Later that night, I'm back in my penthouse apartment, staring at the skyline.
Where is the world hiding you, Love?
Camilla is a beautiful, impossible dream and thinking of her only torments me.
The alcohol coursing through my veins also excites me, but it’s cruel—she’s not here.
Mixing memory and desire—mixing cocktails—mixing May and December.
In my mind I fantasize. There’s a light rap at the door—her icy laughter in the hall.
I open and gaze upon her.
I wore my veil to be your mystery woman.
O, that you would, I muse, —then I’d be your Pan and you’d be my Isis.
I pick up her tyet—the red stone she gave me that day in Central Park.
Oh, look—how lovely! she said, noticing it on the ground.
She bent and retrieved it. Here—you keep it—safe for me.
I never gave it back that day or any other. I know its meaning—so does she, I’m sure.
Queen of the dead. Queen of Immortals.
It was unspoken, and needn’t be said.
She attended the fashion ball in a sheath dress—for me.
All her magic—her sex magic, her Moon magic—for me.
I stare out into the darkness. Where are you, Love?
No response, then, sadly to bed.
The last face I see before sleep is hers.
I wander in late next day.
She’s re-applying eyeliner, frowning into a makeup mirror, then, glancing up, does a snap assessment.
“You look wasted. Rough night?”
“I didn’t sleep terribly well, if that’s what you mean.”
“Neither did I,” she says, clicking the compact shut and putting away her liner.
Her luxuriant black hair spills over her shoulders. She looks stunning in her blue shift dress.
I look away.
“Maury wants me to do a fashion spread.”
That comment snaps me back to reality.
“Excuse me?”
“He wants me to model the new Aubade line.”
“Lingerie? He wants you to model lingerie?”
“That’s what he proposed.”
“What will Daddy say?”
“Who knows? He’s too busy making money to care about trivia.”
I stare at her open-mouthed. “Your posing half-naked is trivia?”
“Oh, c’mon, Malcolm—it’s how we make our living. Don’t look so shocked.”
“I can’t believe your father won’t be.”
“You’re really concerned, aren’t you?”
Busted. Now what?
“I’m just worried about your reputation in the field—you weren’t trained to do this, you know.”
She grows somber. “So, you don’t think… I’d look good—that I could carry it off?”
I surrender. “I think you’d look too good.”
She smiles and throws her arms around me.
“You were teasing. Maury told me you’d agree.”
“Did he now?”
“He wants us to meet and discuss it tonight—how about your place at eight?”
“Eight—sounds great.” I manage a brittle smile.
“Wonderful!” she enthuses, dark eyes gleaming with joy.
I'm glad she's happy, but I don't want to share her with the world, and I have to find a way to tell her that.
