Killer Queen: A Painted Faces Novel (5 page)

There were several more
bangs before a voice I hadn’t heard in months sounded through the door. It was
Phil.

“I know you’re in
there, Nicholas. You’d better open this door before I call up the fire brigade
and have them knock it down. I swear to God, I’ll do it. In fact, I’d quite
enjoy watching some hunky Germans knock down a door.”

His stern yet humorous
tone made the tiniest hint of a smile play on my lips. If it were anybody else
at the door, I would have ignored their presence. But it was Phil. One of the truest
and most loyal friends I had in this cold world, and I had to admit that I had
missed him, even if he did like to lecture me constantly.

Dragging myself out of
bed, I shrugged into a T-shirt and walked to the door, undoing all the locks
and finally opening it. The second I looked at him, I smiled. He’d bleached his
hair since I last saw him. It was kind of hilarious, but suited him in a weird
way.

“Philip! What on earth
have you done to your beautiful hair? You look like you’re getting ready to
move to Ibiza and relive those crazy ’90s rave days of yours.”

He stared at me, mouth
agape. I bristled. I knew I must have looked a terrible sight. I’d hardly eaten
anything in days, and I could tell I was sporting huge grey bags under my eyes.

“Oh, Nicholas,” he
said, his voice full of sympathy. I hated the very sound of it.

I turned and walked
back into the apartment, leaving the door wide open. He followed me in and shut
it behind him. I rummaged around in the cupboards, trying to find the last
dregs of alcohol and coming up dry. Running a hand shakily through my hair, I
sat down on my sofa and eyed him.

“Dave called me up two
days ago and told me how worried he was about you,” said Phil. “He said nobody
had been able to get a hold of you for almost a week, and the last time you
were seen you were a complete mess.”

“You shouldn’t have
come. I’m fine,” I replied, folding my arms defensively across my chest. When
Phil didn’t get angry, but instead gave me his sympathetic eyes again, I felt
like crying. I knew I was the opposite of fine.

He walked to me and sat
down right beside me. “Nicholas, look at this place. It’s not fit for a dog to
live in. I’ve never understood why you punish yourself like this. You have the
money for somewhere nice, and yet you select the most awful of places. You’re
hurting so much already, there’s no need to add to it.”

“There’s nothing wrong
with this place — it just needs a bit of sprucing up. I don’t see the point in
spending money on a big fancy apartment when it’s just little old me. One room
is enough.”

“Let’s not pretend your
choice of living quarters has anything to do with practicality,” said Phil.
“I’ve been worried about you since before I even went home to Dublin. You were
losing the run of yourself back then, and now you’ve completely lost it. I’m
not trying to be cruel. Somebody needs to force you into opening your eyes,
Nicholas. You’ve got everything going for you, and yet look at how you’re
spending your days. Alone and drinking yourself into a stupor.”

“I have nothing going
for me, not when my mind is sick. I feel so sick, Phil.” I almost sniffled. I
was feeling sorry for myself in the worst way.

He moved closer and
threw his arm around my shoulders, murmuring, “Why are the beautiful ones
always so troubled, huh?”

I stared off into
space. I’d been told I was handsome and beautiful a hundred times over. I knew
it was true, but the sad fact was that I resented it just a little bit.
“Perhaps because beauty brings with it nothing but trouble.”

Phil sighed. “How very
Marilyn Monroe of you. Let me help you get better, Nicholas. Please.”

“I have no idea how
you’d even go about doing that. I’m inexorably broken.”

He sat up straight and
rubbed my back. “I’m taking my summer break down in Kerry starting the day
after tomorrow. My parent’s holiday home is there, and I’m going to stay for
three weeks. It’s right on the coast, lovely beaches. You should come with me.
The sea air will do you good. Then you can come back to Dublin and perform at
the club. I’ve got a great team of people working with me. I think it will be
good for you to be around folks like that.”

I glanced up at him and
bit on my lip, then took in the horrid state of my apartment. “That sounds
nice.” And it really did, especially compared to what I was currently living
in. I hadn’t visited much, but I liked Dublin. It had a nice, relaxed
atmosphere while still being a cosmopolitan city.

“So you’ll come?” Phil
asked, his eyes brimming with hope.

I mustered as much of a
smile as I could. “Yes, Phil, I’ll come.”

I didn’t know if I was
saying yes simply because I was becoming antsy to move somewhere new again, or
if I really did want to find a place to actually settle down. I guessed it
wouldn’t be long before I found out.

June 28
^th
,
2012.

Soundtrack: “Sympathy for the Devil” by
The Rolling Stones

I stared around at my new apartment in
the heart of Dublin city, visualising where I was going to put everything. My
furniture had just arrived, but it needed organising. I’d spent the last three
weeks on the coast with Phil, and he’d been right — it had done me a world of
good. I hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol and my body was thanking me for it.

My mind was clearing,
too. I felt like I was headed for a stable period, and this time I planned on
making it permanent.

Phil had broken up with
his boyfriend a couple of months ago, so it was just the two of us and his
little chihuahua, Pickles. We walked on the beach, sunbathed, ate good food,
and talked a lot. At this point I didn’t think there was a single moment from
my past that I hadn’t recounted for him. All of the talking helped me to sort
my head out. Phil had kind of become my unofficial therapist, and since he’d
had his fair share of rough times himself, he was able to relate to my many
internal struggles and gave me good advice for overcoming certain obstacles.

Anyway, I didn’t know
how I’d ever repay him for intervening on my descent into depression back in
Berlin. Now when I say I’m feeling good, I actually mean it. The grey my world
once was is brightening a little. Touches of colour are popping up here and
there, like in
The Wizard of Oz
when things slowly began to transform
into Technicolor.

I locked the door and
stepped into the hallway, preparing to go and seek out a hot beverage. I didn’t
need to go far. A tanned brunette was standing in front of the door to the
apartment next to mine. She was scrolling through her phone, just about to slot
her key in the lock, when her head came up. She saw me, studied me for a
moment, then smiled.

She was attractive in
the same way Kim Kardashian was attractive, but without the boobs and ginormous
bottom.

“Oh, hi, have you just
moved in?” she asked, stepping forward and offering me her hand. “I’m Nora. I
live in here. Number 23.” She nodded to the door in front of her.

Immediately, I could tell
she was a nice but no-nonsense sort of girl. She looked to be in her
mid-twenties.

“Yes, I’ve just moved
in, actually. I’m Nicholas. Good to meet you, Nora.”

We shook hands, and she
asked if I’d like to join her for a cup of tea, her eyes eating me up. She was
definitely interested in more than just a cup of tea.

“Why not?” I replied,
and she led the way into her apartment.

The place was clean and
tidy, and I could get the slight whiff of baking. It actually smelled really
good, and gave me a weird yearning for homeliness in my chest. Perhaps she’d
made a cake that morning. We sat down on the couch and made idle chitchat.

I hadn’t had sex in a
month, and I was wary of venturing back into that zone, as it were. Still, if I
were going to venture, I didn’t think it would be with Nora. I’d had her type
before, and her type did not appeal. Incredibly beautiful, yes, but also
incredibly uptight. I wanted the women I fucked to go completely wild, let go.
Nora was wound so tight that letting go was a virtual impossibility. I could
visualise it perfectly. She’d lie there flat on her back, complaining that I
was doing things wrong while giving instructions on how I could improve.

As I said, it did not
appeal.

My gaze wandered to
where a picture hung on the wall of her and another woman. They had their arms
around each other, smiling widely into the camera. The woman she was with
immediately caught my interest, mostly because she had this wonderful mane of
curly golden-brown hair, but also because she had big beautiful eyes, and yes,
I would admit, big beautiful breasts.

What could I say? I
noticed these things.

“I’d love if you joined
us for dinner this evening,” Nora said, bringing my attention back to her.
She’d been talking for at least a minute and I hadn’t heard a word she said, so
engrossed in studying the picture as I was.

“Oh, yes?”

“Yes. Freda will be
home from work, and she’s a great cook. You’ll love her food. She makes the
most amazing dinners.”

“Freda?”

“She’s my roommate. You
see the girl in the picture over there?” She pointed right at the photo I’d
been studying. So Freda was the curly-haired beauty. Well, I was definitely
interested in this dinner now, if only to meet such an intriguing young woman
in the flesh. I was already having entirely indecent thoughts about her, and so
far I’d only seen one picture. I guessed my month-long period of abstinence was
finally catching up with me.

I agreed to the dinner
and then told Nora I had to get going. I wanted to pop by the club and see
Phil. Later that day I was leaving my apartment yet again, this time to go and
meet with the landlord and sort out some paperwork. And yet again there was a
woman standing outside the door to apartment number 23. It wasn’t Nora, though.
I instantly recognised the curls, but they were wet and bedraggled. I found it
attractive in a strange way. This was Freda, and I took my time in sizing her
up.

She’d obviously just
been caught in a shower, her T-shirt soaked through. When she turned to me, I
saw that her nipples were hard and peeking through the fabric. Nice, very nice.
Obviously, it was because of the wet material. I didn’t think she was turned
on. She looked more pissed off and frustrated. I really wanted to congratulate
her on such a fine display of nipple visibility but thought it might be a tad
inappropriate. After all, I hadn’t even said hello yet.

I smiled at her, and
she stared back at me.

 “Hello there,” I said,
and took a step forward. I held my hand out to her, and she glanced down at the
plastic shopping bags she was holding. I let my hand drop, rubbing it against
my trousers, and continued, “You must be Freda. Your flatmate Nora invited me
in for a cup of tea earlier. Lovely girl.”

I thought I saw her
blush a little, and it got my blood up. Finally, she spoke. “Fred — you can
call me Fred.”

Instantly, I really
liked the fact that she chose to go by a boy’s name. It appealed to my
gender-bending nature. She put her shopping bags down, and came and shook my
hand. I enjoyed the feel of her skin on mine. Soft. I felt like I might be
staring at her too intensely, because she seemed uncomfortable just then. I
would have killed to know what she was thinking. Did she find me attractive? I
wanted her to be attracted to me more than I had any woman in a really long
time, and I didn’t quite know why.

I kept ahold of her
hand, wanting to prolong the contact, but then she let go. Thinking that humour
might work, I said, “Okay, Fred, you can call me Vivica.”

She smiled at me then,
a shy, slightly cynical smile. She didn’t laugh, though, and I desperately
wanted to hear her do so. My reaction to this woman was becoming unnerving.

 “Cool — if we become
close friends, can I call you Viv?” she replied with a twinkle in her eye.

She was being
flirtatious. This was a good sign. I pulled out my best Vivica Blue when I
pretended to flick my hair over my shoulder and responded intensely, “You can
call me whatever you like, Frederick.”

She gave me an odd,
thoughtful look. I knew I wasn’t exactly the most normal man, so I wondered
what her impressions were of me. There was a moment of silence, during which I
took the pleasure of soaking in her pretty face and lush figure. She pulled at
the hem of her soaking-wet top self-consciously. Inwardly, I growled. My
attention was making her antsy, and I enjoyed it. Her cheeks grew redder by the
second. Her reply was sassy, though, and I liked how she covered her shyness
with spunk.

“Why, thanks, I'll keep
that in mind, Viv. It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope you're finding the
place to your liking.”

I grinned. “Oh, it's a
palace fit for a queen, Freddie, a real find.”

Glancing at my watch, I
noted I was late for my meeting with the landlord, so I began walking backward.
I knew I had to go, but I wanted to prolong this encounter with the intriguing
Fred for as long as I could.