fire in my brain when Scott, that dark, feline trainer had whispered in my ear: 'Thinking about her, Elliott? Dreaming about her? What would she do if I gave a bad report on you, Elliott?' Martin, I am in trouble. And the trouble is, it's too late.
Chapter Nineteen
19 -- Elliott
Dress Up
Six o'clock and no chimes anywhere on the island. Just the thumping in my chest. The handler glanced at his watch, and then told me to go in and wait right beside the door. More than anything, I wanted to savour the first glimpse of her, wanted to slow things down so at that moment I could truly see her and hear what was in my head. I have this theory actually, that after an absence you discover in that first glimpse what you really think and feel about another person. You know things you couldn't know before. Maybe I wouldn't be so stark raving mad about her; she would be a little less dangerous, less pretty. I would start to think more about the others; like, who knows, maybe I'd start thinking about Scott. The door closed behind me. The handler was gone. And the room looked warm in the soft electric light, the sky beyond the lace curtains a leaden gleam. Dreamy place.
Like a chamber of the heart. I heard some sound so unobtrusive that I wasn't even sure of it, and I turned my head towards the open parlour doors. She was standing there all right. And I was in love with her. So much for the first glimpse. And the really wonderful thought came to me that she was quire deliberately trying to drive me out of my mind. She was in a man's suit, a tight-fitted little three-piece number, except it was made of dark, dusty lilac velvet, so deep that in the creases it was an ashen gray. And knotted very loosely under the white collar of her shirt was a pale pink silk foulard. Her hair was swept up and back in a twist, and she was wearing a fedora of the same dusky mauve with a dark charcoal silk band. It was right out of the forties gangster movies, the shape of the hat, the way it dipped over one eye, and she was all cheekbones under the shadow of the brim, the mouth a kind of pouting glimmer of red. The lust I felt for her was so total I could hardly keep still. I wanted to bury my face in her crotch, pull her down on top of me. In love with her, love her, the words were caught up in the lust. I could see her eyes now, clearly, and feel that force emanating from her, see the hair swept up from her naked neck, her naked ear.
She looked delicate in the suit, downright unbreakable. 'Come closer,' she said. 'And slowly turn around. I want to look at you. Take your time.' The pants were so snug on her they must have been made for her, and her breasts were pushing at the covered buttons on the vest. I did as she said. I wondered if they'd given her the details, about the trainers' class, what that little adventure had been like. And I could feel her coming closer, as if she affected the air around her, feel her perfume before I smelled it, feel that force again when I saw her angular shadow in the corner of my eye. I inclined my head to the side rather deliberately and glanced down at her, sucking up her appearance before I looked straight ahead. Shiny little pointed toes peeking out of the pant legs, high heels, pants tight enough in her crotch to make her feel the seam between her legs. I saw her hand move and I thought I can't stand it. She has to touch me. I have to touch her. Rudy Valentino, the sheik, is going to kidnap her and take her off to his tent in the desert. But neither of us moved. 'Follow me,' she said, snapping her fingers lazily, the light glinting on her fingernails for a second, and she turned and went through the pair of double doors. It was the parlour I'd glimpsed last night.
I watched the easy shift of her little hips, wanted to touch the back of her naked neck. She looked like a little manikin in the suit. I mean a baby man, a supernatural creature, something not a