Infamous (6 page)

CHAPTER
Fifteen

Kim filmed Lille's reflection in the bathroom mirror as the woman put on eyeliner. She was wearing lingerie and fishnet tights with a pair of slippers and a silk robe. She hadn't let Kim film her in the lingerie.

“I'm not aspiring to be a porn star,” she'd told Kim in that snotty tone, which Kim had faithfully recorded. But she thought that maybe Lille didn't need to be in lingerie for people to want to watch her—she thought that not having Lille in lingerie would actually bring in more ratings.

“Darling, let me do that.” Carl came into the bathroom at the Box carrying a bouquet of fire-and-ice roses. He was also carrying a vintage opaque white vase with little dots all over it.

The bathroom at the Box was for employees—Jordan had confided in Kim that they used to allow the customers to access it, but that had turned out to be a mistake. Now they let customers try on only some of the costumes, and someone kept an eye on the bathroom the whole time.

The bathroom was next door to Mary's office, and it looked the way it had in 1956 when the house was constructed, salmon pink tiles and flamingo wallpaper included. Kim had been sure to take in every horrifyingly ugly detail, idly thinking that her mother would have loved it.

Carl handed Lille the vase. “Fill that up, sweetie.”

Kim heard Lille sigh, but she set down her eyeliner on the edge of the sink and turned on the faucet, tilting the vase in an attempt to position it under the stream of water.

“It's not going to work, Carl—use the tub.” She handed the vase back to him.

He did, setting the flowers down on a little table and turning on the taps in the tub. When he bent over, Kim focused the camera on what was truly an excellent derriere encased in a pair of expensive jeans.

Lille saw her and raised an eyebrow. Kim shrugged—art was art. Carl was an extremely handsome man; his being gay didn't change that. Besides, she'd zoomed in on Lille's tits more than once, so it only seemed fair.

When the vase was full, he set it in the tub while he ripped off the bouquet's plastic wrapping. He slid the stems in one at a time, fussing with the placement and over the fact that he didn't have anything to trim them.

“Why did you bring flowers?” Lille asked. She was now applying liner to her other eye.

Carl sniffed disdainfully. “Darling, it's opening night; every woman should get flowers on opening night.”

“I'm not an actress.”

Kim snorted. If anybody was an actress . . .

Lille narrowed her eyes at Kim, then stopped when she nearly stabbed herself with the eyeliner pencil. “There're too many people in this small bathroom.”

“Get over it,” Carl ordered Lille cheerfully. “There will be a tiny Asian woman following you around with a camera for a while. You might as well start getting used to it.”

Lille looked down her perfect little turned-up nose at Kim. “Do you like following people around?”

Kim didn't know how to explain . . . It was as if she
had
to do it. She didn't quite understand other people; well, she didn't understand the feelings that made them act the way they did. She never had. So she filmed them . . . she filmed them and watched the films, over and over, for some clue that would help her understand, but she hadn't discovered it yet.

Lille was very strange to her; Kim had expected her to be very shallow, the way beautiful people often were, but when Lille was intentionally striking a pose, her resting face was angry and afraid. Her beauty seemed to make her angry sometimes—or if not angry, then unhappy. Kim knew when someone was acting; she knew it because she watched the real person—she caught them, their real true selves, like fireflies in a jar. Kim knew what it was like to be unhappy and afraid.

“Yes,” Kim answered finally, though Lille had already turned away and continued to put on her makeup. Carl squeezed past Kim and the camera to take Lille's makeup bag away from her.

“Honey, let me do the smoky eye—I promise, nobody does it better.”

“Who are you—the James Bond of eye makeup?”

“That's right, honey. Sit your ass down on the toilet.”

Lille did, huffing and crossing her legs. Her leg, covered in the fishnet, stuck out through a slit in the silk robe, and Kim caught it, the delicate knee, smooth calf, and well-turned ankle.

Carl took over at the vanity, opening pots and selecting brushes as if he were one of his artists. Kim caught the efficiency of his movements, the way he squinted his eyes as he studied the canvas of Lille's face. She thought Carl had wanted to be an artist once. She thought maybe he was one of those people who had talent, but just not enough.

Kim wasn't sure if she had talent or not—she felt compelled to film; she felt better when she was behind her camera, more certain of her place in the world.

“Tilt your head back.”

Lille did, surrendering to Carl's ministrations in a way she didn't for anyone else.
This is strange for her,
Kim thought,
strange for her to put herself in someone else's hands.
She looked uncomfortable, as if she didn't understand why she was letting this gay man handle her makeup, but Kim knew why. Kim knew that some people had to be obeyed. Carl had ordered her to eat and given her a job. She didn't know why she had listened. Lille was that way, too; people did as she asked. It was interesting to see two people like this interact; she didn't know if she'd ever witnessed it before. She thought maybe Lille obeyed because Carl knew her secret, whatever it was. Kim had arrived just moments too late to capture what Lille and Carl had been discussing so intently in her office today.

The bell to the main room jingled, and Kim heard the dogs bark excitedly. It wasn't a customer, then; they were trained not to bark at customers.

She left the bathroom and headed down the hall, passing the office door, which was open, and turning left into the main part of the store, where Mary and John were greeting the dogs. John was wiry and tough, like a distance runner; he had a burn scar down the right side of his face. Mary had long brown hair and a square jaw; she reminded Kim of a 1960s fashion model, earthy and clean.

“Hey, Kim,” John greeted her, his voice kind, and Kim pulled down the camera. She liked John.

“Hi, John,” she announced, and put the camera back up to her face.

Jordan explained, as Kim had known he would. She didn't like explaining. “Kim made a virtual tour of the Box, and we're dressing Lille up and taking her over to Jobman's. Kim is going to film it.” He shrugged, as if absolving himself of all blame.

Mary looked surprised, maybe a little uncertain, but then she seemed to settle on amused.

She looked at John. “Max is not going to like that.”

“If you don't want her to go over there, just say so. You own the place and half of Jobman's as well.”

Shaking her head, Mary started forward, her eyes already looking for her best friend. “No, I want to paint. I'm glad she's here.”

Kim thought Mary probably meant it, which was interesting, in Kim's experience. Beautiful women were not usually friends. Mary looked at Kim or, rather, looked into the camera. Her friendly gray eyes reminded Kim of fog, when it covered everything and made the world quiet and still. She'd loved the fog that would blanket Houston, would film the objects that just appeared out of it like magic, as if they were sent from another world.

“How've you been, Kim?” Mary smiled into the camera as if it were Kim's face, which was what it might as well have been.

Kim kept filming, but she held out a hand and waved it side to side in a so-so gesture. “Good enough.”

“I've liked the videos so far. Very cool.”

John nodded in agreement, putting his hand on Mary's shoulder.

Kim let her camera drift up to his face, which was always watchful but not unfriendly. He had a strong jaw with a dent in the chin.

“They're very good,” he agreed, and Kim could see that he wasn't lying. He didn't lie; his true self was already there, all the time. She liked that about him.

“Just ignore me.” She waved toward the bathroom, wanting them to pay attention to someone else. “Carl and Lille are in there.”

Mary touched John's elbow in parting, and headed for the bathroom.

John walked over to the checkout counter to talk to Jordan, who was yawning. The dogs were yawning as well; they circled a couple times, then laid down at Jordan's feet. Kim paused, frustrated by not having more than one camera. She wanted to hear what Jordan was going to say to John, but she didn't want to miss capturing Mary and Lille together.

Women film better,
she decided, and hurried to catch up to Mary and pass her before she reached the bathroom.

When Mary saw the scene in front of her, her best friend sitting like a fashion model with her hair pulled back while Carl expertly applied her eye makeup, she seemed puzzled, but not terribly surprised. “So what are we doing?”

Lille tried to look over at her, but Carl made a hissing noise in his throat and she remained still.

“We're going to film a little bondage instruction manual. Whips to start—just to showcase some of the merchandise.”

“Oh yeah?” Mary leaned in the doorway. “What for?”

“For the Web site.”

“Cool.” Mary seemed impressed. “You sure you want to be on film like that?”

Lille shrugged, but Kim caught the slight hesitation in her shoulders, the subtle tension in her mouth.

“I'm going to wear a mask for the demonstrations, but then we're going to head over to Max's pub and annoy him.”

“Dressed like that?” Mary's lips were twitching.

Lille snorted but didn't move otherwise. “No, Carl picked something out for me.”

“Did he?” Mary seemed both disturbed and amused.

Carl paused and turned to look at Mary, his face tight at the corners of his eyes. “Sorry, honey, this isn't going to be anything like when we dressed
you
up, I promise.”

Mary smiled, but her eyes were worried, and her folded arms were suddenly holding her together.

Carl stood and turned to Mary. “I promise.” He hugged her, the eyeliner pencil in one hand.

After a moment, Mary hugged him back. “Okay, but John should come with you. I'll be fine here with Hanley.”

Lille protested. “Hanley is getting off in an hour. Jordan said he was coming, and so is Carl. There's no reason for John to come as well.”

Carl snorted. “There's no reason? Really?”

Lille's eyes narrowed, and her mouth clamped shut. She folded her arms over her chest, unconsciously mimicking Mary. “I don't want to talk about that right now.”

Mary dropped her arms, curious. “Talk about what?”

Carl shook his head and squatted next to Lille again. “We'll talk about it before we leave. I promise.”

“Mmm.” Mary looked worried, picking at her fingernails. “How were sales today?”

“Decent. Mostly Halloween costumes,” Lille murmured around Carl's ministrations.

“Is there some reason you're all packed into the bathroom?” John asked, his tall, rangy form filling the doorway next to Mary. The bathroom now seemed like the inside of a Pepto-Bismol bottle. Kim started to feel a little claustrophobic, so she stepped up onto the edge of the bathtub and began filming down, which had the side benefit of capturing Lille's cleavage.

“I'm getting ready for a shoot, darling,” Lille murmured. “Apparently I'm an actress now.”

“Well, it was only a matter of time.” Mary grinned.

Lille smiled in return, though she couldn't see Mary because her eyes were closed while Carl gently blended dove gray and charcoal black. Kim caught the expressions, though, the bond of a shared joke, a long-term friendship.

John caught the interplay as well and raised a questioning brow at Mary.

She shrugged and explained, “Lille was forever being approached by model scouts and acting scouts when she worked at the store in San Francisco. She always turned them down.”

“I don't want to be famous.”

“Infamous is better?” John ventured.

Lille's mouth set in a mutinous line. “That's right.”

Carl laughed. “My motto exactly.”

A half
hour later, Mary sat behind the
counter while John adjusted some shelves in one of the display cases. Kim had been banished to the main room while Lille dressed.

“You think they'll be okay?” Mary was sitting behind the counter reviewing the inventory list, but she kept tapping her lip with a pencil and drawing little doodles in the margins. Kim tried to zoom in on a few, but she didn't want to interrupt. The couple was just starting to forget she was there.

Jordan, however, had not forgotten her for a second. He was supposed to have gone home—the idiot was red-eyed and jittery from lack of sleep, but he'd stayed and had even volunteered to be the whipping boy. She thought he was a good choice, actually—he looked like someone who would want to be whipped. She wouldn't mind whipping him herself, if she didn't think he'd like it so much and fall more in love with her. Sitting in a pink velvet cushioned chair next to the stack of porn, he pretended to read one of his comics.