Carrington Mansion Ch. 04

Hayden remembered to call her two days later when he arrived late at Gatwick to fly to New York. He was tired and a little grumpy from his farewell party and in the rush to the airport so decided to leave it. In New York he found he was in time for an earlier feeder flight so took that and then decided to arrive at Kitty's office as a surprise.

The receptionist informed Hayden Kitty was in Chicago at a law conference so went to the mansion feeling very grumpy and wondering why had he returned to this dump called by the stupid name of Mornington-on-Test. He nodded testily in agreement when recalling his brother's scandalous comment on TV about the city, calling it a poxy place bereft of culture. "Yo, how perceptive big brother."

The cabbie looked in his rear-vision mirror. "Just quoting what someone once said about this city," Hayden said, "but don't ask me to repeat it as you'll think I'm rude."

"Rude or crazy," Hayden heard the cabbie mutter so gave him a miserable tip for the short ride from Kitty's office and for a moment thought the asshole was going to spit on him.

Hayden stomped his way inside. "Nanny, I'm home," he called and was astonished when Mrs Wilson rushed into the home and burst into tears and said, "Oh, you're home. Kitty has been worried sick not hearing from you, worried that something bad might have happened. I tried to comfort her saying you were contemptuous of people who worried about you like me but that only made her cry."

"Well, I...I guess...oh hell. Sorry I didn't call you nanny."

Mrs Wilson ran from the room, a hand over her mouth, leaving Hayden waving his arms wondering why couldn't a guy go away for a few days and be spared of this fuss? Well okay, perhaps it was a month."

In his dressing room Hayden unlocked the big fire-proof cabinet that contained some of his best paintings he'd retained, took the one of the smallest paintings he'd ever done – it measured in its frame only ten and a half inches by thirteen inches. He'd painted from a photograph he'd taken on the night Kitty was on the bed covered in moon glow. It was Kitty's kitty, gaping.

Hayden had earlier been aware that Kitty's kitty was the most attractive vulva he'd ever seen, not that any of them were really attractive. He breathed deeply as if thinking about a dear friend he'd not seen for quite some time. A month and two and a half days actually. "Oh, you little darling," he muttered softly and felt his pal stir. Hayden preferred his women to be hot flesh and writhing in delight in front of him, but with Kitty in Chicago this was an acceptable substitute but he wished he also had the missing pieces including her dear face.

Her dear face, dear face? That thought had almost stunned Hayden, knowing he'd never thought about any female in his life quite like that. God, was he in love? He bit his lip thinking if he were, then he was performing more like an asshole than a lover. He went downstairs to fetch matches from the kitchen to burn that small canvas: if one loved a woman one would not enshrine her pussy for one's exclusive viewing, would one? He was unsure of the answer but continued on down to fetch matches.

Mrs Wilson, looking as cheerful that she ever got, handed him a beer and asked her to accompany him into the TV room.

Whatever for? Hayden wondered. They never watched TV together.

"Enjoy," Mrs Wilson said, closing the door behind him.

Matches forgotten, beer as yet untouched, Hayden could see the projector was set-up and wondered why. He sat down and thought wickedly perhaps Kitty had had her vulva photographed for him. The program was set on auto and the first slide showed the mansion as viewed from Pioneer Avenue.

Was this a joke?

The next slide replicated the same shot as a rendered drawing – computerized and probably produced on CAD. What was this?

The only changes on the next slide were the boundary wall now carried a sign in what appeared to be heavy stainless steel standing proud and proclaiming, 'Carrington Memorial Art Center' and an illuminated sign topping a 20ft pole behind the corner boundary wall stated, 'Open'. Presumably that would change at the flick of a switch to 'Closed'.

Hayden sat forward on the front of his lounge chair and gulped down a beer, eyes not leaving the screen.

Ten minutes later he returned to the kitchen and Mrs Wilson looked at him expectedly.

"Jesus."

She both frowned and smiled.

He urged, "Say something."

"This project has been driven by Kitty who at the other end of her has quite a brain. Hatched by her art manger friend Peggy Blewitt, conceptualized by Kitty and developed by architect Mr Randy Kincaid and his team as a favor and on the promise Mr Kincaid is hired if you decide to proceed from here, either this scheme or something more to your liking."

"I like it."

"Very good."

"My studio. Who came up with that idea?"

"Who do you think?"

Without hesitation Hayden said, "That reeks of Kitty."

Mrs Wilson said, "Forgive me for being so foul-mouth but this is how Kitty explained it to me: 'If we are to get Hayden behind this project we must grab him by the balls. I told Randy the only way to do that and to give footloose Hayden a studio that will fit him erotically, better than the best pussy he's ever visited'."

"Nanny, coming from you that's disgusting. But it sounds classic Kitty."

"She schooled me until I was word perfect, saying such an explanation would pierce you to the core. The key was for me to deliver those words."

To be Continued