The Artist's Muse Read online

  “Lucky,” she says, a wistful look on her face. “Everything’s familiar, easy.”

  “Familiar,” I agree, “but not always easy. It’d be hard for me to reinvent myself again if I wanted to.”

  “And do you want to? How did you do it before?”

  I think of the times when I’d wondered what else I could be doing with my life, back when Nathalie had first thrown me aside, how things could have been different if I’d made other choices. “I changed my name, and it helps, at least until I run into someone I used to know. I wish I could change more. If I started somewhere new, no one would know me or expect me to be as I am. I could pretend to be anything I wanted, anyone I wanted.”

  “I’ve tried that,” she replies. “It’s harder than you think.”

  “Who are you really, and what were you before?”

  “Just myself,” Lise answers, “finally. Before was what I tried to be and failed, because it wasn’t true.”

  “So you came to Paris to start again?”

  “Mostly. I always wanted to come to Paris, and I was finally able to after…” Lise breaks off, shaking her head. “It’s not important. The important part is that I’m here.”

  “And now that you are, you should come by the bar when I’m working.” I squeeze her hand. “It’d make listening to those braggarts bearable.” Lise smiles, her troubled expression disappearing.

  “How’d you come to be working here?”

  “I had a hard time finding decent paying work after my parents kicked me out. This was the best of it.”

  “Why did they kick you out? Don’t you have anyone to rely on?”

  “I had a few euros when I left, but not much.” I shrug. It seems so long ago, my mother crying, my father angrily ordering me out of his house. He’d wanted a daughter who would marry and have lots of babies, and so on. That never would have worked. I couldn’t rustle up even the tiniest amount of false enthusiasm, but it hadn’t been my lack of excitement that did me in.

  I’m about to say as much to Lise, but before I can get a word out, I am overtaken by Victoire’s loud greeting. She swoops in and gives me the usual bisous, her post-show energy filling the bar. Though I hadn’t watched her entrance, I’m sure she’s already kissed a dozen people on her way to the table. She’s the exact opposite of Lise.

  “Introduce me to your lovely friend,” Victoire says, turning her attention to Lise, who shyly lets go of my hand. I make the introductions, though Lise’s sudden shyness makes me want to draw her close. I take her hand again and see Victoire smile.

  “What did you think of the show?”

  I’m relieved she’s not going to make a big deal of it all; Victoire is physically overwhelming when she wants to be, and no one can compete.

  “It was…” Lise begins, but she can’t seem to find the words.

  “It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” I tell Victoire, who laughs. Lise nods, and I can guess she didn’t want to be the one to say such a thing to a new acquaintance, no matter how familiar she is with Jarry’s play.

  “Good! It’s supposed to be. Jean-Pierre loves Jarry’s work, you know.” She gives Laurent a wave, and he brings her a snifter of brandy, bending to kiss her cheeks.

  “Félicitations!”

  Victoire positively beams. I feel Lise squeeze my fingers and I glance at her. She gives me a small, secret smile, and I wonder how soon we can leave without being impolite. I stroke my thumb over the delicate bones of her wrist. I’d like to do more, take her downstairs and into a quiet corner and kiss her until we both have to come up for air. My early fantasy floats in front of my eyes. I want to kneel in front of her, push up her skirt, taste her.

  I hear a small chuckle, and Victoire gives me a nudge. “Go on then, Colette,” she says, brandy in hand. She nods to a group of actors that have just come in. “I’ll have company tonight, you don’t need to worry on my account.” She winks at me, then reaches over and pats Lise’s cheek. “You two have fun.”

  I feel my entire face flush hot. She hasn’t said anything untoward, but Victoire has a way of getting under my skin. Lise watches her go, immediately joining the actors, conversing with them in her easy way. I envy her that ease, sometimes. Behind the bar, I can manage the usual small talk, but I can’t slide so easily into a conversation the way she does. I glance down at my whiskey and lift the glass to drain the dregs. Lise does the same with her gin fizz.

  “Shall we go?” she asks. I rise from my chair and tug her from her seat. We weave our way through the crowded bar and out into the street. I let go of her hand, but only so I can put my arm around her shoulders. She leans into me, her hair softly brushing my cheek.

  “My place?” It’s closer, and I made up the bed with fresh sheets before I left, feeling hopeful that I wouldn’t be lying there on my own.

  “All right.” Lise tilts her head up, and I can’t resist her parted lips. We kiss in the middle of the street, a tentative touching that deepens into a passionate exchange. Her mouth is soft, and I can taste the gin on her tongue, the tartness of the lemon. I don’t think I can ever make another gin fizz without thinking of her, now. Her hands unbutton my coat and slide over my dark green dress, and she’s clinging to me so that I can feel the heat of her body against my own.

  When I break off the kiss, my head is swimming. Home. That’s where we were headed. Another minute out in the street and I’ll go mad. We stumble along and manage to make it to the door of my building without falling over or ripping all our clothes off. Victoire’s earlier observation ghosts through my mind, but I ignore it. I’ve waited ages to be with Lise; this isn’t some sudden fling, I’m not hopping into bed with her the second I’ve met her.

  I manage to get my key from my purse and let us in. We take the stairs at a hurried pace, out of breath by the time we reach the fourth floor. The key sticks in the lock, but finally the door to my flat opens, and we nearly fall through into the entryway. I push the door shut with one hand and embrace her with the other.

  We end up against the door, her fingers tangling in the lapels of my jacket, my hand clutching at the hem of her coat. I hear my keys clatter on the parquet, but I’m too busy pushing her coat off her shoulders to care. Our jackets fall to the floor, and I slow myself, bringing my hands around to unbutton her delicate blouse. My fingers slide over her backbone, undoing the tiny buttons one by one. She cups my cheeks, and I shudder and close my eyes.

  “Colette,” she whispers against my lips. My eyes flutter open. She’s smiling, and I wish I could drown in her eyes. Bleu mauve. She kisses me then, and my hands still on her back. Her tongue gently teases mine, her arms sliding around my neck so we’re pressed together, almost skin to skin.

  I want to be naked with her, and when we finally break for air, I whisper against her lips, “Bed.”

  Lise kicks off her shoes and I follow suit, and we leave our things where they lie, strewn across the floor. We have other things to concern ourselves.

  I’d turned down the coverlet before I left, and I thank my foresight. The bed looks inviting, the sheets crisp and white, the coverlet dark blue like the dusky sky. Lise turns her back to me, showing her blouse half-undone.

  “Help me?”

  I move in behind her, my fingers going to her buttons, and my lips sinking to brush the back of her neck, bared by her chignon. She shivers at my touch. As I part the silk of her blouse, she shrugs it off her shoulders. She’s like a work of art, and I wish I could look for ages at the fragile lines of her neck and shoulders, at the white lace that gives her a touch of innocence.

  I tug the blouse from the waistband of her skirt and she lets it fall to the floor. She’s wearing only a full slip, no bra. I unbutton her skirt and push it down her slender hips, sliding my hands around to press her to me.

  “Beautiful,” I say as I kiss down her neck and her shoulder. She turns in my embrace, and I can see her swollen lips, her half-lidded eyes. She’s mine and I am hers.

  Lise undoes the
belt at my waist, and then the buttons; she’s quick and efficient, and my breath catches in my throat as she pushes the straps of my bra from my shoulders. I’m sure she can feel my heart pounding as her hand slides down over my breast and she strokes me through the lace.

  I shift impatiently and strip off the rest of my underclothes. Lise bends and catches the hem of her slip, pulling it up and over her head. It drifts to the floor. I’m lightheaded looking at her, her small, high breasts with their nipples of the palest pink, the smooth stretch of her torso, the lightly shadowed hollows of her hip bones, and the dark curls at the apex of her slender thighs. Her gaze moves over me, and I let her look. She’s seen me nude enough times, but tonight is different.

  “I’d like to paint you sometime,” I say, and Lise smiles. We come together, and finally we’re skin to skin. The heat builds between us and we stumble to the bed, sinking down into the soft mattress. With surprising strength for such a lithe form, Lise pushes me to my back.

  “I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you,” she says as she dips her head, her tongue flicking my nipple. I arch up as she sucks me and teases my other breast, pinching and rolling my nipple in her fingers. It’s delicious agony, and I can feel the dampness between my thighs, begging for her touch.

  “Please,” I groan. Her teeth scrape over my flesh and I let out a gasp. She lifts her head and moves to my other breast. My hand sinks into her hair, and the pins come loose, her hair spilling down over us, tickling my skin. She looks wanton like this, half lying over me. I’m so entranced, I don’t feel her hand skating over my abdomen until her fingers slide into my curls to brush my clit. I let out a whimpering mewl. It’s been so long, and even the moment in the theater has nothing on this.

  “Oh, Colette,” she murmurs. She kisses down between my breasts, over my sternum, resting her head on my stomach. Her fingers tease my clit until I buck against her hand. A finger slides into my wetness and I close my eyes. Dieu, if only this could last forever.

  Her fingers are divine, knowing just where to stroke, where to touch. I come apart. My back arches and stiffens, and my toes dig into the coverlet. I see stars behind my closed eyelids. Lise strokes me until my body relaxes and my breathing begins to return to normal. I open my eyes, and she gives me a smile that’s at once sultry and exhilarated. When she slides up the bed, I catch her face in my hands and bring her down for a kiss, saying with my lips and my tongue what I can’t put into words. Affection, appreciation, desire…love.

  It hits me as I see her eyes flutter closed, as she gives herself over to the kiss. That word. Love. I thought I’d never say it again after Nathalie, but here I am.

  I rise on one elbow and urge Lise onto her back. I want to give her what she’s given me, what I hope will be the first time of many. I dip and brush my lips over hers, gentle and teasing. She lifts her head when I move back, following my lips, hooking her hand behind my neck to keep me from leaving. I give in and let her draw me closer. We kiss as if it’s the last time, urgent and thorough.

  I let my head drop, resting in the crook of her neck. My tongue darts out to taste her silky skin, and I shift so I’m on my hands and knees above her. Her languid eyes watch me as I bend to trace kisses over the hollows of her collarbones. She moves beneath me and I slide down the bed. I cup her breasts, my fingers running over her hardened nipples, but I don’t stop there. My hands move down over her ribs, stopping only when I reach her hips. The shadows beneath the jut of her hip bones fit my thumbs perfectly.

  Lise is trembling now, and when her legs part, her delicate, musky scent tempts me. I tilt her hips up, pressing her thighs open. My mouth hovers over her dark curls and I know she can feel my breath on her; her breathing quickens and the muscles of her thighs tense around my shoulders. I part her folds with my tongue, tasting her sweet wetness, and she gasps in pleasure.

  “Colette,” she hisses, clutching desperately at my shoulders, finally catching the roll of my chignon. She pulls the pins free and scatters them; they slide over the coverlet, and I can hear a few ping as they hit the parquet. I don’t care. I have her where I want her. I take her in my mouth, sucking on her clit, my tongue flicking and teasing her until she’s nearly sobbing with desire. Her entire body tenses under me and I draw back, bringing her down from the edge. She takes great gulping breaths, but I don’t let her rest for long. I taste her juices, my tongue thrusting into her, curling against that sensitive spot just within. She does sob then, and I feel a gush of warmth, her thighs and my face wet from her orgasm. I tease her clit gently as she comes down from her high, then withdraw, resting my cheek against her hip.

  Lise’s fingers tangle in my hair, and I can still feel her shuddering breaths, the noises catching in her throat. I lift my head. Her face is streaked with tears, and I move up the bed, gathering her in my arms. She clings to me and I hold her close, making quiet, soothing noises as I stroke her hair. Finally her sobs peter out, and I brush the hair from her eyes.

  She says my name, her voice soft and barely above a whisper. “I’ve never felt it like this before.” Her lips seek out mine, and our kiss is tender and passionate, the perfect ending to our night.

  *

  When I wake, the bed is cozily warm, and I feel a pleasant languor that makes me want to stay abed all morning. My eyes settle on the pile of clothes on the floor, and the night’s events come back to me in a delicious rush. A hand brushes my back. Lise. I turn over and she snuggles up to me, still half-asleep. Our legs tangle under the covers and we’re two parts of a whole, here together.

  She murmurs something against my neck, and I shift. She repeats herself, and I can just make out the words. “What time is it?”

  “Early yet,” I say, though I don’t really know. The light peeking through the curtains isn’t bright enough for much past eight, but I can’t tell. Lise lifts her head, peering at me from behind her mass of dark hair. Tamed and neat last night, this morning it’s in curly disarray.

  I know how I’d paint Lise. Just like this, half-awake, her hair a mess, her lips swollen from kisses. It’d shame every gallery attendee, make a stir like Manet’s Olympia. If I could paint. Alas, I’ve never had that talent.

  I brush the hair from her eyes, and Lise smiles. “Good morning, Colette,” she says.

  “Good morning, ma belle,” I reply. I lie back, thinking of how lovely it would be to fall asleep again, Lise at my side. She seems to be thinking the same thing. She yawns, stretches, and snuggles up to me. I feel protective of her, of her delicate form tucked against mine, seeming small in comparison to my own body. Her breath settles back into sleep, and the steady, even rhythm lulls me into a doze.

  When I wake again, the light is bright in the room, the sun streaming in. I’m alone in bed and I glance up with a start. Lise’s clothes are gone, but I can hear footsteps in the other room, the quiet clink of a dish. In a rush, I rise from the bed and pull on a robe. Lise is standing in the tiny kitchen, drinking a glass of water, looking out the window into the bare courtyard. She finishes and deposits the glass on the counter, turning toward me.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she says, and I shake my head.

  “I don’t mind. What time is it?”

  “Nearly noon. I have to go.” She walks to me, and we embrace. It feels odd to be the one nearly unclothed, her body covered by last night’s dress.

  “Will you be painting later?” I ask. I can’t wait to be back in her studio, alone with her, naked before her. Partly for the art, but partly for her, too.

  “Not today. I have a meeting—a patron, or possibly one.” Her smile is fleeting, nervous.

  “I know you’ll convince them,” I say. I know she will. I don’t know how she could fail to impress any patron of the arts.

  “I hope so,” she says. She gives me a brief kiss, pressing her lips to mine, but they’re gone by the time I respond. “I’ll come see you later, at the bar. Will you be there?”

  “I’ll be working,” I reply. Always working
, but it would be bearable tonight to see her there.

  Lise disentangles herself from our embrace and picks up her coat from the floor where she’d left it the night before. I walk her to the door and give her one last kiss before she leaves. After I close the door behind her, I lean against the wood, listening to the click of her shoes on the stairs, slowly fading the lower she gets, and finally the muted sound of the outer door opening and closing.

  Tonight. It seems like forever.

  *

  As always on a Saturday night, the bar is crowded, people standing three deep, waiting to get a drink. I’m run off my feet already, and it’s still early, not even midnight. The singer onstage has brought out the crowds, and I can see why. She’s beautiful, with long dark hair and big, soft eyes and striking curves. Above all, she can sing. I want to stop what I’m doing and close my eyes, let her voice wash over me. Instead, I mix cocktails and pour drinks, half an ear on the performance.

  There’s a lull in orders as the crowd finally settles to watch the performance, and I am able to lean on the bar, my eyes fixed on the stage. The band plays, but my gaze is on the singer still as she prepares for the first words of the song. The tempo slows, and she begins.

  I would have stayed like that forever if a hand hadn’t slid over mine. My gaze darts over, and at the sight of Lise, all thoughts of the singer disappear. She’s standing across from me, her jacket open, her hair up in a fashionable twist that shows off her slender neck. I want to stroke the flesh just below her ear, taste it with my tongue like I did last night.

  A man comes up behind her and bends to say something to her, his arm sliding possessively around her waist. I can see his fingers rest on her rib cage, and I want to snatch them away. She seems to lean in to his touch and I feel my breath catch in my throat.

  “Bonsoir, Colette,” she says with an affectionate smile. I can barely nod, so surprised am I by the man at her side. “This is Marcel.” He holds out a hand to me, and I take it automatically.