8. Sette
Sette
S ette hated not knowing whether she won the silent auction, but she had plenty to distract her.
Like finishing up her final collection for Joy’s approval and shipping it up to New York for the gallery opening.
She received her itinerary and forwarded it to Monique, who forwarded it to June.
Dinners, brunches, press junkets, interviews with her beautiful model…
June would have more of the spotlight than Sette, and that suited her fine.
June was the star of both Sette’s literal show and her figurative one.
She also had her nightly phone calls to look forward to.
She was surprised when June began calling her at night.
She was pretty sure that was verboten at the Manoir…
and that thought was confirmed when June told Sette to keep the exchange to herself.
She was not allowed to contact her, aside from the usual ways, but she called her almost every night, sometimes at a reasonable time, and sometimes after midnight, when Sette was locked away in her studio or settling into bed.
The echo and splashes of water told her that June was in her bathroom every time. Probably to avoid detection.
At first, she thought these calls were supposed to be erotic in nature.
Sometimes, they were, with June begging Sette to talk dirty to her…
or she would start by talking dirty to Sette.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about you. I wish you could touch me.
I want to feel you all around me again. Why do you only come up twice a week? ”
Most of the time, June simply wanted to talk.
About herself. About Sette. Could she tell her more about her favorite artists and why she liked them so much?
What were some of the silliest stories from her practice?
Was med school really that bad? Which was worse: organic chemistry or being without June for days at a time?
For the first time, June was free with everything about herself as well.
She was frank about her father’s death and what it had financially done to her family.
Her mother’s illegal activities to pay off her late husband’s death, and how it led her to prison for way longer than she should have been incarcerated.
One of the reasons June found her work so alluring was that she was the master of her own business while still controlling her beautiful body.
“People always assume that because my father died and my mom’s in jail, I became some kind of prostitute.
That’s such bullshit,” she said one night, her bathwater splashing with extra vigor.
“Don’t they know that we come from all walks of life?
That we do this for different reasons and have different goals?
We’re human, like any other woman. You think I’m a normal girl, right?
” Of course, Sette did. So she had an unconventional life, and they had an even more unconventional relationship…
life was quirky and strange and wonderful.
“I’m tired of those hurtful stereotypes.
Why can’t I do this because I like it and am good at it?
Isn’t that what we’re told to do? Find a career we love and make money off it? ” Sette couldn’t argue with that.
There was an underlying… issue to everything she talked about.
When they met for their usual sessions, June was somewhat aloof until they wound up in her bed – or against a wall out in the backyard.
It was as if something plagued her dearest June, and she was open to every aspect of her life but that one.
The one thing she most wanted to experience.
What’s wrong, my love? Can I do anything to make it better?
Probably not. June was still a mystery in many ways.
“I wish you were going to the wedding with me,” Sette said the night before the big day. “I know you have other obligations with…”
“I’ll see you there, anyway. Don’t worry. What, you think I’ll give you the cold shoulder because I’m with her? I’m not that merciless. Besides, I want to keep you happy too, right?” June laughed. “You have to promise not to get jealous, though. She and I look good together.”
That was the worst thing she could say, and now Sette seriously thought about not going at all. Then I won’t get to see her Sunday, so… She would go for a glimpse of June and maybe a kiss. Shit, I really am a total fool in love. Sette wasn’t sure what she thought of that.
Nothing good, right now.
Sette’s relationship with weddings was a mixture of curiosity and impartiality. There was a lot of artistic value in a nicely thrown wedding, as often seen at the ones she had to attend to stay in good social standing, but at the same time… weddings .
“I’m not drunk enough for this yet.” Sette sat next to her friend in the audience, gathered that day in a big, beautiful garden behind Etta Coleman’s petite mansion in the hills.
How hundreds of guests had managed to be crowded together in this otherwise tiny venue remained a mystery to everyone but the wedding planner, a conspicuous woman in black and a microphone wrapped around her head.
“Have any bottles of tequila in your pocket?”
Zara patted her friend on the shoulder. “You missed the open bar. Told you to go check it out… but you refused.”
Sette saw the definition of an open bar in the room cordoned off for guests who arrived early and couldn’t yet be seated. Champagne, wine, and sparkling cider were all offered, but none of those things were strong enough to help Sette deal with a wedding.
A wedding where the love of her life showed up on the arm of another woman.
June and Miquela were fashionably late to the wedding of a woman neither knew well. Miquela looked her usual gorgeous, devil-may-care European self in a suit, but it was June who made Sette nearly lose her mind.
Her bright red dress hugged her hips… and a lot of other things too.
A thick collar turned into a sporty keyhole halter that framed her breasts and wrapped tightly around her abdomen.
In the middle of the keyhole was a flurry of stuck-on rubies that made her light skin twinkle with every slight turn.
It was sexual without vulgarity. Beautiful.
Flirty. Tasteful. 1000% June and tailored to her voluptuous body.
Her hair was let loose in strawberry blond waves that fell on top of her shoulders and down her back.
The way she clung to Miquela’s arm so she could walk in red stilettos was soft and demure.
It was killing Sette. Both of them. Why does she have to be so gorgeous?
She meant Miquela, too, since the woman was the pinnacle of classically debonair, and despite not being into more masculine-presenting women, Sette clearly saw the attraction.
Also, I’ve slept with her. I know how hot she is.
She puffed out her cheeks and focused on June, who was the definition of Sette’s “type,” with overtly feminine airs, grabbable curves, and coy, coquettish flirtations with every movement. She should be my date…
Their eyes caught for a brief second as they meandered down the walkway in search of a suitable place to sit. June sat on the end, flashing Sette a warm smile before turning her attention to the person who said hello in front of her.
“Stop looking at her,” Zara said. “Pay attention to the bride, not your mistress.”
Good thing those two were sitting a couple of rows back. It made it easier for Sette to stare ahead and occasionally pretend that Zara had something interesting to say.
Guests continued to file in one or two at a time until every seat in the audience was taken, and some had to find places to stand before the ushers brought in extra chairs.
The procession was not like most weddings.
While a live four-man orchestra played music on the ground, a catwalk had been built surrounding the garden.
The bride and her party would not be walking through the crowds today.
Instead, Etta Coleman’s bride appeared on a balcony overhead, arms laced with a khaki-casual man who looked like her father.
They traced the circumference of the garden up on the catwalk, her flowing skirt trailing behind her until she stood right above Sette.
This is crazy even for a woman like Etta.
She was one of the richest women in the area.
If her bride wanted to float in the air, she damn well would.
The whole ceremony took place on another balcony, with microphones projecting the vows. Sette glanced over her shoulder and saw June rubbing the length of Miquela’s leg. Yes, the wedding was much more interesting today.
The happy couple were pronounced and retreated into the house. The crowd, who had stood to clap and offer whistles of congratulations, took cues from the ushers to see themselves out and toward the many shuttles waiting to whisk them away to the reception.
“I said stop looking at them,” Zara chastised, catching her friend in the act again. “You’re going to make yourself sick. Come on. Let’s go to the reception. I’m sure you can get plenty of booze there.”
Sette followed Zara to her car in the front driveway. Other cars were pulling out, while other guests opted to take the shuttle and leave their cars in this high-security lot.
“Remember, I have to drive us home.” Zara followed a stretch limo down the driveway. “So you need to drink for the both of us.”