Read Online Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 05 - The Devil's Breath by Emily Kimelman - Free Book Online
Authors: Emily Kimelman
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top of folded black tissue paper.
I thought you might have nothing to wear, what with your tiny duffle. Looking forward to this evening.
-Robert
I pulled back the paper under which was a dress. Black and ruched it lay nestled in the tissue. I thought back to the last time I’d been given a dress. It was in New York. The man who gave it to me later fucked my brains out in a way I found downright delicious. It was the same night I met Bobby Maxim.
I wasn’t afraid when I went to that party in a dress given to me by my lover. I was excited. Exhilarated. Was this how Bobby still thought of me? As Joy Humbolt, unafraid, playing with the idea of being naughty.
I lifted it up. Unfurled, the dress proved to be about knee length with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. Dropping it back on the bed, I untied my robe and threw it on the spare bed. Picking up Robert’s dress I held it in front of myself using the full length mirror on the back of the closet to judge my appearance.
The ruched material caught the light here and there, reflecting almost silver against the black. It made my eyes flash. I put it on, pushing the material down my hips. It fit like a fine glove, hugging every curve. However, the rough texture, cap sleeves, and ladylike length made it elegant. I turned, checking my back—the dress covered my shoulder blades. The material hugged my ass, following its curve around, but not so far that it became obscene.
In this dress I could strap a knife to my thigh. I pulled up the hem. It came easily, as the material made to scrunch. My phone rang and I dropped the dress, feeling almost guilty.
The screen showed a picture of Dan, smiling against a setting sun, sitting on our veranda in Goa. I bit my lip feeling an ache of regret and loss. The last time we’d spoken I’d been at a private airport in Delhi, huddled into a quiet corner, my cellphone pressed to my cheek, a glass of seltzer bubbling on the table next to me. Mulberry sat at the bar, his eyes trained on the TV but his tight shoulders and clenching jaw made it clear his attention was on me. Our flight out of India left in 30 minutes.
I was in Delhi and Dan was in Paris. I’d asked him to go, to take our friend, Anita, to safety. And I had to tell him, over the phone across all those miles, that I slept with Mulberry. My voice was low and I felt queazy. I cut off my thoughts and picked up the phone.
“Hey,” I said.
“Sydney,” I could sense a smile on his lips. “How are you?”
“Fine,” I said.
“How’s Hugh?”
“In trouble.”
“I’m in Miami.” I felt a thrill run through me. “I want to help.” I wet my lips but didn’t respond. Dan continued. “I’m not asking for anything but to help. Can I come over, so we can at least talk? Our last conversation was so brief.”
“You hung up on me.”
I heard him laugh low in his throat. “If the situation were reversed what would you have done?”
“Dan… I.”
“We need to talk,” Dan said, his voice forceful.
I looked at the clock. There was still time before I needed to leave for Robert’s. I told Dan which hotel I was in.
“I’m at the airport,” he said. “I’ll be there soon.”
I hung up the phone and saw my reflection in the mirror staring back at me. My hair, now bleached blonde, the bangs and sides framing my face in a tight rectangle, looked almost like a warrior’s helmet. The tight black dress hugged every dangerous curve. I felt fierce. Not at all like someone you should love or trust with their heart.
Before I’d slept with Mulberry, left India, taken my whole life and my two closest relationships and smashed them together littering pieces of lust and hurt all over the damn place, Dan had asked me to join him. To use the network of Joyful Justice to create our own organization. To help people, make a difference, fight for the little guy, all the cheesy shit an organization called Joyful Justice might be into. The only promise I’d ever made Dan
I thought you might have nothing to wear, what with your tiny duffle. Looking forward to this evening.
-Robert
I pulled back the paper under which was a dress. Black and ruched it lay nestled in the tissue. I thought back to the last time I’d been given a dress. It was in New York. The man who gave it to me later fucked my brains out in a way I found downright delicious. It was the same night I met Bobby Maxim.
I wasn’t afraid when I went to that party in a dress given to me by my lover. I was excited. Exhilarated. Was this how Bobby still thought of me? As Joy Humbolt, unafraid, playing with the idea of being naughty.
I lifted it up. Unfurled, the dress proved to be about knee length with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. Dropping it back on the bed, I untied my robe and threw it on the spare bed. Picking up Robert’s dress I held it in front of myself using the full length mirror on the back of the closet to judge my appearance.
The ruched material caught the light here and there, reflecting almost silver against the black. It made my eyes flash. I put it on, pushing the material down my hips. It fit like a fine glove, hugging every curve. However, the rough texture, cap sleeves, and ladylike length made it elegant. I turned, checking my back—the dress covered my shoulder blades. The material hugged my ass, following its curve around, but not so far that it became obscene.
In this dress I could strap a knife to my thigh. I pulled up the hem. It came easily, as the material made to scrunch. My phone rang and I dropped the dress, feeling almost guilty.
The screen showed a picture of Dan, smiling against a setting sun, sitting on our veranda in Goa. I bit my lip feeling an ache of regret and loss. The last time we’d spoken I’d been at a private airport in Delhi, huddled into a quiet corner, my cellphone pressed to my cheek, a glass of seltzer bubbling on the table next to me. Mulberry sat at the bar, his eyes trained on the TV but his tight shoulders and clenching jaw made it clear his attention was on me. Our flight out of India left in 30 minutes.
I was in Delhi and Dan was in Paris. I’d asked him to go, to take our friend, Anita, to safety. And I had to tell him, over the phone across all those miles, that I slept with Mulberry. My voice was low and I felt queazy. I cut off my thoughts and picked up the phone.
“Hey,” I said.
“Sydney,” I could sense a smile on his lips. “How are you?”
“Fine,” I said.
“How’s Hugh?”
“In trouble.”
“I’m in Miami.” I felt a thrill run through me. “I want to help.” I wet my lips but didn’t respond. Dan continued. “I’m not asking for anything but to help. Can I come over, so we can at least talk? Our last conversation was so brief.”
“You hung up on me.”
I heard him laugh low in his throat. “If the situation were reversed what would you have done?”
“Dan… I.”
“We need to talk,” Dan said, his voice forceful.
I looked at the clock. There was still time before I needed to leave for Robert’s. I told Dan which hotel I was in.
“I’m at the airport,” he said. “I’ll be there soon.”
I hung up the phone and saw my reflection in the mirror staring back at me. My hair, now bleached blonde, the bangs and sides framing my face in a tight rectangle, looked almost like a warrior’s helmet. The tight black dress hugged every dangerous curve. I felt fierce. Not at all like someone you should love or trust with their heart.
Before I’d slept with Mulberry, left India, taken my whole life and my two closest relationships and smashed them together littering pieces of lust and hurt all over the damn place, Dan had asked me to join him. To use the network of Joyful Justice to create our own organization. To help people, make a difference, fight for the little guy, all the cheesy shit an organization called Joyful Justice might be into. The only promise I’d ever made Dan
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