Liberate Yourself (The Desires Unlocked Trilogy Part One) (24 page)

‘I am Santos’s first mate; you can tell me anything you want to tell him, and I will pass on a message.’

She could hardly tell this man the truth. How would he react if he knew she was a woman? Would he laugh at her and shoo her away?

‘I have a message for him . . . from my sister. It’s of a personal nature . . .’

Santos’s first mate relaxed, and gave her a conspiratorial grin.

‘Not another girl in love with Santos,’ he exclaimed. ‘I don’t know how he manages to break so many hearts.’

At his words, Belle’s own heart sank. This was a hopeless endeavour. To Santos she was just another pretty girl. Why was she making a fool of herself, hunting him down like this?

‘All right,’ said the tall man. ‘You look harmless enough. He’s in Cannaregio.’ He gave her the name of a street Belle had never heard of. ‘He is at the mask-maker’s there, trading. Good luck to you and your sister.’ He slapped Belle on the back so that she almost went flying off the pier and into the sea. ‘And tell her if she has no luck with Santos, I make an excellent second best!’

He burst out laughing, and it sounded like a roll of thunder as he went up the gangway and on to Santos’s pristine white boat.

So that is how she has ended up one hour later still searching Cannaregio for this tiny street. She passes the Jewish ghetto again, and out of the corner of her eye she sees a narrow dark alley she didn’t notice the first time. She approaches it and looks at the name of the street. That’s it. She is here. She enters the alley uncertainly. A black cat saunters in front of her, and Belle follows it. The street seems to grow narrower and darker as the daylight is squeezed out of it.

Suddenly she comes upon an opening by a narrow canal, and there is a majestic crumbling Venetian house, shuttered and empty looking, leaning on its side as if it might disintegrate at any moment into the water. Attached to the moulting plaster is a sign made of white china.
Laconi
, she reads. That was the name Santos’s first mate gave her. Belle licks her lips nervously. This must be the mask-makers’s. It occurs to her that her intrusion might be unwelcome. Santos is after all in the middle of transacting some kind of business. Well, she has to go through with it now.

She knocks on the door. No answer. Maybe no one is home. She knocks again more boldly, picking up the brass knocker and dropping it from a height. She hears footsteps, brisk and light, and the door swings open. To her surprise, a woman stands on the threshold. She is older than Belle, but still very beautiful, with eyes as black as apple pips and silky olive skin. She is wearing a red petticoat, and is barefoot. Two black cats are weaving in and out of her legs, purring, and she holds another one in her hands, against her chest. She and the
cat look at Belle with indifference. The woman raises her eyebrows questioningly. Belle has lost the power of speech. She doesn’t know what to say.

‘I’m sorry, darling; you are way too young. Come back in another year,’ the woman says, winking at her.

What kind of mask-maker is this? wonders Belle. She can see no evidence of a workshop in the dark hall behind the woman. With thumping heart she realises that perhaps Santos is not here to trade after all. She is just about to let the woman close the door in her face when courage seizes her.

‘Santos Devine,’ she croaks. ‘I have a message for Santos Devine.’

She is almost hoping the woman will tell her he isn’t there. That this is all some kind of bad joke. For how could Santos want to be with another woman, older and frankly more common than her, when he knows he could have Belle with one snap of his fingers?

The woman pushes her hip to one side, balancing the cat there, and flicks an auburn curl behind her ear.

‘Yes, he’s here. Who are you?’

‘My name is . . . Louis,’ she stutters. ‘Can you tell him Louis Blackbird is here?’

She is so consumed with desperate longing that she doesn’t care about the situation she finds herself in. The man she loves is sleeping with another prostitute. It doesn’t matter to Belle. She still wants him.

The woman disappears down the dark corridor, and Belle
is left waiting with the cats. A second passes, two, and then a door at the end of the corridor swings open. Her chest tightens. There he is. The man she has craved these past two weeks. He is shirtless, but still wearing his white trousers and sailor’s cap. He stands in the doorway, the light behind him so that his face is in shadow.

‘Belle Blackbird?’ he calls out. ‘Is that you?’

She steps forward, scattering the cats.

‘Yes.’

She can see his face now. It is perfectly symmetrical, with its heavy eyebrows and the cleft in his chin.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asks, sounding surprised.

The woman appears next to Santos. She drapes her arm around his neck possessively, and Santos does nothing to stop her.

‘I came to find you,’ says Belle in a small voice. She looks into his eyes, those amber and blue eyes promising all the sensual wealth she desires. They make her want to fall into his arms and push the other whore away.

‘But why?’ he asks. ‘I told you that I would come and find you. One day.’

‘I cannot wait any longer.’ Her honest words sound clumsy now.

The other woman looks between Santos and Belle, uncomprehending.

‘Well, Santos!’ she laughs. ‘I didn’t know you were that way inclined.’

Santos grins, and tickles her under the chin.

‘He’s a girl, can’t you see?’

The woman turns to stare at Belle.

‘Oh yes, of course . . .’ She smiles cruelly. ‘But not much of a girl.’ She addresses Belle coldly. ‘Do you want Santos for yourself? Don’t you know that he is just like a cat? You can’t ask for his affection; you have to wait for him to deign to give it to you.’

Her voice sounds bitter, and Belle notices hurt in her eyes as she drops her arm from around Santos’s torso. She wonders if this woman might be more than just another prostitute to Santos.

‘I’ll leave you to talk,’ the woman says icily, disappearing into her room and clicking the door behind her. They are in near darkness, and all the while the other woman has been speaking Santos has not taken his eyes from Belle’s. His gaze is so intense, she feels as if she is pinned to the wall by it.

‘Belle,’ he asks her gruffly, ‘why did you come here? I didn’t want you to see me here. I told you . . . when the time is right, I will come to you.’

‘Why do
you
get to decide when it is the right time?’ she cries.

She is suddenly so angry, consumed by the passion of her rage. She flies down the corridor towards him, raises her hand to hit him, but he catches it in his.

‘You made me fall in love with you and then you left me stranded . . . hanging on for you. You’re a monster . . .’

He flinches, and she thinks she sees him grow pale.

‘We only spent an afternoon talking . . . Belle, you are married. I didn’t think—’

‘I am in love with you,’ she wails, pulling herself away from him. ‘Yet to you I am just another silly lovesick girl.’

She turns away from him, stumbling blindly out of the house and back down the narrow alley. He catches up with her.

‘Belle, Belle.’ He tries to take her arm, but she pulls away and storms on down the alley. He grabs her from behind, swinging her around, his strength taking her breath away. He presses her against the wall of the alley. It is siesta time and no one is around. She can feel his breath on her lips, so tantalisingly close.

‘Shush,’ he says, pushing her hair back into her cap. ‘Your disguise is falling apart.’ He gives her a smile, and it lightens her heart slightly. He cups his hands around her face.

‘Dear Belle, you have to understand that I cannot give you what you want. I love all women, and no woman. Do you understand?’

She nods, a tear trickling down her cheek.

‘Yet I find you hard to resist. Especially in your sailor’s disguise.’

He leans down and kisses her tenderly, and she can taste the salt of her tears on their lips. She pulls away.

‘I am a married woman
and
a prostitute, Santos. I am not an innocent child,’ she tells him, letting her skin brush against
the soft hair on his cheek. ‘I don’t want you to stay with me for ever. I just want you for now, until you have to leave again.’

‘But is that enough for you?’

‘Yes.’

As Belle says this, she knows she means it. Even if she has Santos for one night only, even if her love is unrequited, it is so much more than she has ever had before. And there is a part of her that hopes a little. Maybe he might come to love her too?

He sighs.

‘All right, my little blackbird. I will meet you tomorrow, I promise. In the same piazza where we first met.’

She holds his hands tightly, her stomach filled with butterflies.

‘Come with me now,’ she begs. ‘I am afraid I will lose you again.’

He shakes his head.

‘No, I can’t walk out on Lara. I am not a complete scoundrel. Although now that I have seen you, I think we will just be drinking tea and trying on masks!’ He winks at her, and Belle feels herself relaxing a little. ‘I made a promise to you,’ he says. ‘I will be there tomorrow, at three.’

He kisses her on the forehead, and spins her around, slapping her bottom lightly.

‘Now run home, my little sailor boy, before I change my mind.’

She twists round and gives him a little smile. He comes up close and trails his finger over her lips. She licks his finger, holds him with her gaze.

‘I think you are dangerous for me, Belle. And I know that I am bad for you.’ He frowns. ‘I am not sure—’

She interrupts him.

‘It’s too late. You promised!’ she calls out triumphantly as she runs away before he can say another thing.

This time she flies through Cannaregio without taking one wrong turn. She is back in her apartment and changing into her Louise clothes before she knows it. She stands in front of her mirror, and pushes her hands between her legs, looks at her dilated pupils. She can feel her excitement. Tomorrow she will have him.

She trips back home with a lighter heart, ready to take another beating from her husband. Yet today she doesn’t feel the strap against the back of her legs; instead she imagines it is the sea slapping against her as she swims with Santos by her side. In the distance she sees a tiny island: another, more enchanted Venice, a lovers’ Venice, with castles in the sky.

VALENTINA AND GABY ARE DANCING JUST LIKE LULU AND
her lesbian lover, Countess Geschwitz, on her wedding day in
Pandora’s Box
. Valentina, with her shiny black bob, is dressed in white; Gaby, with her soft blond curls, wears black. The two girls are spinning around and around the dance floor, their bodies pressed against each other so that they can feel each other’s curves through the shifting silk of their flappers’ dresses. All the couples are looking at them, but they don’t care, their cheeks pressed together in unity.

The dancing crowd begins to dissipate and Gaby’s lover Massimo appears. He is wearing a dark suit and spats, and his black hair is slicked back. He approaches the two of them and taps Valentina on the back, trying to break them up so that he can dance with Gaby. Gaby looks at Valentina, asking a silent question, and Valentina automatically understands what she wants. Gaby offers Valentina’s hand to Massimo, then walks away, disappearing into the soft contours of the dreamscape.

Valentina dances with Massimo. He smells of Gaby, and more of her love for him, as bitter and spoilt as burnt coffee. Gradually the other dancers disappear, so that it is just Massimo and Valentina dancing around and around the dance floor in black and white. No words pass between them, but Massimo bends down and sniffs her neck, and she knows that he can smell Gaby on her. The circle of their dance spreads so that they are brushing against the walls of the room as they pass by. They stop, and Massimo pushes her up against the wall. He peels off her dress and pulls down her pants. And as she looks at him, Massimo merges into an image of Francesco, her first and only married lover, and then back again into Massimo, her best friend’s married lover. He tucks himself inside her within a heartbeat. There is no need to explain themselves, for it is quite clear that Valentina is a missive from her friend. Massimo pounds into her, and although it is not unpleasant, Valentina does not find it that erotic. Not until she looks over his shoulder and sees Theo sitting on a chair in the middle of the dance floor, one leg crossed over the other, watching her. She locks eyes with him, and his gaze is expressionless. Does he love her? she wonders. How can he watch her with another man and do nothing? And yet already he has . . . and she too has watched him with another. She flashes her eyes at him, as if to say,
See, I warned you. Don’t try to fall in love with me. I will hurt you, and you will hurt me. All that we have will be worth nothing in the end
.

Massimo comes, calling out Gaby’s name. He pulls away
from her, his face wet with the tears of remembrance. She pulls up her pants, but leaves her discarded dress on the ground like a phantom of her friend’s lost relationship. And now she cannot help herself. She runs to Theo like a child to her father. She climbs on to his lap and puts her arms around his neck, linking her hands and nuzzling into him for comfort. He rocks her for a moment before standing up and carrying her. Her bare chest is pressed against the coarse material of his jacket. Its roughness soothes her, brings her back into her body. She closes her eyes.

I am so tired of being alone, so lonely without you
.

When she opens her eyes again, he is carrying her down the hallway into their bedroom. And there is Gaby, sitting up in their bed, waiting for them. Theo puts Valentina down on the bed, and Gaby crawls over towards her. She peels Valentina’s pants off her and holds them up to her face. Her eyes shine bright with grief, and Valentina can see that she smells her lost lover on a part of her dear friend. She takes Valentina’s hand and squeezes it tight in a silent thank you.

And now Theo is in the bed with both of them, and Valentina doesn’t mind at all. He comforts Gaby, stroking her steadily with his fingers so that Gaby closes her eyes and drifts away from them. And when he has made her friend climax, Theo turns his attention to Valentina. She climbs on top of him, and they make love like they have never done before, aware of how precious their fragile connection is. Valentina splinters into a thousand tiny shards, and in them all she sees
the many hearts of her lover – his passion, his wisdom, his generosity, his desires, and yes, his devotion to her.