Spellbound - Part 2 ...May and December

There’s a twenty-year gap between Camilla and me—May and December. It’s an impossible chasm, I know, yet I dream of her.

Knowing that Maury finds her attractive too grieves me. I can’t bear other men looking at her, or worse, someone else sweeping her up in his arms and bearing her away.

Discussing her over drinks at the Hyatt only leaves me desolate and aware of how bleak my life has become.

I resolve to go home to bed and try to push her out of my mind.

But back in my penthouse, I’m staring at the skyline.

Where is the world hiding you, Love?

The alcohol coursing through my veins excites me, but it’s cruel—she’s not here.

Mixing memory and desire—mixing cocktails—mixing spring and winter. It’s an impossible situation but I can’t stop obsessing about her.

In my mind I fantasize. There’s a light rap at the door—her icy laughter in the hall.

I open and gaze upon her.

I wore my veil to be your mystery woman.

O, that you would—and then I’d be your Pan and you’d be my Isis.

I pick up her tyet—the red stone she gave me that day in Central Park.

Oh, look—how lovely!

She bent and retrieved it. Here—you keep it—safe for me.

I never gave it back. I knew its meaning—so did she.

Queen of the dead. Queen of immortals.

It was unspoken, and needn’t be said.

She attended the company fashion ball in a sheath dress—for me.

All of her magic—her sex magic, her Moon magic—for me.

I stare out into the darkness. Where are you, Love?

No response, then, sadly to bed.

The last face I see before sleep is hers.

I wander in late the next day.

She’s re-applying eyeliner, frowning into a makeup mirror, then, glancing up, does a snap assessment.

“You look wasted. Rough night?”

“I didn’t sleep terribly well, if that’s what you mean.”

“Neither did I,” she says, clicking the compact shut and putting away her liner.

Her luxuriant black hair spills over her shoulders. She looks stunning in her blue shift dress.

I look away.

“Maury wants me to do a fashion spread.”

“Excuse me?”

“He wants me to model the new Aubade line.”

My heart sinks.

“Lingerie? He wants you to model lingerie?”

“That’s what he proposed.”

“What will Daddy say?”

“Who knows? He’s too busy making money to care about trivia.”

I stare at her open-mouthed. “Your posing half-naked is trivia?”

“Oh, c’mon, Malcolm—it’s how we make our living. Don’t look so shocked.”

“I can’t believe your father won’t be.”

“You’re really concerned, aren’t you?”

Busted. Now what?

“I’m just worried about your reputation in the field—you weren’t trained to do this, you know.”

She grows somber. “So, you don’t think… I’d look good—that I could carry it off?”

I surrender. “I think you’d look too good.”

She smiles and throws her arms around me.

“You were teasing. Maury told me you’d agree.”

“Did he now?”

“He wants us to meet and discuss it tonight—how about your place at eight?”

“Eight—sounds great.” I manage a brittle smile.

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“Wonderful!” she enthuses, dark eyes gleaming with joy.

It’s so cruel of the gods to tempt me with a glimpse of heaven that lies forever beyond my grasp.