Innocence (7 page)

“No, no, hear me out,” she could hear Marcus’ smile, “You came to the big city for stimulation…opportunity, parties, work and all that. A little country girl dazzled by the lights.”

The kick in Cora’s stomach was a laugh. Marcus’ hand went to her stomach; he stroked it and she almost stopped breathing.

“You found me,” he purred, “but, when I’m not around...”

Struggling to keep her thoughts, Cora teased. “I might as well just shrivel up and die.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth, kid.” A few more minutes went by with him tracing unreadable words out on her skin. Cora closed her eyes and drifted away on pleasure. Hours may have passed before she heard him murmur something more.

“Hmmm?” She lifted her head.

“I said, what if I got you a car?”

“Marcus, you can’t buy me a car.”

“Can’t I?” he growled, and suddenly Cora found herself rolled onto her back. Marcus was suspended over her, holding his weight on his arms so their bodies were not quite touching. She came awake immediately, wide-eyed under him. They still hadn’t gone all the way, although they kissed often now. She was ready for him; but Marcus clung to some old fashioned code, and wouldn’t initiate things. She thought he was waiting for marriage, although she hoped they could become intimate soon.

She looked up at him now, feeling breathless. Excitement rushed through her and made her ready. But he only lowered himself close enough to whisper, “I can do anything I want. I can give you the world.”

“Okay, then,” Cora found her voice, “a car.”

“That’s better,” Marcus raised himself a little and grinned, the cat who had trapped a live mouse. “What sort?”

“I don’t know, you pick,” her voice came in little gasps. His close physical presence was distracting. When she rolled her eyes to the left and right, her view was blocked by Marcus’ arms, which bulged with sudden strength. He did not seem in any hurry to release himself the pose. Or her. Trapped, she looked up at him.

“A nice Aston Martin. You liked the way it hugged those curves coming up the mountain?”

“Uh,” Cora’s brain was too scrambled to remember the drive up only four hours previous. “I don’t know. Was that an Aston Martin?”

With an annoyed growl, Marcus rolled away from her.

“It was grey, right?” Cora tried again, hoping her boyfriend was only kidding. She was relieved when he returned to lie next to her on his side, his head propped on an arm. From this slight vantage he could look down on her where she lay, still on her back. “Sorry,” she giggled.

“You break my heart,” years seemed to come off his face as he teased her. “For that, you’re going to pay.”

“Oh, no,” she laughed.

“I’m serious,” he warned, “You’re going to have to do something for me.”

Her heart leaped, but she rolled her eyes, “Alright, I’ll drive the Austin Marie or whatever. The grey one.”

His eyes narrowed, “Cora…”

“You said you wanted to buy me a car! I don’t care about what type. I don’t know.” She wriggled a little under him and his eyes heated up. “You could just buy me a dog.”

“Great,” Marcus pretended disgust, “Some little pooch I accidentally kick every time I walk into your place.”

Cora made an indignant noise. “You are so bad. Behavior like that, you won’t be allowed at the animal rescue anymore.”

“Oh, really? And how will they find out about my abusing little Fluffy?”

“I would not name a dog Fluffy,” Cora laughed.

“Bitsy, then.”

“No!”

“Alright. So I kicked poor little Soccer—“

“Marcus!” Cora shrieked.

“—what do you expect? You name a dog Soccer and it’s going to get kicked. Fact of life. How’s the rescue going to find out?”

“I would report you,” Cora put on her most holier-than-thou tone.

“Hmmm,” Marcus leaned in to kiss her, “Traitor. All’s I wanted was to get you interested in something, for fun. Get you out of the house, get you something to do. Guess we’re going to have to go to plan A.”

“The Ferrari?”

“Aston Martin…you little…” Marcus put hands on either side of her body again, but did not shift himself over the full length of her. With his torso twisted, he leaned down to kiss her. “You...are…in trouble,” he punctuated each word with a kiss. The last one went on for sometime. “You owe me.”

“Okay,” she said dreamily.

A few minutes later, drunk with one another, Marcus told her the plan, “A friend of mine is starting up a new fashion line. You know him; he owns the little spa you go to.”

“Armand?”

“Yep. He is looking for a certain type of girl to show the stuff. Are you interested in being a model?”

“They had me do that sometimes, at the shop. That’s why I quit,” she said. “I was sick of just putting on the clothes and walking around. They never let me do any work.”

“Work, volunteer. You’re such a farm girl…always doing chores.”

“It’s the way I was raised.”

“Please, Cora,” he said. “This will be much more intense than the shop. Promise.”

“Do you want me to do it?” Cora asked.

“I do. I want the whole world to see this goddess of mine. Share the beauty,” he was back to nuzzling her throat. “But only for a little while.”

“Mmmm,” she said. “Okay.”

He pulled back to grin at her, and she smiled, too. The game they played was still going, and she was becoming a better adversary. For a week she had kept close to home, so as not to alarm him. With the sweet way he’d been treating her, apparently he already had been. He seemed determined not to let her get away.

“Could I have some more wine?” As he poured her a half glass, she wondered when the cards would slip from her hands. Every time he looked at her, she wondered if there were layers to what he was thinking. She wanted so desperately to trust him. When she was with him, and they were playful like this, she forgot almost everything. Almost.

He handed her the glass, but immediately took possession of her lips. She let him. In moments like these, close to the Marcus she loved, she wondered if the game was worth it.

The fire died down low.

“Alright,” Marcus finally said, nuzzling at her throat and then slowly rising, “it’s time for bed.”

Reluctantly, Cora rose as well. Marcus had ordered separate rooms—“I know you’re sweet and innocent. And you haven’t said yes to me…”

She went to the door and paused there, looking back at him.
I know I can play this game.

“See you in the morning,” he said.

“See you.” Cora watched until he disappeared behind his door.
But which one is he playing?

*

“Babe, babe, come on, move!” Cora turned and was blinded by the lights. She took a step to the side, uncertain, and then noticed the camera man trying to pass her.

“I beg your pardon,” she said as she stepped aside. He went by with a nice smile. She stood unsure, until a make-up artist rescued her.

“Come on, dear,” he said, leading her by the arm to a chair in front of the mirrors. She recognized him from the spa she frequented.

“Hey, did we meet at Metamorphoses?”

“Yes, yes, Double M. That’s what we call it. Armand owns it.”

“The designer?” Cora recognized the name from Marcus’ mention.

“Mmmmhhmm.” The man flicked a switch and Cora was blinded again.

“Let’s see what we have here,” in the blurred shapes beyond Cora’s vision, she could see the man was studying her. “Good bone structure, classic cheekbones,” some heat came onto her face and she realized the man had pulled a light close to examine more closely. She kept her eyes closed throughout the scrutiny, “Great skin.

An hour later, Cora was covered in violet shaded white powder, with an iridescence to the skin of her face. There was striking purple and black makeup around her eyes.

“Perfect,” the artist said, and spun her out of the chair. “Let’s get you to costuming.”

Marcus, you owe me for this,
she thought as she wove through racks of clothes to the designer’s assistants.
Ten Aston Martins, at least.

She was still imagining the line of new cars—a dog in the front seat of each—while being dressed. The garments were cool, long, draping fabrics sheer as clouds and falling like water. With a pleased sound she turned in them and watched the material float.

The assistant was less happy. With a string of curses, he stepped in to pin something, and stuck Cora’s flesh. Startled, she jumped. The curses were directed to her. Cora froze and gritted her teeth, waiting for more abuse, more pins. But another one of the assistants turned from the rack of clothes and pulled the second away. He spoke in an urgent whisper.

“Mr. Ubeli,”  were the only words Cora caught as she waited, trying to keep a brave face. The first assistant returned and finished his work, silent and stiff. The second disappeared, and reappeared with a bottle of water.

“The lights can be hot,” he explained. Cora noticed none of the other models being given water, but accepted it. She was directed off to another room to wait for their call, and went. With her clothing draped like a Greek statue and water bottle in hand, she felt like the Statue of Liberty.

The room she had been sent to wait in was quiet and calmer than the rush of people and lights just without. Cora wandered the long racks of fabric, touching bolts of fabric sheer and crisp and many colored. Alone, she relaxed.

“Ms. Cora?”

She turned with a swirl of gorgeous material. “I’m ready! Is it my turn?” The words stopped on her tongue as a man approached her, tall and slim, wearing a suit. Somehow, he didn’t look like a designer or an assistant. Cora regarded him, instantly wary.

“I’m not here for the fashion, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said.

“Then you probably shouldn’t be back here.”

He put up his hands at her defensiveness. “Don’t be alarmed, ma’am. I’m not going to be here long. I came to see you.”

Cora stepped away, looking down at some set props for the shoot—false flowers, faux marble columns.

“I’ll be brief. We’ve been watching you for some time, and think that you might need some help. Someone to talk to.”

“Did Marcus send you?” She cut him off.

To her surprise, he almost laughed, “Marcus Ubeli? No. Quite the opposite, in fact.” He still seemed to think what she said was funny.

Cora’s face was a mask.

“No, ma’am, I’m not with your boyfriend. But I’m acquainted with him, you might say. My people have been watching him for some time.”

                     Now she felt a little kick of fear. The man was not laughing now, as he held out his ID and badge. “We’re very interested in asking you some questions.”

“What sort of questions?” she whispered.

“We can get to that later,” he said now with in a lighter tone. “For now, enjoy the photo op. There will be information waiting for you afterwards. Once you get it, we’ll expect you to rendez-vous with us soon.” He showed her a small white square. “My card.”

“I don’t have any pockets,” she said.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Cora,” a flash of his white smile and the card had disappeared. “We’ll be discreet. The last thing we want to do is put you in any danger.”

Cora felt like she had turned to wood. Now a statue, she couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, and Cora,” the man said, just before ducking out between the large bolts of fabric, “Your aunt says hi. We have her, too. She’s safe.”

For a moment after he left, Cora stood still, facing a sheath of gauzy maroon. Then, followed by a train of whispering silk, she floated from the closet room and back out into the chaos.             

“Babe, there you are—” a photographer waved at her, “You’re next.”

Cora nodded without really hearing. Another model, being unpinned from her clothes, turned her head. “Wow,” she remarked on Cora’s get up, “you look really cool. Who are you supposed to be?”  

“Uh…I don’t know.” Cora stood a side as two men pushing a huge mirror came through. The things stood six feet tall, and was still higher on its wheeled mount and gilt frame. They stopped in front of her, cutting off the other model’s conversation. Into the reflected surface, Cora stared at the striking woman in robes. Coal-darkened eyes stared back. Her hair was pulled up and back simply, so that nothing distracted from the sheen of her skin—luminous violet.

“Well, well, if it isn’t a goddess.”

She turned around and saw a familiar grin. The room around them, chaos only a second ago, seemed to clear of everyone. Stepping back to see beyond the mirror, she could see the model’s bare back, the assistant helping her with the bottom half of her costume as they both hurried away. Cora looked back into the mirror at the man who approached with the smile of a hunter. “Marcus,” she said.

He was looking her up and down. With his handsome face and sculpted cheekbones, he looked like a model himself. She took a deep breath when she realized he fit in better here than she did.

Marcus smiled deeper at her when he realized she was checking him out.