make a brilliant monster for her scientist lover.”
“Thanks. Lovely seeing you, Una. I can’t wait for the new play.” But she had already moved off, distracted by a player complaining that his suit was giving him electric shocks. Largo used the moment to duck into Remy’s dressing room.
She was naked when he went in, toweling the sweat of the performance off her body. Her hair and eyes were dark, and her body was as trim as an athlete’s. Largo was fairly certain that if they ever had a fight, she could easily overcome him, a fate to which he wasn’t entirely averse.
When she saw him in the mirror, she ran over and threw her arms around him, kissing him hard and for a long time. When she pulled away she said, “What took you so long getting here? I thought you’d forgotten about me.” She handed him the towel and turned around. Largo began wiping the sweat off her back and legs. She laughed and pulled away for a second when the towel tickled her thigh. Then she leaned against his chest.
“It was Una,” he said, bringing the towel around to wipe her front. She pushed herself into the thick material when he reached her breasts and he lingered there as her hands wrapped around his and she dug her nails into him. “She was telling me about how she wants to cut off your head and turn you into a Mara.”
Remy threw the towel away and guided his hand down between her legs, where she ground against his fingers. “I know. Isn’t it wonderful? Science, lust, and death. The cornerstones of the world!”
“That’s only three cornerstones,” he said, nipping her shoulder. “Aren’t there supposed to be four?”
She sighed and said, “You’re right. I left out one. Morphia. You brought some with you, right?”
With his free hand, he took the cocaine vial from his pocket and held it in front of her. “Look at what else I have.”
Remy spun around, kissed him, took the vial, and pressed it lovingly between her breasts. Her smile was both wicked and silly, like a naughty child’s after she’d been caught stealing sips of the adults’ dinner wine. He loved seeing her in such a delighted mood. “What a treat. But we’ll keep it for later, all right? We’re going to a party at Werner Petersen’s house. Do you know him? He’s a great arts patron.”
Largo’s heart sank a little and the desire from a moment before evaporated. He always felt clumsy and drab around Remy’s artist friends, and his clothes were pathetic. But maybe more cocaine would help his mood. He took the vial back and dropped it into his jacket pocket.
Remy pressed against him and cupped his groin in her hand. In her silkiest voice she said, “Morphia, please. Now, please.”
Her hunger helped to lift his mood once more. He kissed her lips when he took out the bottle. Remy grinned as she closed her eyes and opened her mouth. Largo put two drops under her tongue. Then she snatched the bottle from his hand and did the same for him. They kissed, letting the morphia mix and melt their bones at the same time. A moment later, Remy let her head fall back. “Why is it so necessary for people to get dressed when they go out? I feel too wonderful for clothes. Why can’t I just go like this?”
“You’d certainly be the hit of the party,” said Largo. She shivered when he touched her nipples. “But I’m afraid we might both be arrested on the way. Besides, it’s cold out. You’d freeze your poor toes.”
Remy dropped down into a chair by the dressing table. “All right, I suppose for the sake of my toes I’ll put on shoes.”
Largo went to the clothes stand where her dress hung from a padded hanger. It was black silk and opaque for the most part, but with a flower pattern down the front that revealed glimpses of her skin and the flesh-colored brassieres she favored. He held it up before her and said, “Come on. I’ll help you put it on.”
“Fine,” she said. “But I’m not wearing anything under it. I plan to fuck you quite violently when we get home and there’s no point in wearing anything that will get in the way.”
“A bold fashion choice, but one I heartily endorse.”
Remy stood and held up her hands as Largo slipped the dress over her and zipped her up in the back.
“Can you see my tits?” she said, standing in front of a full-length mirror mounted behind the dressing room door.
“Quite well,” he said.
“Good. I want everyone to be jealous of you tonight. Some of the people who will be at the party are quite delightful, but you know how it is with rich art benefactors. A lot of their friends are more prudish than a country priest.”
“Trust me, you’ll make them forget their vows,” said Largo. “But I’m not so sure about me.”
“What’s wrong?” said Remy, turning and touching his cheek.
“Look at me. My coat has holes at the elbows and my shirt looks like someone stole it from a corpse bound for Potter’s Field.”
“But you look adorable that way. My handsome waif with the lovely cock.”
Largo looked at her and said, “Am I how you go slumming?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Remy. “I love you for you, and because you’re not like the jaded snots I work with. Pretty boys from rich families who expect the world to open its legs for them. I know that you’ve worked for what you have, and that makes you better than them.”
Largo kissed her when she was done. Remy had saved the day after all, the way she had so many times before. “Thank you,” he said. “But I still look like a scarecrow.”
Remy waved away his worry as if it were nothing and ran her fingers along Largo’s jaw to his lips. “Your coat is perfect. Some of the artists will be wearing much worse. Everyone will think you’re a famous painter or poet. As for the rest, wait here.”
Remy left the room and came back a moment later with a pressed white shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons down the front. “Where did you get that?” Largo said.
“From the doll that plays Blixa. This is one of his extra shirts. Try it on. I think it will be perfect.”
Feeling extremely foolish, Largo stripped off his shirt and slipped on the new one. Earlier he’d been tempted to wear the knife and harness to amuse Remy, but now standing foolishly in her dressing room in doll clothes he was glad he hadn’t. Remy buttoned the shirt for him. “You look wonderful,” she said. “It’s like it was made for you.”
“The collar is a bit tight,” he said.
Remy rolled her eyes at him. “Practically everything women wear is too tight or too loose or too hot. Welcome to our world,” she said.
Largo gave her a small bow. “Then as one lady to another, shall we go?”
Remy took his hand and led him to the door. On the way out, she swatted him on the rear end. “Lovely ass, Fräulein.”
“Am I to suffer all the indignities of a woman tonight too?” said Largo.
“We’ll see,” said Remy. “I think you’d look darling in lipstick, but not false eyelashes, so you’re safe for the moment.”
“It’s
