Fire Nectar (8 page)

“Well, he’s a cool one.”
 
Stewart said.

Anjelica turned her hair around and around in her hands
as she thought about it.
 
Finally
she looked at him, “Yeah… but so is she.”

15 June 1812

“I have spoken with your father.
 
He tells me you have refused my offer,”
Duke Bellingham mused, his hand delicately leaning on a beautifully carved cane
;
pure fashion and zero necessity. “I’m here with a simple
query – why?” It was more a statement than a question and his pompous
manner did nothing to impress the level headed object of his affections.

 
“Duke
Bellingham - “

 
“- Charles,”
he corrected.

She lowered her head so that their eyes could not meet
and continued, “I mean no disrespect, but I do not love you.” She said it
simply and in her kindest voice.
 

He stiffened, eyes hardening. She blushed pink under his
scrutiny, as he looked her up and down, as no gentleman should. “But my dear, I
could make your life very comfortable. I can think of many who would be glad of
my offer and would snatch up the chance to be a Duchess with only a word.” He
pulled out his snuffbox and took a bit between his fingers. He breathed it into
his nose soundlessly – the mark of an expert with years of experience at
his back. He was very much the dandy, with Trousers instead of the now fading
style choice of Pantaloons. His Boots were Hessians, of course, and were shined
to high degree by his valet. His greatcoat had remained in the hall with his
hat, removed upon arrival, but why he carried his cane still, when he had no
real need for it, was beyond her comprehension.
 
Her lack of money threw fashion to the
last position on her priorities list, so sizing him up in this manner did him
more harm than good.
 

 
She dropped
her head, and replied slowly, “Were I to marry you…Charles… would my father be
cared for?”

He almost laughed, but contained himself before she could
see his struggle. He was an egotistical man. It was hard for him not to be
self-centered as so many danced in attendance to him all his life. But he was
not dishonest.
 
There was never any
need to lie. In fact, he took great pleasure in saying the plain truth as often
as possible since so many did not.
 

“My dear, if I were to do that I’d lose my fortune in a
year. No, this offer is for your hand and yours alone,” he said plainly, no
hint of emotion or reproach in his tone.
 
“You must let go of your father’s purse strings and let him fall where
he might. Only then will he get up on his own and only then may he find a way
out of his Fatal Tendency.”
 

What he did next she could never have
foreseen.
 
He dropped his cane and crossed to her,
taking her into his arms passionately for most definitely the first time.
 
He squeezed her hard against his chest,
whispering into her ear, his voice low. “Daniella, this is lunacy. My dearest,
I will make your life very comfortable.
 
Say yes and drop this charade.”

He then bent to kiss her but was stopped with a hard slap
across his face, caramel eyes flashing, cheeks flushed crimson with anger. Thunderstruck,
he released his hold as she scrambled out of his arms and fell to the floor
awkwardly in her haste.
 
She stared
at him like a wild cat
who
might claw out his eyes.
Incredulous, he gave his waistcoat and
neckcloth
an
unnecessary adjustment,
then
picked up his cane with
all the grace of a man of his position.
 

He said coldly, “I’m sure I do not need to remind a woman
of your age that an offer such as mine will not come again.
 
From me or from
another.
Good day, Miss Harcourt, and good luck.” He bowed deeply,
turned on his heel, and left.
 
As
the sounds of hooves faded with the vision of his Phaeton and pair, her father
hurried into the room to hear the good news.
 
Daniella had recovered herself and stood
staring out the window watching her last hope drive away.
 
She could not abandon her father without
a penny.
 
What would become of
him?
 
The thought had barely entered
her mind before she cast it out, vowing to always care for him, as he had her.
To marry a man, Duke or no, who would suggest to her to choose him over family,
was not a man to start a family with.
 

 
“Well? When
is the happy day, my dear?”
 
Lord
Harcourt said, his round frame bouncing hard with anticipation.

“I’ve refused him, Father.” Her voice flat, she remained
turned from him.

 
“What
!?
Oh no
no
no
!”
He cried out. “Do you know the cloud of debt I am under? All wanting the
settlement of their accounts!
 
His
fortune would have solved all. And the way I played last night – I would
not have done so had I known you would refuse him. The Duke himself – and
to his face!”

“Father, but I told you I will never marry a man I do not
love,” she tried to explain but he could not hear her.

 
“How could
you Nell – how could you!”
 
He
sat down then, with his head in his hands and cried. There are few things worse
than watching one’s own parent cry.

At that most inopportune of moments the innkeeper chose
to enter the room. He took in the scene and correctly summed up
its
meaning. “I see you are not to become a Duchess. I
feared this outcome.” He scratched his bald head and coughed before continuing
with difficulty,
 
“My deepest
apologies, but I regret to inform you that I simply cannot carry your burden
anymore. You must find another place to lay your heads and feed your bellies. I
am not a charity house. I am sorry to be cruel and indeed to speak of such
things in the presence of Miss Harcourt, but a back can only bend so far. Six
months without payment is... My apologies to you both.” He turned on his heels
and exited as quickly and uncomfortably as he had entered.

The weight of this judgment hit them both at once.
 
She was stunned into silence.
“Daniella!
 
How could you be so
selfish! How could a daughter of mine be so heartless! Why didn’t you just
marry the pompous fool?” She gaped at him, jaw dropped.
Her,
selfish?
His head dropped down once again in a tear filled fit of
hysteria.

Her voice lost all its color and volume. Almost beneath
hearing, she whispered, “Father, I will go to Millie. Tonight. I will go to her
now. Don’t cry.
 
Millie will help. I
know she will.”
 

2012

 
“Did you hear about that accountant guy?”
Terri asked the room, setting out her makeup and brushes on the table pushed
nearer the kitchen.

Daniella’s furniture was cleared off to the sides to make
room for the photo shoot.
 
Her loft
felt half its size with all the people in it.
 
Her team was there which included:
makeup artist - Terri, hair stylist - Steph, wardrobe stylist - Bruce, and her
amazing assistant without whom she could not live - Julian. And in addition,
there were two models for the shoot - both gorgeous - with the androgynous
quality that embodies the actress
Tilda
Swinton
and also the actor
Johnathan
Rhys Meyers.
 
She didn’t know the
model’s names, nor care to. Keep a good amount of distance, was her policy.

Julian removed a bend in the white seamless paper before
he crossed to the grid light for adjustment. “Should I use the black instead
– and have a pattern of light?” he asked Dani, who sat on the couch
thumbing through an old copy of a W Magazine.
 
She looked up, thought for a moment and
said, “No, I want white.”

 
“What
accountant?” Steph asked, twisting ringlets into the female model’s long
strawberry blond hair.
 
Steph’s own
hair was very cool.
 
She had a funky
cut with light ends and dark long roots with one white stripe down the right
side.

The model looked at her like she’d just farted,
exclaiming, “What accountant
!?
 
The guy who murdered Fred Rimaldi!
The
Fred Rimaldi.
 
Sucks so bad –
I really wanted to work with him someday.”

Steph tried to hide her annoyance by asking, “Oh, you’re
an actress, too?”
 

 
“No, but I
will be. I’m working my way in,” the model said, checking her phone for a text
that wasn’t there, so she opened up her email.

Steph walked away to get a glass of wine.
 
Dani watched her open the fridge. Inside
it looked purposefully normal. Half-eaten takeout.
 
Juice.
 
Bottles of Smart
Water.
Browning lettuce.
 
White wine, which Steph helped herself to.
 
“Dani, I love your wine glass
collection. I always feel like I shouldn’t use them, they’re so pretty.”

 
“Take any one
you want, Steph,” Dani said, smiling.

 
“Do you want
some?” Steph tempted, choosing a clear glass with gold embellishments from
Venice, Italy.

“No, I’m fine,”
Dani
answered.

 
“You never
have anything,” Steph said.

Dani hesitated mid page-turn but it was Julian who came
to her rescue. “Dani drinks, Steph.
 
Just not as much as you do.”

 
“
Ooooo
snap!” Bruce yelped which made Steph throw a snarky
face in everyone’s direction before she put the wine back in the fridge, and
held up her full glass in defiance.

 
“Anyway! The
accountant – he went missing for a couple of days and then they found him
– shark attack. Can you believe it?” Terri asked the room.

The male model was completely naked except for the
Regency styled wig on his head.
 
He
walked to the kitchen counter and picked up a Vitamin Water, saying casually,
penis swinging as he turned to them, “I thought he’d run off to Mexico with all
of the money he’d stolen. What kind of camera are you using?”

Julian kept trying not to look at him, and answered over
his shoulder, “Canon 5D Mark III.” He was not gay and Bruce liked to tease him
that everyone has a little bi-sexuality in them, so he didn’t want to give
Bruce ammo. Bruce, however, looked as often at the naked beauty as he wanted, which
was often. He and the team worked with Dani on all her shoots. Fewer people -
more loyalty - fewer questions.

 
“I have the
Mark II. I do a little bit of photography myself,” the model said, taking an
apple slice off a plate of fruit and crackers.

Terri jumped up and went to her bag of tricks and pulled
out a bendy straw and gave it to the model.
 
The straw was so the makeup didn’t get
messed up.
 
He had a light gloss on
his lips and his face was powdered, but in her mind, she couldn’t be too
careful. Terri was a beautiful black woman from Jamaica, dressed in cute jeans
and a t-shirt that bore the words “For good luck rub my tummy.” Many people
took her up on it.

Bruce added, furiously working at the gown’s hemline, “I
heard he had a panic attack and went completely bat shit. Glass everywhere.
He’d knocked over a glass mermaid statue that just lay in chunks
everywhere.
 
Who the hell has a
mermaid statue?” Everyone voiced agreement.

Dani flipped another page and asked, “So a shark
huh?
 
That’s a hell of a way to
go.”
 

Steph shuddered, almost done with the ringlets. “I’m
terrified of sharks.” “Me too.” “Totally”
 
- a few said. The model was in her own world, glued to her phone. She
was gorgeous. Dani liked the male model’s personality more – so casual
and relaxed – but both were beautiful and she looked forward to
photographing them.
 
She raised her
eyes from the magazine as Bruce’s heartbeat drew her attention. It was pounding
fast.
Cocaine, maybe?
Probably coke. Another page
flip.

Steph walked to the table and grabbed a few violets from
where the delivery boy had left them.
 
“Well, I’m glad he’s dead.”

 
“Me too!”
Bruce agreed, his fingers furiously working at pinning the hemline to
perfection.

Dani looked up.
 
“Oh, really? Why?”

Steph delicately snipped off of the stems and placed them
in the model’s ringlets, narrowly avoiding kneeing Bruce’s head. They adjusted
to give each other room. “Because he’s a slime-ball!
 
I mean, Fred Rimaldi was a genius, and
did you hear what his son said about him?”
 

Terri applied makeup to a scar on the male model’s thigh
and chimed in with,
 
“He said, ‘
My
father always encouraged me to follow my heart and be who
I really am. I was lucky to have known him as long as I did.’”

 
“I mean,
wow.
 
That’s a wise little twelve
year old.
 
I can’t even imagine.”
Steph walked back to her wine glass.

 
“What was the
movie he did that won the Oscar for best film?” Bruce asked the room.

 
“Faith,” the
female model interjected, not looking up.
 
Everyone paused; surprised she’d spoken.
 
They went back to work.

 
“Yeah, that’s
the one.
 
Faith,
”
 
Terri
said.
 

Steph agreed, “That was a GREAT movie. I cried.
 
I never cry.
 
Don’t tell anyone I cried.”

 
“I totally
cried at that one! I was like, oh my God!” Terri said as she checked the naked
model for more scars with professional detachment like a doctor would a
patient.

 
“I cried,
too.
 
I cried like a fucking baby,”
Bruce added. Everyone laughed. He looked around. “What?
 
Okay - all done.
 
Ready to go,” he announced and stepped
back.
 

The gown was incredible. It was Kelly Green muslin with
ornate accents of pale yellow gauze. She looked very feminine with her
strawberry blonde hair in ringlets sprinkled with purple violets.
 
The bosom was hoisted up as was the
style of the time, and looked very pale and soft. That was a mandatory
requirement. Freckles were considered a blemish to one’s looks in the early
1800’s. The model turned in a circle at Bruce’s bidding. He frowned, never
satisfied.
 
Everyone else gushed.

Julian stepped, clicked the shutter and looked at the
test shot. The lighting satisfied him and he stepped off to the side to let
Dani take over.
 
She tossed the
magazine on the table and approached the set. Steph, Terri and Bruce all walked
to her desk where the computer sat. It was tethered to the camera so when the
shots were taken, they would appear on the screen for the team to see. Bruce
glanced at the clock – 3am.

 
“I have to
use the loo. Be right back,” Bruce said, and left.
 
Dani’s eyes flitted to him.
 
That was the third time he’d gone to the
bathroom, which made her more suspicious that he was on coke.
 
As long as he didn’t become an asshole,
she thought. Then he surprised her by calling, “Dani, could you come here a
moment?”
 

“What is it, Bruce?” Dani asked, her tone impatient, as
soon he’d closed the door and shut her in the bathroom with him, his manner
filled with urgency and secrecy.
 
She expected to see lines waiting for her and was glad to be wrong.
 

 
“I don’t like
you living alone, honey, so I want you to take this.
 
It’s on loan,” he said and pulled out a
Gloc
9mm handgun.
 
Not coke, she thought, taking it from him.
 
She loved being surprised though, and
turned it over in her hands.
 
She’d
never held one before, at least – not a
Gloc
.

 
“I don’t need
a gun, Bruce.
 
That’s very thoughtful
of you… I guess.”
 
The glint in her
eyes betrayed how comical she thought this was.
 
There was no way she needed a gun.
 
His face was all concern and seriousness
and his heart still pounded way too quickly than was healthy.
 
She knew he was on something, but again
let it slide.
 
Not her business.

 
“Honey, I
hate to tell you this but you do not live in a nice part of town and I worry
about you.
 
I’m not for those
automatic crazy bullshit guns those
wackjobs
are
using, but there is nothing wrong with a woman living on her own in crack-
ville
, to have a little extra protection. I have one at my
place and I want you to have one at yours.
 
I love you and it will make me feel better.” He raised his eyebrows high
for effect to make sure she got the point.
 

 
“I thought
you were a liberal,” she said, feeling the weight of it in her hands.

“I am! I am also street smart and shit is crazy out
there! My dad was a cop and despite my dressing like Elton John on a calm day,
I do know how to shoot.”

 
“Okay, Bruce.
I hear you. Thank you for wanting to protect me. Now let’s get out there before
they think we’re in here doing the whole eight ball.”
 
He guffawed right in her face and she
shook her head, smiling. On their way out she stuffed the gun into a drawer in
her walk-in closet while he watched, nodding to her that she had made the right
decision.

Dani walked to the female model and took her phone gently
out of her hand and held it out.
 
Julian stepped forward and took it from her. She then wordlessly led the
model by the hand to the settee. It was an original from the designer George
Bullock, dating 1810, with lovely brass work and refurbished taupe Damask
cushions.
 
Dani guided her model to
lie down.
 

The model watched Dani and allowed
herself
to be led, a bit hypnotized by Dani’s calm authority. She was used to
photographers being much louder and bigger than this. This quiet power calmed
her. She did as was indicated and secretly vowed to work with Dani again, the
first chance she got.
 
She watched
Dani spread out the gown elegantly around her body, draping it here, tucking it
there. Bruce joined in and the only sound in the loft was the rustling of his
frenzied hands on fabric.
 

 
“Bruce.” Dani
looked at Bruce and he stopped fussing and stepped away to join the team.
 
The room fell to silence.

The model lay on her side, the arm beneath her bent at
the elbow and gracefully resting in front.
 
Her other arm lay across her hip.
 
Dani tenderly guided her head to fall to the side, resting on the
highest part of the settee, leaving her neck exposed.
 
She looked vulnerable, yet relaxed.
 
Stepping back, Dani surveyed the pose
and stepped forward to make one adjustment.
 
She picked up the arm from the model’s
side and gently bent it so that her hand rested suggestively on her breasts.