A Father's Love, Chapter Four
#4 of A Father's Love
The water was boiling. The corset left deep welts in my skin and lying in the hot bath made them burn. I started to cry, mostly from my wounds being burned. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the pain. Then- "Camile hurry up and get dressed!" screeched Miss Bailie's voice, making me jump. Water splashed everywhere.
I wrapped a towel around myself and headed down the hall to my bedroom. Miss Bailie was waiting for me in my room, so was Josh. In a flash she'd yanked my towel off me and wrapped the corset around me.
"Nanny no!" I said.
But she'd already started lacing me up. I felt my ribs bend as laced me from bottom to top. In the mirror I could see my waist narrowing. The only good thing about the corset was that it made my breasts stand out more, not that they needed any assistance, but I imagined they didn't like the corset much either.
Josh was sitting on my bed, holding and stroking his gray tabby George. I hated that cat. I'd swear it was the devil in disguise.
"I assume you can dress yourself," Miss Bailie said, and then turned on her heel and left.
I looked over at Josh.
"What are you doing here? Get out!" I said to him.
"I just thought you might need some help getting ready. Father's coming over for tea," Josh said.
"I can dress myself," I said.
I went over to my armoire. I winced. As I walked the corset would dig into my welts, threatening to cut them open. I reached into the armoire and pulled out a dress. I didn't often wear it. It was a cream chiffon shift, underneath it was a powder blue shift. It had a slight hourglass figure and on the skirt where white and blue flowers embroidered into the fabric and it had short fluttering sleeves.
"That one makes you look like a child," Josh said.
"I am still somewhat a child," I said.
"Wear the green one," Josh said.
"No, it's too mature, and I don't believe I asked for your opinion," I said to him.
"Suit yourself," Josh shrugged.
George meowed loudly.
I decided to leave my hair down, mainly because I couldn't make a bun and my hair kept getting tangled so I just brushed it and left it alone. I wore my pearl choker, my grandfather gave it to me for my fourteenth birthday, the only nice thing anyone from my family had ever given me in. I didn't wear any earrings or powder my face.
Downstairs Mammy and Daddy were waiting.
"Oh Camile why didn't you wear the green one?" Mammy groaned.
It was too late to change. Uncle Atlas had arrived. He was unusually cheerful, dressed in a deep purple suit. It was only until he hugged me that I smelled the whisky on his breath.
Over tea he seemed to sober up a little, then he looked down at himself and said, "Good lord when the hell did I buy this piece of shit?"
Then he downed his tea and announced he and Josh would be staying over for the next few weeks.
I felt my heart stop beating. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw Josh staring at me over his tea cup. It wasn't noticeable, but I knew inside he was grinning.
"May I be excused?" I said.
"You may," Mammy said, in an almost relieved tone of voice.
I hurried up to my room and locked the door. A few weeks with Josh, why didn't someone just kill me now?
I received another letter from Mr. Bridshaw today. This time I got to the door first before Miss Bailie. She'd been moving a little slow since I kicked her, poor dear. Mr. Bridshaw invited me to tea again, only it wasn't tea he was in the mood for. And he requested I come alone.
It took me a while to convince Daddy to let me go. I finally got him to say yes, forcibly, when I slipped brandy into the tea this morning. After two cups Daddy lazily nodded and moaned, "yes." This time I took Mrs. Crew with me, the maid. She's old but she's ever so sweet. She said she would just go off to a little café and return a few hours later.
Mr. Bridshaw took me to one of his more private rooms. It was of moderate size, but there were no windows. There were two chairs, one with red cushions and the other with blue cushions, and a red sofa. On the wall was an emerald green curtain with gold tassles. The floors were oak, with an elaborate rug that separated the chairs and sofa from the floor. The walls were deep red and the ceiling was the color of white wine. The room was lit by ornate stain glass lamps, giving it the look that it was littered with brightly colored jewels.
I wore my blue dress and pearls, again. I felt comfortable in it.
"We won't be bothered here, unless I wish it," Mr. Bridshaw said.
He went to sharpen his pencils.
"Will you draw me with just my pearls on?" I asked him.
"Just your pearls?" he echoed, his eyes widening a little.
I nodded.
After a few moments he stood up and came over to me, but first he went to a little chest in the corner and took out a white sheet. I think it was because he didn't want to risk anything, because I was still a girl.
Getting my dress off was the easy part, but my corset proved to be a hassle. Miss Bailie had laced and knotted it so tightly that Mr. Bridshaw eventually gave up and called the maid for a pair of scissors. With each snip I'd take in a breath of air, counting down the moments till I was free of the corset.
"I never understood, and I still don't understand, why women insist on suffocating themselves just to fit into a dress," Mr. Bridshaw said.
He finally reached the last row and with one last snip I was free! Then I remembered my welts and quickly covered myself with the sheet.
"They look awful," I said.
"I imagine they must feel awful," Mr. Bridshaw said.
He laid me on the couch and put a pillow under my head, then he began to arrange the sheet. He draped the sheet so it covered my crotch and patted it down so it curved beneath my belly. As he fluffed the sheet, his paws brushed my breasts and I couldn't help but shudder. He arranged the sheet so that it covered one breast but left the other partially exposed. He left my shoulders bare. He lifted my head and placed one of my paws under the pillow and the other holding the sheet to my breasts.
He sat across from me in one of the chairs and picked up his book and pencil. Again the sound of his pencil scratching on the paper filled the room. It was easier to stay still lying down, but I think my body and mind got the impression it was nighttime and my eyelids became very heavy. And Mr. Bridshaw just smiled and said, "Why don't we take a short break?"
Despite my protests, he marked my pose with colored strips of fabric, then helped me up. He wrapped the sheet around me and called the maid to bring us some tea, but I urged him to let me get back to my pose so we could finish. He told me to be patient, because great art takes patience and must never be rushed.
After a brief tea break we got back to work. As Mr. Bridshaw adjusted my leg, his eyes met mine, then his paw started to travel up my thigh.