Black Butterfly (24 page)

“I’m having dinner out,” Sydney huffed, picking up her bag again and heading to her room.

“Sydney?”

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry.”

Sydney normally would have given her a pass, but they’d both hurt each other, and to make matters worse, they’d hurt Trish. She was glad she was going to Nolen’s. She couldn’t stomach being there a minute longer.

“Don’t wait up for me,” she said. “I won’t be back tonight.”

Hearing a knock, Todd put down the solution he was pouring and headed toward the door, frowning.

He wasn’t expecting anyone. Glancing at the security camera, he blinked in surprise. Trish was standing outside his door. He unbolted the door and opened it.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I had nowhere else to go.”

“Come in,” he said, sliding the door shut.

Dressed in blue jeans and yellow turtleneck she’d worn earlier in the day when she stopped bye, Trish avoided his eyes as she wandered aimlessly through his spacious apartment. Seeing that the red light above the door to his photo studio was lit, she said, “I’m sorry. You’re busy.”

“No, I’m not. I was just doing some work. You know how that is.”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she mumbled.

“Then why did you come?” She’d been to his place every day this week. The painting was going well but she hadn’t opened up to him on a personal level since the first day.

“Today, when we talked, it helped, and now I just need somebody to talk to.” He pointed past her to the sofa she’d called ugly. “Then have a seat and let’s talk.” Trish sat down, and Todd joined her.

She looked toward her canvas, still covered and resting against the wall. “You haven’t peeked, have you?”

“I really wanted to, but you trusted me not to, so I didn’t.” She nodded. “So you’re someone I can trust.”

“Yes.”

“It’s strange,” she said shyly. “We just met, but I believe you. Maybe because we have some shared experiences, or maybe because I’m just tired of fighting my demons alone. Somehow I feel like you know me.” Todd reached for her hand, which she let him hold without protest. “Have you ever let a man hold you, as a friend?”

She laughed softly. “My friends think I’m a perfectionist and a heartbreaker. They’ve tried to fix me up numerous times, and I always pretend that I’m not interested, or I go out on the date and chase the guy away within the first hour. The truth is, I’ve never had a man hold me. Not in a normal way.” Her voice trailed off wistfully.

“May I hold you?” he asked.

Trish looked at him suspiciously and pulled her hand away. “Why?”

“You came here upset over something, and you need a friend. I want to be that friend to you.” Trish stared into his eyes and sighed deeply. After a moment, she slid closer to him. He pulled her under his arm to his chest and felt her stiffen in his embrace. “You’re a very kind and giving young woman, Trish,” he said gently. “You’re not that scared little girl who had no one to defend her. You exist beyond that.”

“Inside I feel differently.”

“I’ve got an idea,” he said.

He took her hand and led her to her easel. “Show me how you feel.” Trish picked up a blank canvas sheet and clipped it to the easel, grabbing one tube and then another, squeezing the oil-based colors onto her palette. Todd walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She leaned back into his chest, relaxing.

Kissing the side of her tear-stained face, he watched her mix the colors. “Show me,” he whispered in her ear.

“Blue is the color of life,” she said, sweeping her paintbrush across the canvas.

“Red is the color of pain.” She cut across the blue with her brush, pressing it flat to give an arch to the stroke as she added the red paint.

Todd watched as the white and red mixed on the canvas, making a rich shade of pink. “And pink is the color of hope,” he whispered in her ear.

Trish smiled, nodding in agreement, and continued to paint.

He could sense her relaxing as she covered the sheet with several strokes of her brush and then threw in other colors in intricate designs. He released her and stepped back to watch her work. The more she painted, the more alive she became. He wanted her like this always.

Since the penthouse could only be accessed through Nolen’s private elevator, the door being unlocked wasn’t a surprise. He'd given her the pass code to his building after the first night. She expected him to arrive to pick her up, but instead it was the driver.

The foyer was dimly lit and smelled of roasted lamb, and she thought she heard soft music coming from deep within. Apparently the chef had prepared their dinner. That was fantastic, because she had left home without eating Portia’s fried chicken. Dropping her bag by the door as she always did in her small apartment, she walked inside to look for him.

“Nolen?”

He came out of the shadows dressed in black slacks and a black silk shirt. “Hello, beautiful.”

“Hi.” she said.

Locked in a silent standoff with him she hesitated. She had purposefully avoided him all week. Since she had no cell phone and spent every day and evening at the studio, he couldn’t reach her. Not speaking to him didn’t stop her from thinking of him. She wondered if it affected him at all, until this moment. The way he watched her with a grim stoic look to his face, she sensed some tension. It would be her move next. So she made it. She went to him touched his arm, then tried to kiss him, but he leaned back.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“You got the lead in the musical?”

Sydney smiled. “Yes, I did.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said, his tone clipped with anger.

“You own the production I thought—”

He stepped back. The distance between them was the last thing she wanted. “You thought I arranged it?”

“No Nolen. I didn’t. It’s just been a crazy week. Okay? I’ve been thinking about you.” She moved in closer. “I was a little upset when I heard that you forced Xenia to audition me. I’m sorry.” This time when she reached for him he didn’t pull away. She kissed him.

Pulling her jacket off her shoulders, he let it fall to the floor and continued to kiss her passionately.

Sydney exhaled as he pushed her against the drapes and his hand slid upward to her breast, squeezing tenderly.

“What did I start?” she asked breathlessly once his kissing became more demanding.

Nolen pressed against her, devouring the sensitive part of her neck. His exploring fingers pushed her bra upward, fondling her nipple. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her left leg around his thigh so that he could grind through her jeans.

“I’ve waited all week for this,” he said in a deep whisper, slipping his free hand around her waist and grabbing her rump to squeeze it.

“Pardon, Monsieur Adams.”

Sydney opened her eyes at the sound of the French-accented voice and found the chef standing behind Nolen, who continued his advances, apparently not hearing him.

“Stop,” she said, pushing him away and lowering her leg.

He followed her pointed gaze. “What is it, Claude?”

“Dinner is served,” the chef said, nodding, and walked out.

Sydney laughed, pulling down her shirt. “No dessert before dinner.” Nolen kissed her again. “I want my dessert now!”

She shook her head. “No. Besides, I want to start again.” She smiled at the quizzical look on his face.

“Let’s pretend the last few days didn’t happen. I have some news to share.”

“What news?” he asked, stepping back.

“Guess who has the lead in a new off-Broadway ballet called Black Butterfly?” Nolen understood her little game. She hurt him by pushing him away the past couple of days. It was her own fear over her feelings for him that made her do it. She’d correct the mistake.

“Who?” he asked.

Sydney stepped away from the wall and did a graceful spin on her raised toe, coming back down with her hands on her hips. “Me!”

He applauded. Sydney leapt on him and he turned her within his arms. “You deserve it!” She began kissing his face and laughing until he finally put her down. “Now, let’s go celebrate!” he said, kissing her again. Sydney nodded, allowing Nolen to pull her past the large dining room to a solarium in a corner of the penthouse. Its windows showed the millions of stars behind the New York skyline. A small, intimate table was set for two, and the chef had set up a station in the corner where he had prepared the food. A man in a tux played the violin, and large pink candles on antique silver candelabra cast a warm glow throughout the room.

She looked at Nolen, astonished. “This is so nice.”

“I had no idea that Xenia would change the play in that direction, but when she told me, I wanted to do something special for you.”

Smiling, she kissed him sweetly. “That’s so sweet. Thank you.” He led her to the table and pulled out her chair. The intoxicating fragrance of the fresh flowers spread around them made her feel as if she was in a garden. “This is so beautiful.”

“It’s my favorite room,” he said.

Sydney stared across the table into his eyes. “You can be really sweet when you want to be.”

“For you, yes.”

“I’d like you to be sweet to others too.”

“You would?”

“Yes.”

“Baby steps?” He smiled.

“Baby steps.” She smiled back.

Trish laughed so hard that she felt as if her stomach would explode.

Todd laughed with her, picking up the half-empty bottle of wine and pouring himself some more. She sat up on the floor and tucked her legs under her, Indian style, wondering vaguely why the only furnishings in the room were an afghan rug and some large pillows scattered across the floor. “So, did they kick you out?” she asked.

Todd looked at her, his hair hanging in his eyes. “They did. The headmaster tried to have me permanently expelled, but of course my dad made a large donation, and I was back the next term.” Trish smiled and took a sip of her wine. “I would have kicked you out too. Slipping a beetle into that poor man’s drink and causing him to swallow it was cruel. I would have had a heart attack!” Todd nodded. “I’ve done plenty of things I’m not proud of.”

Trish stared at him. “Like what?”

He looked up at the wall of models hanging around them. “For starters, I’ve had my share of models.” Trish gazed at the pictures on the wall. “I have a friend who’s a model.”

“You do?” he asked innocently.

“Yeah, not as big time as those women, but she’s making it. I’ve heard some of her stories about photographers who abuse models’ trust and take advantage of their desperation. Are you one of those men?” Todd set down his glass. “Would it scare you away if I was?”

“I don’t know. I like knowing you this way. I’d rather not know that side of you if it exists.”

“Fair enough.”

She fell back onto one of the pillows, feeling relaxed and light-headed as she looked at the stars through the skylight. Together they had depleted a bottle of wine. “Funny, you never see this many stars in the sky at night,” she said, her lids growing heavy.

Todd sat up with his knee bent, holding his wine glass, and looked up at the ceiling. “It’s a beautiful night.” The glow of the fireplace cast shadows across his face as he smiled at her. Putting down his glass, he crawled over to her and laid his head next to hers on the pillow.

She looked into his face, now very close to hers. “I’ve never kissed a man before.”

“Would you like me to kiss you?”

Emboldened by the wine, she looked him directly in the eye. “Yes.” Todd touched her face and kissed her softly on the lips.

She closed her eyes, feeling his breath breeze over her top lip. The sweet and gentle kiss mingled with the wine made her feel as if she were lying on a cloud. He ran his tongue across her lips, slowly parting them. In response, she opened her mouth, ready to do what she imagined would be decadent under his control, and kissed him back. She tasted the wine and cheese on his breath. The feeling of his tongue in her mouth made her warm with desire. He kissed her more deeply, still touching her face. Slowly his hand went to the curve of her neck, then to her shoulder. Trish opened her eyes as the kiss came to a natural end, and he continued to caress her arm.

She saw his hesitation to go further and smiled. “I know that you think I’m fragile.”

“I don’t. . . .”

“It’s ok. I’ve told you a lot, and it’s some pretty heavy stuff to lay on someone.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

“Me too.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Trish stared into his eyes, searching for her voice. “I—I want to be a real person. A woman.”

“Trish, you are—”

“No. I don’t want to be Patricia anymore. It hurts too badly. I just want to be Trish, and, right now, I feel safe being Trish with you.”

Todd rolled onto his back and looked up through the skylight. “I hate that he hurt you,” he said, looking anxious and unhappy.

Trish sat up on her elbow, her long hair falling to the side, and looked down into Todd’s face. The bruise from his accident was fading now, but still looked somewhat painful. She touched it tenderly. “Do you think you’ll hurt me?”

He nodded, and she smiled comfortingly. “Then we can just be friends. I just want you to treat me as a person, not someone you pity or have to handle with kid gloves.”

“I see you as a person, a complete person, Trish, but you don’t see yourself that way. Even if I wanted more than friendship with you, I’m not convinced you can handle it.” She nodded. “Try me.”

Todd frowned. “What?”

Trish lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands over her stomach. She felt his hand moving her silky hair from her face and opened her eyes to see him staring down at her in her turtleneck. Taking her hand, he kissed it and then her fingertips.

She smiled but didn’t stir.

Lowering his face to hers, he kissed her again, and Trish opened herself to the experience, wanting to know more.

“I think Ms. Minetti is experiencing some separation anxiety,” Sydney said, stabbing steamed asparagus with her fork.

Nolen looked up from his wine, his blue eyes darkening. “Why do you say that?”

“You know what happened on Monday? She called me into her office to warn me about you.”