Picture Perfect (4 page)

Chapter 7.

My modelling session ended later that night when Maud called us all down for dinner. The meal was superb, as always, and, after a quick reconnoitre of the surroundings to ensure that all was secure, I joined Paul in our room. Neither of us spoke until we were both in our separate beds.

“Paul, about this afternoon…..” I began.

“It’s
fine
, sweetie,” he reassured me. “I didn’t mind.”

“But you’ve always been so paranoid about seeing me…..you
know
….without my clothes,” I stated. “I hope I didn’t traumatise you or anything.”

Paul sighed. “It’s a
relief
, actually,” he confessed, wryly. “All these years, a tiny, secret, buried part of me was curious about what you looked like. It made me feel guilty every time I thought about it, and that’s why I’ve always carefully avoided any chance meetings when you were getting dressed or in the shower, but now I won’t have to wonder about it anymore.” He turned and looked at me. “Does that make me sound like some sort of a weirdo?” he asked. “I apologise if it does.”

“That’s just boyish curiosity,” I reassured him. “There’s no blame attached to it. It was a pure accident. As you said, it was bound to happen one day. I’m only surprised it didn’t happen sooner. And it’s better to have it all out in the open….” I giggled. “Pardon the pun.”

Paul snorted with amusement. “You’re right, but please don’t make it a regular occurrence.”

I smiled at him. “I’ll try, sweetie. Good night.”

“Sweet dreams,” he replied, turning over in bed.

‘
Sweet dreams
’, indeed! As if!
Chance
would be a fine thing. I returned to my commune for the second night running. I was back in the clutches of my molester – bewildered, tortured and humiliated, but too inexperienced to know how to flee.
No
, I groaned in my sleep,
I’ve already done this bit. Why am I going through it all again
? I was tied to my bed, with my so-called ‘lover’ dripping hot candle wax all over my naked body. I screamed, but could barely make a sound through the gag in my mouth. The pain was driving me
wild
. I twisted and turned but couldn’t find any relief from the incessant, endless
burning
. But finally,
finally
it was over and I was untied. My torturer took me in his arms while I wept and vowed his eternal love for me, and I was fool enough to believe him. Yet, even then, I knew that something was desperately wrong; that true love
wasn’t
like this at all but, in my muddled cognitive state, I wouldn’t listen to my inner voice. And so it went on and on – the shame, the self-loathing, the sexual and physical degradation, until that blessed day when I met Moonbeam. My dream then relived, once again, the sequence of my transition from terrified social misfit to basic normality.

I awoke with a start. I glanced across at the clock. It was three o’clock in the morning. I sleepily rubbed my eyes. There was that dream again. Was it really a portent? A forewarning? But of
what
? Was it telling me that
Roger
was the same ilk as my molester? He
did
seem in an awful hurry to get me to strip for him. No, surely not. I slid out of bed and dressed, careful not to wake Paul, and tiptoed out of the room. Since I was up, I decide to have a quick tour of the house and its defences. The streetlights from the road outside provided some illumination for my rambles, so it wasn’t pitch black. Everything seemed secure. I did, however, hear a slight noise from the kitchen and I crept forwards, hugging the wall. There was a light manifesting itself from under the closed door. I carefully opened the door, centimetre by centimetre, expecting goodness knows what, and saw Maria, busily mixing flour in a bowl.

I let out a sigh of relief and opened the door fully. Maria spun around with a gasp. “Miss Kim, what you do up
this
hour?” she exclaimed.

“I could ask you the same question,” I replied, going over to her.

“Me
always
up now,” she replied. “Me look at Master Roger. Make sure he sleep, then at you and Mister Paul.”

“You’ve been
checking
on us while we’re sleeping?” I asked, surprised.

“For sure,” she confirmed. “Is part of job. Me not disturb. Very quiet, like mouse. But me want make sure you all okay.”

I looked at Maria more intently. I hadn’t given her much attention since I’d arrived in the house, although I was always aware of her presence in the background. She was youngish, probably in her early twenties, I’d say. Obviously, her primary language wasn’t English, but she was quite articulate, if not fluent in it. She was pretty, of Spanish or Italian descent, with darkish skin and flowing black hair, tied into two pigtails at the back. With a little start of recognition, I realised that she reminded me of Moonbeam. Was
that
the connection in my dreams? Why hadn’t I seen the resemblance before? I supposed it was because I was so uptight about my modelling career that I hadn’t paid closer attention previously. Her soft brown eyes watched me with interest.
Moonbeam’s eyes had been brown as well
, I thought vaguely. I moved my gaze to Maria’s hands, still busily mixing the flour. They were small and shapely, exactly as I remembered Moonbeam’s to be. I stared at them in wonder. Those hands brought back so many joyous memories – all those times of gentle massage on my weary and sore muscles; of the tender and intimate caresses when their very touch made me tremble with desire and the endless nights when I ached to feel their soothing magic once again but knew I never would because Moonbeam had disappeared…… A single tear forced its way from my eye and trickled down my cheek at the lost memories and sensations that flooded my senses.

“Miss Kim, you okay?” Maria asked anxiously.

I wiped away the tear with a regretful smile. “I’m fine, thank you, Maria,” I told her. “I’m just remembering old times that won’t ever come again.”

“Ah,
memories
,” Maria reflected. She nodded sagely. “They haunt you. Like ghosts. Some good, some bad. But all powerful. Sometime make you do stupid things.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “You’re very wise for your age,” I complimented her. “Tell me about yourself, Maria. Have you
always
been a housekeeper?”

She shrugged. “Me leave school early. From large family. Need money, so me work. A bit of this, a bit of that. Master Roger, he see me in shop one day. Say me model for him. Offer lots money. Me try, but won’t sit still enough. He say me wiggle like wriggly worm. But he keep me on as housekeeper. End of story.”

“Very concise and to the point,” I commented. “You have nice hands,” I commented tangentially, still feeling the effects of my trip down memory lane.

She looked down in surprise. “Hands? You
like
?” she asked.

“Yes, I like,” I said, unconsciously falling into her pattern of speech. “A very dear friend of mine used to give me the most marvellous massages with hands very much like yours.”

“Massage?” Maria said, delighted. “
Me
massage too. Was taught when young. Me very good, so is said. Do Master Roger now and then.”

“Really?” I asked. I hesitated. “Would you do
me
sometime?” I asked wistfully, caught up in the threads of my Moonbeam memories.

“Do
now
,” she declared firmly, putting down the bowl.

“Now?” I stammered. “But it’s early morning. What about your
work
?”

“Can do anytime,” she confirmed, putting an insistent hand on my arm. “You come. Make feel better. Massage fix everything.”

In a daze, I permitted Maria to lead me to her room. It was quite large and contained a massage table off to one side. She stood by me and made undressing motions with her hands. “Take all off,” she informed me, turning away and searching a shelf packed with oils. “Me relax you good.”

I unbuttoned my dress and hung it over a nearby chair. “
All
off?” I asked questioningly.

She turned back to me, clutching a bottle of golden oil. “All,” she commented concisely. “Oil get on underwear. Very messy. No good.”

“I see your point,” I murmured, slipping out of my remaining clothes.

“Lie on table,” Maria commanded, pouring some of the oil onto her hands and rubbing them together.

I complied and lay face down. The massage table was comfortable, if a little cold. I closed my eyes and relaxed. I felt Maria’s oil-softened hands touch my back and gently work their way along my spine and then branch out to run along the muscle pathways. I sighed and relaxed even more. God, I
loved
massages! And Maria was as good as she claimed. Her fingers discovered tight areas and dug out any tensions with carefree abandon. I was turning into a blob of jelly. Even her massage technique reminded me of Moonbeam. If I concentrated enough, I could almost believe that I was back in Moonbeam’s bed, with her straddled over me, pressing on my back muscles, alternating her actions with kisses to the side of my face.

Maria interrupted my pleasurable reverie. “Turn, please. Do front now.”

I complied and she began to rub my stomach in a circular pattern, working her way around my breasts and up to my neck. Then she started on my legs.

“You very pretty,” she whispered. “Have boyfriend?”

“No,” I admitted, wishing that I had.

Maria kneaded my thigh muscles and looked up at me intently. “
Girlfriend
, maybe?” she asked.

“Not right now,” I smiled, still remembering my beautiful and loving Moonbeam.

Maria slid her hands down my legs and began to work on the soles of my feet and the toes. It felt
delicious
, if such a description could be used. I closed my eyes in bliss.

“You are
so
good at this,” I told Maria.

“Practice long time,” she informed me. “Want be expert. Maybe have career. Not maid forever.”

“You’re well on the way,” I breathed, surrendering to her soothing manipulations. “You’re an expert already. I can vouch for that.”

“That good. Thank very much,” she replied, gliding her hands back up my legs. I felt a small tingling of anticipation as she neared my thighs.
Oh
, I thought, and just what are you
thinking
, Kim? The memories of Moonbeam must have stirred
more
than simple images. My goodness, I’d better watch myself here or I’ll say or do something I’ll regret later on. I clenched my mental muscles until Maud had bypassed the danger area and completed a final sweep of my upper body.

“All done,” she announced. “Can dress now.”

I rolled off the massage table, feeling so relaxed I could barely stand.

“Stay still,” Maria commanded and returned with a roll of paper towels and commenced to sponge the excess oil off my body. “Make clothes sticky otherwise,” she informed me.

I tore off some sheets from the roll and wiped down my upper torso, while Maud rubbed me down from the feet upwards. I was somewhat unprepared for when she patted the paper towel around my inner thighs and I had to steel myself, physically and emotionally, until she was finished. Oh dear, oh dear, I thought, I’m missing Moonbeam more that I realized.

Finally, all was done and I dressed myself once more. “Thank you, Maria,” I said sincerely. “You were brilliant.”

“Is no trouble,” she replied. “You nice. Do again any time. Just ask.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” I promised. “I feel so calm and light.”

“Is good,” Maria smiled.

Chapter 8.

I returned to my room, amazingly refreshed, but half asleep also. A strange combination really, but true. I changed back into my pyjamas and fell into my bed, almost squashing
Fluff
who had somehow managed to be sleeping there without my even noticing. He gave an offended yip as I shooed him off and I lay on my back for some time, my hands under my head, thinking about my past. If Moonbeam
hadn’t
rescued me that day, who knows
what
would have happened to me. My captor probably would have trained me in his image and I might have become a sexual predator just as he was. I was impressionable enough at that stage to have followed in his footsteps. Life was full of those little quirks, I thought, as I drifted off into a dreamless sleep, marvelling how one small act could change a person’s life forever.

I awoke the next morning, still feeling the relaxation of Maria’s massage. I smiled at her as she served breakfast and she cheekily winked at me as she handed out the milk and cereal. Roger wanted me to pose for him again that morning to complete the charcoal drawing he’d started the day before, so that took care of most of the morning. Afterwards I dressed myself and wandered down for lunch. Roger professed himself to be pleased with how the drawing had turned out and wanted to start painting that afternoon, so I mentally prepared myself for another meditation session.

Lunch was served, with Maria winking at me again as a fellow conspirator, and I decided to tour the house’s defences once more. Luckily I did because, as I peeked into a storage room next to the back door, the same three thugs I’d had the confrontation with earlier were staring at me. It was hard to say who was more surprised, but I recovered the fastest and immediately jumped into their midst and punched one in the chest. He bellowed and staggered backwards into the second one, flailing his arms in an endeavour to keep his balance. The second thug promptly tripped over the first and they both went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Excellent. The third intruder whipped out a knife and advanced on me in a sinister fashion, weaving the blade in front of him in a professional manner. I feinted with a right handed punch and his knife reflexively slashed at my arm, giving me the opportunity to close with him and hit his stomach with my left hand. He gasped, lowering his knife, so I leaned back and kicked him in the groin, and that was the end of that.
God must be a
woman
, I thought irrelevantly,
to create men so physically vulnerable in that one area
.
It sure evened the odds in a fight
.

The other two had finally sorted themselves out and were beginning to rise to their feet, so I jumped over to where they were and proceeded to teach them why they shouldn’t be in other people’s houses without permission. It was a good fight, but hardly noteworthy. I was on the receiving end of one wild, lucky swing to my face, but apart from that, I escaped unscathed.

Paul, Roger and Maria heard the ruckus and came running in to investigate, but by then it was all over. Once more, we dragged our burglars into the street and dumped them there. A crowd of people gathered around the unconscious trio, staring at their battered bodies and muttering among themselves. I noticed that most of the onlookers were wearing looks of fiendish glee and I hoped that this was the start of a quiet rebellion against their oppressors. One of the spectators even went so far as to creep forwards and kick one of the prostate figures before scurrying back into the anonymity of the crowd.

After that little detail, we gathered in the living room to discuss matters.

“This is silly,” Paul contributed. “How many times is this going to happen before they give up?”

I shrugged. “I imagine a few more,” I conceded. “People like that don’t want to give up their power without a fight, but I think the tide is starting to turn. Did you see the people out there? They’re starting to believe that they
can
take charge of their own lives after all.”

“So, you think they’ll come back again?” Roger asked nervously.

“Perhaps,” I said thoughtfully. “I just don’t know. Perhaps they’ve had enough and may simply want to cut their losses. It all depends on the mentality of who’s in charge.”

“We wait. We see,” Maria contributed in her usually concise fashion.

“Exactly,” I agreed. “That’s all we can do.”

I’d completed the rounds of the house environs to ensure that all was secure after the incursion when Paul cornered me in our bedroom.

“There’s something you’re not saying, isn’t there?” he asked, shrewdly.

“Yes, there is,” I conceded. Paul always could read me like an open book. It never ceased to amaze me how he could do that. I must have my thoughts printed on my face or something. “I checked all the entry points before those thugs arrived and there was no
way
they could have gotten in without help, unless one of them was a master thief, and none of them looked the type. Also, I’d just come back from a quick reconnoitre and there was no sign of forced entry anywhere. So, unless there’s a secret entrance that I don’t know about, either Maria or
Roger
let them into the house.”

Paul shook his head in negation. “That doesn’t make much sense,” he admitted. “Why would Roger co-operate with them if it meant prolonging their standover tactics?”

“He didn’t like the idea of me beating up the gangsters in the first place,” I mused. “He may be simply trying to make amends to stop further repercussions.”

“Maybe,” Paul said doubtfully. “What about Maria? She seems devoted to Roger. What possible motive would
she
have?”

“No idea,” I declared. “I hardly know anything about her. Let’s face it, we’re groping around in the dark. My main hope is that they’ll give up and find an easier target.”

“We can only hope,” Paul replied.