First of all: over six months is too long to wait for an update and I know it. Needless to say, I'm really sorry, but real life doesn't always work as we plan. Plus my beta, the lovely Bastet, is going through some professional issues as well, and as her friend I can't ask her to take the time to beta my chapters whenever I feel like.
I can't promise to update as quickly as you (and I) would like, but I can promise you this: I will update and keep this story going to the end.
To my readers, once again, thank you all for the patience and support.
Now let's get this party (re-)started!
À une Madone (2)
Si je ne puis, malgré tout mon art diligent
Pour Marchepied tailler une Lune d'argent
Je mettrai le Serpent qui me mord les entrailles
Sous tes talons, afin que tu foules et railles
Reine victorieuse et féconde en rachats
Ce monstre tout gonflé de haine et de crachats.
Tu verras mes Pensers, rangés comme les Cierges
Devant l'autel fleuri de la Reine des Vierges
Etoilant de reflets le plafond peint en bleu,
Te regarder toujours avec des yeux de feu;
Et comme tout en moi te chérit et t'admire,
Tout se fera Benjoin, Encens, Oliban, Myrrhe,
Et sans cesse vers toi, sommet blanc et neigeux,
En Vapeurs montera mon Esprit orageux.
Enfin, pour compléter ton rôle de Marie,
Et pour mêler l'amour avec la barbarie,
Volupté noire! des sept Péchés capitaux,
Bourreau plein de remords, je ferai sept Couteaux
Bien affilés, et comme un jongleur insensible,
Prenant le plus profond de ton amour pour cible,
Je les planterai tous dans ton Coeur pantelant,
Dans ton Coeur sanglotant, dans ton Coeur ruisselant!
— Charles Baudelaire
À une Madone (2)
Then if my art is powerless to cut
thy pedestal, a silver moon, I'll put
beneath thy heel the serpent in my heart
for thee to bruise and mock, because thou art
the queen of my redemption, conquering all,
even that monster spewing hate and gall.
thine altar, like the Virgin's, shall be twined
with flowers, and like tapers all aligned,
my thoughts shall light the niche: from those blue skies,
watching thee always with their fiery eyes;
and since thou holdest all the love within
my heart, as incense, myrrh and benjamin,
in clouds forevermore to thee, its goal,
o snowy peak, shall rise my stormy soul.
And last, to make thee Mary utterly,
commingling love with savage cruelty,
— black joy! — with all the seven capital sins
I'll forge, remorsefully, seven javelins
knife-sharp, and like a juggler nonchalant,
taking thy love as target, I shall plant
deep in thy heart convulsed each deadly dart
— thy panting heart, thy sobbing, streaming heart!
— Lewis Piaget Shanks, Flowers of Evil (New York: Ives Washburn, 1931)
Chapter XIV
(Part II)
-You are testing your luck...-She whispered.
-How so?
-Haven't´ you had enough rude remarks and disapproving looks for the night?
-I just want to dance with you...is it too much to ask? All these months we know each other and we never danced…not even once. Don't you think this is a real shame?
Ororo sighed deeply. It was like trying to talk sense into a spoiled little boy. She would have to put her foot down.
-Remy, I don´t want to dance. I want to go home. Now. I'm asking you, please.
Coming closer, Remy held both her hands into his and whispered as sweetly as he could:
-What are you so afraid of? Those people out there…or me?
She looked up at his dark eyes, silently begging him to understand…
-It may be a little thing to you, Remy…but for me all of this is mortifying…Can't you understand?
-And can't you understand that all I want is to have you by my side? I don't care about all of this. Do you think I even notice these "rude remarks and disapproving looks" that seem to bother you so? How could I, if all I want to hear is your voice, when all the looks that interest me come from your eyes? I want to dance with you…that's all. Forget about them, their looks, their remarks…let's just dance…
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They stepped into the grand salon. All around there was a multitude of colors, silks, lights, glittering mirrors and sparkly jewels and chandeliers. Ororo walked side by side with Remy, led by his hand, trying her best to ignore that everyone stepped back as she passed by. Probably the attendance was all too surprised that she was actually going to leave the corner she had been intimidated into, and step forward in the dance floor.
Even though the general outcry, truth had to be acknowledged. Even among the mess of crinolines, trompe l´oleils, the flickering lights of thousands of candles and their phantom counterparts reflecting on the polished floors and crystals; the pristine fairy-like of the white dress and hair, the regal poise and serious expression, the very unique demeanor of the "freed slave" was a sight to behold.
As the music restarted, after an all too brief intermezzo, Ororo couldn't help but notice they were the only couple on the floor. She started to feel dizzy, and before she could regain her composure, Remy's left hand was on her waist, his right one gently holding hers. He was close, too close, his breath almost touching her cheek. Even when they were alone he never dared to come this close, and now he was doing it…in public.
Ororo almost couldn't feel the floor beneath her feet as they swirled. Remy led her with calm and patience, a continuous smile gracing his lips. If only they were alone this would be perfect… But she knew all eyes in the room were on her, maybe amazed that she knew how to waltz, maybe just waiting for her to embarrass herself. She could hear their whispers rolling under the melody, like a ghastly basso continuo. The things they must be saying… Her thoughts were cut by Remy's velvety whisper:
-Just as I imagined, you dance wonderfully…
-As best as I can with an entire audience just waiting for me to fall flat on my face- she remarked bitterly.
-Don't worry, chère…I'll catch you if you do…
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With the following musical piece, a few other couples decided to dance as well, but Ororo just had to stop. Her corset was feeling tighter by the minute, the shoes were just about to ruin her feet and she had to sit down. Remy led her to join the small group that reunited around Henry McCoy. They were all men and almost none was from New Orleans, so she wouldn't have to withstand any nagging from the female attendance, which was obviously outraged, as nearly all had defensively grouped together as far away from as possible, whispering among themselves and casting obnoxious looks upon them every two seconds. The men watched them just as carefully, but Remy could see a very different kind of sentiment in those looks. He would be damned if all of those distinguished gentlemen weren't just suffocating in their ties, going mad with envy and desire, each one wishing he was the one taking Ororo home by the end of the ball.
Emma Frost was amused. So a colored woman could cause that much havok? She could easily see how Remy had preferred her over all those little girls from "good families":
-Now, nobody told me Mademoiselle Duplessis was such a fine dancer.-The blonde mused.
-Emma, dear-Anna snickered-Anyone can teach a monkey how to dance…
Madame Frost had to laugh at the childish remark:
-Too bad nobody ever taught you to take defeat gracefully…
-What in the world do you mean?
-Oh, sweetheart, just look at them…Trust me, you lost…every single maiden in New Orleans with hopes to be the next Madame Lebeau did- The blond chuckled, ignoring the brunette's furious stare.
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McCoy's little group was indeed an interesting one. Scott Summers, an abolitionist from New York, Kurt Wagner, German writer vacationing in New Orleans to find inspiration and Piotr Rasputin, Russian up and coming artist, were the most preeminent members of it. And all three were quite smitten with the fact that Ororo was not only a very charming female was quite well capable of going from recent French literature to political issues in one breath. Most the women attending drifted away as soon as any topic more serious than the new spring fashions came about. They had been talking for almost an hour straight, when Wagner asked her to dance.
-If you wouldn't be bothered…-he smiled at Remy.
-As long as you bring her back, mon ami…
As Lebeau watched the duo dance, Scott's amused voice reached his hears:
-I don't know how you go about this around here, but where I came from, if a man finds a young woman like this, it's for keepers…
-You mean what?-Remy answered, mildly annoyed, taking Scott off-guard
-I'm sorry…I just assumed…
-Don't assume anything just yet.
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As they crossed the front door to Remy's house the clock struck two.
-See? - He smiled-You didn't turn into a pumpkin.
She had to laugh. Indeed things went so smoothly, she couldn't quite believe it yet.
-But if looks could kill…
-Ah, chère…don't worry…vicious looks coming from other women are nothing but the crowning of a superior beauty.
She looked away, intent on ignoring his charms.
-I have to change…-She trailed off, turning around and raising her hands to undo her hair. One of the star-shaped sapphire pins came off easily, but the other got tangled in her snowy white curls. Ororo cursed inwardly; Remy just had a way of making her nervous and clumsy.
-Here, let me help you with that…-He offered
-No, it´s not necessary, I..-It was of no use. Remy already had his hands on her hair, his fingers dexterously work on freeing the pin from the mass of silvery waves.
Ororo closed her eyes, working hard on controlling her breath, but it was hard not to pant with such a tight corset and Remy's body so close to hers... So close she could hear her dress rustle against his pants and feel his breath tickle her neck.
It took him a little while to get the pin off her hair, and she wasn't sure he didn't take that long on purpose. But even as she felt her hair free, Remy's hands were still lingering, and roaming gently down, cool fingertips brushing her neck and traveling to her back.
-What are you doing? - She asked, her voice barely audible.
This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening, her blurry mind tried to tell her.
But the sheer, overwhelming reality of it became clear as she felt his lips gently touch her shoulder. She kept her eyes shut as her spun her around and soft butterfly kisses started to shower onto her collarbone, subtly warm over the cold silver necklace, and up…her neck, her jaw …
Her mouth was covered by his, lips forcing hers open, as his hands roughly brought her close to his chest and she felt the first buttons on the back of her dress pop open…
In spite of herself, Ororo didn't resist…