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It felt like a flaying, like she was coming out of her shell, inch by agonizing inch, or was the butterfly being pushed back into the cocoon by the more apt metaphor?
The warmth of this woman wrapped itself around Vi, caressing her touch-starved skin, making her shiver and want. And she never quite knew what to do with that desire. With the longing. With all themissing of thingsshe could never have.
And with so many overwhelming feelings, it would not be neat. It would be excruciating when it was over since, unlike all her other dreams, she allowed herself to indulge in this one. To imagine and fantasize and feel.
For weeks now, this overwhelming warmth had permeated every corner of her being, reached the nooks and crannies of her lonely and desperate existence. She had been living off this joy, however hopeless, ever since. Tucking it away without pain was simply not an option. And so she knew she would bleed.
Vi tried to say something, to break the moment that was suddenly becoming too drawn-out for her comfort and perhaps too awkward for Chiara, so she took a step back, only to step into the woman, whose arms lifted as if by reflex to stop her, to prevent them from colliding, only to wrap themselves around Vi.
Suddenly the moment was no longer awkward, it was charged. A lump in Vi’s throat the size of a baseball, she took a deep breath, and on the inhale, finally moved.
As if it hadn’t been a simple turn of the head but some sort of miracle, they were now face to face, mouths so close, Vi could feel Chiara’s startled exhale and realized they were breathing each other’s air.
God, how… why…?
Something crashed downstairs, rupturing the silky thread of time, but Chiara didn’t bolt, nor did she immediately let go of Vi.
Instead she squeezed her shoulders a little tighter, only then stepping aside. Her face and especially her eyes, usually so expressive, remained blank, their neutrality scraping Vi even more raw.
The bang on the stairs was followed by another and then another, and very soon Aoife was standing on the landing, cursing under the weight of several boxes that were teetering precariously in her arms.
“I lost several of them on the steps below, but I think I got the best pairs here. Louboutins and Manolos. Your favorite.” She placed four shoeboxes on the workstation, then reverentially opened the first and nodded at Vi. “Hey, Cinderella, check out the loot, since shoes seem to be your specialty.” Aoife chuckled and Vi stepped closer to the treasure trove.
“Oh…” Vi had no idea she’d actually made a sound, but the shoes were a work of art, and she couldn’t contain her awe.
“This is actually quite a compliment to Monsieur Louboutin that, even after months at Lilien Haus, you are still so susceptible to pieces of history.” Chiara took out one of the gorgeous, red-soled heels, and Vi wished she could tell her that, yes, the shoes were wonderful, but it was how Chiara’s legs would look in these heels that had her by the throat.
Vi remained silent and picked up her camera, diligently documenting Chiara opening the remaining boxes and finally settling on a pair of bright yellow, suede Manolos that would be the absolute icing on the cake with her chosen, all-black outfit. A simple turtleneck with low slung trousers allowed a peek at a strip of her toned stomach every time she raised her arms. The pants hung loosely, after giving her hips one final hug, and ended slightly above her ankles.
The lively heels were perfection, and when Chiara took a few steps towards her instead of Aoife, Vi decided not to read too much into it. She was taking pictures after all, even if the angle was not the best. She didn’t want to get out of Chiara’s way, she didn’t want to say goodbye. And she did not want the assignment to end.
Vi shook her head, trying in vain to dislodge her impossible thoughts about what, and more importantly who, she was leaving behind, causing her heartbeat to pound in her ears. And when Chiara placed a hand on her shoulder as she passed Vi on her way out of the studio to begin shooting the documentary, she simply closed her eyes.
“Not long now, kid.” Aoife’s voice and a hand on her back were meant to be steadying, but the prospect of what would come after her stint at Lilien Haus was over, only made Vi nauseous. She took a breath, and then another, and lowered her camera.
“Time to get this show on the road, Fairy Godmother.”
Aoife laughed and gave her a good-natured slap on the same shoulder that still carried the sensation of Chiara’s fingertips, and Vi was propelled forward.
The rest of her life was about to begin, even if she did not know it yet.
* * *
Well,it didn’t take all that long for said rest of her life to materialize. It was a shame Vi hadn’t cottoned on to it sooner, because in her desire to shake the malaise of her hopelessly pining heart, she gave the camera her full and undivided attention, foregoing her actual surroundings. Especially those that were not directly relevant to whatever was in front of her lens.
Chiara’s excitement at showing them—and thereby their future audiences—around, was contagious. So when Chiara opened the heavy wooden door to Frankie’s studio and suddenly stopped in her tracks, Vi continued shooting.
Through her camera, she saw Chiara’s face go from joy to visceral shock, and then to complete numbness—a lack of expression even more frightening than the depth of stupor just a second prior.
When Vi's mind finally caught up to what was happening in front of her and why Chiara's gaze was now empty, she almost dropped the Nikon. Her hands shook as she grasped it harder, understanding of what she'd just witnessed, no...documenteddawning on her.
To Vi it seemed like she was having a déjà vu. A much more graphic, grotesquely explicit one. She blinked slowly, willing the image away from her eyes, but when she opened them again, Frankie was still face-first in a woman’s privates.
Without clothes, it took Vi a few seconds to recognize Lilien’s lawyer. After all, Véronique usually wore the absolute best things Lilien had to offer. Apparently, Frankie’s tongue was the choice of the day.
Belatedly, Vi heard footsteps on the stairs behind her, and Renate, Aoife, the videographer, and Zizou, of all people, stepped into the light of the studio landing one after the other.
“… and then you’ll set up somewhere inside Frankie’s studio, so that when it’s time to eat—Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Aoife stopped mid-sentence and Vi wanted to laugh and probably would have at the coincidence of the direction of the conversation, if only the video weren’t still being shot. But with her usual speed, Aoife was already blocking the videographer’s access to the studio.
