it would be worse, and more biological. He might make her get up on her knees afterwards, so the semen could drip the right way. She didn't know if she could take that. Neely sniffed and looked up the street and here was the bus, splashing through the sleet and pulling clumsily up to the curb with a squeal of wet brakes, the windows steamed from the human warmth inside. She folded her umbrella and squeezed in, falling against a thickset man as the bus lurched forward. He turned and glowered at her for an instant before he saw that she was just a woman and a small one at that, and his lips curled into a polite and indulgent smile and he nodded. That angry face, though: that one instant of darkness in his eyes made her think of someone else. She'd been thinking about Ronnie, but the man's dark look brought her old lover to mind, and she realized as she did every day that she wasn't over him even now. She forced herself to look out the window at the shops, all decorated in reds and pinks, and tried to make her mind a blank. When her bus reached her stop downtown she exited through the rear door, hopped over a puddle and hurried into a shop near the office, but once again this years she'd waited too long and all the good valentines were sold, or at least the appropriate ones. The sentiments in the cards that were left made her feel slightly grimy, as if she were reading someone else's mail; the gushy, anonymous prose written with a pen sweeping across the page in transports of controlled joy: insert beloved's name here. Nothing said what she wanted, but then she really didn't know what she wanted to say. She didn't have much time, and so she selected the most expensive blank card she could find, a great huge monstrosity of lace and foil with some sort of plastic pressed flower behind a cellophane window. She grabbed a pair of black silk boxer shorts with red hearts that were cutely packaged in a clear plastic tube and took them and the card to the cashier. The shorts were on sale, this being Valentine's Day, and Ronnie loved naughty little gifts like that. She'd think of something to write in the card later. For now she put the shorts in her bag and stuffed the card into the huge pocket of her raincoat and headed for the office. There were more flowers for when she got to her cube, and candy too, and the other girls teased her, but it all made Neely feel slightly ill. The scent of the flowers was almost more than she could bear, especially when it was mixed with the overpowering perfume that Sheila Cappitano invariably wore, and by nine-thirty Neely had a dull, ugly headache and the thick scent on her empty stomach made her feel queasy. Ronnie called her for the first time as she was taking a couple of Advil and washing it down with mineral water. "Happy Valentine's Day, darling!" "Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Ronnie. But you really shouldn't have. You know it embarrasses me." He laughed with delight. "It's 'cause I love you, darling, and I want everyone to know. Did you like the flowers? They get there okay?" "Yes, they're lovely." Ronnie was a lawyer and worked at his father's firm where he did very well. They had plenty of money and he loved to spend it on her, so Neely really didn't have to work. She just dreaded staying home in the huge house, which was much too big for two people. They had three empty bedrooms just waiting to be filled: four if you counted Ronnie's home office, which he never used. "What time will you be home, then?" he asked. "I want to get everything ready." "The usual I suppose." Sheila was coming towards her cube, so Neely turned away and cupped her hand over the phone. "Ronnie," she whispered, "Don't go overboard, okay? It's all lovely and I appreciate it, but let's keep things simple tonight? No strawberries and champagne?" He laughed, a kind of throaty, self-satisfied sound. He prided himself on what a good husband he was and he loved spoiling her. "Would I do that?" he asked slyly. "Just wait till you see. I'll be home before you, darling. You're going to be amazed." Sheila walked into her cube, preceded by a cumulus cloud of intense musk and tea rose, and hovered over the open heart-shaped box of Godiva chocolates, her fingers fluttering like bees. Neely covered the phone with her hand and nodded towards the box and said, "Go ahead. They're too sweet for me," and Sheila plucked up a goody with a naughty little wag of her eyebrows and popped it into her mouth as she walked away. "Okay Ronnie. I've got to go. I've got a meeting and I think they're waiting for me." The scent of tea roses was so thick she could taste it in the back of her throat. "Okay, Darling. I'll give you a call at lunch." "I might be going out." "Well then, after lunch, then. Now tell me, who loves you?" "You do, Darling." "Damned right I do. Ciao!" Coffee helped. Coffee black and hot, without her usual sweetener. The bitterness felt good in her mouth, the heat scalded the perfume from the back of her throat. She'd lied about anyone waiting for her, but she did have some things to go over with accounting, and it was good to sit in the small conference room with the sleet streaming down the window and go over columns of numbers. Neely was a small woman and compact, with delicate features that made her look especially young and frail. It pleased her when people saw how organized and methodical she was, and how firm she could be when she knew she was in the right. The woman from accounting was flustered. She wore a large valentine heart on her jacket festooned with some little white flowers: lilies-of-the-valley, Neely guessed. She wasn't very good with flowers. Still, she enjoyed catching and correcting a few of accounting's errors. That put her in a better mood. She almost took the elevator back up to her floor, but instead she felt the tug of the third floor mailroom, and she gave in. The mailroom was nothing special. It was where the shipping and packaging went on, and it was enclosed in a strong steel mesh. That's what drew her: the steel mesh, the iron bars, and the harsh overhead lights. It looked like a prison, and it always gave her a little thrill. It always reminded her of him, and she couldn't help it, it still excited her. When she got to her desk her mail was there, and a huge pinkish red envelope from Ronnie. Sighing, she slit it open. She knew he'd ask her about it when he called at noon. It was an eight by ten photo, a picture of them on the beach in Michigan when they'd visited friends a few years ago. They'd been squatting on the sand and smiling happily up at the camera, their friend's collie between them, but Ronnie'd had the dog airbrushed out and a baby's body put in its place. The baby had no face though, just a gray smudge with a big black question mark inked in. He'd drawn red hearts around their heads. Neely dropped the photo as if burned and sat up, rocked by a wave of revulsion. For a long time she didn't move, then she opened up her bottom left hand drawer where she kept her shoes and threw the photo inside. She crumpled up the envelope and threw it in the garbage and sat there, staring at the papers on her desk and bracing herself, as if the photo might start screaming from her drawer. Here eyes were on the rest of her mail, but it took her a moment to focus and realize what she was looking at. There was another card – a white envelope this time -- and she recognized the broad, quirky handwriting in which it was addressed immediately. Her heart jumped into her throat. She slid her thumbs under the flap and tore it open. The card was a picture of a woman's hands cuffed together and holding a rose, and when she opened it up she read, "Happy Valentine's day, Precious. I'm back in town and thought I'd drop you a line – Liam". There was a phone number. She'd already reached for her phone and punched in the first three numbers before she stopped: no, it would be better to call him from outside the office. Neely stood up and took her coat. She stuffed the card into her pocket and took her umbrella, then stopped by Sheila's desk. "Sheila, I'm going to run out for a bite. I'm really not feeling very well though, and I may not be back. I'll see how I feel after I eat. Will you cover for me?" "Sure, hon. What's wrong?" Sheila regarded her and then smiled slyly. "Nausea? Don't tell me it's nausea!" Neely made a sour face. "More like stomach flu, I'm afraid. It's going around. Just cover for me, okay?" It was eleven fifteen, late enough so that her leaving didn't draw any comments, and Neely rode down in the elevator with her hand in her pocket, clutching the card, staring at the floor indicator but seeing nothing. She was only going to call him, she thought. Maybe just say hello and reminisce. Possibly he wasn't even home. She called him on her cell from the lobby, hiding in a corner and facing the wall so that no one would see, and at the first sound of his voice she knew she was lost. "Hello?" he said. It was like standing in a rain shower after a long a dusty drought. "Liam?" She could hear him smiling on the other end. She could see his mouth drifting into that wicked grin. "Hello, baby," he said slowly. "How are you? Get my card?" "Yes I did. Just now. What are you doing in town? How long are you here for?" "Just got in last week," he said. "I've moved back. Konigsberg is putting on a new show and they need someone to make their dolls for them. I was done in New York so they gave me a contract. Just like old times." Neely remembered Konigsberg: the Konigsberg Puppet Theater, an odd kind of upscale restaurant that put on elaborate puppet operas during dinner. They were a fixture in the city. Liam had worked for them before as a puppet maker and scenery designer "So you're living here now?" she asked. "Yeah I just moved into a little storefront in Uptown. Near Clark and Wilson." "Oh my God!" she said. Her laugh was supposed to indicate delight and surprise; but it alarmed her how hysterical she sounded. Her mind raced. "Clark and Wilson! That's so amazing. I have to drop off some papers right around there this very afternoon. Maybe I could drop in." "Really? That would be nice, Neely. I'd really like to see you." "Hold on," she said, "Let me get your address. I want to write it down." As she rummaged through her purse, Liam asked. "So, how's the match made in heaven? You two still together? Still with the lawyer?" "Ronnie?" she asked brightly, taking out a pen and a scrap of paper and hiking her bag up on her shoulder. "Yes. Of course. We're still married." "Oh." She heard his voice drop. "Well, look Neely. I'd really like to see you, but the place is a mess and I'm still moving in. Haven't even unpacked yet. Maybe you'd rather just meet me for a coffee or something? There's a place right around the corner." "No, no, that's okay. You never were much of a housekeeper, Liam, I know that. It won't bother me. You can show me what you're working on. I'd like to see." She heard silence on his end of the line, and she felt herself start to melt, felt thing slipping away. As if from nowhere, she smelled Sheila's perfume again and the scent of the flowers. She turned and pressed her forehead against the solid marble wall of the lobby and said, "Liam, I need to see you. I mean, I really need to see you." "Okay, Neely. If that's what you want." She moved her mouth but didn't dare say it aloud: "Thank you." ***** She stopped in a Starbuck's and bought some coffee, then went into the ladies' room and locked herself in a stall. She turned off her cell phone and then took off her bra, and not knowing what to do with it, she stuffed it and the phone into her purse. She put her blouse back on, then checked her makeup in the mirror. She tried to kill some time by walking around downtown, but everywhere she looked she saw baby cupids, and they depressed her. The arrows in their bows seemed to be tipped with poison; their intent malicious. Her stomach was tight and she couldn't finish her coffee, but the next time she looked at her watch only fifteen minutes had passed. She got on the number 73 bus and rode it north, staring out the window at the frozen city. Things she had done with Liam came back to her,. things she hadn't let herself think about for years now. It had only been five years ago, but she had been a different person then, young and wild, and Liam had been her lover and her teacher. When he left for New York she was foolish enough to think that she could have what she'd had with him with any man. That's how he'd spoiled her. That's how easy he'd made it all seem. It hadn't worked out that way. She'd decided her wildness was a sickness, and she'd put it away from her. She'd moved back home with her parents, stopped seeing her old friends and started making new ones. Then she'd met Ronnie, who'd seemed to be just what she wanted. She remembered sitting with Liam at someone's kitchen table, the shades drawn, cigarettes burning in a crowded ashtray as he pressed her arm, trying to raise a vein. She held the belt tight as a tourniquet, and when he found the vein she saw the red spike of her blood in the dropper before he shot her up. Then he looked up at her and there was that smile. That was the farthest she had ever gone with him, the farthest she'd ever gone with anyone, and there was no one else in the world she would have done that with. Even now the memory shamed her and excited her in equal measure: to have that kind of trust in someone. What had she been thinking? She was lucky she hadn't died or gotten AIDS. She wasn't the same person. Not at all. The windows of the storefront were covered with newspaper. hastily taped up on the inside. She knocked on the door but there was no answer, so she used the stone on her wedding ring to tap against the glass. She had one fleeting thought of Ronnie and forced it down and then there was Liam: big, imposing, dressed in jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his thinning hair tied in a pony tail and the shadow of a beard on his face, the way she'd always told him he looked best. He smiled at her and unlocked the door and Neely walked in. "Neely," he said. "You haven't changed." He closed the door and before she could say anything he took her in his arms, and suddenly it was as if her body took over. Something rose up inside her and pushed aside all the witty things she was going to say and made her arms reach up and embrace him the same way they used to. There was the feel of his shoulders and the back of his neck under her hands, and she just stood there and held him as the feelings unreeled from inside her, spooling off from five years ago as if she'd just left him this morning. She dropped her purse and her umbrella clattered to the floor at her feet, and she just stood there and held him. She couldn't make her arms let go. He was a big man and dwarfed her and yet she still fit as perfectly against him as she always had, and he brought his hands up to her head and smoothed her hair back just as he used to do and tilted her face back to take his kiss. He was tentative at first, his lips testing her, asking whether she was still the same woman he'd known, and then, more confidant that she was, his kiss deepened into something more sure and it all came back to her: that same blend of seeking tenderness and consuming passion that she realized now she'd never forgotten and never would. Maybe she'd put it out of her mind but her body remembered and had ached for it every day of her life. He kissed her hard, bending her small frame back and Neely let herself go; let herself fall into her need for him. It was as if ever since he'd left she'd been like a clenched fist and not even known it, and now that fist relaxed and unclenched for the first time and all her need and desire for him came rushing to the surface. She raised her wind-chilled hands and took hold of his hair and used it to pull his face from hers so she could look at him. The face was the same. There was more in his eyes than there had been, but the old Liam was still there: the hunger, the humor, whatever it was that made her want to always be the object of that gaze. Words failed her, and she brought his mouth to hers, kissing his lips, and when kissing wasn't enough, biting them too, her tongue slithering against his and against his beautiful face. He lowered his hands to her ass and held her buttocks, pulled her against him so she could feel his burgeoning hardness and Neely felt almost faint with the knowledge that he still wanted her. Liam released her slowly and stepped back. He looked her up and down, his eyes fixing on her rings. He picked up her hand and looked at them. "That's quite a rock," he said. "He does all right then?" "He gives me everything," she said. "Almost. Why didn't you write, Liam?" "Why didn't you? You're the one who wouldn't come with. I thought you didn't want to be bothered." Neely opened her mouth to reply, and then closed it. There was no sense in trying to explain, not now, when all the choices she'd made suddenly seemed so wrong. She tore her eyes from his face to look quickly around. Some cheap furniture, a lot of big boxes, newspaper spilling out of them. A couple of large Sicilian rod puppets hung from the wall: knights, looking wan and defeated. "He wants me to have a baby," she said. Liam stared at her for a long moment. "Sounds nice," he said dryly, his eyes never leaving her face. "Is that what you want?" "No." "Do you love him?" Neely looked at the puppets, lifting the hand holding the painted sword. "It's complicated." Liam smiled. "It's always complicated." She was going to tell him no, not for Ronnie it wasn't, but she didn't want to talk about it. She started taking off her coat and she felt the large valentine in her pocket. For a moment she didn't remember what it was, and she pulled it out. It was a little crumpled and had gotten wet in one corner. On impulse she handed it to Liam. "What's this?" "A valentine." "For me?" He took it from her and held it in his hand as if weighing it, then he laughed. "So these are the papers you had to deliver?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I worry about you. Neely. You were always such a shitty liar." Another Shade of Red Neely took her coat off and threw it over a box, and Liam set the valentine down and reached for her, wrapping a long arm around her and pulling her close. His hand went to her blouse and cupped her breast, and Neely felt him stop when he realized she was naked beneath the fabric. Neely stood there with her arms at her sides and watched his face as he began unbuttoning her blouse. When it was halfway open he pulled the lapels roughly apart and exposed her breasts. She watched his eyes, wanting to see the desire there, and she wasn't disappointed. He'd always loved her breasts and liked her without a bra, insisting she didn't need one, and now his face darkened with undisguised lust. It was just as she remembered: the look on his face still caused the hairs on the back of her arms to stand up. When he reached out and pulled her to him, she gave a little cry of protest, then his mouth went to her breast and she clamped her lips shut, moaning despite herself. Once again she felt him taking control of her body, whether she wanted him to or not. She stood there cradling his head in her hands as he kissed and licked her nipples, ignoring the voice that nagged her about what she was doing. He had always been able to make her feel insanely feminine. As he held her now and ran his tongue in circles around her areolas and nipped them tenderly with his teeth, Neely felt her legs grow weak and that sweet ache begin between her legs, something she hadn't felt in years. She gasped and let her head fall back and gave herself over to the pleasures of his mouth, then forced herself to raise her head and look down so she could see him nursing at her breasts, and image that always brought her to a state of helpless arousal. She felt herself grow wet. Her pussy seemed to be opening like a flower under his touch, and it felt glorious. "Do you want to play, Neely? Is that it? Like we used to?" "Yes," she said breathlessly. "Yes, but I can't stay long. I have to leave at five. And no marks, Liam. Please." He picked up the valentine, took her by the hand and let her into the back, into his bedroom where the box spring and mattress lay on the floor, hastily shoved against the wall. There was a sheet spread over the mattress, so new it still bore the folds from the package, and a single pillow on the bed. There was an armchair and more boxes, but they were piled neatly against one wall. At one end of the bedroom was a frame made out of plumber's pipe, a rectangle, braced upright. The tools he'd used to assemble it were still on the floor. Neely scanned the room and realized that Liam had prepared things for her. She wondered whether she should feel insulted, but she realized she had no right to feel proud and no inclination to feel shame. Her fingers were already on the buttons of her blouse, finishing what he'd begun. Liam sat down in the chair to watch her undress, then casually opened the valentine. He pulled it from the envelope and laughed. "You're kidding, right? Flowers and lace? For me? You didn't even sign it." She watched him until she saw the dawning realization on his face of who the valentine was really meant for, and then she looked away before she could see his judgment of her. He placed the valentine on a box and Neely said nothing, just unbuttoned the sleeves of her blouse and shrugged it off, then turned half away from him as she unfastened her skirt and let it slide down her legs. He'd always enjoyed seeing her undress, and she'd always felt nervous, and so she'd reached this compromise long ago, letting him see her breasts, but turning away from him for the rest. She hooked her thumbs into the waist of her slip and peeled that down, and stood before him in her panty hose and panties and shoes. "You know I hate those things," he said, gesturing to the hose. "They make you look like an old lady." "I wear them for work," she said. "I have to wear something." She peeled off the pantyhose then stepped back into her shoes. The floor was bare wood and cold. She set about picking up her clothes, but her hands were shaking. "Come here," he said. He got out of the chair and put his arms around her, grabbing her hair in his hands and kissing her deeply, overwhelming her as he always did, and Neely didn't feel cold anymore. She loved it this way: him clothed and she all but naked, his clothes chafing against her skin and reminding her of her nakedness. He led her to the frame and when he starting wrapping rope around her wrists she felt that terrible aching hunger in the pit of her stomach again, buried dreams and memories stirring like a serpent beneath a forest floor. He knew just how to tie her, cruciform, arms out to the sides so that she felt like something between a victim and an offering. He'd thoughtfully placed the dresser mirror on the floor, tilted at an angle so she could see herself and see him moving around behind her, getting the crop. It had to be her crop, she prayed. She couldn't bear to think that it wasn't the same one, that maybe he had gotten a new one. He hit her on the ass, striking her through her panties hard enough to sting but not to raise welts, and she used the first few blows to try and buy her freedom from Ronnie, giving him her pain and trying to send him away. It didn't work though, and so she just closed her mind to him. Ronnie'd never understood this part of her, even though she'd tried to show it to him, and now she couldn't worry about him. The whip struck against her silky panties with a smart little snap, stinging her just right and making her feel as though something hot were already growing inside her. He knew just where to hit her: how much and how hard, and when he dropped the whip and sank to his knees behind her and began to kiss and lick her ass, Neely looked at them both in the mirror with that mixture of pride and elation that was almost as good as sex itself. She needed this. She needed for him to break through the shell she'd grown around herself and find that part of her that was still living. She knew it was still there, and she knew he'd find it if anyone could. Liam's big hands were on her buttocks, caressing and squeezing them, then peeling down her sodden panties and kissing and licking the flesh as it was exposed. The man seemed to eat her alive, as if he really wanted to swallow her down, as if there was nothing so precious in the world to him, and Neely was flooded with that feeling of victory, knowing that once again she had brought him to his knees. He pulled her panties halfway down her thighs and left them there. He stood up and took off his shirt. The next series was for her alone. They were harder and she knew he was leaving marks but she didn't care. She'd think of something. In each stroke she felt Liam's desire for her, his unquenchable need for her, and she knew she was being punished for his need and for hers as well, and that's what made it alright; necessary in fact. He whipped her till welts piled on welts and a new kind of pain took over, deep and clawing and filling her with fire so that her pussy oozed like a broken blister, wetting the insides of her thighs. When he took her down from the frame and carried her to the bed she was whipped clean of everything but her desire for him, of her need to have him inside and moving within her. He never let go of her, laying her on her back and covering her with his body, pressing her knees up against her breasts and holding them there as he drew his hips back like a cobra and then rammed her deep, groaning in bliss and triumph. Neely cried out and buried her face in his neck, She wrapped her thin arms around his back and squeezed him tight; she held onto him as if he were life itself. He filled her completely, not only her cunt but her mind and her awareness: the smell of him, the feel of his skin against hers, the frantic and selfish way he worked to satisfy himself in her body. Neely gasped and saw stars. When it was this good it was like they were one person and she echoed every grunt and groan he made in perfect empathy: she felt everything he felt as he took his pleasure in her. He fucked her hard and brutally, as if he'd never get enough, and she surrendered herself to his overwhelming male lust, feeling his hardness penetrating her and his strength working to bring them both off. His prick worked inside her like a piston in an engine, making her hum, bringing her to life and driving her up and up till she dug her nails into his massive arms and held onto him in a convulsive spasm of possession and shot like rocket against the sun, to a place where there was no barrier between them anymore, not even the tissue of their skin. She felt that feeble throbbing inside her – all his strength and passion reduced to that, those hot, liquid squirts – and she threw back her head and sobbed out her complete surrender. She squeezed her eyes shut so tight she saw lights: hearts, thousands of hearts, and for once they didn't make her turn away. For once, they were perfect. ***** She rested her head against the rainy window of the bus, dully watching the lights outside, thinking nothing. Her ass hurt from the whipping and she was sore between her legs, but she felt wonderfully calm and strangely at peace. She was almost at her stop and she still hadn't thought of anything to tell Ronnie or even what she wanted to say. She still had those ridiculous shorts in her purse, but she could hardly give them to him now, and she needed to give him something. When she reached her stop she stepped carefully onto the icy street and walked to the gift shop, the same one whose windows she'd been looking at just that morning, so long ago. She looked at the hanging Eros. He was still slowly spinning, pointing his arrow first at her and then away. Pointing his arrow in every direction.