Mrs. Maurice

"Come on sleepyhead, we are due for coffee and donuts next door at Kurt and Pamela's place. Get dressed."

Eileen insisted on a quick shower first. She slid on the shorts, sandals, and tasteful blouse that James selected for her before sliding under his arm as they strode out of their own cabin. James had not relented on the question of underwear, so Eileen's boobs bounced marvelously as they walked.

Patricia and Kurt were quite happy to see James and Eileen. The coffee was a delight. The donuts went with them very well. The breakfast conversation strayed into the previous night's encounter.

"Oooh," gushed Pamela, "You could be a "Cavender Girl."

"You are familiar with him?" asked Eileen.

Kurt put in, "He's an up-and-comer! His work is what all the glitterati and one-percenters want on their walls."

"Can we go to the gallery with you?" asked Pamela, "We love his work."

"Sure!" said James answering for Eileen as well as himself.

The gallery was at one end of the fashionable district; the point where the tourist center intersected with the local, native shops. It was quite appealing on the outside. The main window display consisted mostly of beautifully calligraphed testimonials and reviews from the art trade publications.

Inside, Eileen caught her breath. The gallery was full of luminous, highly sensual nudes, some life-size. She observed James from the corner of her eye. He was obviously absorbing it all. Clearly, his mind was already filled with a portrait by Cavender of herself. These portraits revealed so much. It seemed you could almost read some of the subjects' minds. This one was having an affair with her tennis instructor. That one despised her children. Another was deeply in love with herself. It was all so overwhelming to the imposter.

Aside from the art, one exhibit caught her eye. It was a brief bio explaining how Dalton Cavender had been born in Haiti as Denis L'Overature and adopted by the Cavenders at the cusp of adolescence when he had been orphaned. His phenomenally rich adoptive parents discovered his innate artistic ability and paid for a fine education in the best colleges and art schools not only in America but also around the world. The rest he did on his own.

"Amazing, isn't he?" said James in Eileen's ear as they stood in front of a spectacular nude of a beautiful black woman. "Imagine something like THAT on our wall."

"Mr. Cavender won't give us the painting if I pose for him. At best, we will get a copy. The original will be sold for all the thousands of dollars like all these others. I will end up the object of lust on some stranger's wall."

"And what a lucky man he will be."

The imposter sighed, "It's important to you that I do this, is it not?"

"It would make me very happy."

"Very well, James but don't be disappointed or upset by what the portrait reveals. This gifted man paints the inside as well as the outside."

"All sides of you are beautiful, honey." He bent his head and kissed her deeply.

"You are so sweet, husband, but there are things about me best left hidden."

James heard those words, but they immediately fled his mind when he imagined his bride naked and posing at the bidding of a handsome stranger.

The rest f their vacation passed in a haze of sun, sex, and idleness that left them both well-tanned and completely sated. Returning to the Lehigh Valley and their mundane lives was a decided anticlimax. James and Eileen made the best of it. She spent hours compiling a photo album of their adventures. James had been content for the images to remain on their phones, but Eileen had her way. She emailed her own images and those that James forwarded to her to an address on the cloud and glossy eight by tens and standard snapshots arrived via U.S. Mail. Feeling both supremely victorious and supremely confident, Eileen decided to pay a surprise visit to Mrs. Maurice in the nursing home.

The old woman was seated in a rocker weeping and repeating, "No!" over and over.

"You!" she exclaimed when she became aware of the young woman's presence.

"Yes, in the flesh! Or rather in your old flesh. I am living a much better life as you than you ever did."

With a laugh, the young woman placed an album upon the lap of the old woman. The old woman began perusing the pages.

Her already labored breathing became even more erratic when she encountered the images of her old body looking even more trim and fit in a barely-there string bikini and topless on the beach in her James's arms!

"This is so unlike me," she rasped. "Someone will find out and set things right."

"James is too much in love. I let him shave my kitty. He has tied me up and cut my clothes off. He has taken me under the open air! He has taken my posterior! He would not take you back even IF he did learn the truth. I'm the wife you always wanted to be to him but could not. Stealing things in hopes of being strip-searched to "cure" you! All you had to do was relax and spread your legs."

The old woman's eyes grew large, "How do you know that?"

I know everything blanche femme! Not even your mother suspects. We have had several long conversations. James and I are starting to talk about having a family, imagine that! Your ovaries are now my ovaries, James's seed will not know the difference."

"You wicked, wicked woman! Hell has a special place for you!"

"On the contrary, hell was my old body. I am in heaven now."

The imposter swept up the album and exited the room. Her step was light and spritely.

**

It was a chilly day in September when the Harrison's ventured to Manhattan. They had parked the car in a New Jersey lot and taken a commuter train in. The car was not as full as it would be on a workday. Other tourists were as visible as James and Eileen. All of them wore looks of excitement and anticipation, unlike the glassy, vacant gaze of the daily nine-to-fivers. The subway dropped them just a block or so from Cavender's office. The sights and sounds of the Big Apple were always exhilarating. James's heart beat just a bit faster because in a short time his bride would be getting completely naked in front of a stranger!

There was a small reception area. A lovely blonde sat behind the desk. James came forward and introduced himself and his wife.

"Oh, yes. Today's appointment! I am Alice Cavender, Dalton is my adopted brother."

"Nice to meet you."

"I always enjoy meeting the husbands, especially when they are so handsome."

"Husbands?"

"Yes, my brother only paints married women."

"That's interesting."

"Yes. I can't get him interested in any other type of model."

James took his bride's coat and hung it up on the clothes tree beside Alice's desk. A buzzer sounded and Dalton Cavender entered. There was a shake of hands all around. After a brief conversation, Dalton led James's bride through the door into his studio.

Alice Cavender looked up at James. "They are going to be some time. Can I take you for a private tour of the city and point out some good restaurants? Dalton is going to feed her lunch. She will still be mighty hungry when she is finished. Posing is hard work, especially for a newbie."

James allowed the enchanting Alice to lead him out into the autumnal breeze.

The door closed behind the imposter. Her heart beat a rapid tattoo.

"Relax, Mrs. Harrison. I won't bite."

The studio was full of natural light from above and artificial light everywhere else. Various canvases were draped with sheets to prevent prying eyes. A screen cut off part of the room from view.

"What kind of tea do you prefer, Mrs. Harrison?"

"Earl Grey -- if you have it."

"But of course! The water is already aboil."

The tea was hot and tasty as were the authentic British-style scones. She felt a bit less nervous.

"Let's just jump into things. As soon as you finish your tea, I am going to ask you to step behind the partition and strip off. There is a robe you can put on. I will put you through a series of poses and backgrounds until I find one that I like. Then, you will cast off the robe and I shall take a series of reference photos..."

Dalton's expression changed and he looked deeply into the woman's luminous blue eyes. His expression became serious and sober.

"I'm sensing something I have not sensed since I was a lad in Haiti. My father was a master of voodoo and the magic arts. All the Cavender's Sunday school lessons and secular schooling could not stamp out my memories or lessons. My father had many enemies. Enemies who had me in their sights and made me quite amenable to adoption by rich white Americans with a God complex. He waved his hand under the woman's chin and shouted "Chanje!" the Creole word for "Changeling."

"Ahh!" screamed the young woman.

"Astounding!" exclaimed Dalton.

"Kreyon bondye pa gen g'om!" he stated in a serious voice.

"Mrs. Es-Esther Maurice." replied the imposter in a pained voice.

"Quite ancient are you and skilled in the arts, no?"

"Yes. In my youth, my magic would have stomped yours!"

"Well, this is rich. Obviously, the husband does not know. What were you fleeing?"

"Old age, infirmity, approaching death."

"Why should I not issue the command to your spirit to, as soon as possible, restore the proper souls to the proper bodies?"

"I shall give you anything you desire in exchange."

"So, you shall, Mrs. Maurice. So, you shall."

There was a brief pause.

"No need to go behind the partition, imposter. Stand. I will undress you. Once you are naked, you shall obey my every order. Usually, I must seduce my clients. That shall not be necessary in your case. Do not worry, your "husband" shall never be the wiser. Your painting will be glorious! I have never painted an ancient crone before. The clash of your inner mind and external beauty will make your portrait a masterpiece!"

"Those impressions that come to mind when gazing at your art?"

"Yes, I capture their innermost thoughts through an ingredient in my paint. A simple bit of magic, but it is quite remunerative."

The blood froze in the imposter's body.

"Mrs. Harrison. I am going to strip you now both physically and spiritually."

He was on her side of the table. His hands went to the buttons of her blouse. She knew better than to flinch or recoil.

**

James stood open-mouthed before the final painting in Cavender's studio. He simply could not find the words. It was by far the most overtly sexual painting Dalton Cavender had ever produced, and that was saying something. The pose was of Eileen half rising from a low upholstered couch. The fingers of her left hand were stroking her neatly trimmed pubic thatch (Eileen had started regrowing it once the vacation had ended), emphasizing the contrast between her wedding band and engagement diamond. Her right hand and arm supported her rising body. The nude woman in the painting had a salacious look on her face as though she had just done something supremely naughty like pulling a train or seducing a priest. The impression that came to James's mind was of an ancient succubus or another spirit of orgiastic pleasure. It was quite disconcerting. The fact that the painting was life-size increased that impression a thousand-fold.

"Oh, my goodness!" he said at last.

"I don't like it," opined his bride.

"It's tremendous honey. It's a masterpiece."

"That woman is not me."

"Who else would she be?"

"Who indeed?" inquired the imposter.

The gratis print of the painting arrived at their home a few days later. Eileen positively refused to allow James to display it anywhere in the house. After a heated discussion, she did allow that if they ever bought a larger house and it had a room or basement that could be converted into a man cave, he could display it there. James immediately became a connoisseur of every real estate site on the web.

It was only a few days after the large print had arrived at their front door that Eileen floored James by announcing that she was getting a tattoo. James was welcome to accompany her to the studio, but the selection of the artwork was her decision alone. James readily agreed. The Eileen of half a year ago would have shuddered at the mere thought of a tattoo. James had once suggested she get one for their anniversary and spent the next three nights on the couch. He recalled the words of his best friend Hal, "Examine that place for a giant seed pod! The woman in the video is clearly an imposter!" For the moment James considered that question. Suppose for a moment that it was true. Where could his old fussbudget wife have vanished to? Where could her exact double be reproduced? James thought that just perhaps there was a James in an alternate universe lamenting the drastic change in his formerly fun and sexually adventurous Eileen. "You have my sympathies, buddy," he said aloud.

They left the tattoo parlor. Around her right ankle, interlocking thorns, and roses. Around the left was a leafy tree branch with a tropical bird in a nest. Finally, just above her pussy, which the technician had to completely shave were the words "James's wife" in a tasteful script.

"Now, you will never mistake me for that woman in the painting ever again."

"But WHO is that woman?"

She looked at him in a way she had never looked at him before in all the years he had known her and replied slowly and deliberately, "Pray that you never find out, husband!"

A moment later, she was her sunny self again. James kissed her deeply and silently thanked the universe for such a wonderous bride.