Black Butterfly Read online

  “Hey, guys!” Sydney said.

  Portia came out of the kitchen. “What on earth is wrong with you? You couldn’t call us to tell us you were ok?”

  Dropping her dance bag and taking off her heavy jacket, Sydney smiled. “I have the most wonderful news,” she said, ignoring the comment. For the past three days she had missed her roommates, arriving early and practicing until late in the evening they were never in the same place at the same time. Today she found them both in the apartment and she couldn’t contain herself.

  Portia went back into the kitchen, and Trish lowered her sketchpad, looking somber. “What is it, Sydney?”

  “I got the prima role in the ballet!”

  Trish dropped her pad and raced over to hug her tightly.

  Portia, now standing at the sink, stared at Sydney through the open partition. She wore a look of shocked disbelief.

  Sydney hugged Trish, ready to burst with happiness. “I can’t believe it! I found out Monday!”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Trish grinned.

  “It’s been crazy, and I could never catch up with you guys.”

  “I don’t know why you can’t believe it,” Portia muttered. “You’re fucking the owner of the show.” Sydney let go of Trish and looked over at Portia. “I knew you’d say that.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “The decision to make me the star was made before I went on a date with Nolen. The owner of the show is Xenia Minetti, and according to her, she’s fucking him, not me. So my position in the play was something that I earned fair and square!”

  Trish gasped. “So you slept with him? Really, so soon?”’

  Sydney smiled. “It was fantastic!” she said, dying to tell them how great Nolen was, in and out of the bed.

  Grateful she didn’t bruise easily. It would have been awful if she spent the week explaining Nolen’s handprint on her throat.

  Trish blushed and shook her head, but Portia turned from the sink to check on the chicken.

  “Portia, the people at the production don’t know that I’m friendly with Nolen now,” Sydney said. “We’re keeping this low key. Please be as happy for me as I am for you whenever you walk through that door with a new gig, no matter how you got it.”

  Portia looked back over her shoulder. “Ricky was really hurt when you left the club. I sat up all night talking to him.”

  Sydney looked at Trish, who shrugged, refusing to get into the conversation, and then turned back to Portia. “Well, I’m sorry he was hurt, but our relationship is over. He knows that.”

  “What’s going on with you?” Portia snapped, taking the chicken off the burner and wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “You used to care about other people and their feelings. Lately you’ve been really selfish. Having that man come to Ricky’s club and leaving with him in Ricky’s face, then not bothering to tell us where you were staying all night?”

  “I’m not doing this with you!” Sydney snapped, picking up her bag and heading for her room.

  Portia came out of the kitchen. “I don’t want to fight either. I just want to know what’s going on. Ricky’s the first guy you dated when you came to New York. Almost two years and you haven’t dated anyone else. He thinks that means something Sydney. Exactly what makes Nolen Adams so special other than his money and the fact he owns your show?”

  Sydney stopped halfway to her room. She looked at Portia, then at Trish, who was watching her closely.

  “Love,” she said firmly. “I’m in love with Nolen.” Her heart raced from the revelation—for three days she fought against the truth. She would tread with caution and take things slow. That’s why she put him off all week.

  Portia and Trish were her best friends. She planned to tell them the truth.

  Portia’s eyes grew wide, and Trish stepped forward, looking shocked. “Sydney, are you sure?” Sydney sighed. “I wanted to keep this under wraps,” she confessed, “but you two are my best friends. I think I’m in love with him.”

  “Oh my God!” Portia shouted. “Are you crazy? That man just wanted to sleep with you, Syd! He can have any woman in this town. Do you really think he would want some nappy-headed girl from Beaufort, South Carolina?”

  Trish pushed Portia. “Stop it! You’re going too far!” she shouted.

  Sydney glared. “I see what’s going on now, why you’re so determined to make this into something ugly.” Portia tossed her long curls from her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “How many men like Nolen have you screwed, Portia?” Sydney retorted.

  “Sydney, stop,” Trish said, pulling at her arm.

  Portia smirked in Sydney’s face. “Enough to know that he’s probably struggling to remember your face.” Sydney slapped her, hard. Portia swung back, hitting Sydney across the face. As they fell to the floor, screaming, kicking, and hitting, Trish jumped in and tried vainly to pull them apart.

  “Stop it, damn it!” she screamed.

  Sydney and Portia froze. Trish stood over them, her tear-streaked face beet red, her hair disheveled.

  “We’re a family! We’re supposed to love each other. What’s wrong with you two?” Pushing each other away, they got to their feet, panting. Sydney spoke first. “Trish, I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not! You shouldn’t have hit Portia!”

  Portia gave a snort. “You crossed the line.”

  “And, Portia, you shouldn’t have attacked her with your hate and jealousy just because your life is shit!” Trish shouted.

  They looked at her in shock. Trish never cursed. Trish shook her head, crying. “I don’t want any part of you hurting each other. I’ve had a lifetime of meanness. I won’t live with it. I can’t have it around me!” Turning, she grabbed her leather jacket and keys from the sofa chair.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” Sydney said, trying to stop her. “We were both wrong.” Trish shook her off. “I’ve got to go!”

  Portia frowned at her. “Go where?”

  Trish looked at her, then at Sydney while still crying. “Someplace where I can just be me, away from all this hate!”

  She left, slamming the door behind her.

  “She must be going to the community center,” Portia said, adjusting her denim skirt.

  Sydney looked at the door. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “She’s been acting strange all week.”

  “Strange? How?”

  “I don’t know. She came in here brooding after that little paint session. Then she disappears on this job she won’t talk about for hours. And now this?”

  Sydney knew that Trish was supposed to paint Todd, and things might not have gone as well as she’d hoped. She started to tell Portia, but after Portia had accused her of getting top billing because she’d been with Nolen, she could only imagine what she would say about Trish being attracted to a man who was paying her to paint him.

  She looked at Portia in disgust. After all of the slime buckets she had slept with in this town, and the way they both had supported her, now she was judging them.

  “You hungry?” Portia asked.

  “I’m having dinner out,” Sydney huffed, picking up her bag again and heading to her room.

  “Sydney?”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Sydney normally would have given her a pass, but they’d both hurt each other, and to make matters worse, they’d hurt Trish. She was glad she was going to Nolen’s. She couldn’t stomach being there a minute longer.

  “Don’t wait up for me,” she said. “I won’t be back tonight.”

  Hearing a knock, Todd put down the solution he was pouring and headed toward the door, frowning.

  He wasn’t expecting anyone. Glancing at the security camera, he blinked in surprise. Trish was standing outside his door. He unbolted the door and opened it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I had nowhere else to go.”

  “Come in,” he said, sliding t
he door shut.

  Dressed in blue jeans and yellow turtleneck she’d worn earlier in the day when she stopped bye, Trish avoided his eyes as she wandered aimlessly through his spacious apartment. Seeing that the red light above the door to his photo studio was lit, she said, “I’m sorry. You’re busy.”

  “No, I’m not. I was just doing some work. You know how that is.”

  “I shouldn’t have come here,” she mumbled.

  “Then why did you come?” She’d been to his place every day this week. The painting was going well but she hadn’t opened up to him on a personal level since the first day.

  “Today, when we talked, it helped, and now I just need somebody to talk to.” He pointed past her to the sofa she’d called ugly. “Then have a seat and let’s talk.” Trish sat down, and Todd joined her.

  She looked toward her canvas, still covered and resting against the wall. “You haven’t peeked, have you?”

  “I really wanted to, but you trusted me not to, so I didn’t.” She nodded. “So you’re someone I can trust.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s strange,” she said shyly. “We just met, but I believe you. Maybe because we have some shared experiences, or maybe because I’m just tired of fighting my demons alone. Somehow I feel like you know me.” Todd reached for her hand, which she let him hold without protest. “Have you ever let a man hold you, as a friend?”

  She laughed softly. “My friends think I’m a perfectionist and a heartbreaker. They’ve tried to fix me up numerous times, and I always pretend that I’m not interested, or I go out on the date and chase the guy away within the first hour. The truth is, I’ve never had a man hold me. Not in a normal way.” Her voice trailed off wistfully.

  “May I hold you?” he asked.

  Trish looked at him suspiciously and pulled her hand away. “Why?”

  “You came here upset over something, and you need a friend. I want to be that friend to you.” Trish stared into his eyes and sighed deeply. After a moment, she slid closer to him. He pulled her under his arm to his chest and felt her stiffen in his embrace. “You’re a very kind and giving young woman, Trish,” he said gently. “You’re not that scared little girl who had no one to defend her. You exist beyond that.”

  “Inside I feel differently.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” he said.

  He took her hand and led her to her easel. “Show me how you feel.” Trish picked up a blank canvas sheet and clipped it to the easel, grabbing one tube and then another, squeezing the oil-based colors onto her palette. Todd walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She leaned back into his chest, relaxing.

  Kissing the side of her tear-stained face, he watched her mix the colors. “Show me,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Blue is the color of life,” she said, sweeping her paintbrush across the canvas.

  “Red is the color of pain.” She cut across the blue with her brush, pressing it flat to give an arch to the stroke as she added the red paint.

  Todd watched as the white and red mixed on the canvas, making a rich shade of pink. “And pink is the color of hope,” he whispered in her ear.

  Trish smiled, nodding in agreement, and continued to paint.

  He could sense her relaxing as she covered the sheet with several strokes of her brush and then threw in other colors in intricate designs. He released her and stepped back to watch her work. The more she painted, the more alive she became. He wanted her like this always.

  Since the penthouse could only be accessed through Nolen’s private elevator, the door being unlocked wasn’t a surprise. He'd given her the pass code to his building after the first night. She expected him to arrive to pick her up, but instead it was the driver.

  The foyer was dimly lit and smelled of roasted lamb, and she thought she heard soft music coming from deep within. Apparently the chef had prepared their dinner. That was fantastic, because she had left home without eating Portia’s fried chicken. Dropping her bag by the door as she always did in her small apartment, she walked inside to look for him.

  “Nolen?”

  He came out of the shadows dressed in black slacks and a black silk shirt. “Hello, beautiful.”

  “Hi.” she said.

  Locked in a silent standoff with him she hesitated. She had purposefully avoided him all week. Since she had no cell phone and spent every day and evening at the studio, he couldn’t reach her. Not speaking to him didn’t stop her from thinking of him. She wondered if it affected him at all, until this moment. The way he watched her with a grim stoic look to his face, she sensed some tension. It would be her move next. So she made it. She went to him touched his arm, then tried to kiss him, but he leaned back.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “You got the lead in the musical?”

  Sydney smiled. “Yes, I did.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said, his tone clipped with anger.

  “You own the production I thought—”

  He stepped back. The distance between them was the last thing she wanted. “You thought I arranged it?”

  “No Nolen. I didn’t. It’s just been a crazy week. Okay? I’ve been thinking about you.” She moved in closer. “I was a little upset when I heard that you forced Xenia to audition me. I’m sorry.” This time when she reached for him he didn’t pull away. She kissed him.

  Pulling her jacket off her shoulders, he let it fall to the floor and continued to kiss her passionately.

  Sydney exhaled as he pushed her against the drapes and his hand slid upward to her breast, squeezing tenderly.

  “What did I start?” she asked breathlessly once his kissing became more demanding.

  Nolen pressed against her, devouring the sensitive part of her neck. His exploring fingers pushed her bra upward, fondling her nipple. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her left leg around his thigh so that he could grind through her jeans.

  “I’ve waited all week for this,” he said in a deep whisper, slipping his free hand around her waist and grabbing her rump to squeeze it.

  “Pardon, Monsieur Adams.”

  Sydney opened her eyes at the sound of the French-accented voice and found the chef standing behind Nolen, who continued his advances, apparently not hearing him.

  “Stop,” she said, pushing him away and lowering her leg.

  He followed her pointed gaze. “What is it, Claude?”

  “Dinner is served,” the chef said, nodding, and walked out.

  Sydney laughed, pulling down her shirt. “No dessert before dinner.” Nolen kissed her again. “I want my dessert now!”

  She shook her head. “No. Besides, I want to start again.” She smiled at the quizzical look on his face.

  “Let’s pretend the last few days didn’t happen. I have some news to share.”

  “What news?” he asked, stepping back.

  “Guess who has the lead in a new off-Broadway ballet called Black Butterfly?” Nolen understood her little game. She hurt him by pushing him away the past couple of days. It was her own fear over her feelings for him that made her do it. She’d correct the mistake.

  “Who?” he asked.

  Sydney stepped away from the wall and did a graceful spin on her raised toe, coming back down with her hands on her hips. “Me!”

  He applauded. Sydney leapt on him and he turned her within his arms. “You deserve it!” She began kissing his face and laughing until he finally put her down. “Now, let’s go celebrate!” he said, kissing her again. Sydney nodded, allowing Nolen to pull her past the large dining room to a solarium in a corner of the penthouse. Its windows showed the millions of stars behind the New York skyline. A small, intimate table was set for two, and the chef had set up a station in the corner where he had prepared the food. A man in a tux played the violin, and large pink candles on antique silver candelabra cast a warm glow throughout the room.

  She looked at Nolen, astonished. “This is so nice.”

  “I had no idea that Xenia
would change the play in that direction, but when she told me, I wanted to do something special for you.”

  Smiling, she kissed him sweetly. “That’s so sweet. Thank you.” He led her to the table and pulled out her chair. The intoxicating fragrance of the fresh flowers spread around them made her feel as if she was in a garden. “This is so beautiful.”

  “It’s my favorite room,” he said.

  Sydney stared across the table into his eyes. “You can be really sweet when you want to be.”

  “For you, yes.”

  “I’d like you to be sweet to others too.”

  “You would?”

  “Yes.”

  “Baby steps?” He smiled.

  “Baby steps.” She smiled back.

  Trish laughed so hard that she felt as if her stomach would explode.

  Todd laughed with her, picking up the half-empty bottle of wine and pouring himself some more. She sat up on the floor and tucked her legs under her, Indian style, wondering vaguely why the only furnishings in the room were an afghan rug and some large pillows scattered across the floor. “So, did they kick you out?” she asked.

  Todd looked at her, his hair hanging in his eyes. “They did. The headmaster tried to have me permanently expelled, but of course my dad made a large donation, and I was back the next term.” Trish smiled and took a sip of her wine. “I would have kicked you out too. Slipping a beetle into that poor man’s drink and causing him to swallow it was cruel. I would have had a heart attack!” Todd nodded. “I’ve done plenty of things I’m not proud of.”

  Trish stared at him. “Like what?”

  He looked up at the wall of models hanging around them. “For starters, I’ve had my share of models.” Trish gazed at the pictures on the wall. “I have a friend who’s a model.”

  “You do?” he asked innocently.

  “Yeah, not as big time as those women, but she’s making it. I’ve heard some of her stories about photographers who abuse models’ trust and take advantage of their desperation. Are you one of those men?” Todd set down his glass. “Would it scare you away if I was?”

  “I don’t know. I like knowing you this way. I’d rather not know that side of you if it exists.”