Killer Queen: A Painted Faces Novel (16 page)

“I don’t need to
explain anything, Nicholas. You’re well aware of what you’re doing.” She fanned
herself with her top.

I grinned. “Hot in
here, isn’t it?”

“It’s the oven.”

“Is it now?”

She swallowed and went
to check on the cupcakes “Yes, it is. Now, can we get back to work? I don’t
have time for this.”

I nodded and silently
went back to helping her. A couple of hours later we were done, and I drove her
to deliver the cakes in the car I’d recently purchased. I needed a little
run-around, but Fred had told me a car was pointless since we lived close to
everything. I didn’t make her eat her words, since I’d been using it to
chauffeur her about more than anything else. In all honesty, though, I liked it
when she needed me for things. It gave me a strange sense of male pride that
I’m sure was ingrained in every man’s genetic makeup. We all liked to be needed
by the women we adored. And it couldn’t be denied that I adored Fred.
Everything about her made me happy, even her grumpiness.

I was sitting in the
driver’s seat as she brought the cupcakes inside. The radio was on, streaming
“Sarah” by Thin Lizzy. I had the window rolled down, drumming my hands on my
knees. When I saw Fred making her way back out, I began singing to her loudly,
inserting “Freda” into the lyrics where normally there’d be a “Sarah.”

She gave me a cynical
eye roll and slid into the passenger seat, but I knew she liked it when I sang
to her. There was no disguising the way her skin prickled on her arms when I
leaned over and crooned into her ear about how she changed my world when she
came into my life.

I was being jokey, but
really, deep down I meant every word of what I was singing. Every morning I
woke up looking forward to the day because I knew she was going to be in it. I
didn’t dwell on the past so much anymore; now I found myself constantly looking
to the future. And I didn’t mind being alone with my thoughts so much, either,
because my thoughts were often about her.

“Stop acting like a
clown,” she said, a reluctant smile tugging on her lips.

I started the car and
pulled away from the house, getting back on the road. “You love me singing to
you. Admit it,” I said, resting my hand casually on her thigh. Neither one of
us found the move casual, though. I could see she was burning up to have my
hand on her, and the placement was bordering on intimate.

Her expression
softened, her eyes focused on the passing scenery. “You’ve got a gorgeous
voice, Viv. I just don’t like it when people sing to me. It’s weird. I think
everyone finds it a little awkward. Like when you’re watching a TV show where a
musician is being interviewed, and at the end they whip out a guitar for an
acoustic number. The interviewer always looks so uncomfortable, but has to
pretend to be all thoughtful and into it. It’s kind of funny, actually.”

“Yeah, but that’s a
stranger singing for another stranger. It’s not the same. You know me, and when
I sing for you, it has meaning.” I squeezed her thigh before letting go,
because if I didn’t, I might be tempted to run my hand up under her skirt,
which wasn’t a good thought. It filled my head with the image of me fingering
her as I drove, her coming on my hand. I practically white-knuckled the
steering wheel just to keep myself from actually doing it.

She glanced at me then,
her golden eyes wide and full of emotion. She knew what I was trying to say,
but she remained silent. Despite this, I was starting to think that my feelings
for her were reciprocated. Now that I was aware of her history, I believed she
might be far more into me than she showed. She was simply worried about where
it would lead.

There was quiet for a
while, but then I broke it, asking nonchalantly, “Have you ever fucked in a car
before?”

I often liked to ask
her inappropriately personal questions, not only because of the embarrassed way
in which she responded, but also because her answers always gave me so much
insight into who she was as a person. Her eyes got all big as she turned to
stare at me. “Don’t be nosy, Viv!”

I laughed. “You’re so
easy to shock sometimes. Come on, this will be a fun discussion, and we’ve got
another twenty minutes left of our journey.”

Sighing, she answered,
“Well, considering I haven’t had much action in the bedroom thus far, it seems
fairly obvious that I haven’t graduated to the level of car sex yet.”

“So you’re saying you
haven’t fucked in a car?” My question was superfluous; I simply enjoyed the way
her breathing got all choppy whenever I used the F-word in the carnal sense.

“No, Nicholas. I
haven’t. Have you?”

I shrugged. “A few
times, yeah. Though I haven’t broken this baby in yet. I could pull over and we
could christen her. What do you say?”

“I say you’re a
pervert,” she replied quick as a whip, laughter in her tone. “And anyway, I
always imagined that kind of thing isn’t as raunchy as the movies would lead
you to believe. First of all, if you’re any taller than four foot, you’re not
going to be able to lie down fully. That means there’ll be lots of manoeuvring
required to find a comfortable position, negating the sexiness. Also, I imagine
the woman’s head would be constantly knocking off something, which wouldn’t be
pleasant. Then you have to worry about someone seeing you, perhaps even getting
caught by the police. Then you just end up being arrested for public indecency.
So
not worth the hassle.”

She folded her arms,
looking happy with her argument.

“There are ways to
remedy every point you’ve just made,” I said, shooting her a heated look. “One,
you recline the seat and do it in the front with the woman on top. Two, you
park somewhere secluded and off the beaten track so there’s less of a chance of
being seen. Simple.”

Pursing her lips, she
gave me an annoyed look. “Well,
touché,
Mr I Have Sex in Cars. You
should get yourself a badge or something.”

Ignoring her remark, I
went on, “And then there’s the advantage of more depth when the woman gets on
top, though my personal favourite is doggy style.” I added that last bit just
for kicks.

“You and that dirty
mouth, Viv. Something needs to be done about it.” She sighed, trying not to
give me a reaction, but I saw her squeeze her thighs together and wondered if
she was imagining me taking her from behind. I hardened a little at the idea.

“You’re right. You
should let me put it to work on you,” I said, nodding at her lap. “Tire it
out.”

She closed her eyes
then and took deep breaths. “I don’t know why I bother sometimes,” she mumbled
to her herself, and I grinned, not pushing her further. When we arrived back at
the apartments, I left my car in the underground garage, and we went up to her
place. We’d been late finishing the cupcakes, which was probably my fault, so
the kitchen was still a mess.

Fred looked tired as
she rolled her neck and went to make a start on the clean-up. I grabbed her
hand, stopping her, and twirled her around. “You’re tired. Let me take care of
this,” I murmured, soothingly running a hand down her spine.

She trembled just
slightly as she gave me a surprised expression, taken aback by the offer.
“Seriously?”

“Yeah, you go lie down.
I’ll order pizza for dinner,” I said, pulling her in for a quick hug. She
seemed to melt into my embrace and I wanted to hold her for longer, but she
drew away.

“Thank you,” she said,
giving me a meaningful glance from beneath her lashes, then retreated into her
room.

July 25
^th
,
2012.

Soundtrack:
“Every Breath You Take” by The Police

The
next night I mixed things up a bit by starting my show from the back of the
club. I was doing “Don’t Tell Mama” as I walked through the audience, a
spotlight following me, declaring that Mama thinks I’m living in a secluded
little convent in the southern part of France. Stopping by a table full of men,
I stood in front of a skinny, tanned guy and ran a hand over his hair and down
the side of his face to rest at the end of his chin.

“Mama doesn’t even have an
inkling
,” I told
him, leaning forward coyly, “that I’m working in a nightclub in a pair of lacy
pants.”

The guy seemed thoroughly delighted with the
attention. I was wearing a silky corset, hold-up stockings, heels, and frilly
knickers.

I was in a playful mood; nobody could deny it. As I
worked my way through my set, I donned a dark red dress, some silky black
gloves, fake diamond earrings, and a brunette wig. I was having a whale of a
time until I saw the last person I expected to see in the audience. Fred’s ex,
Aaron, sat on a stool by the bar. He was tall, very blond, and wore the clothes
of a straight-laced IT guy.

Aaron looked about as comfortable as a priest at a
strip joint, so I knew he wasn’t there for the ambiance. He was there to see
Fred, which meant his stalking habits were kicking up again, and I planned on
putting a stop to them ASAP. He was watching me with a clear look of disdain, so
I decided to make the experience as uncomfortable for him as I possibly could.
Giving him a pointed stare, I changed up the set list so that I was singing
“Every Breath You Take” by The Police, the anthem of stalkers everywhere. I
hoped the prick wasn’t too dim to get the jibe. I also wanted Fred to get it.
Perhaps it would make her laugh, see the funny side of the situation, because I
knew his being there was going to ramp her anxiety up to the max.

Just past the first chorus, I saw his attention go
to the side of the stage, and I could tell he’d spotted Fred. I glanced at her
and noticed how her posture was suddenly strung tight. She knew he was there,
and I didn’t like seeing her so distressed.

My temper rose when he stood up and began walking
through the club, headed directly for Fred. I didn’t take my eyes off him,
wondering angrily what the fucker thought he was doing. I was ready to draw
blood when he casually hopped up onto the stage and walked behind the curtain
to where Fred was standing.

 Even though I was only midway through my set, I
made a funny joke to the audience about having to take care of some lady
business, and followed heavy on Aaron’s heels. I reached them just in time to
hear Fred lose it.

“Are you serious, you fucking nut job? What are you
even playing at, coming here where I work and acting like you have a right to
know anything about my life? Our whole relationship was a bloody joke. It ended
years ago, and you're still acting like we were some kind of star-crossed
lovers. I've told you this before, and I'll tell you again, Aaron — I never
even liked you in the first place. You made my life extremely uncomfortable for
a long time, and now you're trying to do it again. And. I. Am. Not. Fucking.
Having. It.”

 “I need you to come back to me,” Aaron replied,
completely ignoring everything she’d just said to him.

She was at the end of her tether. “It's been almost
four years. Can't you just get a clue and move on?”

 “I tried. I had a new girlfriend and everything,
but she wasn't you. I broke up with her.”

“You're being ridiculous. We're never going to
happen ever again, so I suggest you join some online dating agency and keep
searching for the one, because it certainly isn't me.”

Deciding it was time to intervene, I walked the last
few steps until I was standing beside Fred, my expression murderous.

“You have thirty seconds to leave the club before I
call security,” I announced, placing a hand on Fred’s shoulder.

Aaron gave me a disgusted look and spat, “Fuck off,
tranny — I'm talking to Fred.”

“No, you're not, and if you don't do as I say,
you'll have this tranny's high heel stuck up your arse in a minute.”

The guy looked shocked for a second and then started
laughing. It was weird.

“Stay away from my arse, you fucking queer bastard.”

“Oh, you've got nothing to worry about there. Fred's
arse keeps me occupied on a nightly basis,” I shot back and pulled Fred in
close to me, wanting to piss him off. Despite her distress, she chuckled
quietly at my comment, and Aaron looked like he was going to vomit.

He was staring directly at her now. “That's sick.
You’re not actually with this freak, are you, Fred?”

She seemed to lean into me as she replied. “Oh, I
most certainly am. We're madly in love. You can come to the wedding if you
like.”

I grinned at how she was playing along and gave her
hip a little squeeze. We were going to get rid of Aaron for good, and we were
going to do it together.

 “Wedding?” Aaron asked with a narrowed gaze as he
glanced between the two of us in confusion. I guessed his confusion was
warranted, since I was standing there in full drag.

“Yes,
wedding
,” Fred reiterated, clear and
concise. “So you see, there's no chance for you and me, Aaron, because I plan
on loving, honouring, and obeying this wonderful man until the day I die.”

As he stared at her, I could see his attraction
dying a quick death. Suddenly, Fred was no longer the same in his eyes. She
wasn’t the girl he thought he wanted, simply because of her association with
me. I was highly pleased that my presence had that effect on the bastard.
Perhaps now he’d fuck off and leave Fred to live her life in peace.