Claudine (7 page)

Silence reigned. All eyes were transfixed upon Claudine’s naked body.

Her skin shone with a golden glow in the candlelight. Her hair tumbled over her delicate collarbones, and her breasts rose and fell with each breath. Her nipples and belly button had been tipped with the same gold particles Lillian used for her mask. Ferrer watched his guests take in the full, delicious view.

He offered her his hand and she stepped down from the podium. He led her back to the table, where he gestured for her to stand upon her chair. She obeyed, and then, following his direction, lay down upon the table. Her dark ringlets cascaded over the white tablecloth, and her round, full breasts sloped gently to the side. Her long thighs and calves stretched on forever, and her delicate feet rested at Ferrer’s place at the head of the table. Bowing over her, he ran his hands over her body as if she were a prized sculpture. He smoothed her hair in opulent waves, teased her nipples erect, and tested the heft of her breasts for the men to see. Then he traced the line of her ribs down to her soft flat belly and finally to her mound, which he stroked gently, for a moment or two, while she held her breath.

“Who will taste the sugarplum first—gentlemen?”

The men, engrossed by the vision of Claudine lying before them on the table, didn’t speak. It was the blonde who broke the silence.

“I will.”

All eyes turned to her. The blonde stood and removed her gown, her corset and her stays. Except for her delicate buttoned boots, she was nude. She took the hand of Ferrer, who, obviously delighted by this turn of events, escorted her around the table to Claudine’s feet. She knelt upon the table, delicately parted the gold-dusted thighs of the courtesan, and began to kiss and nuzzle Claudine’s mound. The blonde raised her ass and spread her hips so Ferrer had a tantalizing glimpse of her from behind. He grasped the globes of the blonde’s rump and spread them. He looked hungrily at the blonde before teasing her with his finger. With his other hand, he reached between her thighs and patted her plump labia.

“And who will be the first to taste this split peach?”

The blonde pushed her bottom out further. She focused her attention on Claudine’s pussy, pushing her thighs up and apart so that the guests still seated around the table could see the pink folds of the courtesan’s slit and the tiny bud of her clitoris. Her genitals shone with moisture in the candlelight, and the blonde gazed at her rapturously. The blonde was an expert. She lowered her mouth and pushed her wet tongue to Claudine’s inner folds softly and with a gentle rhythm. The dinner guests could hear the clicks of moisture as the blonde lapped. Once Claudine was soaking and emitting tiny moans, the blonde moved higher to her clit. She circled it with her tongue gently, over and over, and then when Claudine began to buck and arch her back, the
blonde slid her tongue inside her. Claudine’s body shuddered as her orgasm came in undulating waves.

Ferrer remained behind the blonde, squeezing the cheeks of her bottom. He motioned for one of the redheads to come over. He supervised as the redhead grasped the blonde’s ass, lowered her head, and licked her. Once she had a good rhythm going on the blonde, he gave Clayton permission to fuck the redhead from behind. His cock already sheathed with a condom, Clayton quivered with excitement as he grabbed the redhead’s bottom, pushed into her and pumped energetically.

The other redhead had removed her gown. Wearing only her garter belt, stockings and delicate high-heeled shoes, she was being energetically humped by Haines over a chair.

Ferrer looked appreciatively as the tableau he’d created. But his eyes returned again and again to Claudine, lying serenely upon the table, her cheeks flushed from her orgasm.

“Claudine, my dear,” he called softly. “The night is still young.”

The wine had gone to her head, but she accepted the flute of champagne Ferrer produced. She raised herself up on one elbow, careful not to bump the blonde, still straddling her on all fours.

“Come, my love.”

Ferrer helped her off the table and put his arm around her, fondling one of her nipples. In spite of herself, Claudine felt a new, delightful shiver spread from her breast to her groin. The hand on her waist trailed over her buttocks and reached behind her. He slid his middle finger into her slit and moved it in slow circles. Her knees buckled a little, so he guided her gently to one of the divans. He sat upon it and arranged her so she was kneeling in front of him. He pushed his cock into her mouth.

She breathed deeply, willing herself to relax, and ran her
tongue along along his stalk. “That’s my girl,” he murmured encouragingly. Clearly on fire now, he quickly maneuvered Claudine onto the divan. She knelt with her face to the wall, her back arched, her bottom enticingly splayed. She felt him guide his cock into her. Her pussy, still dripping from the blonde’s agile tongue-fucking, opened to him.

“My girl has a nice, tight little cunt.” His hands gripped her hard now and he grunted with effort. She tightened her muscles in tandem with his strenuous thrusts. To help him along she let little cries escape her lips. He rode her and pulled on her nipples as if they were the reins of a horse. The tugging on her breasts hurt, but it was a delicious pain. The grip of her pussy pushed him over the edge. He shuddered as he came.

She looked up to see Clayton watching them.
My turn
, his smile seemed to say.

B
y midnight the ladies had been excused. In keeping with the Victorian tone, the men dressed, drank port and talked business. Maria flung her cloak around her nude body, slipped into her boots and gathered her dress and undergarments in her arms.

Her reflection in the mirror showed a face still flushed from her performance, as if her color had been heightened not only by the thrill but also by the tinge of depravity it beckoned to. A mistress of desire, Ferrer had called her as she bid him good-bye. She liked that. She pulled a simple shift from an inside pocket of her cloak, put it on, ran a towel over her face, removed her wig, wiped traces of brown dye from the skin near her hairline and combed her hair. Then she wrapped the apparel in her cloak and
went down to the spa lobby where Andrei waited patiently, leaning against a column in his dark blue suit and crisp white shirt.

“Should we find something to eat?” he asked as he took the bundle from her and opened the door to the street. She often wanted to dine or go to a club after a performance, as much to wind down as anything; she liked never having to be “on” with Andrei. If she wanted to sit through a meal without saying much, she did, knowing he wouldn’t take offence.

“Yes, please.” She smiled. “With no performance tomorrow I can splurge a little.”

Her favorite spot had always been Elaine’s—a late-night watering hole for New York’s movers and shakers in the entertainment business. After Elaine had died and her legendary establishment closed, Maria had been upset for weeks.

Their new favorite spot was on the East Side, a place named The Limelight after the famous nightclub. An intimate, upscale dining establishment, it stayed open past normal hours to service late-night customers. The owner greeted Maria with a double kiss. “Ravishing as always, darling.”

She ordered red wine; Andrei his usual vodka. They split an antipasto plate and added a salad for her and steak for him. When their drinks arrived, Andrei sat back in his chair and gazed across the room. While he was thus distracted, she took a long look at him. He was quite sexy in his own way. She wondered if he had a woman in his life. She’d asked him once and he’d dismissed her question with a vague response. It seemed odd. He took things a bit too seriously, but when he was in a good mood his laughter was infectious. She found she could easily read his emotions in his eyes. Right now they still carried a hint of worry.

“You don’t have more bad news, do you?” She toyed with the artichokes in her salad.

“I talked to a guy I know, like I said I would. A top informer for the cops. He told me the murdered girl with your ID was a Romanian prostitute. Illegal. Only been here six months. Worked out of a slimy massage parlor in the Bronx. She was fifteen years old. Had a couple of regular clients. Of course, no one’s saying who they were. They’re all bastards in that business.”

She dropped her fork. “A prostitute? How could she possibly end up with a duplicate of my ID?”

“It gets worse. The cards didn’t have any fingerprints. Not even the girl’s. That means probably whoever murdered her stuck your ID into her purse.” He reached over and gently squeezed her hand. “I don’t want to upset you any more, but it seems clear your stalker must have copied your ID somehow, maybe during one of your performances, and put it back in your purse. It’s not easy to create new cards like that. And it’s expensive. You know what that means? This guy’s willing to go to great lengths. The point of the murder was all about you.”

Her mind raced. “Maybe he did get my ID at a performance, but what about my birth certificate? How did he get that? Break into my apartment?”

Andrei shook his head. “He could have applied to Romania for a new copy. Easy enough to pull off. No need to go near your apartment.”

It was a small consolation. She pushed her plate away, feeling suddenly deflated. “This is a nightmare. Let’s just go home.”

Andrei took care of the bill. He put his arm around her as they walked to the car. She leaned against him, feeling comforted by his strong body close to her.

He buckled her in the passenger seat and walked around to the driver’s side. When he got inside, he held her hand again and looked into her eyes. “You might as well know all of it. According to my inside guy, you’ll be hearing from Trainor again. He thinks you’re going to be the next target.”

CHAPTER
7

Maria said little in the car on the way home. The butchery inflicted on the Romanian prostitute and the connection to Maria burrowed into her brain like a parasite. And Trainor believed she’d be the next one on the slab. She could no longer deny that the threats against her were deadly serious. All of the pains she’d taken to be discreet, professional and safe had been in vain. She felt exposed and targeted by both her stalker and the police. She’d always thought the choice of when to retire from performing would be hers to make. Now she wasn’t so sure.

The next morning, she relented and let Andrei drive her to the university. She’d tossed and turned all night and was in no mood to put up a fight. He parked as close to the library as possible. Claire looked up from her paperwork as they passed the library reception desk and gave Andrei the once-over before reaching for her phone.

“Don’t hover,” Maria said testily when they reached her
study carrel. “Nothing’s going to happen in here. In fact, how about getting us some coffees?” She gave him directions to the café and booted up her tablet. He reminded her of a faithful Labrador as he walked away. Sometimes she wished he’d challenge her more.

With the memory of Andrei’s words about the dead girl still ringing in her ears, de Sade was the last author she wanted to read. Still, she’d put off opening those pages too long already. She was deep into his description of the cruel aristocrat Antonin, who required his young female charges to line up every morning and lift their skirts for his inspection, when faint laughter from the front desk made her look up. Reed Whitman stood next to Claire. He carried an oversized bouquet neatly tied with a raffia bow.

Through the cellophane wrapping Maria saw roses. The flowers’ pink centers made it look as if each bloom were blushing. Reed caught her eye and strode confidently toward her.

“Just happened to have these sitting on my desk,” he said, “and I thought of a lady who might like them.”

“They’re gorgeous.” She felt her color rise, a little taken aback by the unexpected gift. “Thank you. How did you know to find me here?”

“My informant.” He winked, at Claire who immediately buried her nose in a file.

Betrayer, thought Maria. Really, whose side was she on? She spotted Andrei returning, two paper cups stuck into cardboard sleeves in his hands. When Andrei took in Reed and the mass of flowers in her arms he stopped short. From the look in his eyes she could see a storm brewing. Thunder and lightning weren’t far off.

“Reed, one sec—okay?” She set the bouquet down and rushed over to intercept Andrei.

“Who’s he?” Andrei said suspiciously.

“Just one of my former professors. No need to be concerned.”

“Your old professors usually bring you flowers?”

“Andrei,” she said without bothering to hide her irritation. “Do I need to share every microscopic detail of my life with you? Listen, I’m going to be here awhile. A good couple of hours, probably more. Why don’t you take a walk around campus, get some lunch? Or just drive back to the city. I can find my own way home.”

“I’ll wait,” Andrei said stubbornly.

“Suit yourself, but please don’t hang around. I can’t concentrate knowing you’re looking over my shoulder.”

Andrei cast another glance over to Reed, who was patiently waiting with a half smile on his face as if he knew exactly what was being said between them. “Doesn’t look like you’ve been concentrating all that hard.”

“I’ll call you when I’m ready to be picked up. Can I have my coffee?” She snatched the paper cup. Without saying another word, she turned on her heel and went back to Reed.

“I have a competitor, I see.” Reed turned his lips up in a smile but Maria got the distinct impression he wasn’t pleased. “Kind of a formal dresser for campus, I’d say.” He was clearly referring to Andrei’s tailored suit.

“Just an old family friend who gave me a lift here. And I didn’t know there was any competition.” She pinned her remark with a quick laugh, then glanced back, relieved to see that Andrei had left.

“Well, look. I have two tickets for the Met. Box seats at Verdi’s
Rigoletto
. I’d love to take you. It’s a rare chance to hear Nancy Herrera sing.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Frankly I’m dying to see you all dressed up.”

Reed was in fine form today, and quite gallant. He was a little tanned already from the spring sun, which made his dark eyes sparkle. He showed his teeth too much when he grinned, but that was a tiny imperfection in an otherwise perfect face.