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Alice looked like a
school girl of sixteen. She wore the Catholic issue plaid
skirt and white dress top. Her socks ended at her knees
like they should; shoed with mary janes. She only lacked
the small gold cross around her neck. Her dark hair framed
her pale facial features, pudgy, pinchable cheeks and red
pouty lips. Martha watched her every evening while she
waited in a coffee shop for the foot traffic to die down.
Alice hung out on the street corner like an ordinary
prostitute. Martha had to remind herself that Alice was a
prostitute, just not a normal one.
Martha longed for the
girl. She watched night after night as different
middle-aged women casually walked past the corner or pulled
up in taxis that whisked Alice away. Then she would leave.
Tonight was no different; Martha watched some gray-haired
butch-type pick up Alice. She walked out of the coffee shop
and headed a few blocks down the street to her apartment, an
old converted warehouse.
Martha’s building had
numerous apartments filled with mostly single people. She
unlocked the front door and walked into the lobby. These
apartments were cheap and had no doorman or lobby watcher.
You can’t be afraid and live here, Martha said to her
coworkers. She got on the elevator and went to her
apartment, 14B on the thirteenth floor, but this was one of
those buildings that called floor thirteen, fourteen due to
superstitions. Luck and superstition meant nothing to her.
Martha let every black cat cross her path, and didn’t mind
spilling the salt. She opened the door to her apartment. A
large couch covered with a painters spotted drop cloth sat
in the middle of the room. An old television with a coat
hanger for rabbit ears stood in the corner beside an easel
with a partially colored canvas on it. Martha shrugged off
her coat and hung it from a hook on the back of the door.
She dead-bolted the door and walked into the kitchen. Her
laptop computer and Lexmark printer sat on the round table.
Martha took a silver
digital camera from her pocket and placed it beside the
laptop. She plugged in the firewire and hit the computer’s
on button. The fan whizzed up, and the screen crackled as
the internal workings beeped and clanked. She poured a cup
of morning coffee into a chipped Pittsburgh Steelers mug.
It had been her ex-husband’s, the only thing of his she
brought with her. She stuck the mug in the microwave and
heated for a minute while the computer pulled up and started
to automatically download her new photos. Martha blew the
steam from the coffee and sat down at the computer. She
sorted the new photos into files. Each name she changed to
A170 – A 200.
“Thirty pictures, that’s
a bunch for one night.”
She opened one of the
files. A close up of Alice’s face filled the screen. She
licked her lips. Just the tip of her tongue stuck out
between the two rosy pillows. Martha sighed. The next photo
showed Alice leaned over straightening her socks. Her skirt
rode up just enough to show her French cut panties. Every
picture she clicked on showed Alice on the street corner in
a different pose. Martha clicked back to the shot of Alice
licking her lips. She hit CRTL-P, and the photo zipped out
of the Lexmark.
“Perfect.” She said
grabbing it up and walking to the other room.
*****
Martha woke wet all
over, panting, and feeling good. Her arms and legs trembled
like she really came, instead of dreaming of Alice. If
Alice was that good, no wonder all the girl’s loved her.
She climbed out of bed
and pulled her silk robe over her almost naked body. She
only wore panties to bed, because she got too hot
otherwise. Her husband never complained; no one she spent
the night with ever did. She wiped her sweaty forehead on
the sleeve of the robe and walked to the living room. Light
from the street filtered in through the slats of the blinds,
leaving the walls lined shadow and light. She flipped on
the overhead fluorescents and went to the canvas. The
painted part was dark purple and lighter lavender
highlights. Martha uncovered her paints and brushes. She
flipped over the photo of Alice licking her lips and began
to sketch the face onto the canvas. By the time she had
cooled down, Alice looked out from the canvas, a floating
head with no body.
“I want to get this one
right,” Martha said putting her brush into the paint thinner
to clean it.
She walked to stack of
canvases facing the wall. Different images of Alice flashed
past her eyes as she stared at her imperfect paintings.
Alice was nude in them all with varying poses, never
graphic, but all imperfect to Martha. She needed to see the
real thing so she could keep sweet Alice with her forever.
Martha had the same
problem with her first husband. She kept trying to paint
him but never got it right, until, part of him joined the
picture. That painting hung in the bathroom. He stood out
clearly over the deep rouge background.
“It’s just lovely,”
Martha said walking through the bathroom door and looking at
it, “and Alice’s will be too.”
*****
Martha stood in the
doorway of the coffee shop. Alice walked to her corner,
dressed in her school girl best. Tonight was her night,
Martha told herself. Tonight she’d see if all those dreams
were true. She wasted no time, not waiting for another
woman to get to her tonight, and trotted across the damp
street. Rain fell most of the day but stopped not long
before dusk. Martha stopped on the corner beside Alice.
The smell of berries and cream rose from the beautiful girl.
She breathed it in like gasping for air after nearly
drowning.
“Can I help you,” Alice
asked her voice not that of vapid teen but dark and smoky.
“What do you charge?”
“I don’t talk about that
on the street, too many narcs.”
“I don’t live far from
here, just a few blocks that way.” Martha pointed in the
direction of her flat. “We can discuss it there.”
“I’m not cheap.”
“I’m not poor.”
“Let’s find out.” Alice
took her by the hand. Martha noticed how cold her hand
was. The night was chilly, but Alice must have walked a
long way to get that cold. “I’m freezing. You think you
can warm me up?”
Martha felt a flush,
more of remembering her dreams than of embarrassment. “I’m
sure of it.”
They walked through the
street to Martha’s building. A few minutes later they stood
in her small living room. Martha shrugged off her coat and
hung it on the door. She motioned for Alice to sit on the
tarp-covered couch. Alice sat like a bird perching.
“Can I offer you
something warm to drink?”
“Later. Business
first.”
“Of course, I’ve never
done this kind of thing before. How much?” Martha noticed
how hypnotizing Alice’s eyes were. She lost herself in the
amber irises something that she had not noticed in the
pictures. She’d have to change that in the painting.
“What are we talking
about?’
“Sex.”
“I know that, but what
kind?”
“The usual, I guess.”
“$3,000.”
“Okay, but I also want
to paint you afterward. You are so beautiful I have to keep
you forever.”
Alice looked surprised.
“No one has ever tried to paint me. I’ll throw that in for
free.”
Alice stood and grabbed
Martha. They kissed. Alice’s lips were as cold as her
hands, but Martha felt warmth flow down her, deep inside of
her. She felt drunk, intoxicated by the sexiness Alice
exuded from her being. They made it to the bedroom, naked
and Martha didn’t remember stripping.
She found herself in her
hottest, wettest dream. Alice’s tongue seemed to wrap
around her and prod every erotic zone. She felt pleasure
creep up her toes and organism escape her loins, not once
but many times. Martha tried to see her lover, but her eyes
fluttered from ecstasy. Time stood still as she convulsed
and bucked her hips into the air to have Alice push. This
is worth every penny. Martha could only make that thought
before everything turned shades of purple and pink. Silk
curtains circled her body, brushing softly over her breast
raising her nipples. Then it ended with a shattering burst
of bliss. Martha lay trembling, little more than jelly on
the bed. Alice stared up from between her knees.
“Don’t stop,” Martha’s
voice escaped as a whisper.
“That’s all $3,000 gets
you.” She grinned. “How about that painting?”
Martha pushed herself up
on her elbows. “Let me get settled. Go to the living room
and wait. Please don’t dress.”
Alice stood. “Nude
painting? Kinky.”
*****
Alice lay naked across
the couch when Martha walked into the room. Her silk robe
hung loosely off her body. She uncovered her paints and the
painting. Alice gasped from behind.
“That bad,” said Martha.
“No, that good. Did you
do that from memory?”
“No, I’ve been
photographing you for weeks.” Martha pointed to the stack
of canvases against the wall. “I’ve made several attempts.
Alice walked to the
pictures. Her nude body moved in fluid waves like walking
milk. She flipped through the pictures.
“I don’t think I got you
like you are.” Martha said. “Stay like that. I love the
lines of your body.”
Alice posed for her.
Martha painted and again time seemed to stand still. She
finished not realizing she had even begun. The picture was
beautiful. The milky skin of Alice looked as smooth as
life, but Martha was still unsatisfied.
“That’s gorgeous,” said
Alice looking at herself. “I almost feel guilty for
charging you.”
“It’s not right.”
Martha walked behind Alice and started to rummage through a
drawer. “It needs something more. Something to give it
your real essence.”
“I think you’ve caught
me as well as you can.”
Martha walked behind her
carrying a butcher knife. “I think I can do more.”
Alice twirled around
like smoke caught in an updraft. She caught Martha’s hand.
Alice’s grip began to crush her wrist bones; she let the
knife drop to the floor. Alice let Martha’s wrist drop.
“You were trying to kill
me,” said Alice.
“No, I just needed part
of you for the painting.”
“My blood? You wanted
my precious blood.”
“It is the life, like
what they said in Dracula.”
Alice laughed. “You
know I’ll take you up on the hot drink now.”
Martha smiled at the
sudden change in affect and believed that she dodged a
bullet. “Coffee or tea?”
“Blood.”
Martha watched as
Alice’s tongue flicked out. It split and wrapped around
her. She felt the edges of it slice through her robe and
skin like the serrated teeth of a saw. Her body became warm
from the flow of blood. The tongue squeezed tighter, and
Martha could feel the tip wiggling in her slit, then
piercing it. She crumpled to her knees as her blood
continued to flow. The intoxicating feeling that washed
over her when Alice had kissed her dripped into her again,
but only Alice got pleasure this time as her tongue, slowly
and erotically lapped up Martha’s blood as she slowly died. |
