Killer Queen: A Painted Faces Novel (9 page)

Fred grinned as she looked around my place, which
led me to believe she liked what she saw.

“I've never been in here before. None of our
previous neighbours were the friendly type. It's fucking huge. I have to admit,
Viv, I think I've got apartment envy,” she said.

“Feel free to visit any time,” I told her fondly,
smiling as I went to make some tea.

I was what many would deem a tea-aholic, especially
now that I was trying to steer clear of booze insofar as I could. I was glad
that she liked my apartment, because if I got my way, she’d be spending a lot
more time here. I’d taken Phil’s statement about me living in tiny places to
heart, and decided to branch out and get a two-bedroom apartment. The building
was nothing fancy, but I felt it was a step in the right direction that I’d
gone for something bigger this time. Having all of my things here also meant more
commitment, which in turn meant it wouldn’t be quite so easy for me to up and
leave, as was my habit over the years.

When I brought my attention back to Fred, she was
staring at my wigs. I’d left several of them sitting on the window ledge
because I was in the process of organising everything.

“I can't wait to see you as a redhead, Viv. Why
didn't you go for a wig tonight?” she asked curiously.

I paused before answering, because a devious and
cunning plan was forming in my head. It came to me quite suddenly, and it was a
way in which I could spend more time with Fred without her realising just how
strong my attraction to her was growing. Preparing my lie, I let out a long
sigh and finished making the tea.

“I had to go bare bones because I haven't yet hired
a dresser. I'll let you in on a little secret — I'm awful at choosing costumes
and doing my own makeup. I've always had an assistant to do it for me.”

Can you see where I’m headed with this? Yes, I
thought you would, you clever madams.

“Wow, there must be money to be made in the
drag-queening business if you can afford an assistant,” Fred teased me.

I kept my expression neutral because I didn’t want
her to guess I was lying. “Not really. I inherited a lot when my father passed
away. It's caused me to accumulate expensive tastes. I should probably be more
frugal.”

That was another lie. The only expensive tastes I
had were for alcohol, dresses, and procuring women’s shoes in men’s sizes.
Other than that, I hardly spent a penny on extravagance.

“Is that what you're doing by living here? Any sane
person with cash to splash would run a mile from this dump.”

 “It's not so bad. I think it's got character. I've
always tended to select my living spaces in older buildings. Places that feel
lived in are oddly reassuring to me.” That one was true. I loved the feeling an
old building could give me, relished wondering what kinds of people might have
lived there in times gone by, what stories their lives had been.

Fred made me laugh when she responded, deadpan, “If
by ‘lived in’ you mean an aged whore with cracked skin and some sort of
downstairs infection she can't get rid of, then you're right — this building
has
plenty
of character.”

 I found myself smiling at her fondly again. “You
have a wonderful way with words, Fred. Disgusting, but wonderful.”

“Why, thank you. So tell me more about this
assistant predicament. I thought you looked amazing tonight. You can dress and
do your makeup fine. What's the problem?”

“I've just gotten used to having somebody else do it
over the years. I suppose you could call it a combination of habit and
laziness. I'm also terribly disorganised, if you hadn't noticed.” I indicated
my haphazard attempt at arranging the furniture in my apartment.

“Ah, now we're getting to the crux of the matter. I
think I should stage an intervention. No longer will Vivica Blue require the
services of an assistant/dresser/makeup artist. From here on out, she will do
it all herself. You need to learn to get organised if you want to survive in
the cutthroat business of gay nightclub performance. Harry tells me the gays
can't abide by clutter.”

I eyed her for a long moment until she was fiddling
with the hem of her dress in her lap and asking self-consciously, “What?” She
stared at me from under her lashes. It made her look shy yet sexy, and I
enjoyed the view.

Taking my time, I brought my tea cup to my mouth and
mused, “You're something of a job collector. How would you feel about a third?”

 “Are you asking me to be your assistant?” she said
in surprise.

“I might be. How are you with makeup?”

 “I get by.”

I allowed my gaze to wander over the pretty dress
she was wearing. “And what about fashion? You seem to have good taste. I like
the whole ’40s vintage thing you've got going on tonight. Yes, there's
definitely potential. How about a two-week trial period?”

For the next few minutes she tried to convince me
she wasn’t the woman for the job, but I was determined. After all, it wasn’t
about the job. It was about getting to spend time with her. Oddly enough, I was
looking forward to hanging out and bantering with her back and forth perhaps
even more than I was looking forward to bedding her. I hadn’t met a woman I’d
enjoyed shooting the breeze with this much in a really long time, if ever.

Finally, she agreed to be my assistant, and we shook
on it. I could tell that, despite her initial protestations, she was just as excited
about this venture as I was.

After Fred left that night, I crawled into bed,
thinking of her and smiling to myself. I was going to have to send Phil a gift,
because I was beginning to think that moving to Dublin was the best decision
I’d ever made.

June 30
^th
,
2012.

Soundtrack:
“Be Italian” from
Nine
/ “Modern Love” by David Bowie

The
next day Fred was continuing to play hard to get, and it was beginning to wear
on me. I hadn’t been gifted with patience. I always wanted things when I wanted
them, no waiting around. Don’t get me wrong — I was enjoying the chase, but at
the same time I was beginning to wonder if maybe she just wasn’t interested.
Maybe I simply wasn’t her type.

We’d spent half the day together, and when I flirted
with her, it felt like she was flirting back. However, I couldn’t be certain if
the only reason she was flirting back was because she enjoyed the banter. Every
time I tried to initiate intimacy, she would abruptly back away.

We were in my dressing room at the club, getting
ready for my first show with her as my assistant. I couldn’t take my eyes off
her sexy body, but she seemed quite oblivious of my attention. I’d introduced
her to Phil when we’d arrived, and I could tell he liked her. I knew he would.
Fred was the kind of girl that anyone could admire. Even though she clearly had
some insecurities, there was a sort of openness about her that was appealing.

She was playing around now, swinging the swivel
chair she was sitting on in circles until it made her dizzy. I was lost in admiring
her smiling eyes when she stopped and asked me if I wanted to start getting
ready. Teaching her the ropes was going to be time-consuming but at the same
time fun.

“Makeup first — my clothes are expensive. Some are
one of a kind. I can't risk ruining them,” I explained to her. “Would you paint
my nails for me, Fred?”

“I'd love to, Viv,” she answered happily, and picked
up the bottle of polish. I watched as she came and sat in front of me, then
grabbed my hand and placed it on her lap. It took me by surprise, because it
was quite a specific placement. I wasn’t sure if she was aware how close my
hand was to her pussy. I thought I noticed her breathing accelerate slightly,
and my body moved closer almost of its own accord. If this was her subtle way
of flirting, I was enjoying it immensely. She focused intently on painting my
nails red, while I focused intently on how she bit softly on her lower lip
while she concentrated. She seemed to startle when she glanced up to see how
intensely I was staring at her.

“What? Did I make a mistake?” she asked, breaking
our eye contact.

 In the moment, I decided to go with stark honesty
and tell her exactly what I was thinking. “No. I have to admit, for some reason
I find you incredibly sexy, Fred.”

Her gasp was so tiny I almost missed it. Then she
plastered a breezy grin on her face and quipped self-deprecatingly, “You might
need to pop in to Specsavers for an eye test, Viv.”

“I've got perfect twenty-twenty vision, I'll have
you know. How about I lock the door so that we can have a quickie? If we're
going to work together, I need to get this urge out of my system to fuck your
brains out.”

I knew my words had their desired effect when she
clenched her thighs together and swallowed visibly. She was thinking about it.
However, a wall went up instantly as she replied, “Ah, I have a true romantic
on my hands.”

“I never claimed to offer romance, Fred, but I'm
fairly confident I can provide you with the perfect sexual release. It has been
three and a half years, after all.”

Earlier in the day she’d admitted just how long it
had been since she last got laid. I’d been surprised that someone as sexy as
she was had managed to evade a good shagging in all that time, but when I
considered how bundled up she could be, I guessed it made sense.

I was still on a mission to unwind her, drive her
wild. After I was done with her, she’d be a whole new woman. I did have
something of a charitable nature.

“Best friends don't do that sort of thing,” she told
me, half haughty, half teasing. The other day I’d announced that she was my new
best friend, and she seemed to be clinging to the idea. I did want to be her
friend, but at the same time I was regretting providing her with such a safe
way to label our relationship. I kept on staring at her as she finished up my
nails, and then Sean dropped into the dressing room with some drinks for us.
Fred appeared relieved for the interruption and knocked back a long mouthful.

 “It's past nine, Viv,” she said then. “We'd better
get your makeup started if you don't want to be late, late for a very important
date.” There was a tremor in her voice that alerted me to the fact that she was
uncomfortable. Perhaps she really wasn’t interested in me sexually, and what
I’d just said had put her on edge.

 It was disappointing, but I chose not to let the
idea get me down. “All right, then, have your way with me.”

“I thought you said you were going to take the lead,
and I'd just watch for my first night?”

 I had said that, and it was what I’d planned, but
all of a sudden I wanted her to do my makeup. If I couldn’t have her fully,
then I was at least going to enjoy being close to her. “Might as well throw you
in the deep end. Do your worst.”

 She swallowed nervously. “Okay, um, I'll start with
foundation.”

She began to put the base on using a sponge, but I
stopped her when I said, “I find it better if you use your fingers instead of
the sponge. It gives a more natural finish.” This was true, but I also wanted
her to touch me. I was craving her touch the way I used to crave sex with
multiple strangers. There was something about Fred that soothed me, and I was
willing to take any little morsel of contact I could get.

When she started to use her fingers, smoothing
foundation over my skin, I kept my gaze on her. Her eyes wandered to mine and
then away, never holding the connection for very long. She was skittish, and I
desperately wanted her to relax. Her pupils narrowed to pinpoints as she
concentrated, her face mere inches from mine. I could grab her right now and
kiss her, but I didn’t think she’d welcome it.

She surprised me when, instead of continuing to
stand before me, she settled herself onto my lap. I inhaled sharply, since I
hadn’t been expecting it. I gave her a hot, questioning look, not breathing a
word for fear I’d say the wrong thing and scare her off again.

 “My neck was hurting, bending over,” she told me in
a quiet voice.

“Mm-hmm.” I nodded and lowered my gaze to her chest.
She was at least a D-cup, perhaps bigger, and those full breasts were sitting
directly in my line of sight. The bra she was wearing was actually quite thin,
so I could see that her nipples had tightened beneath the fabric. Was it
turning her on to be this close to me? Perhaps all was not lost after all.

My next move was both brazen and overstepping the
line, but I was impulsive, and sometimes I simply couldn’t help myself from
grabbing what I wanted. In that moment, that’s
literally
what I did. I
slid my arm around her waist, resting my hand at the base of her spine so I
could pull her closer. Then I brought my other hand to her breast and pinched
her nipple through the fabric while murmuring, “Thank God for thinly padded
bras.”

My eyes locked with hers as she sat there, still as
a statue, her mouth open in shock. She shifted ever so slightly on my lap,
squeezed her thighs together again, and I knew that she had to be turned on
right now.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a hushed voice.