Fanchon's Book(11)

Angel, devil, half-innocent, half-siren, so utterly awe-inspiring;' what should an audience do in such a moment? Applaud? Cheer? Whistle? No, not for this supernatural creature. My suppressed impulse strangely intoxicating in and of itself-was to go down on my knees and lift my arms in supplication. Adoration. Homage to the fire-and-ice-maiden, the fairy tale princess from a faraway exotic clime.

"Ma'm? Would you turn the lights off, please?"

I heard her. But it was more than I could do. And I sat there, drinking in the beauty, the perfection, feeding upon it and feeling myself grow full and potent and dynamic in the new-found ecstasy of being alive. The joie de vivre of my youth recaptured. As if time had clover leafed to take me back to days of wine and roses and hot-mouthed kisses in the trellised shadows of the night.

"Madame… please!"

It was an effort. But she sounded peevish and I couldn't blame the little darling; I had promised to do it her way. So I clicked the switch, pulling the igloo of darkness over my head again, not happy about it but deeply conscious of the need to comply with her wish. Her every wish, somehow, now that I had seen the nude glory of her. Certainly I had no desire to make her angry or distrustful of me. Not ever.



Chapter 4

Fairy tale princess-and mine, all mine! Only I would have to woo and win her first, surmount the obstacles, break the spell, climb the ladder of flaxen hair to the top of the tall tower; ah, would that I were a knight on a white charger!-how tidy it all was in those days, how simple to rescue the fair damsel and carry her off to have and to hold and be listed in the record books forevermore.

I sat there in the darkness, loath to click the switch and dissolve the vision I was still seeing. The pretty pink-nip pled breasts, the creamy S-curves of waist and hip (like parentheses embracing the exquisitely lewd toison d' or) and the legs, the impossible legs, could such beauty be real? Oh, I had some heavy wooing and winning to do, but with that kind of incentive I knew I was damn well going to do it. Cajole her, flatter her, tell her how beautiful she was-and bind her close to me. Bind her with the chains of love.

"Ma'm?"

"Hmm? Oh. Yes, of course." I brought the lights back on, blinking away my dream.

"Were you sitting in the dark all that time?"

"It couldn't have been very long, Kristi." I glanced significantly at her bare feet and legs below the hem of the uniform. "You got dressed in a hurry, I see."

"Well, it was so near bedtime. But I'll put my shoes and stockings on if you-"

"No, don't bother. You could have left everything off, now that I've seen you."

She giggled. "Oh, no. That show is over." Then, just a bit timorously, "Ma'am? Was it all right?" She knelt and started unplugging the electric wires. "Did you like what I did?"

"I liked it very much. Your show was fine."

"Oh, I'm so glad… "

There was a note of genuine relief in her tone; I watched her moving around to set the lamps back in their places, bending this way and that with a kind of nervous exhilaration; she had pleased me and was obviously happy about it. And so was I, of course, far more than I had let on. Perhaps it was only the infection of her mood that I caught, but it didn't seem right that I should sit so quietly nonchalant while she practically bubbled over. I got up from my chair to lend a hand.

"I'll help you, Kristi."

"No need for that, ma'm. I can do it."

The job was nearly finished, anyway. But I still wanted to do something to show what I felt-my gratitude, my elation, the joy of knowing that I had at last managed to put a crack in the wall between us. Much of it had been Kristi's doing, I realized, the peepshow had been entirely her own idea; by this time I was certain that the sweet child was in love with me but just didn't know how to go about saying so. She deserved a reward, a token of my appreciation, something more tangible than the compliments I planned showering upon her. It was up to me to sustain this cordial glow of camaraderie.