Fatima's Surprise

[soliloquy]

OOC: Need One Male writer to help.


IC:
Fatima slipped gracefully from the stage to the bar, avoiding the men who were trying to gain her attention. She slid onto a bar stool and asked the bartender for a seven and seven. She slipped her hand into her cleavage and withdrew a slender, platinum cigarette case. The engraving on it was in Bosnian, but she knew it by heart in both languages. “To my sweet Fatima, may your fires always burn bright and your song never die.” She opened the case and slipped out a cigarette. She tapped the cigarette absently against the case and lifted it to her lips. As was always the case, a lighter was lit before her and she dipped towards it, lighting her cigarette. She didn’t even bother to acknowledge the man who lit it. She picked up her drink and alternated drags on her cigarette with sips of the drink.

She looked about the club. It wasn’t the best she had sung at, but it was not bad. The acoustics were good, and the audience certainly enjoyed her. She set down her glass and smoothed her hand over the silver skirt of her dress. She flicked her ashes on the floor, as she never bothered to look for an ashtray.

A man sat next to her at the bar. He was a small man, dressed in a tweed suit which seemed archaic for their times. He smiled at her and she winced. He was going to speak to her.

“Hi there, darlin’” his drawl was straight from those western movies she so hated. “Can I buy ya’ll a drink.”

She fixed her cold blue eyes on him. “I have a drink,” she said in her thick Eastern European accent.

He stood and came next to her. “I meant the next one sweetheart.” He ran a sweaty hand down her shoulder

With little effort, she let her hand slide down and grab his crotch as she took a drag from her cigarette. He smiled hopefully at her until she increased the pressure on his pathetic excuse for a cock. “I think that your time here has expired,” she said flatly. “You may choose to walk out of this bar, or you may choose for me to break you in half.” She emphasized her intent with a tug.

His eyes were watering and he murmured that he would just leave. She let go of his dick. He stared at her as he flipped some money on the bar. He turned to leave, but she heard him mutter, “bitch.”

She ground her cigarette into the bar, took another drink and said to the bartender, “Tell Charlie I’m done for the night.”

“He ain’t gonna like it, Fati.”

“So he won’t like it,” she shrugged. She leaned over the bar, picked up her purse and coat, and started out. “And the name is Fatima, Joey. Be sure you remember it next time.”

She took a taxi to her apartment building. She gave the doorman a nod and he let her in. She did not speak to the woman in the elevator as she rode up to the twelfth floor. She slipped out of the elevator, noticing the woman’s admiring glances. She dug in her purse for her key and deftly unlocked the door.

Fatima threw her purse and key on the table in the foyer, pet her kitten Arielica, and headed straight for the bedroom. She turned back the ivory comforter from her four-post bed and shed her dress from her body. She hung it on a hangar, went into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. Then, she slipped blissfully under the pulse of the water, and leaned against the wall.

As the water pulsed against her body, she thought over the night. There was so little that surprised her anymore. She could tell you what was going to happen to her before it ever did. Just like the lighting of a cigarette. She knew before she left the stage that a man would light her cigarette for her before she had the cigarette to her lips. She could always count on an over-zealous man to hit on her, and she had learned how to defend herself long ago. She knew that the men loved her, that they wanted her for her body. A petite woman, she was very slender and had breasts a movie star can only pay for. Her black hair was natural and flowed freely down her back in soft waves. Her blue eyes could either seduce a man, or subject him to her icy rejection—whichever she chose.

There was only one man in her life who could surprise her, and Salko had died in a car accident two years before. Tears filled her eyes as she thought of the man who was to be her husband. She was a different woman then: softer, kinder, more gentle. And now, she was the woman who they all wanted, but had every reason to call a bitch. They call them as they see them, she thought sardonically.

She exited the shower and dried herself off with a towel. She could wash her hair in the morning. She peeled back the sheets and slipped her naked form between the layers of ivory satin as Arielica curled up on the pillow next to her. Her head no more hit the pillow than she was dreaming of a man, a man who could surprise her.

 

[ariosto]

"GODDAMIT!"
THUNK...THUNK....THUNKTHUNKTHUNKTHUNKTHUNK...
THUNK!

Fatima shotup in the bed and wondered if the war was still on!
Daylight was crawling through her window and the alarm clock said 6:45 AM.

Footsteps rapidly descending the steps...
"Stinking Damn Box!"

She was suddenly furious!
What asshole was making such a racket in the middle of the night!

Grabbing a filmy gown off the foot of the bed, she ran to the front door unlatched it and threw it open...
"What the hell do you mean..." she began.

The man stood up with tubes of paint, brushes and assorted paraphanalia from the spilled cardboard box in both hands.
He was tall, slender, gray eyed and had long black hair worn in a ponytail. He looked somewhat lupine.
"You got any coffee?"

She was speechless...Coffee!

He managed to free a hand and stuck it out at her.
"Hi, names Wolfe, David Wolfe. I'm your new upstairs neighbor...moving in and I'm damned
tired. I could sure use a cup."


OOC...David Wolfe has moved to New York to take a teaching job at the School of Visual Arts.
He's a brash young man of thirty with a burgeoning career in painting and an ego that could use some adjustment.

Soli if you can put up with my pace of posting I'd like to be the fellow on this thread.

 

[soliloquy]

His hand hung in mid-air as she tucked her hands into the sides of her body. He shrugged and put his hand down, brushing it off on his jeans, slightly. He continued to look at her expectantly.

"You know," Fatima began furiously, "some of us only got to sleep two hours--"

"Hey, lady, I'm tired too. I'm just asking for a cup of coffee." She stared at him. "To go, if you want. You can pour the grinds in my hand for all I care. I'm just askin' for some coffee."

For once, Fatima didn't have a response. She simply turned to walk in the building, shooting him a glance that said "follow me." She led him to the kitchen and he pulled out a chair.

"Wait!" she almost hollered. She grabbed a towel from a drawer and draped it ceremoniously over the white cushion. He eyed her suspiciously, but she gave him no excuses, nor any apologies. If a strange, dirty man was going to come into her house, she was going to make sure he didn't make a mess of her furniture. She noticed the faint footprints from his shoes in the hallway. "Could you please take off your shoes, Mr. Wolfe?"

In Bosnia, no one wore shoes in the house. One wore slippers or went barefoot. After seven years in the states, Fatima couldn't get used to the fact that Americans were dirty enough to track the outside in their homes.

"No." He said it simply. No excuses either.

"And why not?"

"Because at this point, lady, I don't even know your name, and I'm not sure I want to go that far with some unnamed woman."

She scoffed, and then mumbled, "Fatima, my name is Fatima Andzic." She got out the pan to make the coffee. "Mr. Wolfe, you will not like the coffee I make. American coffee is weak. Bosnian kava is bitter and strong."

"Hey, I think I could use some strong coffee right about now."

She made the coffee with her back to him, not speaking. She couldn't believe his insolence. How dare he come into her home by self invitation and behave in such a manner? She poured the coffee into two demitass mugs and turned to give him one.

He had his head propped up on his hand, his elbow on the table. His eyes were closed and his breathing was soft and even. "Mr. Wolfe?" She leaned closer. "Mr. Wolfe?"

"Just set it down in front of me. Hey, lady, this isn't a cup of coffee--it's a thimble. I need more than that."

She smiled, despite her disapproval of his behavior. "Try it before you decide how much you want, Mr. Wolfe."

He took a larger sip than he might have, but he recovered quickly. "Well, it is strong. You were right about that."

They sipped their coffee silently as he was tired and she wanted no more to do with this rude man. Fatima looked at his tired, dirty physique. He was the typical brutish American. No class, no style. But there was something about his eyes that not only left her unsettled, but drew her to look at him despite her distaste for him.

 

[ariosto]

"Thank you."
He stood up and put the demitasse cup down gently.
"Your right it's pretty strong...kinda like espresso only more so."
He smiled at her but she regarded him stonily.

"Ahhh...Sorry I woke you up Miss Adzic. I'm an early riser myself.
Say what did you say you did to stay up so late?"

She rose and walked towards the front door.
"I didn't say Mister Wolfe, but I'm an entertainer."

He loped along after her...
"Hell I shoulda known. Your damned good looking you know."

She opened the door and stood with hands folded across her ample breasts.
"Thank you. Now I'd like to go back to sleep. Can you please be quiet."

He walked into the hallway and turned.
"Fatima,"
he chuckled
"When I hear that name I think of Egypt and belly dancers and..."

She slammed the door.
He was ringing all the right bells.

 

[soliloquy]

Fatima leaned against the door and shook her head. Egyptian belly dancers? What kind of an entertainer did he think she was?

She crawled back in bed and was trying to shake off the image of his gray eyes boring into her when the phone rang.

“Zdravo” she answered briskly.

“Fati, it’s Joey.”

“Fatima”

“Ok, ok, Fatima, it’s Joey.”

“What do you want, Joey?”

“Charlie says he wants you here by eight tonight. Special party. He says to be on time.”

“Ok, goodnight, Joey.”

“Night Fati.”

She hung up the phone in disgust. She then settled on her pillow, but found it hard to sleep. She was frustrated and angry. How was it that he got to her so badly? She heard more shuffling from above and considered going up there to ask him to keep it down, but she didn’t want to see him again.

She tossed and turned, fitfully. All she could think of was those eyes. Why were they so unsettling for her?

She finally got up and got dressed. Jeans and a red t-shirt. She went over to the piano to practice a bit. She gave up, however, when the vacuuming from above drowned out her music. She slipped on her shoes and ran upstairs to pound on the door.

The vacuuming stopped and she heard steps coming towards the door. He opened the door and smiled wolfishly at her.

“Mr. Wolfe. First you wake me up…” He never allowed her to finish.

 

[ariosto]

"Hey!...your a life saver!
I need your hands!"
David grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside.
She thought for a minute about screaming, not that it would do much good but what she saw in the large living room space made her pause.

Other than a paint spattered coffee table there was no furniture at all. What filled the room were paintings, dozens, scores, a hundred paintings! Leaning against the walls, stacked four feet deep, all of them large and nearly all of them nudes. At least the ones she could see...
The linen backs of several were sitting on easels and it was to these that he coaxed and pulled her.

"See...look at that!"
He held both her shoulders and she was aware for the first time how strong the man was. He turned her to face one of the paintings. It was unfinished...The face was that of a sensuous, dark haired woman, the body lush and well rounded. It had all been washed in, The details drawn with charcoal lay under the thin glazes....eyes, lips, nipples, pubes...everything was there except....

"Hands...see this was Monica....well I mean it still is Monica but when I lost my loft downtown, I kinda lost her too...
Bad time, I'll explain later."

She was only half listening. The figure on the other canvas was more complete but obviously the same girl. She was draped across a tossled bed her legs slightly parted, her sex...

"See hands are a bitch. When I uncrated this stuff I realized I'd never finish this damn picture without some hands to work from.
So you got here at just the right time!"

She tore her eyes from the pictures and looked at him.
He was grinning like a boy with a brand new bb gun.

"Hey I unpacked my Mister Coffee an hour ago. Now I can repay you...just a sec."
He disappeared around the dge of the easel and Fatima returned to contemplating the raven haired women.
He was pretty good this David Wolfe.

The apartment smelled of fresh coffee and oil paint.

 

[soliloquy]

She looked from one picture to another...she seemed so blissful and satiated. Fatima couldn't remember the last time she felt as this woman did.

He handed her a cup of coffee and she sipped the weak brew politely. She traced a red fingernail over the woman's lips.

It couldn't take long, she thought, letting him use my hands as a model. Just my hands.

She pulled her cigarette case out of her pocket and raised it to her lips. He was staring at her. "Surely, you don't mind?"

"As a matter of fact, I do, Fatima."

She grimaced at him, but placed the cigarette and case back in her pocket, desperately needing one at this moment. Weak coffee and no cigarette. She really should leave. She needed to practice. But she stayed.

"What do you need me to do, Mr. Wolfe? And how long will it take? I have to be at the club by eight tonight for work."

She sat on the coffee table and kicked her shoes off absently. She didn't understand why she was being so charitable to this man. He could find someone else. She almost left, but saw his gray eyes staring at her. Something in her made her stay, if only to figure out why his eyes so compelled her.

He smiled at her and she cringed.

 

[ariosto]

"Why then we have all afternoon!...maybe I can draw your feet too."
He walked back into the kitchen.
"Sorry about the smoke thing...it's all right outside or on the balcony but in here with the oils and all...just too much."

He walked back in with a tray of brownies.
"Thought you might like one. My mother sends them. I left Seattle years ago but she keeps 'em coming...they're good. Try one."

Fatima eyed the calorie bombs specutively and chose the smallest one. It was pretty good.

"You are a painter...you teach painting?"
May as well make a little conversation.

David sat cross legged on the floor in front of her.
"Yes and no....I'm a painter who teaches Art History.
I have a Master's in it and they needed an Art History teacher more than another painting instructor. Besides my paintings are a bit anachronistic."

She looked puzzled and he laughed,
"I paint realistic nudes Fatima, Bougereau and Ingres are my mentors...Oh I may even go as far as Modogliani but none of the modern stuff...it's not for me. I couldn't teach students to be 'relevant'. "
He laughed again and then reached out and touched her foot.
"You have extraordinary hands and feet...very pretty."
He looked up at her,
"But why shouldn't they be. They belong to a beautiful woman!"

In spite of herself she blushed,
"Maybe we shoud get started on whatever your planning to do...David...I do have some errands to run."

He stood up, he seemed taller somehow.
"OKay, let me get some charcoal and a couple of soft blankets you can lay on. Look at the way Monica is posed...that's how I'll need you to be and then we'll do some things with your hands..."

He disappeared and she wondered if he was aware of how suggestive this all sounded.

 

[soliloquy]

He disappeared as she stared at the painting. He wanted her to pose like that? Where? On the coffee table? Suddenly she was in dire need of a cigarette.

"I'm stepping onto the balcony for a cigarette," she hollered, the quake in her voice unmistakable. She lit the cigarette, her hand shaking. Why was she staying here if the proposition was so terrifying for her?

He appeared on the balcony. "Everything's ready but you, Fatima. Take your time."

She returned to her icy replies. "I was planning to." He laughed.

"You sure do whatever you want. Damn everybody else. I like that."

"Well, Mr. Wolfe, I am glad you find me amusing."

"Please, David, my name is David. You make me think I'm talking to one of my students."

She took a drag on her cigarette and looked over the street. The persistent honking of New York City amused her. Americans were always so impatient when it came to travel--and most everything else.

The silence between them drowned out the traffic below, and Fatima was feeling awkward. She stubbed her cigarette out on the railing and let it fall the two floors to the pavement.

"Well, Mr.--um, David. I guess I am ready."

They turned to go through the balcony doors simultaneously and brushed against each other. "Isvinite" she muttered. Looking at his questioning gaze she translated, "Excuse me." They walked inside and she braced herself for what was to come. To pose so lewdly, dressed or not, was dangerous. It was always dangerous to even imply sensuality to a man, and here, she was out of her element. And David was certainly strong. She shivered a bit in anticipation...let's get this over with, she thought.

 

[ariosto]

He'd piled up several layers of blankets on the floor and topped it with a beautiful hand made quilt.
He pointed to it.
"Pretty nice huh?...I think they thought that I'd freeze when I moved here from the west coast. My Grandmother made that one."

Fatima nodded, David's comments about his family were stirring up some sad memories for her. She sat down on the bed clothes abruptly.
"Well let's get going shall we?"

He looked at her amoment and realised for the first time that she was much more than an attractive woman, she was beautiful.

"Ahhhh.....yes...okay."
He looked at Monica's picture and then at Fatima.
"Lay back...that's right...here put your head on the pillow there and turn towards me...left knee up...right..."
Suddenly he seemed not the naive boy but a teacher giving crisp directions to his students, to his models,
"This leg over here abit more...Right arm under your breasts...left
hand just above your...ahhh, here let me show you."

He picked up her hand and placed it just a few inches above her mons, palm downward. In spite of herself she blushed.
"Now let me..."
Still leaning over here, he ran his hands quickly through her dark hair tossling it.

"Is that neccesary david? Your drawing my hands not my hair."
Her words were cold but her scalp was warm from his touch.

He turned those gray eyes on her and smiled.
"When I painted this picture...when I started it. Monica and I had just made love, her hair was wild...all over the place.
It will help me to get back in the 'mood' of the painting...see?"

 

[soliloquy]

"Monica and I had just made love, her hair was wild...all over the place.
It will help me to get back in the 'mood' of the painting...see?"

His grey eyes bore into her.

Fatima cleared her throat. She wasn't sure she wanted him to get into the 'mood' of the painting. He began looking between her and the canvas, charcoal in hand.

Fatima closed her eyes, not wanting to see how lewdly she was displayed, nor that he was examining her so closely. She could still see his eyes, and then a flash of an image--Salko leaning over her, gazing into her eyes. Then David's, then Salko's. She could hear the screech of tires as she turned to see where he was...

Fatima opened her eyes and pushed down the urge to run from the apartment. Time seemed to drag on, his charcoal dragging against the canvas as if in slow motion. She turned her head into the blankets to wipe away the tear or two that had escaped her eyes.

"You loved her very much?" she asked, trying to sound as if everything was quite normal.

 

[ariosto]

"You loved her very much?"
She had to repeat herself, a glance at David showed her that he was lost completely in what he was doing.

"Oh Monica you mean?...No not love, infatuation...lust, a lot of lust!...not love..."
She watched his hands as they drew hers. Once he came over and made a slight adjustment to her forearm, his own leaning against her breast while he did so.
Intentional?...maybe not.

The sound of traffic on the streets below was lulling her to sleep. She tried to fight it. Thought of demanding a break for a cigarette but didn't. She needed to cut down anyway...

He was aware of her...screamingly aware.
But David had learned long ago to control the passions within him.
Two years in prison had blanketed him with a shell of containement many layers deep.
He'd begun to draw in his jail cell and it had kept him sane. Art school had been done on scholarships and sweat. The brownies he'd offered Fatima had come from the poor single wide trailer his mother lived in outside of Fresno.
He occasionaly sent money to her, when he sold a painting and never asked where it disappeared to.

He knew the instant she fell asleep and slipping from his chair in front of the easel, knelt down beside her and studied every inch of her body and face that he could see.
His hands wanted to touch her, feel the texture of her skin, mold themselves to the curves of her body...her eyes flickered.

"Well, wake up sleepy head!...I'm finished."
He was standing by the painting smiling and gesturing at the hands he'd just drawn.

"Perfect! I owe your hands a dinner at the very least...how about it?"

 

[soliloquy]

Fatima sat up slowly, embarrassed that she had allowed herself to be in such a vulnerable position with a man she didn't even know. And his honesty. Lust, not love. Her eyes flickered to the painting, now with etched hands. How can a man ravish a woman so without love?

While instinct told her to decline, she couldn't deny that he had made no inappropriate moves, and had been kind to her. She looked at the clock. Five o'clock and she still had to get ready. Didn't leave much time.

"I appreciate the offer, David. I have to work at eight so we will either have to put it off for another time, or you can come down and have dinner before I sing. The food isn't great, but it's food."

She couldn't believe she was offering to take him up. It was never so hard to say no before.

"Sure, I could use a night of entertainment."

"I will be ready by six. If you still wish to go, come down to my apartment."

She closed the door behind her and sprinted downstairs. She looked in the mirror. She shouldn't have to wash her hair, it would be fine. She brushed through it and twisted it up, letting long wisps escape and tumble around her face and down her back. She applied her makeup and checked over it again before she sat down at the piano. She plunked out a note and began singing a Gypsy Kings song that Salko had always loved. She did a few scales and then went to get dressed.

She chose a red dress tonight. Bright red and sleeveless that clasped around her neck, and was virtually backless save a few cords criscrossing across the lower portion. The skirt was long and flared at the bottom. She slipped on a pair of red heels and threw her purse over her shoulder just as she heard the knock on the door.

"Well, you are certainly prompt, Mr. Wolfe" she smiled as she opened the door.

The man who stood before her was virile, attractive, and downright sexy. Her stomach lurched. Could she go through with this?

There wasn't any way to back out now.

 

[ariosto]

"Wow...youre beautiful, simply beautiful. And you sing too?"

He looked different now. He was actually well dressed. Muted colors, tailored fit to his jacket, shined shoes...she was surprised!
Pleasently surprised.

"Here I brought you this...thought you might like it."
She hoped it wasn't more brownies.
It wasn't...it was adrawing, rolled and neatly tied with a red ribbon.

"Go ahead take it...It's for you.'
Fatima reached out and took the drawing.
He watched her fingers so long and elegant, untying the ribbon.
"I did it while you were asleep, after I finished the hands."

It was a sketch, rapidly done but beautiful, the lines perfectly placed, a few strokes and each of them eloquent.

"It's me!"
It was indeed, he'd deftly sketched in her body but had spent more time on her face. It was a remarkable portrait of her lying on the old quilt in the clothes she'd worn that afternoon.
She was at a loss for words momentarily.

"Well...I hope you like it." He looked at his watch.
"We better go, or you'll be late. I'm really looking forward to this you know!"

Fatima knew he was right, that the cab was probably allready there waiting. Somehow though she wanted to do something, to aknowledge this gift...but what?

 

[soliloquy]

Fatima stood, stunned for a bit. This likeness of her was so flattering, and so unexpected. She recovered to press her cheek to his, kissing the air as was custom for her.

"Thank you," she whispered. She turned back into her apartment to find a frame that it would fit in. The only one seemed to be the one containing a photograph of Salko and herself in front of a taxi, her body bent over his arm as he kissed her. She faltered for a second, but did not want to seem ungrateful by just lying the drawing down. She deftly took the photo out and replaced it with the picture. She hung it above the piano.

"Just until I find a frame that better suits it," she explained to him. She patted Arielica on the head and began towards the door. "The taxi must be waiting."

He held the door open for her and she slid into the taxi giving the driver the address of the club. She had noticed how the driver looked her over in the rearview mirror. It made her shudder.

"Are you cold?" David asked. "I could go get you a jacket."

"No, I am fine, thank you." And then there was silence. A nice, awkward silence between two people who didn't know how they got here in the first place. Well, at least one person.

They arrived at the club and she tossed her purse at Joey after withdrawing her cigarette case. "We need a table, Joey."

Joey stared in disbelief. He had never known her to come into the club with a man, and he had begun to think that she was one of those women who just hated all men.

As she walked away, she put on her club face, so to speak. She was in her element, where even David Wolfe couldn't break through her ice. "Close your mouth, Joey. It's not that monumental."

She found a table and pulled a cigarette from her case and lit it. She had waited a minute to see if David would light it, but had been delighted when he made no move. Delighted, that wasn't something she felt often.

 

[ariosto]

David avoided places like this. He liked a drink now and then, even a few drinks now and then. He liked music...he had an extensive coillection of old vinyls, even a number of Opera's which surprised most people when they found out that he enjoyed
Puccini more than Baez or Dillon...around the Art School he was already being called the Last Hippie.
No it was the ambience of a night club that he found dangerous.
The noise, the smoke, the darkness, the smell...all of it could easily break down his self control and generate one of his
devastating headaches but at least now, so early in the evening it was quiet ...and more than a little depressing.

A waiter came and placed a drink in front of Fatima. He looked at David questioningly...
"Just a coke please, right now."

"Your not drinking David?"
She flicked her cigarette into a cut glass ash tray.

"No, not tonight. I want to be clear headed while I listen to you."
He smiled and in spite of herself she felt herself warming up to this young man.

 

[soliloquy]

Fatima sipped her wine and toyed with her salad as they talked. She was not very hungry. She was always nervous before a show, but never let anyone know it. She was also feeling a bit uncomfortable with the fact that she was enjoying her conversation with David. He made jokes and she laughed. That hadn't happened in a while for her.

She asked David for the time and excused herself. She went to the back room and adjusted her hair and makeup. She then sought out Charlie.

"So, Fatima, I see you brought someone with you. Anyone of interest?"

"Not to you, no." Fatima's icy blue stare returned quickly.

"They're a bit rowdy tonight. Probably shouldn't have worn the red."

"I wear what I like and you know it, Charlie."

"Yes, and we need to talk about your exit last night. You don't seem to realize that this is a job. You can't just leave--"

Fatima interrupted him calmly. "I can get a job just about anywhere in this city. I will do as I please. If you want to fire me--"

She knew Charlie couldn't afford it. Fatima was the lure for many regulars. The food wasn't great, and the booze was expensive. If he didn't have Fatima...

"I think it's time for me to go on." Fatima stalked out the door and made her way onto the stage. As soon as her foot hit the stage floor, her body language transformed. She was no longer an angry woman, but a siren in red. She stepped up to the mike and made her introduction. The piano player began, and soon she was midway into "Do Right Man".

There was something lighter about her singing tonight. She reached the high and low notes with much ease, and her movement seemed to be telling the story as much as her words.

She looked out over the crowd, something she rarely did, and caught David's eye just as she was winking seductively. He grinned, and for just a moment she faltered. Her voice went raspy and she skipped a word.

She vowed she wouldn't look at him again for the duration of her set.

 

[ariosto]

In the spotlight, she didn't look quite real.
She looked like something in a movie he was watching...the nightclub looked like something in a movie...hell maybe he was IN a movie!

Her voice was lovely, soft...throaty...sexy.
He looked around the tables in the packed club.
Everyone was watching and listening.
Fatima was a class act.

He saw her looking at him and raised his coke in salute, smiling broadly.
He thought he detected a catch in her voice but she looked away and didn't glance towards him again. He was a bit disapointed but she was a professional. She knew what she had to do.
She sang for the next half hour and finished with a sad sweet song in a language David had never heard.

After the set was over and she aknowledged the applause, he watched as Fatima disappeared through a door with a goodlooking stocky fellow with a Latin cast to his features and he felt a twinge of jealousy.

He loosened his collar and began to fill his napkin up with drawings of cabaret singers...

 

[soliloquy]

Charlie had nodded her into the back room. She followed him and sat in front of the mirror adjusting her makeup.

"Great set, Fatima. You've got every man in here hard and you know it, you tease." He slid a hand along the back of her neck and over her shoulder, descending upon her breast as if it were his prey. She allowed him this brief indulgence as she applied a coat of lip gloss.

She then stood and turned to face him. His eyes were eager and his hands itched to touch her. She leaned into him and pressed her lips against his ear. "If you touch me again, I will walk out of here and you will never see me again." Her voice was seductive and cool, but her words were adamant and filled with venom.

Charlie stepped back and stumbled over the coat rack. He clumsily caught it and set it upright. Then he grinned. "Can't blame a guy for trying." He turned and walked out. "Ten minutes."

Of course, ten minutes. Did he think her some amateur? She glanced at herself in the mirror and headed back out to the club. She made her way to the table where David sat, doodling on the napkin. She sat opposite of him and took a sip of her drink. "Always drawing." She smiled softly.

He glanced up, suddenly aware of her presence. He smiled so brightly that she felt like giggling. Her stomach turned as the new feeling made her uncomfortable. She lit a cigarette as she recovered. The smoke circled in the light like a blue ribbon dancing in the wind.

 

[ariosto]

It was very late when the cab dropped them off, unless 3AM can be considered early.
David paid and tipped the cabby and went with her to her door.
All evening he'd entertained pipedreams of taking her home, being invited in for a drink and seducing her but right now standing at her door with several drinks sedating him he would have been content with a kiss on the cheek and a sweet 'good night.'

Her key turned, the door opened and Fatima walked in, calling back over her shoulder...
"Come on in and relax David...have a drink. I always need to unwind after a show."

*Okay...I can do that.*

She'd disappeared into the bedroom and he collapsed on the couch, not really wanting any more alcohol.
"Got a coke, or something?...Don't want a hangover tomorrow."

"Hang on a minute...I think I do."

He was drifting off when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
His eyes flew open and he saw...a coke!

"Here...I had one left in the back of the frig."
she sat down across from him and his eyes grew even wider.

"Don't get any ideas neighbor, this is what I usually wear around the apartment when I get off work...it's comfortable."
She smiled and crossed her wonderful legs.

 

[soliloquy]

She had debated about changing at all. She surely didn't want him to see her silk nightgown as an invitation, but she was not the type of woman who owned casual sleepwear. She loved beautiful things,a nd loved the feeling of silk on her body. She never bought sweats or t-shirts for sleeping. She really owned very few casual clothes. Some exercise clothes and some jeans and tank tops, but that was about it. She was more formal in nature.

Not only was she unsure about her attire, but she was unsure about why she had invited him in. It was three in the morning, and he looked dead tired. The coke can seemed to dangle from his fingers. She was afraid he might spill, but said nothing.

She sat across from him, sipping a water as she watched him fight the urge to fall asleep. Arielica rubbed up against him on the couch. "Ari, come here. Sorry about that. I don't know if you like cats." She picked the kitten up and began to pet her as she looked down upon David.

Her eyes skimmed over his form unabashedly. He was a strong man whose every move, every muscle, radiated sexual energy. She glanced at the drawing of her over the piano, and was reminded of the woman in the paintings. That sexual charge to the painting had more to do with him than her, she suspected.

He caught her eye and she blushed. She turned away from him quickly, and walked into the kitchen to put her glass down. She started chattering nonsensically about her evening, and Charlie and Joey. Just filling the silence with the noise of her own voice.

She turned around to see the coke on her coffee table, and the man sprawled on the couch asleep. She smiled and got a blanket out. She covered him with the blanket, and couldn't resist running her fingers through his hair. This stirred him awake.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I should go." He began to sit up.

"Well, David, I would understand if you wanted your own bed, but you are welcome to sleep here if you are too tired to move."

Why was it that she was more nervous that he would leave than she was that he would stay?

 

[ariosto]

He was aware in vague rosy hued way that he'd just taken a step closer to her and was pleased.
To sleep in Fatima's apartment would be very nice. Even if it was only with her cat.

"Thanks...very comfortable." He said drowsily.
"I promise not to wake you when I get up..."

He reached out and took her hand. She was so surprised she did nothing to withdraw it.

"Your a nice woman...very beautiful...you sing real...good...."
And he was asleep.

His dreams were vivid and immediate. While she sat in the chair looking at him he was already in her bed, caressing the smooth flesh, the warm smooth flesh of her body.
His lips were on her breasts, kissing and tasting, feeling her nipples stiffening.
HEr fingers closed around his cock and began to squeeze and stroke...

"Ohhhhhhhgoddddddd...." he murmured as he slept, a smile on his face and Fatima wondered what he was dreaming of.

 

[soliloquy]

Something about the way he looked as he dreamed--a boyish quality she had yet to see in him surfaced. She rose from the chair and sat on the couch next to him. She brushed some hair off his face and tucked the blanket tighter around him.

"Goodnight," she whispered.

In her bedroom, Arielica was already curled up on a pillow indicating the late hour. Fatima brushed her teeth and hair and slipped between the covers.

Sleep came fitfully. Short sequences of dreams overlapping, interrupting.

She could feel David's hands on her naked skin, washing over her like warm sand on your feet. His kiss, his urgency, her nipples aching for more--Then Salko smiling at her, giving her approval for something. She reached out to touch him, and there was David--painting in jeans and no shirt. Her hands slid over the contours of his back and slipped around to embrace him. He turned to face her--The car, head on, Salko's face in horror. An explosion--His body in the coffin at the visitation--David's hand about her waist--

She awoke with a start. 6:45. Damn. She couldn't breathe. Her body was drenched in sweat, her face stained with tears. She ran into the kitchen to get some water as she struggled for a breath. She didn't realize she was sobbing until she noticed that she was sitting in a corner of the kitchen, the glass of water spilled over her ivory nightgown.

It was then that she saw David. She had forgotten he was staying over. She took a couple of deep breaths, trying to regain composure. He stirred on the couch. She didn't want him to see her like this. But the tears wouldn't stop. Her body refused to move.

 

[ariosto]

He thought he was still dreaming at first...the figure looked so pale and white...an angel...a ghost...
He blinked and his vision cleared...It was Fatima sitting in the kitchen staring at him. A small flourescent light over the stove was making her white nightgown glow eerily.

"Ahhhh....Is it morning?....I better..."
He swung his legs out from under the covers and realised too late that he'd slipped out of his trousers during the night when it had gotten uncomfortably hot.

He grabbed the blanket and held it over his jockeys and knees like a small boy caught with his pants down.
"Ohh...Hell, I'm sorry...lemme get my pants on."

He grabbed them off the floor and began to slide them on awkwardly under the quilt.
The whole time she just stared at him...no expression on her face.
A cigarette was burnt to ashes in the tray beside her.
She'd been sitting there a long time.

He tried not to notice but the nightgown was gossamer sheer and she made no attempt to cover herself. Her breasts were larger than he'd thought...the nipples dark pointed circles that
made little tents in the silky fabric.
He tore his eyes away and looked at her face. She'd been crying... he was sure.

"Fatima, what's wrong?
is there anything I can do?"

 

[soliloquy]

She didn't hear him speaking. She wasn't even fully aware that he had awakened. She was still so jolted from her dreams, that she was not aware of much at all. It came as a surprise, therefore, when she realized that he was sitting next to her, and trying to slip a hand around her shoulder.

He repeated himself: "Can I do anything?"

She straightened up and pulled away from him, denying the electricity that flowed between them. "Go home," she merely mouthed, as her voice was caught somewhere between her brain and her tongue. He looked at her quizically and turned her face to his.

She half pulled away, and yet, she grabbed his shirt in her hand as if clinging to him. She repeated herself more loudly this time, though it was still a mere whisper. "Go home."

"Okay," he said, hesitantly and began to rise from the floor.

She tried to stand with him, but slipped a bit. David reached out to catch her. She felt his strong arms putting her upright, and part of her wanted to sag against them and let him comfort her. But then her eyes caught the drawing he had done, where the picture of Salko and herself had once been. She steadied herself and picked up a cigarette.

"And take that with you." She pointed to the drawing callously. She glanced at him, but could not read his reaction.

A week later, she could not remember what had passed after that, but she knew that the drawing still hung above the piano. She knew she locked her door, turned the ringer and the machine off on her phone, and had ignored the periodic pounding on her door. She hid in bed, trying so hard to sort out the feelings she was having. There was a part of her that would never be able to let go of Salko, but there was a part of her that couldn't forget David.

The memory of him arranging her, his eyes on her in the club, the feeling of his arms as he had caught her. As soon as she would allow herself to enjoy these memories, she would feel guilty. She had even called her mother about it, but the connection was so bad that she couldn't understand what her mother was saying. She knew what she would have said:

"Is he muslim? Why do you want to marry an American? There are so many Bosnian boys in New York City. Why don't you go out with Elma's son? He lives uptown." Blah blah blah....

She had finally showered and eaten by Friday. She was sitting in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette and pondering how to explain to Charlie where she had been, when she heard a pounding on her door. A quiet voice.

"Fatima?"

It was David. She froze.