Extract: No & Other Love Stories

The men arrived early. They always did. It wasn’t always men – or not all, though mostly –  but they were always early. They didn’t want to miss a single moment of what was to come. Maude understood; she fell asleep beside Ottilie every night, woke with her every morning, trussed her in silks every evening in between – and still it wasn’t enough. She’d stretch the days to twice their length if she could, just to have more of Ottilie.

Maude welcomed in the group of eleven. Plus herself and Maude, this made thirteen –  the ideal number for a seance. Her voice was hushed, her head veiled, her back artificially bent to make her look older. All this costuming to make her seem like a venerable widow, or a fallen woman grasping for respectability. She didn’t say it out loud; she let her appearance tell the story. It was a role, and she played it well. For Ottilie, they took the opposite approach. Although she was twenty years old, half of Maude’s forty years, her hair was left loose and her cheeks scrubbed clean to make her look younger still. Both, for different reasons, seeming to be the type of woman a man can trust. Why else would two women live together, if not mother and daughter?

The men kept their eyes down and their hands tucked in close, nodding courteously as they passed. She seated them at the velvet-draped table where she had made love with Ottilie just an hour before. She wondered if the men could smell them still.

The men were the usual mix. Maude ticked off her mental list: the crumpled waistcoats, the ink- smudged thumbs, the shoes high- shined to hide the places they’d worn quite through. She was proud of their establishment, the type of work that she and Ottilie did – but she knew it wasn’t what most would call respectable, and neither were the men who came here. One seemed around her own age, his shoulders wide, his calves strong, his hair thick and black. His hands were clean and his shoes weren’t too worn; Maude might have been interested, if her heart and mind and body didn’t already belong entirely to Ottilie. Still, just for fun, she reached for the man’s hand as he passed. He blenched, but didn’t pull away; she pressed his clammy hand to her bosom, over her heart, and murmured something about the spirits, the lost loved ones, the insight and sensitivity she knows he possesses.

As he bumbled off, cheeks aflame, Ottilie caught Maude’s eye and gave her a chiding look. Maude winked back. Why shouldn’t she have some fun with them? Work and play don’t have to be opposites, as Ottilie well knew.

With all the men seated, Maude locked the door theatrically and glanced around to make sure everything was in place. The room was lit by the buttery glow of  candles –  just enough to make Ottilie’s skin glow, but not enough to vanquish the shadows beneath the table. She knew Ottilie had the wooden ball in her mouth, the bell around her ankle, the muslin in her  cunt –  which, Maude liked to think, was still throbbing. The ribbons and scarf were strewn on the table like a lover’s discarded undergarments.

Maude approached. The show was about to begin.