Over My Live Body (22 page)

And this is his best show yet.
That’s how he advertised it to me on the phone three nights ago.
This
one is going to be my best
yet,
he promised
,
and I’m showing it to you and
only
you.

And
then
what?

I cross my arms in front of me and stare at the wall, making like I’m at the Guggenheim trying to interpret what I’m seeing.
What I’m seeing is my life flash before my eyes.
A glance at Curtis reassures me he’s buying it, at least for now; all I have to do to stay alive is act
real
interested, like
this is the best goddamn exhibit I’ve ever seen
, this is what he wants from me right now, some
art
appreciation. I emit a long “Hmmmm.” It keeps me from retching.

“I did some of the drawings, from memory,” he brags, brazenly looking me over, taking in flank, ribs, rump like the butcher he’s proven himself to be. The body parts adhered to the drawings are just framework; he’s not paying attention to them. “What do you think?”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” I choke. “I’m at a loss for words.” His glowering stare tips me off that I better say
some
thing. “Wha…what gave you the idea of doing
all
your work around a central theme, um,
sub
ject?”

“My subjects seem to
demand
attention,” he retorts, “and
lots of
it. They comport themselves in a way they know will guarantee it. I’m only giving them their due. A one-woman show.” His stare makes me feel like bugs are crawling all over me. “I put my subjects on a pedestal.”

And then he literally rams it
right through
them.

My tongue flickers over my lips. It feels like sandpaper. “Where’s the work from some of your
other
shows? I’d like to see that too.”

“You can’t. I locked up that body of work in a trunk.”
With a body.
“Use your head, Delilah. Surely you of
all
people should understand. Are you going to show your
Greek
-influenced work along with your
Roman
show?”

“No, but I
have
them, they’re all mixed up in my studio.”

“Take a look around. Where do you think I’d
put
them? This is a new studio. Every new exhibit demands new space to show it in. I don’t want reminders of past failures. Every artist sacrifices. Even
you
, Delilah. Remember,” he pulls the wire on the armatures taut, “I’ve
been
in your
studio.”

And
my apartment. And everywhere
else
I’ve been.
Where can he go from here?

On to another victim and another studio. Once he’s finished with me.

“You know, as an artist, I…I’m always curious what draws other artists to their subjects. Just as a matter of professional curiosity,” I confess. “L..like, for example, why did Leonardo choose Mona Lisa, wha…what was the attraction?”

Why me?

“You want to know why I chose
you
? Why should it even
surprise
you? That’s what you do for a living on the side, isn’t it, pose bare-assed for anyone who asks, who’s willing to pay? Is
that
what’s got you so worked up, that you’re not reaping anything out of it? Christ, you’re beginning to sound like the first one…”

“The first one…”

“The stripper, the
whore
in that goddamn bar I went to who said I assaulted her. Dancing up there on the fucking bar with nothing on except a smile, sits on my goddamn lap,
ain’t I just so cute
, officer? She’s rip roaring drunk, not even a professional dancer, just a wannabe. She even modeled in that same art school
you
worked in Wednesday night, Delilah, started doing her bit right in front of that window, knowing everyone in the Academy’s standing on tiptoe on the drilling pad, looking down at her, doesn’t care. Now she dumps her girlfriend who gets pissed and leaves, wants all the fucking attention of everyone in the bar and all of a sudden gets
too much
of it, she’s scared. Are
you
scared?” He looks me over and, guessing the answer, he laughs. “The guys all eating it up, sticking money in that lacy ass floss she’s wearing, and she goes for me, thinking I’m gonna dole out the bucks too and anyway I’m better than them, I’m in uniform, I’m gonna
protect
her, right? I push her off.
Put some clothes on
, I’m telling her, you’re going to get raped. Not that you’re not
asking
for it. I wait for her and follow her out and insist, I’m gonna walk you home or you’re gonna get raped; something
awful’
s going to happen to you. I walked her as far as the subway stop and I grabbed her like
this
.” He lunges and his powerful hand wrench makes me scream. “What the hell’s the matter with you, acting like that anyway?
You’re sweet
, she tells me, then starts pressing up on me, reaching at me.” He reaches for my hand, presses it against his pants. I jerk it away. “I ought to
give
you what you want so bad, I said to her. You want it so bad, baby, you’re going to
get
it.”

I don’t want
any part
of this.

“
After
wards she starts to scream that she’s going to go back there, get those guys in the bar to take care of me. The guys who were shoving money up your ass? How much did you make anyway? Look, I tell her, d’you have any idea what you were
doing
back there? You go back there, you’re gonna get gang banged. She’s crying now, making like she’s a
victim
all of a sudden.
Pooor thing
,” he sputters in my face. “Do you have
any
idea what
you
just did to me, she whines. Yeah, I tell her, I got you away from there. Next thing I know, the sniveling little bitch has Internal Affairs on my tail and I’m lucky I can get fucking
security
work after that. Working as a bouncer in a bar in Queens one night last winter, you’ll never guess who walks in.”

I can guess.

“That twat, that piece of art herself, with a
gentleman
friend. She didn’t recognize me because I’d gained a lot of weight since our
last
meeting and besides, let’s face it, she was
very
drunk when the
alleged incident
took place and she’s not doing too bad right now either; she don’t know her limitations. I’m watching her from the doorway. The guy she’s with waves off the bartender; she’s had enough, he tells him, but I know she hasn’t. Next thing you know he’s slapping her and I gotta step in and make sure he don’t bust up the place. She still doesn’t make like she recognizes me, she’s
that
plastered. Bleeding besides. The guy she’s with, he gave her a good smack before I told him to get out. It’s one of those places that has a jukebox, and I put some coins in. I know it’s only gonna be a matter of time before off come the clothes. Then I can get the One-One-Four down there, get her busted, but then I get a
better
idea.” He leans in so close I can practically count the fillings in his mouth. “You’ll never guess what I decide to do.”

I don’t want to guess.

“It wasn’t planned, what I did. She just walked into it. I didn’t think I was gonna see her again. I’ve gotten better at this. Like with Majesty.
She
didn’t just walk into it. She’d be in the store window setting up all those mannequins and I’d rap at the window and wave. She starts posing like the dummies she’s got dolled up in there. I knew I was going to see
her
again. I got it down to a science. The uniform helped me get as close as I wanted to be. I was wearing my security guard uniform the first time I saw
you
, Delilah. Around the same time. Didn’t it make you feel safe to know there was a guard on duty while you were
hard at work
?”

I shrug. I don’t remember.

“Time for
me
to get to work
now
. You’re going to be impressed,” he says, walking over to a row of paint containers covered with a sheet of plywood. I spin on my heels, ready to run. Curtis grabs a handful of hair and reels me back where he wants me. Every follicle on my head hurts. He slaps me for good measure. “You oughta be
used
to that. Didn’t your asshole stockbroker slap you around? Didn’t you like it?
All
you exhibitionist bitches like the rough stuff,
don’t
you? Her. You. Majesty.” He slaps me again and laughs. “Bet you like your sex rough too. Can’t picture
that
tight-ass giving you what you wanted in
that
department though.”

I put my hand up to my stinging cheek to ward off any more blows.

“Yes, he
did
hit me and I
didn’t
like it. I stopped seeing him,
that’s
how much I didn’t like it.”

“Well, I don’t know about
that,
but
I
didn’t like it and you’re right about
one
thing, you’re not seeing him any more because
no one
is.”

He would know.

“No one saw Majesty’s boyfriend again either. He disappeared just like
that.
” He snaps his fingers. “You’d think she would have appreciated it after what he did to her. You’re
not
gonna tell me
you’re
sorry,
are
you, Delilah? You don’t
seem
very sorry. How sorry can you be when you’re already spending your nights with someone
else
? Did the
cop
give you the kind of fuck you
wanted
, Delilah? You think I got rid of the competition just so you could fuck some
cop
? No, precious, that wasn’t in my game plan. Only one way to keep you to myself now, and that brings us back to the subject of performance art.” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “Move and you’re dead.”

If I
don’t
move, I’m
still
dead. I still don’t move.

“Why’d you kill Vittorio?” I gasp. “
He
never hurt anybody. He was
gay
, he was the sweetest, gentlest…”

“I
had
to get him. He was the man in that relationship. The way he was touching you, looked to me like he might swing the other way. Give
you
a sweet, gentle fuck. I was outside the restaurant the night you had dinner with your friends,
cara.
I saw
everything.
You know what you get if you fuck
gay
guys, Delilah? Even with condoms. They break. All those magazines you have in your apartment, you oughta know, all they got in them is articles about men, how to make yourself sexy to men, how to have sex with men. All the magazines
you
read, you oughta be a
pro
, Delilah.”

Curtis takes off his wristwatch and places it on the floor within view, then he removes the plywood and kicks the containers toward me one after the other, not taking his eyes off me. Water sloshes over the side of them. He picks up another pail and dumps fine white powder in with the water, stirring it with a ruler. I shift my weight. He shoots up and grabs my wrists. “I think I’m going to have to tie you up while I do this,” he says, grabbing a cord from the floor. “Hands behind your back, like the good cop says,” he orders, then wrenches them back with a twist and coils the cord around them. I cry out as he knots it at my ankles. “Not going anywhere
now, are
you?” He scoops his hands into something white and gooey that drips down his sleeves all the way to his elbows. As he comes toward me, I realize it’s plaster. “This is even more appropriate for
you
than it was for
her
, the one in the bar,” Curtis drones. “In
her
case, she was plastered to
begin
with. You’re a sculptor, you
work
with plaster, how appropriate that you become a
tool of your trade.”

I think of Majesty Moore, the window display artist, impaled with a mannequin stand, a
tool of her trade
, and look warily in the direction of the armatures. “Oh, those. I’m not going to resort to that unless I have to. That depends on you, Delilah. Stand
real still
now.” He approaches me with palms outstretched. “I think you’re gonna have to take off your clothes for this to work. Come on, come on, what’s the matter?
Shy
all of a sudden? It’s nothing you’re not used to.”

“I’m sorry,” I twist back and forth. “I can’t. My hands are tied.”

“I’m gonna untie you now long enough for you to undress. Don’t try anything you’ll regret.”

I concentrate on a distant siren, willing it to come closer. I wonder if the police would use sirens if they were on their way here. I wonder if they have any idea where I am. I was sure I heard
some
one coming to my rescue before I was hustled out into MacDougal Alley.
Where’d they go
? I close my eyes as his gooey hands release me. I unbutton my dress and feel the breeze as it falls to my feet. I don’t want to watch what comes next. Curtis slips his hand along the elastic band of my bikini pants, yanks them down to my ankles. “You can step out of them now.” He pulls until I lift one foot, then the other, then he deftly unhooks my bra and kicks the discarded clothes to one side, then ducks down to get more plaster. I bite my lip as he spreads his first gob over me, starting with my left shoulder up to the breast bone. The chill of the wet plaster, then Curtis’ molding strokes make me cringe. After his fat fingers smooth the plaster down, he moves to the right. “Don’t look so sad. You’re about to become
living art
, Delilah.”

So he’s going to use me to make a life mask. Does this mean he’s going to let me live?

“You didn’t put cream on first,” I protest. “You’re not going to get it off without cracking it unless you put cream on first.”

“Who said anything about it coming off?” I bite my lip as his touch gets more and more intimate. Making his hand like a spatula, he goes to work on my breasts, using one hand to apply, the other to smooth. “I can make them
bigger
,” he mumbles, ladling it on thick. Excess plaster rolls off me in thick globs and spatters the floor around me like heavy wet snow.
He’s not the first to enhance what isn’t there
. He leaves huge dollops of plaster on my nipples, something that
doesn’t need
enhancing, before moving around to the back. I cry out as Curtis rams a wad of plaster into my rear and spreads it over my buttocks. His wet hand goes over my mouth. “Doesn’t taste too pleasant,
does
it?” he snarls. “You want a whole mouthful?” I shake my head from side to side. “Then shut up and let me work in peace. I’ll
tell
you when you can talk, you
got that
?” I nod. “Good.” I feel his hands cup my buttocks and I hold my breath, afraid of what
else
he might be thinking of ramming in there, then sigh as I feel his fingers work up my spine like a pianist, playing sticky scales up and down my vertebrae. The wet mix burns into my open wounds, bringing tears to my eyes.