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Part 7:Seems So Long Ago, Nancy
It seems so long ago,
none of us were strong
I quit the magazine and retreated to the Chelsea house that Suzanne had left me, wandering the rooms and touching her things. The songs of Leonard Cohen were on constantly and I read all her books, learning and devouring every last vestige of her. Slowly, I rebuilt my life as I learned to take control and make decisions but I was always alone and I always missed her. The famous blue raincoat hung alone in the wardrobe but occasionally I would take it out just to feel it and to remember.
After a almost a year, I was lying in the bath, staring at my body as I remembered the things she used to do to me and suddenly it seemed to be another person that had achieved that ecstasy. My eyes were drawn to my pubic hair that I had grown back but kept trimmed so I could always see the black rose tattoo and idly wondered if I would ever masturbate again. It was at that moment I decided to take control of my life, to stop regretting and to move forward while always remembering.
Feverishly, I threw myself back into design, working long hours and totally focussed on finishing a complete collection. A friend of Suzanne's helped me to find a financial backer and my label was launched six months later.
Nervously, I waited backstage until the last models took my hands and walked with me out onto the catwalk to the glare of lights and thunderous applause. I looked around at the audience, recognising many as they stood to applaud and I knew I had finally moved on.
"Thank you all so much," I said in the cultured voice that was a lasting legacy of Suzanne.
Later, exhausted after circulating through the crowd, I stood in a corner and sipped champagne when a voice made me turn around. "Darling, you look and sound like you belong here."
I whirled to see a smiling but older Nancy . "I've always been in London ," I smiled. "I come from London ." We both squealed and hugged each other, laughing and wiping eyes. "I thought you lived in New York ?" I asked. "You still have your accent," I mocked.
"Darling, Americans are such suckers for a good British accent." She held me at arm length and looked me up and down. "Marianne, you look fantastic as usual and the collection is stunning. Suzanne would have been so proud," she added quietly.
"Thank you," I said softly, eyes pricking.
"So, how are you really?"
"Better," I said brightly. "Getting better every day."
"Good," Nancy said, hugging me. "God, it's good to see you. You see that man in the black suit over there?" Nancy pointed at a man who waved at her. As she waved back, she said, "That's my husband."
"You're married?" I said incredulously.
"I know, stupid of me but he actually loves me so what could I do?" Nancy laughed again then a serious look appeared on her face. "What about you? You got anyone?" I shook my head. "Have you been with anyone since you lost her?" Again, I shook my head, tears prickling.
"Marianne," Nancy said, seizing my arms and gazing steadily into my eyes, "it won't ever be the same but it can be different. She would have wanted you to live life, you know," she added quietly and I looked away, blinking. "I was her oldest friend, Marianne and do you know what she would say to you if she could be here right now?"
The lump in my throat felt huge but I manage to say, "No, what?"
"Nice collection, darling, but you can't fuck clothes." Nancy started to smile and I couldn't help but smile back until we were both laughing and hugging.
That night, I sat in front of the crackling fire and realised Nancy was right, Suzanne would have told me how pathetic I was, how useless and how I should get on with it.
I was smiling wryly to myself when the doorbell rang. "Who is it?" I said into the intercom.
"It's Jane from 'Cut' magazine, we had arranged an interview? I'm a little early but I thought it would be all right."
I had forgotten I had agreed for my old magazine to feature my collection. "That's all right," I said wondering if I looked all right as I was just wearing a black silk pants suit. "Please come in," I said as I opened the door.
Jane was a young dark haired woman, about twenty-five years of age and dressed in wool skirt, shapeless jumper and grey coat. "Thank you, this is very nice," she said looking around.
"Thank you. In here would be best, I think," I said leading the way.
"Who's that singing?" she said as she sat on the sofa.
"Leonard Cohen. Would you care for some white wine? I'm having one."
"Thank you, that would be nice." Jane took her coat off and she seemed to be nervous around me, her fingers trembled as I handed her the glass.
"Now," I said briskly, leaning back in the chair as the fire crackled, "what do you want to know?"
"I just wanted to confirm some facts," she said, eyes dropping to her notes. "I've done a lot of research."
"Really?" I smiled, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," she said and she blushed. "The magazine wants you to be on the cover, that's exciting, isn't it?' she rushed on as if to cover some embarrassment.
"I've been on the cover before."
"I know," Jane said softly and pulled out the old cover, my gagged wide-eyed face staring up at me.
"God," I laughed, "I haven't seen that for years." I sat still for a moment remembering.
"You were very beautiful," she whispered.
"Thank you," I said, staring at the Suzanne's lipstick mark on the white ball-gag.
"You still are," Jane murmured, eyes down and I looked up.
"Thank you again," I said slowly, watching her. "What other facts would you like to confirm?”
"You worked a long time with the founder of the magazine?"
"Suzanne and I were lovers," I said firmly and she gave a sharp intake of breath. "Is that confirming something for you?" I said and she nodded.
We sat in silence for a moment, Leonard Cohen singing 'Famous Blue Raincoat' in the background and I sipped my wine as I watched her breasts rise and fall in the shapeless jumper. Jane was quite beautiful in a dark gipsylike way; about the same age I was when I first met Suzanne.
I sat back in the chair, crossed my legs and studied her. Jane sat with her hands in her lap, eyes down and I could hear her ragged breathing over the music as I remembered another time and another place.
"Have you ever wanted to own someone, own them completely?" I said softly. "I do," I added, realising it was true. "Of course, the person must want to be owned, to be loved completely and to give up control. I believe that's you, isn't it?"
I watched her calmly as she rushed to gather her things, her hands shaking as she shoved papers into her bag. "I'd better go," she croaked, jumping to her feet and nervously looking around.
"I know it's hard to recognise something which we've buried deep inside ourselves but, sooner or later, you will." I gazed at her steadily, casually sipping my wine. "I believe I asked you a question?" I said firmly and her head jerked around, eyes wide. "I think you came here tonight to answer that question."
"Yes," she murmured, head down.
"Yes, what?" I snapped, placing my glass on the table beside me while she looked at me in confusion. "I'll explain it once. When we are alone you refer to me as Mistress or Madame, even Milady is acceptable while I will simply call you slut. Understand?"
She looked at me open mouthed, standing shakily against the door and her bag slipped to the floor.
"Of course," I said coldly. "I could be mistaken and you don't want me to own you. Nor do you want me to control you and tell you what to do every moment of your life. Yes, I could be terribly wrong and this could be a tragic mistake. You should scream at me, stomp out, rush off to that magazine and write a terribly nasty article about me. Don't forget to slam the door on the way out."
Leonard had finished singing and the only sound in the room for a long moment was her ragged breathing as she trembled before me.
I stood in front of the fire with my arms folded, just like Suzanne so long ago. "I think we both know," I said quietly, "that this is not a tragic mistake. Under that prim and proper appearance, there lies a wanton slut who needs to be controlled and you will prove it to me by lifting your skirt now to show me what you are wearing underneath."
Jane's hands were shaking as she slowly gripped the hem of her skirt and started to raise it.
I smiled in satisfaction. "Do not disobey me again, slut," I snapped as she pulled the skirt to her waist and stood there, revealed and trembling.
"No, Mistress," she croaked.
Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?
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So, this is where it all started for me, my first story written completely by myself. It was rushes of emotion, remembering many things and I am not yet brave enough to tell you what is true and what is not.
Perhaps another time.
She is gone and she would smile at the way our memories have pushed me into a different path. I still miss her.
Life is a cycle, women know this and we all grow and change, become someone else, slip into an empty shell.
I remember that night, the night you left. Did you ever go clear?
Natalie
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