On the fourth Saturday after her last assignation, she found the book of art on her desk again.
Poor Tou-Tou. She had to lift the sleeping cat off the book. He loved paper, loved to lie on it and bask or sleep. He whimpered a small feline protest when she moved him off the book cover and into her lap, but he settled there quickly and was soon fast asleep, twitching as he dreamed of mice or birds or something in between.
What did Malcolm have planned for them next? She was almost afraid to look.
But only almost.
She opened the book to the page he’d marked—again—with the red velvet choker she’d worn the night she’d played his Olympia. The painting this month was one by another French artist, William-Adolphe Bouguereau. Nymphs and Satyr. Four beautiful, nearly-naked women played on the banks of a halcyon lake. They’d caught a satyr watching them bathe, and now three of the four water nymphs tried to pull the reluctant man-goat into the lake as the fourth nymph waved for the others to join her at the water’s edge.
She knew who the satyr was, that was certain.
Mona spent Sunday turning herself into a nymph. She curled her long red hair and put a white flower behind her ear. She found a sheer white nightgown in the back of her closet. Malcolm would surely want her naked, but he could have the pleasure of undressing her himself.
Near midnight she returned to the gallery and entered through the side delivery door. As soon the heavy industrial door latched behind her, she heard music coming from the back room. Music? How odd. It sounded like pan pipes and chimes, playful music, sprightly and light. The score to a satyr’s conquest? Perhaps. She carefully eased the door of the back room open…
A hand grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the room.
"Here she is!” a girl’s voice called out. "I found her!”
Mona stumbled into the back room, which had somehow been transformed into a woodland paradise with potted trees and a bubbling stone fountain. The girl who’d grabbed her dropped her hand and joined two other girls, all three in gauzy gowns and long ribbons in their hair dancing about to the music. One girl wore a gauzy gown of yellow, her hair was black and tightly curled and her skin a deep and lovely brown. Another girl wore pink and her hair was white-blonde and her skin as pale as milk glass. Another girl wore a sheer gown of blue and her hair was warm copper and stick-straight and her complexion only a shade lighter.
And she, Mona, was now the fourth girl, with hair of apple red in a gown of white.
Mona was caught up in the dance and the music seemingly came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Two girls took her hands and soon they were skipping in a circle around the red and golden chair that Mona had loved since her childhood. It had become a throne now, Malcolm sitting naked upon it, his head crowned with laurels. It was a laughable scene, so Mona laughed and the girls laughed too. It was joyous laughter, not mocking, not disdainful. Malcolm’s beautiful cock lay half-hard on his lap as he watched his nymphs frolic and dance for him. She hadn’t danced in so long, she knew she must look a fool. But it was too pleasant a scene to stop. Her feet felt bewitched by the pipe music and the girls were all so pretty in their gauzy gowns with their hair ribbons flying and their faces all smiles.
"Come dance with us,” the girl in the yellow gown said, breaking from the spinning circle and pulling on Malcolm’s hand. "Come dance with us, you silly old goat.”
The girl in pink gasped and covered her mouth with her hands at the playful insult.
"Silly old goat?” Malcolm grabbed her hand with his other hand and yanked her into his lap. She squealed in surprise and burst into laughter as Malcolm tickled her stomach with his fingers. Mona and the three other girls stood together, their arms locked, watching.
"She’ll get it now for sure,” the pink girl said, shaking her head.
"She’ll wish she hadn’t said that,” said the girl in blue.
"Or she’ll wish she’d said it twice,” the girl in pink added and they all laughed, even Malcolm.
"She’ll have to be punished,” Malcolm said. "Won’t you, wicked child?”
"I’m not wicked,” the girl in yellow said as she wriggled off his lap. "I’m honest.”
"Honestly wicked.” Malcolm grabbed her arm again and dragged her back into his lap. "Now kiss me to say you’re sorry.”
"I won’t!” The girl in yellow sounded adamant.
"Then I’ll steal the kiss and won’t give it back,” Malcolm said.
"You wouldn’t—” It was all the girl in yellow could say before Malcolm kissed her on the mouth.
The two other nymphs dissolved into girlish laughter at the sight of their friend being kissed by Malcolm. One second the girl in yellow was trying to push him away, the next second she had her hands in his hair, trying to pull him closer. Even Mona laughed, though it was her lover who kissed another. She felt no jealousy. This was the game. The satyr must have his nymphs to torment. The nymphs must have their satyr.
At last the girl in yellow managed to flee from the prison of his lap. She rushed back to Mona and threw her arms around her.
"He caught me,” the girl in yellow said. "Don’t let him have me.”
"You’re the one who tried to make him dance with you,” Mona said.
"Oh yes,” the yellow girl said. She stood up straight and proud. "That was my mistake. And he’s still not dancing.”
"But we should dance,” the girl in blue said. "Let’s dance so much he has no choice but to join us.”
It made no sense at all to Mona, but nothing in this room with that man and these silly girls did. Even more, she didn’t care if it made sense or not. She only wanted to dance with the pretty trio, these gauzy golden-eyed nymphs. They pulled ribbons from their hair and spun like dervishes as the music grew louder and faster. The girl in pink with the milk glass skin and pale yellow hair danced around Malcolm’s chair, his throne, and caught her ribbon round his wrist, then used it to drag him to his feet.
"She’s hooked a fish!” the girl in yellow shouted. "A big fish.”
"That’s not a fish, that’s a dolphin,” said the girl in blue. "See how he grins.”
Malcolm leered at the girl in pink who had hooked him. She pulled on the ribbon wrapped round his wrist, but he pulled back—he had his own satyr’s trick. She didn’t let the ribbon go in time, and he caught her and twined the ribbon round her wrists.
"I’m talking my pet for a walk,” he said as he led the girl in pink around the room. "Don’t mind us…”
The girl in pink tried to untie herself as she walked behind Malcolm, a pretty puppy on a pretty pink leash. But there was nothing for her. He had her trapped.
"Let me go, beast. Let me go,” she said.
He spun her around to face him.
"For the price of a kiss,” he said. "I’ll think about it.”
"He means it, Pinky,” the girl in blue said. "Better kiss him or you’ll be his pet forever.”