“Do you like Mozart?” Joy asked as she set the arm of the record player down on the spinning album. The needle scratched its surface and a quick zipping sound burst through the speakers, before being replaced by the gentle wave of violins. Joy stood and reached her arms taut above her head, pressing her slender biceps against her ears to muffle the crescendo of the symphony. She pivoted in small half circles and raised her face to the ceiling with a small childish grin. The music enveloped her; she could feel it pulsing through her veins. Her heart worked like a makeshift metronome, altering its rhythm to match the song’s tempo. She slowly opened her eyes and traced the random patterns of the sponge painted ceiling, a hovering map with all roads leading to nowhere.

Joy quickly pirouetted in place and gracefully came to a stop, then leaned seductively up against one of the bedposts. Gingerly, her fingertips caressed over the silken scarf that was bound to it in a tight knot. She tilted her head back and forth and grasped the bed’s footboard and slithered to the floor. After a moment she stood up to face the head of the bed.

“Don’t you like it when I dance for you” she asked, her grin falling into a pout. Her question received no answer. Sadly, she stared at the bed, and then her face lit up as an idea sprung to mind. “I know what you want to see,” she said as she spun quickly from the bed and looked over her shoulder, playfully biting the end of her index finger. Her hand gently caressed her shoulder then slowly slid the slender strap of her slip down. “Oops,” she said with a quick squeak, and the slip fell down around her ankles.

Her milk white skin glowed in the flickering candlelight of the small bedroom, giving her an angelic aura that offset the merlot colored walls. Her dark shadow danced wildly on the wall as she walked across the room, accentuating each step with a forceful thrust of her hip, and sat down at the dark stained vanity. Joy examined herself in the oval mirror whose rim was lined with newspaper clippings. She ran her brightly painted fingernail down the soft gold links of the chain around her neck and disappeared in between her breasts. She slowly lifted the chain’s charms from their mammary resting spot and watched them glimmer in the fading candlelight.

There were thirteen in all. Thirteen golden bands that trilled sweetly as they lightly touched one another in their chaotic sway. She rubbed her hand over them and dropped the necklace to her chest. Joy pulled a container of makeup toward her and, with a quick flip of her wrist, let the lid spin off and expose a small fur pad covered in white powder.

The newspaper clippings that lined the mirror’s oval border were brief. Sepia-tone pictures of weeping women standing over lecterns overflowing with microphones were right justified with captions that read, “Who is the Black Widow?” or, “The Black Widow Strikes Again”.

Page: « 1 2 »