The Making of "A Little Heresy"

This picture was mainly painted in warm, bright colors. There were trees showing the first hints of autumn, gold and green as sunlight filtered through the canopy overhead. The woman in the center of the picture was black, the skirt of her black-and-white maid garb draped high up her back, exposing the smooth curves of her behind as she stood spread-legged, leaning against the ornate socket of a pitted and weathered angel statue. Her hand idly caressed herself, as if inviting the onlooker. She looked back over her shoulder with amazing doe eyes, large, brown and playful, and her lips were curled into a lewd little smile. It took Amanda a moment to realize the woman was pleasuring herself in the midst of a cemetery. Now the shadowy shapes under the trees made sense too. These had to be mausoleums. Amanda shuddered and put the phone back onto the table.

"What's this one called?" she asked.

"Reckless," came Charles's prompt answer.

"Aptly titled," Amanda said. "Where did you paint that?"

"It's Metairie Cemetery in New Orleans."

"And they let you paint something like that in broad daylight?"

"We were lucky no one caught us that day," Charles said, a smug grin on his lips. "More?" Again, he looked into Amanda's eyes, challenging her.

"I think I've seen enough," she said, pushing the phone towards him.

"So, you would agree to let me paint you?"

"What?"

"You heard me. I would love to paint you. After you've had a good night's sleep, of course."

"Paint me? Like that?" Amanda asked, tapping his phone.

"Why not? You're a beautiful woman. From what my clients have said, it liberated them, empowered them. I would go even further and say my pictures immortalized them. After all, these pictures could survive for centuries. Think on it at least." He took his phone and stowed it away in his coat pocket. Then he placed a simple business card onto the table between them.

"I don't know..." Amanda began, brushing hair out of her face. "Nude pictures..."

"Just sleep on it. You can say no if you really have to, but I'll promise it's a once-in-lifetime experience," Charles said with a reassuring smile. "And I'll promise you; it will be a slap in Greg's face."

Amanda's gaze shot up, her glass halfway to her lips. "What did you just say?"

"I- I said a nude painting of you would be a slap in your husband's face. Something you could be proud of."

Amanda shook her head. "No. You said 'a slap in Greg's face'. How do you know my husband?"

"I don't. And I'm sure you imagined that. It's late, you look tired."

Amanda rubbed her temples, her eyes going vacant for a second.

"I think you should go to bed," Charles suggested. Amanda nodded, then yawned.

"This is awkward, but I think I really need to catch some sleep," Amanda said. "Thanks for your company tonight."

"It was my pleasure," he said, claiming her hand again for a quick shake. "Sleep tight. And don't forget to call."

"I will."

Together they rose. He nodded her way and left the bar for the sidewalk. Amanda stared at his receding back for a moment, then she left for the hotel lobby. For some strange reason, she felt wrung out and deathly tired. And what was that about Greg? She was certain she didn't imagine him using her husband's name.

While she waited for the elevator to arrive, her phone buzzed again. A quick look at the display told her it was another of Greg's texts. Amanda rode the elevator up to her floor, cell still in hand. Not the least bit in the mood to deal with Greg just then, she unlocked the door, entered her room and tossed her phone onto the nightstand before splashing a bit of water into her face in the small bathroom. She locked gazes with her mirror image and tried making some faces.

"Nude painting. Ridiculous," she huffed, going back into the bedroom. She managed to kick off her shoes and crumple on the bed before sleep overtook her.

* * * *

The phone vibrating on the nightstand shocked Amanda awake. She struggled upright and fumbled for the device.

"Huh?"

"Hey sis, awake yet?" Grace sounded dreadfully lively. "How about that breakfast? The water's on the boil and Jake is about to return with bagels and stuff. You in? I could fetch you."

"Whoa, slow down. You just woke me. Let me sit this one out, okay? It would take forever until I'm presentable." Amanda fought a yawn and lost.

"Aww, come on, you don't have to glitz yourself up. Just toss on a fresh pair of pants and be done with it."

"No, really. I need a shower. A long one."

"What you need is some company to chase those dreadful thoughts away. How does half an hour sound? Think you could be ready by then?"

"You won't let it rest, huh?"

"Nope. It's been ages since we had breakfast together. It'll be fun! See you in thirty!" Grace cut the connection.

"Aw damn," Amanda sighed. Her head throbbed. That was one whiskey too many last night, she thought. Oh well, it seemed there was no wriggling out of this. She rose and pulled off the clothes she had slept in. Must have been really hammered last night. Standing next to the bed in her panties, Amanda dropped her blouse and pants onto it and fished her toiletries from her go bag.

Her phone rang again. Without thinking, she snatched it up and took the call.

"Amanda?" a male voice asked, on the verge of panic. Greg.

"What do you want, Greg?" Amanda asked.

"What do I want? Hell, where are you? I've been sick with worry, honey!"

"You have been sick worrying about me? Do you even remember what you did yesterday?" she snarled back.

Silence answered her.

"Greg?"

"Hey ... listen. I might have had a tad much too drink. It's all very hazy over here—"

"You hit me. In the face. With a fist, no less," Amanda hissed, feeling her anger rise again. She balled her fist until her nails broke the skin.

"I did wha—? God, Amanda, why would I hit you? I love you more than anything!"

"Didn't look like that from where I was laying on the floor," Amanda spat. "I think I'll stay here a few days and re-evaluate my priorities. And you could try to explain why we're broke."

She heard him inhale sharply.

"I have for once checked our account balances and we're deep in the red, with you taking most of our money. What are you doing with it? Buying hookers? Gambling debts?"

"Let's talk about that in person. Where are you?" He suddenly sounded very small.

"Where you can't hurt me, Greg. I'm not so sure I want to see you, not after what you did to me yesterday." She tapped the icon to terminate the connection, icy cold rage pouring through her veins.

To make sure he wouldn't bother her again, Amanda turned her phone off completely. She dropped it onto the nightstand. Her gaze fell onto the other item laying there. It was Charles' business card. She picked it up and looked it over. There was only his name and a cellphone number on it. Amanda wasn't an expert, but she imagined an artist's business card to be much fancier, a small slice of his work. But this one was plain, boring even. She stuffed it into her phone case and took her toiletries into the bathroom. After pulling off her panties, she stepped into the shower and turned on the water.

The hot spray soaked her, taking much of the anger with it. Maybe Grace was right, a change of scenery could help. Amanda lathered herself up, then, humming tunelessly to herself, swayed under the spray to rinse herself off. When her hand dove between her thighs, she imagined herself being watched by Charles. At first, she felt self-conscious and awkward, but the more she thought about it, him watching how she caressed herself, the more the thought aroused her. Before she knew it, she was already on her way to a searing orgasm, diddling her clit and adding even more stimulation by inserting first one, than two fingers into herself. She imagined the onlooker standing just beyond the opaque glass of the shower partition, his eyes roaming over her form while she fingered herself harder and harder. Her free hand wandered over her body, offering her breasts to the imaginary onlooker.

"Yes, look at me," Amanda rasped, pressing her body against the partition, using both hands to pleasure herself. She couldn't remember the last time she had been this fired up. She imagined the onlooker entering the shower, stepping behind her and spearing himself into her, mimicking his actions with her fingers, pushing them in slowly and as far as they would go. A desperate moan wrenched itself from her lips as she came, knees shaking with the effort of holding herself upright.

Panting, Amanda rinsed herself off one last time and stepped out of the shower. A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth. Maybe I should let him paint me, she thought.

* * * *

"So good to see you," Jake said, hugging Amanda close. Grace's husband still looked the jock he once was, before he inherited his parents' drug store. "Grace already told me what happened. Want me to fold Greg double for you?"

Amanda shot Grace an annoyed look.

"Sheesh, he's my husband, sis. What am I supposed to do?" Grace complained. "It's not like—"

"Gracie, I do love you," Amanda said with exaggerated patience, "but I hate that god-damn loose tongue of yours." She grabbed the coffee pot and filled her mug to the brim.

"She does amazing things with it though," Jake said with a filthy grin. "Besides, if Greg should show up here, I'll give him a piece of my mind. You don't hit your wife, ever."

"On that we can agree." Amanda took a sip from her mug. The coffee could wake up the dead. "Mind handing me the cheese, please?"

Jake leaned over and pushed the cream cheese closer to Amanda. "What's your plan with Greg?"

"I wish I knew. Right now, whenever I see one of his texts or hear his voice, I'd love to rip his head off. Jake, I've never been so angry in my life!"

"Totally understandable. How come he was so pissed? Last Thanksgiving, he scowled at me when I had a few beers too many and started singing."

"At least you only sing when drunk," Grace said with a laugh. "And you're only drunk what, once or twice a year?"

"And only with your approval, my love." Jake leaned over and kissed Grace, full on the mouth. Amanda took a bite from her bagel and tried to swallow the pang of jealousy she felt. Grace always seemed to have it so easy!

A phone rang in the hallway and Grace jumped up. "I'll take it!"

She sped out of the kitchen.

"And how's ole Greenbury treating you so far?" Jake asked, setting down his own mug.

"Can't complain. The town hasn't changed much. And I already met an interesting man."

"Tourist? They're multiplying like rabbits these past few years."

"Believe it or not, he's a painter. Ever heard about a guy called Charles Redburn?"

"Hey, my art knowledge begins and ends with DaVinci," Jake laughed. "Or maybe Picasso. Too sophisticated for me."

"He does nude pictures. Eccentric ones."

"Well, as long as he keeps his brush in his pants ... ," Jake said with a friendly grin. "Or did he ask to paint you? You told him you're married, right?"

"He knows. And yeah, he did ask. I'm tempted."

"To do what?" Grace asked, sliding back into her seat and grabbing her coffee mug.

"To have myself painted. Naked." Amanda said.

"Maybe you should take Grace with you. Make a double painting out of it," Jake suggested.

"Stop drooling, you pig," Grace said, slapping his arm.

"Hey, a man can dream, can't he?" Jake protested. "By the way, who called?"

"Um ... Telemarketer, our phone company, asking—"

"Ah, okay. You told 'em we were fine?"

"Of course."

About fifteen minutes later, Amanda excused herself. There was only so much small talk she could stomach at the moment. Grace and Jake's incessant flirting didn't make things any easier. At some level, Amanda was glad her sister had found such a caring man, but somehow she felt incredibly jealous at the same time.

She left Grace and Jake to their flirting and went for a walk through the crisp autumn morning. Lost in thought, she wandered through town, not really minding where her feet were taking her. Greenbury was the same as always, a picturesque small town nestled in the Massachusetts woods, a living postcard motif. But the pot holes in the roads, flaky paint on too many houses or empty vending machines next to permanently closed stores showed how the town really fared.

Suddenly, she bumped into someone. A strong arm went around her waist, keeping her from stumbling.

"Whoa, Amanda. Still asleep?" a familiar voice asked her.

Amanda looked up, straight into Charles's face. "Oh, hey. Didn't pay attention there. Sorry."

"No harm done. What's on your mind?"

Amanda sighed into his coat. His half-hug felt so good. Coming to a decision had never been so easy. Looking up at his face, she smiled. "You, to be honest."

"Oh? That's a welcome surprise. Have you thought about my offer?"

"I did. And I think I'll take you up on it. What do I have to do?"

"It's rather straightforward. I'll tell you when and where you show up and you don't ask any questions."

Amanda recoiled at his stern gaze. "Is this some kind of BDSM game?"

"No. But to create my art, I need your utmost cooperation. Explaining everything will take time and distract me, which ends up hurting the picture."

"And what if I don't want you to take a specific action? Like touching me where I don't want to be touched?"

"You're either in or out. I guess you could trust me or not. Your choice. If you need more time to think it over, take it. I'd love to paint you, but only on my conditions." Charles released her and took a step back.

Amanda looked at him, speechless. Was this the same man she met at the hotel bar yesterday? He sounded so cold and harsh. Cruel even.

"Umm ... yeah. I'll think about it some more."

"Amanda, I only want to paint you. It's not like I'm about to rape you. You can trust me," Charles said, putting as much conviction as possible into those last four words. He looked deep into Amanda's eyes. "Believe me, please."

Something arced between them, like a barely perceptible shock.

"I ... can trust you," Amanda whispered, more to herself.

"Alright then. Talk to you later. Don't forget to call me, okay?" Charles said, hugging her close. Amanda nodded, then stared after him as he crossed the street and went into an art supply store across from her.

"You should keep your distance from this man," someone said close by, startling Amanda. She looked for the source of the voice and saw the old woman she had met the day before on the bus.

"Excuse me?"

"This man, he is shrouded in darkness. Keep away from him," the old woman said, her voice laden with foreboding. "No good will come from seeing him."

"And you are?" Amanda asked, a little tense.

"I told you yesterday. The name's Erika. Erika Goldbaum, if you have to know," the woman patiently explained. "I'm a friend of your mother's. Nice to meet you, Amanda."

"I guess so. What was that about Charles being 'shrouded in darkness'?"

"I have seen his kind often enough in my time. He talks honeyed words and ends up hurting you in ways you can't imagine. I'd stay away from him at all costs."

"I'm sorry, Erika, but you're not making much sense here."

"Just make sure you know the man is all I'm saying. Be careful, child," Erika said and turned to leave. Amanda shook her head. Charles had been scary, true, but he hardly looked like a monster. What did that woman know anyway?

"I need more coffee," Amanda muttered to herself and made a beeline for the Dunkin' Donuts down the street.. She remembered sneaking there with her sister when they were younger and stuffing their faces with fattening doughnuts and Coffee Cocolattas instead of the expensive, healthy foods their parents were so into. It hadn't changed much in the fifteen years since she'd been there last. Amanda ordered a mug of coffee and a doughnut and waited until her order was ready, then she sat down at a table and pulled out her phone.

Having a peek shouldn't hurt, right? She typed the name "Charles Redburn" into the search field of her phone's browser. To her surprise, there were a ton of results, not only more pictures, but news stories as well. There were allegations of models disappearing after he had painted them. Some people theorized that he had to be selling another artist's work, because a handful of "his" pictures could be dated back to the beginning of the last century.

When Innocence? went up for auction, a senator from Salem claimed that the picture showed his great-grandaunt who, according to family legend, had disappeared the day after she had met with the painter in 1902. What the senator didn't mention was the fact that said girl had just been caught in a lesbian affair with a teacher in her expensive boarding school, causing a lot of trouble for the family back then.

One lengthy article dissected Reckless, which cost the model her life in the mid 1930's, when racism was still at an all-time high in the southern states. An angry mob stoned the "filthy whore" when the picture was unveiled at a public reveal.

Amanda clicked on another picture called Desperate. It showed a voluptuous redhead arching her back on a grand piano. One hand was wedged between her thighs while the other was busy ripping her sequined cocktail dress off her breasts. The whole nightclub watched her pleasure herself, greedily absorbing each lewd detail. Amanda wondered what had gotten into that woman to forget all modesty and present herself like that to the audience. A little digging brought the explanation. In 1953, then-famous nightclub singer Velvet Valentine struggled with a mounting drug addiction and this picture captured the infamous incident where she was so high, she pleasured herself on the grand piano during a show. No one ever had heard from her since.

Despite a mounting uneasiness, Amanda couldn't stop herself from digging deeper. Another picture, done in dark blues, silver and gold caught her eye. It was titled Oblivion and showed a sparkling city skyline. In the background she could make out the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. A cute young woman with short unruly black hair and pale skin sat on the edge of a roof, gloved hands busy pulling down the shoulder straps of a crimson dress, exposing hints of cleavage. She wore black lipstick and dark teal eyeliner, her body framed by the golden light spilling from the windows all around her. Of all the pictures so far, this was by far the tamest. Were it not for the incredible longing in that girl's eyes which yanked at Amanda's heartstrings. A bit of research told the full, sad story behind the picture, though. It wasn't a girl. In this picture, Charles had captured the likeness of Goth rocker Alex Etherean, circa 1983 on a London roof top. Someone had photographed him in an underground gay club, wearing a full goth-girl getup. When the pictures showed up in the music press, he vanished, never to be seen again.

But no matter how many suspicions, how many investigations, Charles Redburn walked away from them untouched. Collectors bought his pictures like crazy. Innocence? indeed sold for two million dollars, Desperate for almost double that.

Charles Redburn was a mystery, a dangerous one it seemed. And yet, Amanda didn't feel anything but overwhelming curiosity. And she knew, deep inside, that she could blindly trust him. He did say so himself, didn't he? So why should she doubt him?

Amanda fished his business card from her phone case and dialed his number. He picked up after the second ring.

"Yes?"

"It's me. Amanda. I'll do it."

* * * *

"Hey Grace, it's me again. Greg. Got a question. Where exactly has Amanda gone in Greenbury?"

"You can count yourself lucky Amanda didn't make me promise not to tell you she's here in the first place," Grace huffed. "If you have to know, she's booked a room at the Passenger's. And Greg, don't hit her again, okay? Otherwise I have to send Jake your way."