Photo by Charisse Kenion on Unsplash
Victoria put on the long mink coat and matching hat. She was short and skinny, so the articles made her look like a child trying on Mother’s clothes. Finding the set in her size was not an option; it was one-of-a-kind so she’d have to make do. When she saw it last month, she knew she had to have it.
The grey tabby cat circled around her feet, causing her to trip and fall as she walked to the full-length mirror. Damned cat, she thought. She hit her head on the ground, but quickly recovered and continued her journey to the far side of the large, cavernous room.
The smell of old cigarettes wafted off the brown animal skin she wore. She stuck her hand inside the pocket and fished out the long slim cigarettes she knew were there. The silver plated lighter, befitting the owner of such a coat, followed behind. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, watching herself exhale in the mirror.
She studied her reflection, adjusting the hat so that it sat almost perfectly atop her head. Her fingers touched lightly against the fur coat, and found their way to the ivory buttons. There were ten in all, each engraved with a different type of flower. The fur, the ivory - something about the violence that it took to make the coat excited her. Beauty does have its price, after all.
She looked at her face. The eyes looked too tired for a woman of 22, but then she’d lived a life that seemed longer than 2 decades. She felt ancient, and the lines on her face showed the truth behind the false smile. Another long drag of the cigarette filled her lungs with sweet, minty smoke. Exhaling, a real honest-to-God smile crossed her face. She liked the way she felt, maybe for the first time in her life.
Turning her face from side to side, she noticed some blood on the spot where she hit her head. Damned cat, she thought again. On the wall was a calendar turned to the page denoting March 1947. She ripped it off and wiped the blood away There wasn’t too much, but enough to cover the paper. She placed the page in the onyx garbage can next to the shiny, brass vanity. A slight headache began to form and she decided to sleep for a bit.
The ashes from her cigarette fell to the black-and-white checkered carpet as she walked to the bedroom. On the way, she took the hat off and put it on the sofa. There was some blood on the white leather. Never mind, she thought, a problem for someone else.
Inside the bedroom, the rose-colored carpet tickled the bottoms of her feet causing electricity to creep up her legs. The room smelled of flowery perfumes and stale tobacco, and the mixture delighted her. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so alive. Everything was bright and beautiful, and the sound of her feet hitting the floor was amplified. Her senses were heightened. She felt high. It’s amazing what a coat can do, she thought.
The bed, ensconced in satin sheets and covered with goose feather pillows and a large thick blanket, conformed to the contours of her body. She felt like she was floating on a cloud and decided not to sleep, preferring instead to enjoy the sensual experience.
Victoria’s mind drifted off to the past. The color of the room reminded her of her mother and bad memories flooded in. Pushing them away, she looked around, lit another cigarette, and chuckled. Only good memories from here on out, she thought.
She picked up the carnation-pink phone next to the bed and dialed her husbands office. He’d be working late, he said, and that gave her joy. He was nice enough, but boring and safe. Adventure was what she wanted, but really she just needed more time to herself. With him at work, she wouldn’t need to be home to start dinner for a few hours. Time enough to get lost in this incredible feeling of abandon.
The phone rang and pulled her out of the clouds. A short, double ring, meant the call was coming from the front desk. She picked it up.
“Hello?”
A deep voice boomed through the telephone.
“No Jerry, it’s Molly, Mrs. Rovens’ nurse.”
The loud voice again, pounding in her ears and expanding the hammering pain in her head.
“Nice to hear your voice too Jer,” she said.
There was someone downstairs with a package, he explained.
“No, I’m sorry Jerry. Just tell him to leave it with you. I gave her medicine and she’s sleeping now. Best not to wake her. You know how reclusive she is anyway,” she said in a hushed voice. She hung up the phone and stood up from the bed. The phone call had broken the fantastical spell. Time to get back to reality.
Victoria took off the jacket, and put both it and the hat in the leather coat bag. She collected her large pocketbook and made her way back to the mirror. From her cloth bag she extracted a wig that was much darker than her natural hair color and put it on her head. As she adjusted it, she could see the reflection of Mrs. Rovens body on the floor near the couch, blood surrounding her. Next to her lay a small, blood-stained, silver plated statue shaped like a microphone.
She walked to the bathroom. Better to use it now before the long journey home, she thought. The bathroom was covered in green marble and mirrors blanketed the walls. When she finished her business she searched the cabinets for some pain medication and found the barbiturates she brought for Mrs. Rovens. She took one and put the rest in her pocket.
Victoria put on her own drab coat and wrapped an itchy wool scarf around her face. She took the leather coat bag in her arms and walked out the door. She was the only visitor that Mrs. Rovens had in the month since she’d started working for her. Roberta, or Bobbi as she was known to her friends, hardly ever left the apartment. She was an aging radio star with no family and a plethora of dead friends. Victoria imagined no one would find the body for days, and even if they did, she would be hours away by that time. No one in the building, or in the whole neighborhood for that matter, knew what she really looked like. She wore a scarf every time she entered the building and security wasn’t too strict anyway. They never asked for ID and didn’t even know her real name.
She entered the lobby and Jerry looked up.
“Hi Molly,” he said.
“Hi Jerry,” she said back. “Good to see you. See you tomorrow.” She paused. “Oh, Mrs. Rovens will be asleep for awhile. I had to give her medication for the pain. I’m heading back to Brooklyn now but if she needs someone you can call the service and my colleague will come over. I doubt she’ll wake up tonight. Goodnight Jerry.”
“Good night Molly.”
As she walked towards the front door, she marveled at how easily she had worked her way into Bobbi’s life. She merely answered an ad for a visiting nurse. She’d always wanted to be a nurse, so she bought the uniform and got her hands on some powerful medications. That’s all Mrs. Rovens really wanted - an escape from the pain.
Victoria exited the building and made a left towards Grand Central Station. Once there, she got on the train to Hill Center, NY, nowhere close to Brooklyn. She clutched the coat bag close to her face and opened the zipper. She smelled the old cigarette smoke and Mrs. Rovens perfume. It gave her that sensual feeling again. She closed her eyes and relived the violent end to her former employer. She smiled. She could’ve just given her an overdose. It would have been much easier and humane, but not as much fun. Plus, she would’ve missed the image of a crimson pool against the backdrop of the grey, black, and white tones of the room. Simply stunning; perhaps she’d put the image to canvas back at home.
She didn’t know if it was the deception, or theft, or the bloody scene that gave her a thrill. Maybe it was the fact that she had a massive secret from her husband. Truthfully, every time was different. But this time was her favorite because she finally got a mink coat with engraved buttons, just like the one her mother used to wear.
Paul G. Radic is a writer, musician, and Licensed Acupuncturist. He is originally from Oceanside, NY and currently resides in Antigua, Guatemala.
