Killer Queen: A Painted Faces Novel (24 page)

I gave her what she
wanted then, jerking my hips forward as I filled her up. Noise from cars and
people out on the street drifted in, a reminder that the world was mere feet
away from us, yet here we were in our own little bubble.

“Love you,” I whispered
as I palmed her hips and picked up the pace. Her head fell back and her eyes
closed, her mouth hanging open as she panted.

“I love you, too,” she
replied, and it didn’t take long before I was coming and collapsing on top of
her. She held me close, and as our breathing evened out, I smiled, because in
that moment I knew I had to make her my wife.

How I would propose,
though…that was the question.

December 25
^th
,
2012.

Soundtrack: “Take Your Mama” by Scissor
Sisters

It was Christmas, and I was going with
Fred to spend the day with her parents. This would be my first time meeting
them, and I couldn’t deny that I had a touch of anxiety. Just a touch. I was in
love with their daughter; she was my everything now, so I desperately wanted
them to accept me. From what Fred had told me, her folks, Pam and Bill, were in
their early seventies (she was the youngest of four older siblings), and I knew
that their generation might find the idea of what I did for a living strange –
offensive, even.

Apparently, Fred’s
sister Eileen was going to be there. She had recently separated from her
husband and had moved back in with her parents until she figured out what her
next step would be. Fred had been acting strangely for the past few days, and I
couldn’t decide if it was nerves over me meeting her mum and dad, or something
else. I’d knocked on the door of her apartment several days ago, and she let me
in with an odd look on her face. She’d quickly covered it up and tried to act
normal, but I could tell something was bothering her.

That night when I tried
to have sex with her, she’d made an excuse not to. My mind was awash with worry
that she’d gotten sick of me and was going to try to end things. I couldn’t
think of a single reason for her sudden withdrawal. I’d been sober for almost
five months, been on my best behaviour, and basically worshipped the ground she
walked on. I planned on discovering what was going on with her, but for now we
had Christmas to contend with.

We’d been planning to
spend the day with her parents for weeks, so I plastered on a brave face and
tried to be my usual charming self. That morning when I’d dropped into her
apartment to collect her, she’d grabbed me by the face and given me a hard,
passionate kiss on the lips. When I asked what it was for, she answered that
she just felt like it. Then she looked a little teary-eyed as she very
seriously told me how amazing she thought I was.

Again, she was being
weird.

I was beginning to
worry if maybe she was sick or something, but she hadn’t mentioned going to see
the doctor.

On the drive to her
parents’ house, she was quiet. I put my hand on her knee as a soothing gesture,
and she welcomed the touch. Perhaps she’d just been having her time of the
month, and that was why she hadn’t wanted to have sex with me. It would also
explain her odd moods.

I knocked on the door
when we arrived, and Fred stood beside me, holding a bag of gifts in her arms.
I’d gotten her mother a bottle of her favourite perfume and her father a pair
of tickets to an upcoming football game. Fred had advised me on both. Her
mother answered the door wearing a Christmas jumper and a long navy skirt. I
took it that Christmas jumpers were a tradition for this family, because Fred
was wearing one, too. It was red, navy, and white, and prominently featured
reindeer and mistletoe.

I’d told her outright
that it was both hideous and adorable, and she appeared to enjoy my evaluation.
Only Fred would feel complimented upon being told that her clothing was
hideous. She was unique in that sense.

“Nicholas!” said Fred’s
mother the moment she saw me. “Aren’t you handsome! I’ve been dying to meet
you. Come in, come in.” She gestured for me to step inside and then pulled me
into a hug. Already I knew I was going to like Pam. Bill, on the other hand,
stood by the doorway to the living room, lips thinned into a straight line,
sizing me up. I was wearing a midnight-blue shirt, grey slacks, and a burgundy
tie. I could tell that the tie was probably showing too much…personality, shall
we say, for Bill’s taste. My hair, which I had cut just a week beforehand, was
neatly styled. Bill’s tuft of curly grey hair sat atop his head like he’d just
stepped off a boat after a rather choppy journey. I imagined his tuft had yet
to experience a styling product in all of its seventy-something years.

Bill was a man’s man,
drank beer, watched football, mowed the lawn, and expected his dinner to be
ready on the table promptly at seven every evening. Of course, all of these
were assumptions on my part, but I’d learned over the years to read people. I
had no problem with men like Bill. Unfortunately, though, men like Bill often
had problems with me. So yes, in terms of Fred’s parents, her father was going
to be the tough nut to crack.

On the bright side, I
could tell Pam was madly enamoured with me the moment I complimented the red
and green Christmas-themed napkins she’d used to set the table.

“You’re too kind,” she
said, and went to check on the turkey.

“I’m going to leave
these presents under the tree,” Fred called as she wandered into the living
room. Bill appeared again, this time to retrieve a beer from the fridge, so I
decided it was time to break the ice.

I held out my hand.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Bill.”

He glanced at my hand,
then back up at my face, grunted, and finally shook with me. His grip was firm
and dry. He cleared his throat. “Good to meet you too, son,” he said, then took
his beer and went back into the living room. I thought he might actually be a
little bit shy. Fred had once told me that her father was a man of few words.

“Oh, Mum, I can smell
the roast potatoes from here,” a woman exclaimed as she walked into the room.
“Absolutely heavenly. I’m starving. Did you use the beef dripping?”

“I did,” Pam replied,
now stirring a pot of gravy. “They’re going to be melt in the mouth.”

I presumed this to be
Fred’s older sister, Eileen. She looked like she was in her early forties,
sporting a blonde dye job, gold hoop earrings, a pink robe, matching silk
nightie underneath, and fluffy kitten-heel slippers. She hadn’t yet bothered to
get dressed, and I was oddly overjoyed by that fact. I could tell immediately
that she was going to be an interesting character.

“Oh, Nicholas,” Pam
went on. “This is my daughter Eileen, Fred’s sister. She’s staying with us for
a little while.”

I gave her a dashing
smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Eileen.”

One eyebrow rose, and
her lips formed a pleased little grin. She didn’t seem at all put out that
she’d been caught still in her night things well after midday. “Nicholas,
Fred’s told me so much about you,” she said, and I took her hand, bringing it
to my lips for a brief kiss. She giggled and looked to her mother. “He’s a
charmer, this one.”

At that Fred walked
back in, spotted her sister, and immediately shielded her face with her arm.
“My eyes, my eyes!”

Pam laughed softly, but
Eileen scowled. “Oh, shush.”

Fred chuckled and
lowered her arm, giving Eileen a funny look up and down. The woman was even
more well-endowed in the chest region than Fred was, and she had quite clearly
neglected to put on a bra. Let’s just say, gravity had not been kind.

“No, seriously, Eileen,
go put some clothes on. My poor boyfriend is going to need therapy after seeing
you in that sexy getup.” She threw her arm around me then. “I mean, just look
at him. He’s practically traumatised.” Her sarcastic tone was obvious, and
Eileen narrowed her eyes, pulling a packet of cigarettes from her robe and
lighting one up.

“Eileen! Take that
outside!” Pam cried, coming to push her toward the back door. “I’ve been
slaving over this dinner for hours. I don’t want it tasting of cigarette
smoke.”

Eileen did as she was
told, standing by the open door and taking a drag as she responded to Fred,
“Afraid of a bit of competition, are you, Freda?” She gave me a sassy little
wink, and I grinned.

“Of course I am. How
can I be expected to compete with those knockers? Nicholas is lucky you didn’t
take his eye out.”

“I’d quite happily lose
an eye for a cause such as that,” I put in with a devilish grin. Fred’s smile
deepened, enjoying the fact that I was playing along with her, while Eileen
preened at the compliment.

“Oh, Fred,” Eileen
sighed, and teased her sister back, “you always were the jealous type. Don’t
hate me because I’m beautiful.”

“It’s not my fault I’m
jealous. I haven’t seen sexy lingerie like that since
Dynasty
was on
TV,” Fred quipped. “And I thought feathery kitten-heel slippers were a myth
originating from fancy ladies in cartoons. Until
now
.”

Pam took a break from
cooking to lean against the counter and dab her brow. It seemed she had only
just had the opportunity to properly take in her daughter’s attire, because her
eyes widened before she let out a sigh. “Oh, Eileen, do go and put a brassiere
on. A woman of your endowment needs the support.” I tried to hold in a laugh,
because Pam managed to make what she was saying sound mild-mannered and polite.
Her daughter still took offense, though.

“Mum!” Eileen
exclaimed, stubbing out the end of her smoke.

“You’re not twenty-one
anymore,” said Pam consolingly. “And besides, your father’s only in the next
room. It’s unseemly.”

Fred let out a burst of
raucous laughter as Eileen stepped inside and closed the back door. “Yeah,
listen to Mum. You don’t want to send Dad into therapy as well as Nicholas.”

“Fine,” Eileen huffed.
“I’m going to get dressed.”

“Wear the peach
wraparound,” Pam called after her. “It’s lovely on you.”

Fred’s sister
disappeared and Pam shook her head, then whispered to the both of us
conspiratorially, “We had quite the scene last night. Jim came around — that’s
Eileen’s husband,” she said to me as an aside, “looking to talk things out.
Eileen wouldn’t allow him into the house, and he proceeded to sing their
wedding song while standing out in the front garden. He woke up half the neighbourhood.”

“Oh, my God, why do I
always miss the good stuff?” Fred put in humorously.

“What was their wedding
song?” I asked.

Pam pursed her lips
like she was trying to suppress a smile. “‘Whatever You Want’ by Status Quo.”
She paused as though feeling the need to explain further. “It was a big hit the
year they first met.”

“I forgot about that!”
Fred laughed. “Hi-fucking-larious. Jim was always partial to a double-denim
ensemble.”

“Language, Freda,” Pam
scolded mildly. “Anyway, your father had to go out and take Jim for a drink in
the end. It was the only way to get him away from the house.”

“Poor Dad.”

“He wasn’t happy when
he got home,” Pam went on. “Apparently, Jim began crying at the bar in front of
everybody. Your father was mortified.”

“Eileen’s a bitch. He’s
better off without her,” Fred said flippantly.

“Freda!”

“What? You know she’s
self-centred, Mum. You’re just too nice to say it. I mean, she’s left him to
take care of the kids and everything. I know they’re all teenagers now, but
they were always a handful.”

“Yes, well, can you
just please just be polite to your sister while we eat dinner? I don’t want a
scene on Christmas Day.”

Fred nodded at her
mother, who went back to her cooking. Her eyes landed on me, and she gave me a
private little smile. I reached for her hand and interlaced our fingers,
speaking low so Pam didn’t hear. “I think you should show me your old bedroom.”
I desperately wanted a moment alone so I could kiss her. As I already said,
she’d been distant the past few days, but she seemed to be in better spirits
now, and I wanted to take advantage of her good mood.

She stared at me for a
long moment, comprehension of my true intentions clear on her face, and then
she just seemed to shut down.

“Maybe later,” she
answered finally.

I tried to disguise my
disappointment as I silently accepted her reply. About an hour went by before
we were all sitting at the table for dinner. I’d wrongly assumed I might get
through the whole thing without anyone inquiring as to what I did for a living,
but it wasn’t to be. Eileen, now dressed in her peach wraparound, swallowed a
sip of white wine and brought her attention to me.

“So, Nicholas, Fred
tells me you’re a singer. What style of music do you do?”

“A bit of everything,
really. It depends on my mood. I’ve been getting into swing lately.”

“Oh, I love that! So,
is it a Michael Bublé sort of thing?”

“Ugh, as if,” Fred
snickered. “Nicholas is an artiste, Eileen. He doesn’t do all that bland middle
class housewife-targeted shite. When he sings ‘Mack the Knife,’ it’s in the
original German, and it gives you flipping goose bumps.”