Anonymous - Blue Tango

There was a time when I spoke nothing but French. I lived in Paris with my parents in a cluttered house. All those rooms. Claire was already married to Edward, in England with her English husband, all her dolls left behind in an old trunk in the attic. I was still a child, still uncertain of things. My mother would read the letters from Claire. Her days with Edward and his family. The parties in Mayfair. I was overwhelmed with envy. You shall have your turn, my mother said. One day you too shall have a husband.

I pull the cord to summon a maid. Will it be Dobbin? Yes, it's Dobbin. She still has the color in her cheeks.

“Yes, madam?”

“I'd like a bath drawn. Can I have that?”

“Yes, madam, I'll have it done.”

“And you might help me.”

“Yes, madam.”

The girl returns before long.

“What's your Christian name?”

“Nellie, madam.”

“That's a nice name.”

“Thank you, madam.” She begins to undress me.

“You spent on his fingers this morning, didn't you? On the master's fingers.”

Pink cheeks and a lowering of her eyes. “Yes, madam.”

“His fingers in your bottom.”

She says nothing. I am down to chemise and stockings. I lift my foot and she rolls one stocking down. Then the other foot. Then my chemise. I stand naked before the cheval glass and hold my breasts in my hands. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen, madam.”

Her eyes are upon my copse, the bush of curls beneath my belly. “Do you want to kiss it?”

The flushing of her throat. “Madam?”

“Yes you do. Come on, then. We'll find out how clever you are.”

I like to be kind to them. Clever she is and clever she does. She kneels at my feet, presses her face against my belly. Her nose in the curls. The hot kissing at my copse. I push her down a bit, open my legs to straddle her face. “Well, that's better. Kiss it now.” In a moment I drizzle upon her mouth, her nose rubbing at my clitoris as she takes my spending.

“My dressing gown, Nellie. I can't walk in the corridor like this, can I?”

And at night the moaning again. Dear God, I thought I'd have peace this evening. I want to read. I thought I'd read alone in my room. Better alone than prattling in the drawing room. But now it's Claire again, that sound she makes, the sound of it so clear I might imagine myself in their bedroom.

They ought to have given me another room. I don't want this burden. It's madness. How indulgent she is. One can hear the indulgence in the way she moans. This enormous house that Edward has provided. Her clothes. Well, you might be envious, darling. No, I'm not envious. Not of that. I don't like her taste in clothes. Her kid boots. She's a bit old-fashioned, isn't she? I'd want the money to buy other things. In Paris. I'd buy so many things in Paris. Then you're envious, indeed. Yes, I'm envious. What a sniggering little sin that is. Does it make me awful? Must I do penance for my envy? I envy Claire the possession of a husband with a large income. There, my secret is uncovered. I have no husband at all, not any more. John is not here any more. John is lost somewhere. No, he's not lost, darling, he's drowned in the Channel and dead. They found the balloon, didn't they? Drowned like a young puppy. Well, that's what he was, a young puppy. Such a lovely fool. Not like Edward at all. Edward is a fool in his own way, but he's not lovely. Does Claire find him lovely? Perhaps she does at the moment. That moaning. Sometimes it's a whimper. Oh, the sound of it will drive me mad. It was so kind of her to ask me to live here, but the sound of it will drive me mad. But you're cheating, darling. You can't deny it's exciting. To hear them at it. The doings in that room. Claire's bedroom. He goes to his own afterward. He leaves the bed and goes to his own room and shuts the door. I heard the door close last night. Edward having finished his connubial engagement.

Now the creaking. Dear God, what are they up to? And she's laughing. It's not fair that I'm the one to be alone. She's eight years older and it's the older one who ought to be alone. Oh, that's nasty. That's quite nasty, darling. I want to break that Chinese vase. I want to break the vase against the wall. Give them a turn, wouldn't it? I should think Claire would lose her senses. Now the creaking again. Is she riding him now? Or is it Edward who rides? One never knows who does the riding. The way he fingered the maid at breakfast. Does he do that to Claire? Darling, you're acting a bit wild. Rubbing my nipples. Yes. And down there too. The wetness. One can't help rubbing it. Does he have the maids? Yes, of course, he has the maids. He has the maids and he has Claire. My lovely sister has his thrusting and I'm envious. His cock thrusting. His balls. His hands holding her bottom. John liked to hold my bottom. The slapping of his balls against my quim. The slapping of Edward's balls. I must go on. My wet fingers. How awful it is to have wet fingers.

Breakfast with Claire. The two of us are alone this morning. White lace curtains, the bright morning sun. The maids flit about in silence.

Claire smiles. “You look unhappy, darling.”

“I'm not unhappy.”

“Well, I don't like to see you sad. I shouldn't like that, should I?”

She flutters her agile fingers. I want to flee. I want to fly away through the open window. I shall be a bird in a tree, a silly bird singing a silly song.

There is nothing here, not a sound except the tinkling of cup and saucer. Outside a soft rustling in the trees and an occasional chirp. Claire smiles and flutters her fingers in the silence. I fumble with my toast. The memories of last night. The groaning.

I am more curvaceous than Claire, more breast and buttock. Claire is unfashionably thin. She has an ethereal quality that I have always envied. She was always thin. She remains thin. She disdains plumpness.

Now again these disastrous images. Again and again I construct the tableau. Her legs surrounding his, her toes in the air. But of course one never knows the hidden things. Her eyes. The way she smiles at him. The showing of her small, perfect teeth. John always said Claire hardly smiled enough. He said she was too grim. But I don't see the grim-ness. She's riot at all grim. She certainly wasn't grim last night. In the dark? Well, of course, if they do it in the dark then Edward can hardly see her smile at him. If she does smile. If she does hold him with her legs. Edward surrounded by her legs in the dark. The bed creaking, creaking. I do hate it when the bed creaks. Does he kiss her while the bed creaks? Does he mutter? I imagine Edward mutters.

“Oh dear, there's a fly in the room.”

The maid scurries. Perkin, the dark one. Claire frowns, her eyes following the trails of the maid. The fly has fortitude. Perkin is sweating. Then at last the fly is smashed and Perkin flushes in her victory.

Claire is amused. She calls Perkin, turns her chair to the side. “Kiss my shoe.”

The maid is obedient. The girl kneels, bends, her lips touching the tip of Claire's shoe. Claire smiles and sends the girl away.

“She's clumsy at times. I don't like to have them clumsy. Tell me your plan.”

“Plan?”

“For the day, silly. How will you spend your day?”

“I hadn't thought of it.”

“Then come with me. We must have the air this afternoon.”

“I don't know why.”

“It's a question of health, Julie. Darling, you look so pale. We shall drive in the park.”

“Which park?”

“St. James's, of course. The others are a bore.”

“I thought I would look at some shops.”

“Well, you might do that afterward.”

She insists. I must drive with her in the park. After all, I am here and I must do something. At the moment I have no interest in the park. My interest is a stupid obsession concerning the entanglement of Claire and Edward on that bed in her room. How awful of me. You're a silly bird, darling. You ought to be out there with the other birds. You ought to be out there chirping among the leaves. Were the birds watching when John fell into the Channel?