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tiny-maus-boots · 5 years

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The Fool

A/N: Part 4 of The Debt Collector Series, or the many bespoke three piece suits of Aubrey Posen.

Super big thank you to my bestie and beta @chloes-yellow-cup who puts up with me when I’m annoying (which is all the time), and STILL is kind enough to read and edit for me.

AAAAAND a very special thank you to @kate-harper because omgosh look at what she made!!! It is the greatest thing I have ever seen. It’s beautiful and I love and I have it saved as my lock screen so I can stare at it all day at work.

Stacie

She held up one dress in front of her body and sighed before flinging it to the side and holding up another. They were both beautiful long gowns that were light weight enough for the season but long and form fitted enough for the type of event. Stacie flung the second dress, a pale green, to the side and stood in front of Cynthia Rose in exasperation.

“I have a closet full of evening dresses and gowns and I can’t figure out what to wear to my own event tonight. I should have planned this weeks ago.”

Of course weeks ago she’d still been planning on attending by herself. It wasn’t always that way, usually Weston pretended to humor her work and attended events with her. But for the last couple of years she’d gone to each event with excuses instead of a husband. And when Aubrey had found out she asked to be her date, which was amazing, except now she had nothing to wear at the last minute. Her best friend looked up from the deck of cards she was idly shuffling and smirked then shook her head slowly. “What difference does it make? You ain’t gonna be in it but a minute.”

Stacie huffed and walked back into her closet to look for something else to wear. White was out, gold was out, green was definitely out. This used to be so easy before, any dress would do and Weston would wear the same tuxedo he always wore. It was nice of course, with classic lines, and he wore it well enough she supposed. But no one wore a suit like Aubrey and she had a feeling that Aubrey in a tux was going to make her weak. So she wanted to up her style game. Going stag was not the same thing as arriving with an escort.

“That isn’t the point. Like at all.” There was a knock at the door to the bedroom and she poked her head out of the closet to watch Cynthia Rose take something from the housekeeper. It was a large rectangular box with a bow on it. “What’s all this?”

“Georgia said it was just delivered by a strange mute woman. So I’m guessing Lil.” She placed the box on the edge of the bed and rested her hands on her hips. “You gonna open it?”

Stacie bounded over and leapt on to the bed already imaging what kind of dress might be in it. “What do you think it is? A pony?”

“I really hope you’re playing, girl.”

They had been best friends since college and the banter had always been the same. She’d be the dumb one and CR would be the cynical wise cracking one. It was a façade they both played to even though they knew each other much better than that. She pulled the ribbon off and opened the lid then let out a breath of surprised air. She shouldn’t have been surprised, Aubrey had impeccable taste, but for some reason she was blown away. Stacie reached into the box and pulled out the long deep red silk satin spaghetti strap gown.

“Guess that solves your dress problem. Damn. You gonna look hot.”

Stacie bit her lip and reached for the card in the bottom of the box and flipped it open. Cynthia Rose tried to look over her shoulder and she closed the card quickly. There were a lot of things that Aubrey would probably not care about if she told Cynthia Rose but something this personal, this romantic, that was out of the question to share.

“Nosy.”

“And which one of us is always digging through my phone to read my texts?”

“That’s different. Your sexts with that Ashley chick are awesome. Seriously. You could sell it as lesbian erotica. I know a guy.” Cynthia Rose gave her a look like she was out of her mind but it melted into something more considering after a moment. Stacie smirked and slid off the bed so she could read the card to herself. “Think about it.”

She leaned against the wall next to the window and smiled softly at the handwriting. Of course Aubrey wrote in beautiful heavy cursive script. ‘I promise to take it off you later – A’ It sent a thrill down her spine and she inhaled deeply at the thought of what Aubrey might have planned for her. Stacie gave the dress another look, holding it in front of her body while facing the full length mirror. It was gorgeous and she would look hot in it.

“You better hurry up. It’s almost time.”

Stacie nodded glad that she had already done her hair and makeup as padded into the closet to dress. Unsurprisingly the dress fit her perfectly, the slit riding almost to her hip was sure to flash a peek of her garter if her step was too long. She had wanted to tuck a gift from Aubrey into it but despite how small the lightweight the .22 caliber pistol was it was still a little too bulky for a simple black band. At the time Aubrey had given it to her the concealer thigh holster had seemed silly but as she adjusted it on her other thigh and tucked the gun into it she realized it was the perfect accessory. It held firmly and securely without ruining the line and fall of the dress. She grabbed her shoes and stepped into them, buckling the thin straps around her ankles.

When she stepped out of the closet Cynthia Rose gave her a whistle. “Aubrey’s going to love it. You look awesome, girl.” Her brow furrowed when her gaze trailed down Stacie’s body and ended at awkward way she was standing, trying to get used to the weight and feel of the gun strapped to her thigh. It would take her a few minutes to get adjust and get used to it but it was the first time she was wearing it for practical use. The other woman raised her brows in question as she guessed the problem immediately. “Oh so you ride or die now?”

It wasn’t an idle question and she could feel the current of something underneath the words. Maybe a threat, or a warning, she wasn’t sure but she gave a slow nod after thinking it through. She knew what being with Aubrey would mean if things got bad at work. She knew exactly the type of business Aubrey had, it was how they got to the situation they found themselves in now. Stacie turned to the mirror and started to touch up her makeup and hair.

“If you’re asking if I’m totally cool with how violent Aubrey can be for work then the answer is yes. I knew who she was before we started this, remember?”

Not that she herself could ever really forget the blonde’s work. This relationship with Aubrey had been so easy and almost too normal. It became harder and harder to remember that she was married to Weston and not Aubrey with all the time they spent in each other’s company. Stacie couldn’t even remember the last time she’d gone to Weston’s office to take him to lunch, then again he was rarely even there anymore. He spent more time traveling for work than he did at home which was quite frankly a relief.

But with Aubrey it was different. She found herself planning out her days so that she’d be around The Bird near lunch or dinner. And she’d dropped in a time or two at an inopportune moment. The most recent time giving her a very vivid reminder that this life was not a game.

She had hoped that it was a slow business day when she walked in to the manager’s office in the back. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that she would be walking directly into a business meeting of sorts. But she had and she’d stood frozen in the doorway as she took in the balding man tied to the chair and Aubrey with her sleeves rolled up to almost the elbow with slap jack in hand raised and ready to break a kneecap. The other woman hid it quickly but there was a flash of panic on her face that made Stacie’s heart squeeze painfully. For a second. Just a second, Aubrey had been afraid and it showed. She didn’t know how to ease that flash of fear without undermining the blonde so she cleared her throat and glanced down at the man, quietly closing the door behind her and locking it with a click.

“What’d you do?”

He tipped his head back to stare at her as if she were insane. She couldn’t blame him, this was obviously not the time for idle chit chat. When he didn’t answer soon enough Aubrey reached up and twisted two of his fingers roughly in a direction they were never meant to bend. They snapped and her voice came out with a low growl that did things to Stacie, making her body tighten with sudden desire.

“Answer the lady.”

Heat rose to her face and she cleared her throat when the man cried out. That…should not have been hot. He was a human being and he was in pain and Aubrey was the one causing it. It should have turned her stomach. But. It didn’t. She trusted that it was for a reason, because Aubrey never did anything without a damn good reason. The man lifted his head, beads of sweat dripping from his brow.

“I skimmed off my pick-ups.”

Oh. Stacie gave him a sympathetic look and patted the top of his head. “It’s going to hurt for a while, but the good news is you won’t make that mistake again.” Because she was pretty sure he was going to wind up dead. This was something she should have found horrifying but she felt strangely calm about because she knew there would be a perfectly valid reason. You didn’t steal from Aubrey Posen, and if you had the balls to try then you were risking your life and that was really on you.

She turned back to Aubrey, dismissing the man and any deeper thoughts about what went on in the back office. She knew how she felt with Aubrey, she felt safe despite the potential for so much violence. She felt safer here with Aubrey than she did in her own home. And all that dark, raw, energy so perfectly and tightly controlled took her breath away. Stacie took a few steps to Aubrey’s desk and leaned back against the edge, placing herself between Aubrey’s knees as the other woman was reclined in her office chair, watching her with open curiosity.

“So, dinner tonight, wanna eat out?” Stacie smirked at the flicker of surprise in Aubrey’s eyes at her obvious intent and stood to give the blonde a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “See you in a bit.”

Cynthia Rose gave a slow nod at Stacie’s comment, weighing it for truth. “If she hurts you…”

“She won’t. Aubrey doesn’t hurt people because she likes it C, its business. She doesn’t pretend to be the good guy but she isn’t the bad guy unless someone makes her be. I can live with that.” Stacie swallowed thickly, pausing as she was about to apply her fresh lipstick. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, dimly aware of Cynthia Rose standing behind her. “I love her.”

Her friend gave a solid nod and shrugged into an indigo blue tuxedo jacket with black lapel. “She damn well better love you back.”

“She does.” Stacie smiled and finished her lipstick before turning to help Cynthia Rose fix her bowtie. That was something she believed without hesitation and not just because Aubrey had said so for the first time the night before, she just knew that the other woman did, she felt it in her bones. “Hey, thanks for letting me host this thing at The Diamond Club. It’s kind of the perfect venue for a Monte Carlo themed event. It’s going to earn a lot of money for the shelter and that will help a lot of women in need. So, thank you.”

“I got’chu Stace. It’s a good cause and it makes me look like an upstanding member of the community.” Stacie smoothed out Cynthia Rose’s lapel and linked their arms so they could look at themselves in the mirror. “Damn. We look like we’re going to prom.”

It made her laugh and she nudged her best friend with a shoulder bump. “Yeah, a big gay prom.”

“Hnghh. I look fly as hell too. Hm. I might find me a wife tonight.”

Stacie rolled her eyes playfully and tugged her friend’s arm to lead them out the door. “Okay well look fly from the car, I don’t want to keep Aubrey waiting.”

Aubrey

Aubrey walked through the tables set out for the various games and nodded approvingly. “Get this table a bit more to the back and put the high roller Baccarat and Poker upstairs in VIP.” Cynthia Rose had given her carte blanche to organize exactly how the gaming went since she was the one supplying the set up and games. Happy nudged her elbow gently and jerked her curly head toward the entrance of the club.

The light from outside was blocked out partially as the figure strode toward them with an unmistakable cocky strut. Aubrey smirked and turned to face the woman as she finally made her way to them. “Detective Mitchell, here to gamble away your check for a good cause?”

The smaller woman looked around at the club and gave a slight nod as if she was seriously considering it. But they both knew she wouldn’t be there for more than a drink or two before crawling back into whatever hole she’d crawled out of to be there. “Maybe, lots of bored rich wives come to these things right?”

Aubrey snorted softly and gestured for Happy to take over ensuring everything went the way it was supposed to until Stacie got there. Her eyes landed on the briefcase in the Detective’s hand and she gestured toward the stairs that led to Cynthia Rose’s office. “I see you visited our friend.”

Beca followed her up and into the office, shutting the door behind them. “That guy is a fucking creep.” She put the briefcase on the desk and opened it before turning it to face Aubrey. “Also, he’s missing some teeth. You know anything about that?”

She didn’t say anything as she reached for the stacks of money to make sure it was all there. It hadn’t taken much to get Detective Mitchell to agree to blackmail Weston, she had a particular prejudice against the wealthy that Aubrey used to her benefit. Besides, she was a dirty cop that would do anything if the price was right. Aubrey counted out twenty five thousand dollars and tossed the stack lightly across the desktop. “That’s unfortunate news for him, I hope he doesn’t smile for photos.”

Beca dropped into the chair across from Aubrey and picked up the cash without bothering to count it. She trusted Aubrey not to cheat her and in turn Aubrey trusted Beca not to rat on their dealings. The cop tucked the stack of bills into the inner pocket of her leather jacket and crossed her arms over her chest, watching Aubrey with a calculating gaze.

“Hm. If I didn’t know better I would say someone knocked or pulled them out. Sounds like something someone might do to teach a guy a lesson. Especially if that guy owed that someone a lot of money.” It was getting too close to the truth for her to lie outright against. So Aubrey leaned back casually, adjusting the matching tie and vest set she wore. It wasn’t an admission but it wasn’t a denial either and Beca took it as a sign to continue. “Did you have me blackmail this guy just so you could loan him back his own money?”

The corner of her mouth quirked in a predatory smile but it faded quickly and she leaned forward, hands clasped in front of her on the desk. “If someone were doing that to our associate Mr. Whitman I suspect they would be doing it for a good reason. Don’t you?”

The brunette sat there a moment turning it over in her head. “I’ll tell you what I know. Weston Whitman is grade A piece of crap. I did my own research and he’s clean as a whistle on the surface, but there’s something wrong about him. Hookers go missing or turn up dead everywhere he goes, investors get squeamish whenever his name is mentioned, corporate higher ups start hiding behind walls of attorney’s whenever anyone asks about him.”

They were toeing a line just discussing it but Aubrey hadn’t yet said anything incriminating to substantiate what the Detective was saying. “I think that sounds about right for Mr. Whitman.”

“Jesus Christ Aubrey. This guy is a legitimate bad guy, I could have investigated this shit for real. What are we doing dicking around with shadow games like this? And please for the love of God, give me a better fucking excuse than you wanting to bang his wife like a Salvation Army drum.”

She could understand Detective Mitchell’s irritation, even if she was on the take, she was a good damn investigator and letting a bad guy get away from the law when there was a good case against him bothered her. Aubrey chose her words very carefully when she spoke.

“Let’s say you make this a case Detective. And just for the sake of argument he didn’t have enough money and lawyers to bury this whole thing before word gets out. Let’s say you manage to drag this figlio di puttana through the mud and shit where he belongs.” Aubrey stood and slid her hands into the pockets of her tuxedo trousers to keep from wanting to reach for a weapon in her anger at the very thought of Weston. “Who exactly do you think suffers the most for it? Him? You think his money can’t buy him some luxuries in prison? Who do you think the press is going to hunt and hound? Him all safe in his cell or…” Stacie.

She didn’t say it. She didn’t have to. Beca deflated a little and shook her head still upset even if she were resigned to accepting it. They both knew Stacie didn’t deserve the fallout of what would happen and there was a good chance that Weston would use his leverage over Stacie to save his own ass. And that was something she couldn’t allow to happen. So she did it her way, moving people like chess pieces until she could trap him in a corner with no one to turn to for help, no money to buy his way free, and no will left to try and fight.

“You have a fucked up sense of chivalry, you know that Posen?”

Aubrey moved to the cabinet that held Cynthia Rose’s well equipped bar and pulled out two small tumblers and a bottle of grappa so strong it would put hair on a man’s chest. She poured them each and drink and handed the Detective a glass. Beca took it and raised it with her.

“Salute.”

They clinked their glasses together and tipped them back. The harsh burn of the alcohol slid down her throat and she gave an involuntary shiver that would have had Detective Mitchell laughing at her if she hadn’t been choking on a cough herself. “Oh my God, poison. Holy shit is that turpentine?”

Aubrey started to answer but her phone vibrated against her ribs. She set the glass down and reached into her jacket pocket. Her lips pulled into a smile at the text from Stacie. A sudden rush of nerves made her pull at her cuffs and straighten her tie once more and she caught Beca watching her at it. “How do I look?”

“Like a woman in love.” Beca stood and lifted Aubrey’s hand to fix the cuff she had twisted around her wrist. They weren’t on the same side of the fence, not by a long shot. They were still cop and criminal, employer and employee even. But if Aubrey were being honest she counted on Beca in her life and thought of them as friends. It was a dangerous way to think given the business she was in but there was a certain amount of mutual trust built up over years of sometimes violent encounters. “Which is super gross by the way.”

Aubrey gave the shorter woman a mild glance but she could tell Beca didn’t really mean it by the almost wistful sigh she gave when she was done fixing the cuff. “Didn’t know you were such a romantic, Detective.”

Beca made a face and shrugged. “Honestly I’m not but...” She shrugged and Aubrey waited patiently for her to continue. “Seeing you happy like this, despite the shit we muck through every day, makes a girl wonder if maybe it could be worth it. You’re in love and as much as that weirds me out, I can’t help but think that might not be the worst thing in the world. One day.”

Aubrey chuckled softly and gestured to the office door. So Detective Mitchell low key wanted to find herself a heart to call home. If she hadn’t ever met Stacie she might have mocked that sentiment. Made a joke about Beca going soft for wanting to be loved and love in return. But it was different now, she was different now and it was apparently obvious to see. She locked the office behind her and tucked the key into her vest pocket, eyes already scanning for Stacie. When she finally found her, Aubrey almost missed a step and had to catch herself before she crashed into Beca. The other woman looked over her shoulder at Aubrey and snickered. “Smooth, Posen, real smooth.”

“You shut up.” Her eyes slid back to Stacie and she watched the easy sweet smile as she greeted a few patrons. It took Aubrey’s breath away and she chose to watch from the bottom of the stairs as Stacie maneuvered through the swiftly filling room. Her eyes trailed down Stacie’s long body, appreciating the way that dress looked on her. Almost as if she felt the weight of Aubrey’s gaze Stacie raised her head and turned unerringly toward her, flashing a perfect smile.

They were caught for a moment just staring at each other across the room. It was hard not to walk over and kiss Stacie in greeting but she managed to restrain herself. It was only obvious to the few people that knew them like Detective Mitchell and Cynthia Rose or Lilly and Happy, that they were there as a couple, for everyone else Aubrey was just another benefactor and contributor. No one really to take note of and certainly not more than a passing acquaintance to Stacie. But she knew and she had dressed the part, her vest, tie and pocket square matching Stacie’s dress perfectly. Aubrey smiled when Stacie realized that they complimented each other perfectly. Maybe she was going soft for the girl, a thing she swore she’d never do, but seeing that spark of happiness in Stacie’s eyes made it all worth it.

Stacie

“Thank you for coming, it was wonderful to see you again.” She smiled and shook hands with another guest, kissing his wife on each cheek as they parted. It felt like hours had passed and she’d barely gotten to see Aubrey. It had been a long nonstop stream of people all wanting to make small talk geared toward finding out her secrets and point out her flaws with polite smiles and condescending little laughs. She hated this part of it, the part where she had to interact with people that didn’t give a damn about anything real but always threw money at the first cause to cross their paths. People like her parents.

Not that her parents were terrible people, they weren’t, they were just too concerned about appearances to really make a change in anyone’s life. Their desire to help people was only as extensive as the amount of time it took to write a check. It was why she spent so much of her time and family inheritance trying to be better than that. Because the truth was they couldn’t even be bothered to help their own daughter out of a horrible situation and she never wanted another woman to know what it felt like to be trapped and alone in an unsafe relationship. Stacie took a deep breath before yet another person got between her and the bar where she’d last seen Aubrey. A warm hand landed lightly on the small of her back and she could feel the heat of it through the dress sinking into her skin.

“I was wondering where you’d gone.” Stacie leaned back slightly so that her body bumped against Aubrey’s and the tension melted away. She turned and smiled at the blonde, taking the time to appreciate the full effect of Aubrey’s tux and perfect smoky eye. It was sexy as hell and she had to resist the urge to run her hands down the other woman’s chest and over her ribs.

“I’ve been here with you the whole time.” Stacie reached out for Aubrey’s hand, wanting to do more than give it a squeeze. She wanted to do so much more but that would have to wait until later when they were at home together. “You want a drink?”

“Yes, please.” Aubrey smiled at her and Stacie’s heart skipped a beat. She was still lost in the memory of Aubrey’s smile moments later when another much heavier hand landed on her arm. The smile she wore faded instantly because she knew the too familiar touch as one of Weston’s friend’s from work. He was always pushy and always far too drunk and so far tonight had hit on her at least five times. The last time going so far as to squeeze her ass when no one was looking. She knew why he was so aggressive, was sure that he had seen certain movies of her, a thought that sickened her almost as much as the smell of his booze tainted breath.

“You’ve been giving me the dodge Stacie, c’mon, let me buy you a drink and take care of you since Wes isn’t around.”

She tried to carefully extricate herself from his grip but he held tighter, pulling her a little closer to his body. The smell of whiskey on his breath so strong she had to turn her head to get away from it. “You’re drunk Phillip, please let me go.” Her mother’s voice rose up in a frantic roar in her head. Don’t make a scene Anastacia, it is better to suffer in silence than endure a scandal! It was so hardwired into her brain that she caught herself trying to hide his rough grip on her so no one would know.

“I thought you liked it like this.” She had suspected of course, but having that confirmation made her stomach wind in knots. If one person knew then others could and would eventually find out. People would know about her, about what Weston did to her. Bile rose up in her throat and she elbowed him hard enough in the gut to get him to let go so she could get as far away as she could.

Stacie scanned for Aubrey and headed in her direction but a hard yank to her wrist pulled her to a short stop just feet from the bar. Aubrey turned just then, sensing more than seeing movement over her shoulder and green eyes narrowed in malice as she took in Stacie’s situation. Phillip pulled her over to a smaller table that had been pushed to the side to make room for the servers coming in and out with trays champagne and hors d’oeuvres. She didn’t recognize the two men sitting at the table but she didn’t have to know them personally to know what kind of person they were.

It was obvious from the sly smiles and complete and utter lack of concern for her wellbeing. They were like Phillip, and like Weston. The type of men that preyed on women because they were rich and powerful and had been born with a sense of entitlement bigger than their trust funds.

“I don’t think the lady wants your company.” Aubrey’s soft voice came out with the echo of a threat and Stacie shivered at the sound of it. Phillip let her go and she stepped out of his reach before he could think about grabbing her again. Aubrey gestured with a small wave at a server and gave the girl a fifty dollar bill as a tip. “Bring these gentlemen a round from the top shelf.” The girl nodded and hurried off away from the darkened corner to the full light of the bar and well away from the dangerous vibe in the air.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to be rude but who the hell do you think you are?”

Aubrey raised a brow and turned her head to take Phillip in, judging him for threat level. When she didn’t find one worth worrying about she pushed forward and rested her hands on the table top. The nearest man, reached out to grab her but Aubrey was faster that he was and far more vicious. Her hand came up to the back of his head, slamming it into the table hard. The second man started to stand but Aubrey lashed out with a quick jab to his throat that buckled his knees and had him silently gasping for breath. In one smooth motion she pulled her gun from the small of her back and placed it on the table directly in front of Phillip with a heavy thunk. She thumbed back the hammer and leaned in so her eyes were level with his and Stacie was sure he had just peed on himself.

“No. Means. No. Are we clear?”

Stacie bit her lip when Phillip nodded a little too quickly in agreement. She held his gaze a moment more before she stood up and tucked the gun away as smoothly as she’d taken it out, the server none the wiser for the for the display. Aubrey turned to Stacie and gently stroked her fingers over the already fading red mark from Phillip. Her voice was low but so much softer than when she’d spoken to the man at the table.

“Hey, you okay?”

She could only nod, afraid of what might come out of her mouth right then. Aubrey gave her a slow nod then turned back to the table to pin them each with a hard look. “Enjoy your drinks gentlemen and get the fuck out of my house.”

All three of them got up without so much as glancing at the drinks, two of them helping the third to the closest exit. Like magic Lilly appeared at Aubrey’s side and the blonde gave her a short nod, watching as her right hand man disappeared back into the shadows to follow Phillip and his friends. She turned back to Stacie, eyes soft with apology but none of that was necessary for Stacie.

There were no words to express how she felt right then. Stacie stood there staring at Aubrey wanting and needing to be anywhere but there in front of so many people. Aubrey opened her mouth to apologize and Stacie pulled her in by her lapels for a quick and hungry kiss. She honestly didn’t care if anyone was watching or had noticed anything out of the ordinary at all. She couldn’t care less if every single one of them saw. Aubrey pulled back from the kiss in confusion her breath coming out in a fast pant.

“Wha…”

“We have to go right now.”

“Wher…”

Stacie took Aubrey’s hand and pulled her along the wall to the edge of the bar. She had to wait as several servers spilled out of the door to the back area before tugging Aubrey behind her to the delivery door at the back. It was too busy with the hustle of bodies and she pushed out into the cool evening with an exasperated sigh. She spotted the other woman’s black Escalade parked next to Cynthia Rose’s Mustang. She turned and slipped a hand into Aubrey’s pants, her fingers tracing the seam of the pocket as she dug for the key. The blonde’s hips jerked once before she found what she was looking for and clicked the lock open.

She couldn’t even feel herself take the steps to the car, only the feel of the cold metal and glass against her overheated back as Aubrey pushed her up against the side and kissed her as if she could devour her right there. Stacie struggled to open the door behind her, breaking away only long enough to lift her dress and scoot into the backseat. The other woman climbed in after her and Stacie reached for her tie, tugging her closer for another kiss. Her hands scrabbled to peel the jacket from Aubrey’s shoulders, needing to get closer than the layers of clothes between them would allow.

Aubrey’s short nails grazed over her hips as they tugged her panties down the progress stopped when the blonde encountered the thigh holster. She looked down at it then at Stacie with a raised brow. “That’s so hot….”

Their lips crashed together again and Stacie swore there wasn’t enough air in the car, maybe the universe even. Aubrey tossed her underwear over her shoulder and pulled Stacie onto her lap in a straddle. Fingers grazed along her heat and she bucked wildly needing more than the tease of foreplay. Oh God she had never needed anyone as badly as she needed Aubrey right in that moment. Her fingers worked with frenzied intensity as she pulled the tie loose from its knot and worked the buttons open on Aubrey’s shirt and vest enough to reach the lace of her bra and the soft creamy skin of her chest.

One hand reached out to brace against the window when Aubrey filled her and Stacie could only think that she’d never felt this much anything in all her years of living. This much desire, need or love. She had never felt this safe in such an out of control life. This was everything for her and Aubrey was everything to her. Stacie brought their lips together in another desperate kiss, her words barely a whisper against Aubrey’s soft lips.

“I’m so yours.”

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toldnews-blog · 5 years

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Things Editors Like: T Suggests: Cameos by Cindy Sherman, Warhol’s Portraits of Women and More

Lina Bo Bardi’s Most Beloved Pieces Come to New York

The multidisciplinary Italian-Brazilian artist Lina Bo Bardi is best known as an architect, most famously of the 1968 São Paulo Museum of Art (MASP), a rectangular glass box suspended from two red concrete beams like a kind of Brutalist crab. But she also made radical Modernist furniture. In 1948, not long after she moved to São Paulo from her native Italy, where she had collaborated with architects including Gio Ponti and Carlo Pagani, she founded a furniture studio, Estúdio de Arte e Arquitetura Palma, with fellow Italian architect Giancarlo Palanti. Independently, she continued to create innovative seating and display units for the buildings she designed; in keeping with her communist principles, she liked to shape each aspect of her buildings to encourage accessibility and, in her words, to “fight against the formulaic and routine.”

Among her most influential pieces are the foldable jacaranda-wood chairs she produced for the auditorium at MASP, each of which features an elegant pale leather seat and back that lace up like corsets. One such chair is now on view at a new exhibition, “Lina Bo Bardi & Giancarlo Palanti: Studio d’Arte Palma,” of rare Bo Bardi furniture at Gladstone 64 gallery in New York. Also on display are a swooping iron-and-leather deck chair she created for Casa Valéria Cirell, the rustic shingle-walled home she built for a professor and his family in a tropical suburb of São Paulo in 1964, a mahogany Zig-Zag armchair with a fuzzy animal-hide seat by Estúdio de Arte e Arquitetura Palma and a compact movable wooden chair she designed for the Espírito Santo do Cerrado Church in southeastern Brazil.

Complementing the furniture are works by Bo Bardi’s contemporaries in the Brazilian artists’ collective Grupo Frente, including Lygia Clark and Alfredo Volpi. For Simone Battisti, a partner at Gladstone, the exhibition is all the more exciting because of its setting; the gallery occupies the former home of another Modernist architect, Edward Durell Stone, who in 1956 replaced the facade of the classic Upper East Side brownstone with a geometric concrete grid. His neighbors at the time weren’t pleased, which I imagine Bo Bardi would have enjoyed. On view through June 15 at Gladstone 64, 130 East 64th Street, New York, gladstone64.com — ALICE NEWELL-HANSON

Photographers Take on a New Medium: Cameo

According to the Egyptologist and philologist E.A. Wallis Budge, the word “cameo” derives from the Cabalist word Kame’a, meaning “magical square.” Magic certainly comes to mind when viewing the enchanting new cameos created by the photographers Cindy Sherman and Catherine Opie, who worked with the New York-based collector Liz Swig on a new limited-edition series called “Cameo.” The project consists of nine jewelry pieces — four by Sherman and five by Opie — that will be shown at the Venice Biennale this May and will be available for sale online. The latest project from LizWorks, a platform founded in 2014 by Swig to foster creative collaboration, “Cameo” began after Swig saw Opie’s 2017 exhibition “Portraits and Landscapes” at London’s Thomas Dane Gallery, which included a series of portraits with dark oval backdrops. The photographs reminded Swig of one of the oldest forms of portraiture: the carved cameo. “I was like, ‘Wait a minute!’ Swig says. “Nobody has explored the cameo, maybe ever, in contemporary dialogue and life.”

Soon after, Swig reached out to Opie and Sherman about carving their photographs into curved shells to create unique cameos. For Opie, the project with LizWorks gave her the opportunity to put the art form, which dates back to ancient Greece, in a new context. “When I make a photograph, there’s only five of them out in the world, and I love that there’s this reiteration, or reinterpretation, of a photograph that is not on a gallery or museum or collector’s wall but that it’s out in the world being worn,” she says. Sherman’s cameos transport the most contemporary form of portraiture from the digital into the tangible. She tells T in an email that she had “been looking for alternative ways to transform some of my images from Instagram, since they’re not suitable for regular photographic reproduction. And I like the idea of jewelry as art.”

The cameos were carved by the artisan Gino de Luca, whom Swig met at a jewelry fair in Vicenza, Italy. De Luca is a descendant of a long line of cameo-makers based in Torre del Greco, a town outside of Naples where cameos have been made for centuries. “Cameo” was de Luca’s first encounter with the works of Sherman and Opie, and a chance to modernize his family’s craft. “Within a minute, he just got it,” Swig says of speaking to De Luca about her vision. “He is a magic force, but on this earth.” Price on request, lizworks.net — HILARY REID

A Show on Andy Warhol’s Favorite Subject: Women

In the wake of the Whitney’s landmark Andy Warhol retrospective, “From A to B and Back Again” — the first show of its kind at a U.S. museum in 30 years — New York’s galleries are taking a turn celebrating the artist in their own ways. Sperone Westwater is exhibiting a collection of the artist’s early drawings of people and still lifes of food, handbags and stilettos while, at its upstate satellite in Kinderhook, Jack Shainman will soon open a show of the collaborative paintings Warhol did with Jean-Michel Basquiat. Up at Lévy Gorvy is “Warhol Women,” which, along with some of Warhol’s best-known portraits (Jackie, Marilyn), includes those of Gertrude Stein, Golda Meir and the artist’s mother, Julia Warhola. “It’s such an obvious subject,” says the writer Alison Gingeras, who will contribute an essay to the show’s catalog, of Warhol’s relationship to and reliance on women, “and yet it’s never been fully unpacked in all its complexity.”

That complexity is perhaps most apparent in four images near the gallery’s entrance that a casual observer might dismiss, unwisely, as outliers: These photos, taken over two days in 1981 by Christopher Makos, are of the artist himself in coifed wigs and full makeup. In one, Warhol has been rendered almost unrecognizable, with teased-up Stevie Nicks hair, drawn-on eyebrows and a flirty pose incorporating clasped hands. In another, he channels his most famous subject with an asymmetrical blond wig, a bent knee and arms crossed modestly over his crotch. Though rather than a billowing dress, he wears slim jeans, a white button-up and a plaid tie, as if, below the neck, he’s still Andy. Warhol was deeply fascinated by New York’s drag culture. As far back as the 1950s, he attended clandestine drag salons hosted by the photographer Otto Fenn and made drawings (some of them part of the Sperone Westwater show) based on Fenn’s images. Still, Makos has said that’s not quite what these pictures are about. As Gingeras puts it, “They’re more about undoing gender than performing drag,” adding, “Warhol had an expansive definition of what a woman is.” “Warhol Women,” through June 15 at Lévy Gorvy, 909 Madison Avenue, New York, levygorvy.com — MERRELL HAMBLETON

From Bobbi Jene Smith, a Dance Work Like a Mountain

Since leaving Tel Aviv, where she was a principal with Batsheva Dance Company, in 2014, the Iowa-born Bobbi Jene Smith has been busy choreographing or appearing in one work after another. “With Care,” an elegiac follow-up to her solo “A Study on Effort,” debuted in the fall, and “Deo,” a dramatic staging of the myth of Demeter and Persephone, which Smith cocreated with Maxine Doyle for the Martha Graham Dance Company, premiered last month. But even as she embodies Graham’s definition of the artist as someone who just keeps marching, Smith isn’t much interested in straight, continuous lines. “It’s creation and destruction. You build up and then have to come down, or go down to come up,” she says of her process. Indeed, the symbol of the mountain has become something of a touchstone for her, one that’s directly informed her newest piece, “Lost Mountain,” which will open in New York at La MaMa the weekend of May 16.

In this case, the mountain is not just a metaphor for the artistic struggle but also for the search for meaning in life. To Smith’s mind, one way that meaning can be found is through moments of human connection. “I like the idea of people bumping into each other and, much like the tectonic forces that make the mountain itself, rising up to make something larger,” she says. She will perform the piece with an ensemble of 10 that includes the dancer-choreographer Marta Miller (“I’m pulling her out of retirement for this”); Or Schraiber, Smith’s husband; the violinist Keir GoGwilt; and the Israeli singer-songwriter Asaf Avidan. When we speak, Smith is hesitant to give away too many details but shares that the evening-length work consists of a series of cinematic vignettes, that all of the music will be live and that there will be little separation between art forms. Fittingly, the group is rehearsing at a farmhouse-turned-artist-retreat on a mountain in southern Vermont. Have there been any inspirational hikes, one wonders? “Hopefully next week. It’s been pretty cold,” says Smith. “And we have a lot of work to do.” “Lost Mountain” will open as part of La MaMa’s Moves! Dance Festival on May 16, at the Ellen Stewart Theatre, 66 East Fourth Street, New York, lamama.org — KATE GUADAGNINO

Michelle Pfeiffer’s Intoxicating New Scents

The last person I’d expect to create a collection of slightly hallucinogenic abstract contemporary art might be Michelle Pfeiffer. But the perfumes from her new collection, Henry Rose, range from the delightfully disorienting (like a Jeff Koons balloon dog) to the unsettling, like a Spielbergian poltergeist-filled TV screen.

Last Light, one of the five scents, is somehow at once lovely and hopelessly unreachable. Jake’s House is a fresh eau de cologne but smells like it was made in 2042, and so is simultaneously familiar and alarming. Fog is a work of conceptual realism — a shadowy curtain of scent that silently curls around you. (The catch, of course, is that fog has no smell. That makes it an olfactory illusion, an extraordinary trick and a mesmerizing perfume.)

Dark Is Night smells like you’re in a nightclub — you know, nightclub air at 2 a.m.: the scent of aluminum, electricity and perfume with a hint of dark plums drenched in sugared rum. You’re lost; having this many weird olfactory landmarks means you have none. The parts fly at you, fill you up till suddenly. You can’t pass a mental breathalyzer. henryrose.com — CHANDLER BURR

#lifestyle disease news #lifestyle news english #lifestyle news indian express #lifestyle news shows #lifestyle news.com #pembury lifestyle group news

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raggywaltz1954 · 7 years

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If there’s one thing anybody who knows me (or anybody who doesn’t know me but lets me talk to them long enough) is aware of, it’s that I’m a Californian through and through, despite my temporary residence in Alabama. One thing that Alabama has that California does not is seasons, and after suffering through another bleak winter, the weather is warming and the leaves are coming back on the trees. In celebration of the turning season, I thought it would be cool to dedicate each post this month to the first full month of spring, April.

The Music

Track: ‘I’ll Remember April’

Recorded 19 September, 1955 in Carmel, California

Erroll Garner: Piano

Eddie Calhoun: Bass

Denzil Best: Drums

‘I’ll Remember April’ is among my personal favorite jazz standards, and Erroll’s interpretation of it is rather unique. He lengthens the song’s form by adding another verse at the end where ordinarily the song would go to the bridge, inserting a turn-around and then repeating the first 16 bars of the song, stretching what was originally a 48-bar song to what on paper is a whopping 64-bar song. The added verse works though, and I’m surprised other musicians haven’t explored this form of ‘April’, at least on record. Garner’s piano playing had swing built into it; his left hand’s strolling four-to-the-bar chording gave the impression that he had a guitar strumming with the group, and his occasional accents really kicked and jumped the music into some in the pocket grooves. Another interesting thing about Garner’s performance of ‘April’ is his convoluted introduction of the tune itself. He frequently improvised intros to songs that had little resemblance to the song he was about to play, keeping the audience and his sidemen in suspense until the moment he began to play the melody of the tune. When he does finally begin to play the melody here, the audience erupts into applause. ‘Red Top’ is a neat little blues outing that finds Garner in a humorous mood, throwing quotes in his solo with abundance.

This live album came about by accident. Garner’s agent, Martha Glaser, noticed a tape recorder running backstage during the concert. She tracked down the guy who was taping the concert, and about a year later in 1956, Columbia put out selections from the concert on this LP, to a smashing success. It’s not a rare album in the slightest, and it’s not a highly sought after record, either. It’s a solid album, though, with swinging and stimulating performances throughout. As an added bonus, we get to hear Erroll Garner speak, in what the liner notes describe as ‘the most succinct curtain speech’ ever.

The Cover

College Jazz Collector Rating: B

It’s not a bad cover, to be honest. You definitely get a sense of being ‘by the sea’, and the use of color in the font is tasteful. Composition-wise, the photo perfectly uses the Rule of Thirds (photographer jargon for aesthetically pleasing balance), putting the woman off to the bottom and side and using the tree to almost frame the photo. In fact, the use of leading lines (the album title to the pine tree to the rocks in the background to the rocks in the foreground to the girl) makes for visually engaging cover. Why just a B rating, then? I’m glad you asked.

A Tale of Three Covers

In 1956 when the album initially was released, the art department decided to use a white model on the cover, a practice that was common back then. The consensus among the executives was that a record wouldn’t sell if it had a negro prominently displayed on its cover. Quick sidenote- according to an established white author and poet who lectured at my university yesterday, this sentiment was alive and well as recently as 2010.

The cover used in 1956 and on all subsequent pressings of the record had the white model in what I’m sure was then-fashionable black pants, a white shirt, and a red jacket. In case you don’t want to scroll back up, here it is.In 1969, Columbia decided to re-release the album in a ‘electronically re-recorded to simulate stereo’ edition. Most record collectors know to run for the hills whenever they see a fake stereo album; I have this edition of the album, and I can say that fake stereo albums are best left alone. More on that later. The album cover on this edition features an updated photograph of the original cover. That is, a more boring cover. The font is a droll white that almost gets lost in the equally droll and gray scenery. The model is again a white woman, and in a reflection of the times the photo was taken, she is garbed in bell-bottom pants, the red jacket replaced by a different red top, and long flowing hair. Goodbye quaint 1950’s, hello psychedelic ’70’s. In 2015, Columbia/Sony released the entire concert, blessing the world with 11 previously unreleased tracks in addition to more stage announcements. The cover art on the CD and vinyl jackets is subtly historic, if not tongue-in-cheek. The multi-colored fonts are back, and it sports an updated subtitle that tells us specifically when the proceedings were recorded. The historic nature of the cover comes when you look at the actual photo. Sixty years after the album came out, Columbia finally thought it was safe to use a black model on the cover. Dressed in a red shirt and black pants, hands outstretched, and standing on the rocks (albeit on the opposite side), the 2015 cover is both a tribute to the original and a quiet monument to where we are today. I say quiet, because nowhere in the extensive new liner notes or anywhere else online for that matter does Columbia/Sony mention this change in models. The kicker is the black model is wearing her hair au natural. Amen and amen.

And that folks is the sixty-year tale of three album covers and why I gave it a ‘B’ rating. By the way, on the back of the CD booklet, the model seems to be holding something in her hand. Surely there’s no symbolism there…

The Back

Yet another example of the wrong kind of autograph. Despite being sixty years old, the white back cover is still pretty bright.

The Vinyl

Columbia 6-eye mono labels on heavy deep groove vinyl. The matrix numbers end with 1C on side 1 and 1A on side 2. Normally I don’t really care about this, aside from general amusement at where in the pressing process my record came from, but in this case I admit that I have slight case of ‘1st of the 1st Syndrome’. Being that this record had sold millions of copies by the end of the 1950’s, it’s kinda neat to know that this particular record was among the very first pressed and released. To get an idea of how many copies were pressed and mastering tapes used, my 1969 copy of this album on fake stereo has matrix numbers ending in 4B and 4D, signifying that the tape used was the 4 times removed from the original. It sounds terrible. The original album was sourced from an amateur bootleg recording, so the sound was already low-quality. Add electronically simulated stereo, and you can guess what the end result is. Interestingly, it sounds like the tape speed was sped up, giving the impression that music is being played faster than 33 1/3 RPM. Here’s the original rip from my record from above, and then the rip from my 1969 copy of the same album, same track. The difference is night and day.

The Place of Acquisition

Sometimes you find gold in the most unexpected places. Such was the case with this album. While working at a summer camp in a small town in the mountains of Arizona, some friends decided to visit the Goodwill Thrift shop down the road. I went along for the ride, and was pleasantly surprised to find that not only did they have a decent-sized record section, but everything was 99 cents! I quickly scooped up this and two other records , one being the famous George Shearing/Nat King Cole record. Incidentally, the original record’s price tag is on the front cover; it went for 99 cents in 1956, and I bought it for that same price in 2013. How about that?

Concert By The Sea // Erroll Garner If there's one thing anybody who knows me (or anybody who doesn't know me but lets me talk to them long enough) is aware of, it's that I'm a Californian through and through, despite my temporary residence in Alabama.

#Columbia Records #Erroll Garner #Live Jazz

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