Garry Charles - Body Art

Jeff Reardon had only ever seen beauty like it once before in his life. The first time she’d been flesh and blood. A face on the street. A whiff of perfume on a passing breeze. None of the others could match what she’d had…

Never!

Yes, she’d been perfection for the briefest of times and Jeff had never thought he would see her again. But now here she was, staring back at him from the brick fascia of the warehouse.

“You all right, boss?” Mark asked.

“Yeah, fine.” Jeff had to rip his gaze away from the spray-painted face of the goddess that towered from the floor to roof of the structure.

“Looks like you’ve seen a fucking ghost,” Mark joked.

“Nah… don’t talk stupid,” Jeff replied, already walking away.

“You want I give the guys the go ahead?” Mark yelled after him.

“Tell ’em to be here early in the morning,” Jeff shouted without looking back. “I want this place levelled before the evening.”

Jeff continued walking, wanting to put distance between himself, Mark and the graffiti adorned wall. His breathing was coming hard and fast by the time he reached his car, sweat soaking his shirt so that it clung to his torso uncomfortably.

Jeff fell into the driver’s seat and leaned back, pushing his head against the seat as he attempted to get his breathing under control.

It couldn’t be her.

It had to be a coincidence.

Jeff let himself slump forward, bracing his forehead against the steering wheel, a wave of nausea rolling up from his gut to his throat.

Impossible.

No one else knew.

Jeff had been so careful, everything planned to ensure total secrecy. Not even Jeff’s wife, Ruth, had suspected what he was doing. She was content with their life, happy in the ignorant belief that all was well.

Pull yourself together.

Don’t lose it now.

Jeff slipped the key into the ignition and turned it, the engine purring quietly under the hood. He took another three deep breathes, turned on the air conditioning and pushed the gear stick into first.

By tomorrow morning it would be gone and he’d never see her image again. Of that he was sure. The wrecking crew would make sure of that. All Jeff had to do was forget about her just like he had before. She was gone and she wasn’t coming back.

Jeff wasn’t sure but it may have been guilt that made him suggest a meal out that night. He rung Ruth on his way home and told her to get ready, her choice of restaurant. It had been months since they’d ventured out anywhere and her excitement had been more than evident in her voice as she’d told Jeff that she loved him.

The evening started out well with them making love before leaving, a tender moment that left Ruth with a satisfied smile and made Jeff almost believe that everything was fine between them.

Almost.

Ruth had chosen the Italian restaurant they’d visited when they’d first met. It was under new management but the interior was just as Jeff remembered it and, if possible, the food was better. They ate and they drank, talking about work and memories. The usual, pedestrian conversations of a long term married couple.

They walked back to the tube arm in arm, Ruth’s happiness radiating from her face and threatening to infect Jeff. With everything going on in his life he’d forgotten what it felt like to be relaxed, to let go and just be himself. The last time he’d opened up and shown his true self had been with her…

The other woman.

The tube platform was empty of other travellers and they waited in silence for the next train to pull in, its arrival signalled by a wave of warm, stale air that made Jeff cringe. The tube always made him feel trapped and unclean, as if the air was tainted by those who had exhaled it before him, the aroma of their insides filling his nose with each breath. It disgusted him.

As the train pulled in alongside the platform, slowing to a gradual stop Jeff froze, his lungs seeming to contract as the hairs on the back of his neck were played with by invisible fingers of static.

Why here?

Why now?

Her painted form was laid out before him, the full length of the carriage taken up by her image. The warehouse had teased him with only her face but now she was visible in all her beauty. Jeff took it all in, every curve and peak just as he remembered. The artist had rendered her with loving care, using the paint sparingly to recreate her as no photo ever could.

What do you want?

Jeff staggered through the sliding doors, his eyes lingering on hers for as long as possible. As soon as he was on the train he slumped into the nearest seat and held his head in his hands.

“Jeff, are you alright?” Ruth asked, concerned. “Is it the chest pains again?”

“No,” Jeff sighed. “Just a migraine… should have laid off the red wine.”

Liar!

Jeff squeezed his eyes closed, knowing the memories of that night wanted to be relived and doing his best to fight against them. He could feel the blood hammering at his temples, his heart beating with excitement at the thought of the special time he’d spent with her.

So beautiful.

A work of living art.

My best work yet.

Jeff had never known her name. Names didn’t concern him. All he wanted was to bathe in the beauty of the female form and she’d been ideal.

It had been raining and the offer of a lift from the guy with the friendly smile had been too good to refuse, after all it was only a five minute drive. As she’d climbed in the car Jeff had carefully taken in the sight of her lower thigh, just visible below the hem of the red skirt. In that one brief glance he’d absorbed everything she had to offer.

Black heels, the kind that tie around the ankle. Sheer stockings though probably tights, but he could fantasise. Red skirt that hugged her slender hips. Leather jacket open at the front to reveal the low cut black top that showcased the rise and fall of her well tanned cleavage.

And then he’d come to her face, a pretty young thing framed with flowing blonde hair, full pink lips and the most stunning eyes Jeff had ever seen. They were a steel grey in colour with flecks of what he could only describe as sunburst, a vibrant orange that danced with life.

Perfection!

Everything after that always played out in a blur, the memory distorted by the adrenaline that surged through Jeff’s system. He could never quite remember when he’d seen the first signs of fear on her face. It was definitely after he’d driven straight passed the end of the street she lived on.

Then came the crying… the begging and pleading to stop the car. Jeff had just glanced at her and smiled and said, “I want to know you inside out.”

Eventually she’d screamed, but not for long. Her initial fight had quickly drained away to weakened kicking and that had then faded to nothing more than a faint twitching. Before Jeff had really got to know her she’d become still and silent.

And oh so beautiful.

They always looked at their best once Jeff had got to know them inside out. The pureness left once the skin was peeled back was something that Jeff couldn’t deny. The way they felt under his caress, the slickness of exposed muscle and tendon giving him a sexual thrill unequalled by anything he’d ever experienced.

Jeff’s little secret.

Jeff pondered the source of the painted images over breakfast the next morning. In life other people must have known her and it made perfect sense that someone may have seen the beauty she held and decided to use it in their art. It was no different to how Jeff had used her, albeit in a different medium.