The Bound Heart (28 page)

Olive nodded. She had been around the room a few times; and although that’s not the rope she would want Jamie to tie her into, she understood their appeal.

Jamie slipped his arms around her again. Kissed her head.

“People will love you in rope, Olive.”

She nodded.

His hand rubbed up and down her back.

Five hours later. Her heart was beating faster than she thought a heart was able to beat. Her breathing was shallow and she felt a little light headed.

They were up next.

“Look into the lights.”

“What?”

The tension radiating off her was palpable.

“If you look into the lights, you’ll not be able to see the audience. Imagine you are in the studio with me.

She nodded next to Jamie as Mrs. Okazaki fussed around her, straightening her kimono.

“Breathe, Olive-san.”

Olive took a deep breath in. Forced her shoulders to drop down and relax. Bile rushed up.

Olive turned and staggered towards a bucket at the back of the stage. She heaved; a small amount of bile came up, and then she was dry heaving.

They were talking in Japanese again. Mrs. Okazaki was starting to get that tone when she wasn’t happy.

“Olive. Will you be all right?”

The nausea was passing. A cup pressed against her lips and she drank. Water, clean, soothing, fresh.

She was sitting on a bench; someone had maneuvered her, and she put her head between her legs. The hot, sweaty flush pulled back; and slowly, she opened her eyes.

Jamie looked dark, his face blank.

“I’m all right. Just stage fright.” She tried to give him a reassuring smile.

Both of them looked at her. Their home was at stake, and she was worried about her privacy. This was something she could do for them, to thank them for what they had both given her. Her life had irrevocably changed, not just in circumstance but also deep on the inside. Every day she learned more about the world. She had a chance to take her creativity to a new place. She was earning her own money, slowly, but enough to have choices. She didn’t have to do this for a roof over her head or food. She needed to do this to for them.

And if she was honest for herself.

The first steps after her illness as a child, she hadn’t wanted to take. Billie had taken her by the hand and made her fight, made her walk back into the world through the pain and frustration. There was something of that fear she’d felt stepping out and wondering if she’d fall here right now as she waited to go to the stage.

Okazaki pulled him aside, spoke in Japanese.

“She doesn’t want to do it,” she said

“There’s too much at stake.”

“The rope is too important to her; she is not an exhibition piece. Showing her will be a violation of her, using something that is profoundly important to her to cause that pain. We should have seen it sooner.”

“It’s too late. There is no one else.”

“I can do it.”

Okazaki was still a striking woman, nimble and fit.

“You are not the model registered for the competition or in the photos. The rules are very clear.”

However, it was an option for next time. It was a way for him to work and find a balance that Olive might be comfortable with. The erotic work with the postcards, he would leave that behind. But the rope was a part of him; and to earn, he needed to display, needed to do these kind of events. If Olive couldn’t do that then he needed someone else. Okazaki could be an option. Just not for today. And today, they played for the next few years livelihood; and if he lost and couldn’t bridge the gap with other sources of revenue, they would lose their home.

“Looks like you’re having a bit of trouble.” Sato sauntered up, his model walking proudly behind him.

Olive stood and took a step closer to Jamie; she stood straight, chin lifted up, and shoulders back. Okazaki moved to stand behind him too. The solidarity very clear.

Sato smirked. “You’ll all have to come and see your house after I do the renovations.”

Cocky bastard.

The coordinator was in some golden kaftan as he hurried over. “Places, places, people you are expected on stage in two minutes. Time your sequence well. You have forty minutes.”

The maximum time a model could be in suspension was around twenty minutes depending on the ties. That left time to get her into the tie, get her out of it, and get your ropes off stage.

Jamie reached out and put his hand on the small of Olive’s back under a small orange satin obi belt. Her hair was plaited down her back so it wouldn’t get caught in the ropes.

“Are you sure you can do this, Olive?”

She gave him a soft smile that reached all the way into her eyes. If he ever doubted that she loved him, it would have been clear in that moment. She felt strongly enough about this to throw up. The girl from Whitechapel, who wore her dead brothers brace for years, who had stood by her integrity at the wrath of her family when money was tight, who stepped out into his world with courage.

Something moved through him as she turned and walked to the curtain at the back of the stage. Twenty feet away Sato stood with his model. Jamie took his place beside Olive and rolled his shoulders. Mulled over what was running through his mind. He should be thinking about the sequence they were about to do. Clearing his mind.

Instead, Olive’s heartfelt smile sank deep into his chest.

He leaned down next to Olive.

“Olive… give me one of those butterfly kisses… for luck.”

She gave a shocked laugh.

Then her hands slide up his arms, over his shoulders, and then tugged his face down.

“We don’t have time.” Her words were breathless. He knew that sound; her heart would be beating fast and thumbing at her clavicle.

“Yes, we do,” he whispered.

She leaned in closer.

Soft eyelashes flickered on his cheek as she fluttered them against him, her breath washing over his lips.

Had he ever felt anything so beautiful?

He was being felled, by the brush of eyelashes.

A gong sounded.

Her breath sucked in. Her fingers on him stiffened.

Heaven help him, because he was gone.

Olive stepped back.

Jamie looked over his shoulder to Okazaki. She gave him a single nod, knew what he asked.

Okazaki walked over and handed over what she had in her hands.

Then he and Olive moved onto the stage.

Olive positioned herself under the beams from which he would suspend her.

She was looking up at the lights.

The first thing he needed to do was make sure she couldn’t move.

Jamie picked up the rope.

He walked as he always did, a full circle around her, a signal to them both that she was in the sacred space the space where they spoke a different language.

He proceeded to tie her hands, and then worked quickly on the body harness.

He would usually use the ties of the harness to draw her to his breathing, to run sensual strokes over her skin, her breasts. But he held back.

The rope was already doing its job. It wrapped her in familiar patterns, caressed her in reassuring layers that he knew would be relaxing her. Getting her used to the light, the glimpses of the audience. The feeling that everyone was right there inside her every personal thought as she got more and more vulnerable.

He’d been tied. The first time was challenging and he’d been zealous in the rope, in the art. It was natural for her to have more emotions running through her than she may be prepared for.

But as he worked, the familiar touches, the feel of the rope, his soft murmured words, the tension eased out of her shoulders.

Then he went over and picked up the Fox mask Okazaki had given him.

Olive saw it in his hands and frowned.

Next to them, Sato was already deep into the ties getting ready to haul his model up in the rigging.

He was doing it too early. The woman would be in the hold too long unless Sato was adding floor work, which Jamie highly doubted.

Jamie stood in front of Olive. Lifted the mask.

“Jamie, you can’t win.” Her voice was full of urgency.

He leaned in and kissed her.

“We’ll take our chances.”

Then he slipped the mask on.

Her eyes were large through the eyeholes. His Inari Okami.

Inside her chest an ache and an unfurling happened at the same time.

He’d just made a choice.

He’d chosen her.

Her above whatever the loss of The Collector’s contract would do to his career, whatever it would do to both he and Mrs. Okazaki staying at their magical house.

Her head was light. The rope and its lure did that to her but it was more.

These were the people who worked in rope like Jamie. They clearly admired the work Jamie and she had done together but especially they respected Jamie.

All day, people had sought his opinion on their images and tonight some came after the demonstrations they’d given. Had asked him over to discuss the knots, their rope, ideas they had. Had asked about ideas to enhance the decorative side of the rope or hoe to pare down the rope used.

Jamie excelled at making the rope and the model, in this case her, harmonious and beautiful. There were no unnecessary ropes. Every tie was beautiful and part of a whole vision.

All those hours of doing and redoing the ties or sequence. The way he would adjust the ropes just so. The long discussion he and Mrs. Okazaki had and then she would be called and it would start all over again. All of that had been about perfection, about making everything he did the best, the highest standard it could be.

How often had he said,
‘You make the rope perfect.’
As she hung in bliss in the ropes, free, unrestrained, floating in the cocoon he’d made for her.
“It’s not only about the rope anymore Olive, it’s about you.”

Jamie stood behind her, pulled her back onto his chest. The way he did when her mind was racing and couldn’t focus, when it couldn’t settle and just be there with him as they worked.

He stroked her arms, murmured things she couldn’t quite hear. No matter how hard she strained to hear what he said she only ever caught parts of words.

Those familiar touches. It drew her, the world dropped away and there was just the feel of him. The heat of him at her back, her reaching out to him.

His hands ran up and down her arms. Over her back, her sides. Bringing her into her body, into her skin. She leaned into the touches.

And then the rope started.

Its firm comforting hold as he moved through the ties. Her hands crossed in front of her, fanned out so with the rope laced through her fingers so her hands became a fan that covered her breasts.

The ties then wrapped around the kimono, down her torso her thighs, calves and shins, encasing her.

They were doing The Calligrapher and the Brush, it was dramatic and took a great deal of strength and focus from Jamie and balance from her.

As the tie progressed, as she was pulled into the air and the large calligraphy brush, one larger than even Jamie as he stood next to it, as lowered from the high ceiling cavity. The audience drew in a collective breath. They had seen the photo plates but the impact of seeing a brush so large was still something special.

She heard the collective murmur, a sound that held appreciation , pleasure, anticipation. And from behind the mask it was as if she was somehow separated from them. From where they were.

The connection the flow from Jamie was there, would always be there when they worked the rope together. But now, outside of the workshop, as their efforts where unfolding in a dance, she was distanced from the very people she finally understood the work was for.

Her heart started to race and heat raced over her skin.

The suspension involved turning her upside down. Jamie, felt her agitation, touched her as much as the ties allowed. His voice deeper and soothing, was through her crooned the rapid pulse into submission and a new level of clarity to form.

The mask was feeling like a barrier. She lost sight of him past the eye-holes in the mask, she wanted to breathe.

The brush aligned with her back.

The ties to hold her to it wrapped around her, held her tighter.

What she needed to do became sparkling clear.

Jamie took the large brush held it and her, and maneuvered the brush, her hair mixed with the soft bristles of the brush’s.

On the wall to the side of them they’d hung a large black roll of canvas.

Jamie dipped the head of the brush into white paint and started to paint of the large black canvas. The tips of her fingers hooked under the mask. Wriggled under as she tucked her head down.

And as the final strokes were painted by the brush and the intermingled tips of her hair. She was able to fling the mask off.

The elation, the freedom surged through her as she threw away, the past. As she released and forgave her mother and sisters. Said goodbye to Billie and reached forward into a life with a man who had faced his own fears to win her and deserved a woman who would do the same for him in return.

Through the delicious fog that came with the rope, through the bliss of her new felt independence. She heard a rumble like thunder, the sounds of the audience cheering and their feet, their feet stamped on the floor beneath them.

Olive opened her eyes. Jamie had her and the brush poised at an angle, and the canvas pivoted behind them for the audience to read.

A single word across its surface that sent a cheer through the audience… PASSION.

All the demonstrations and performances were done.

They were all at the back of the room behind the judges and the audience, all the riggers, some of the models.

Jamie leaned against the radiator, arms crossed over his chest. Olive stood next to him feeling like every minute that passed, all her muscles contracted another inch inside her chest.

“How much longer?” her exasperation made Jamie smile next to her but it left quickly.

“They count the audience votes first, but it’s a popularity vote only, it doesn’t affect the competition outcome unless there is a tied score. Then the judges will vote, and then any penalty points will be subtracted. It’s the final score after all penalties that we need to beat Sato to keep The Collector’s contract.”

Everyone seemed to like what she and Jamie did; there had been applause. Her chest tightened.

“I think they liked us… don’t you?”

Jamie smiled at her again.

“They loved you, Olive. I couldn’t have hoped for a better response.”

Olive started to pace. Her legs were far too restless.

There had been a rush as they worked on the stage. She’d felt safe in the mask, safe to look out over the audience and not have them be able to see back at her. The moment she took off the mask. Something in her unlocked. Like Billie’s brace the mask helped her but she didn’t want to get caught behind it.

“How do you think Mr. Sato went?”

“Sato? He was at his best.”

Her lips thinned at the thought. If there was ever a time she wished that someone failed it Sato today.

“It sounded like drums and sex.”

Jamie nodded. “He drummed against the rope over her sex, she came. He tried it again, and she didn’t. The first was spectacular to watch, the second drawn out and tense. Not the outcome he was hoping for, I think.”

“It seemed like a long time. She went up before me and was still up when you were taking me down.”

“It was a long time…” Jamie’s jaw tightened.

“Audience scores! Audience scores!” The gold man called out tinging a bell.

Everyone straightened, including Jamie who stood and slipped his arm around her waist.

Third runner up, Mr. Kenji Sato. Second runner Up, Mr. Boris Milling. Runner up, Mrs. Stephanie Del Frey. First Place, Mr. Jamie Edwards.

Olive shrieked and jumped up and down. Clapped and twirled around. It was her first competition and the audience had loved them.

Jamie raised his hands to a collective applause, reached out and lifted her arm alongside his and a few calls of ‘bravo’ came from the crowd.

“Judges scores before penalties. Third runner up Mr. Boris Milling. Second runner Up, Mr. Kenji Sato. Runner up, Mrs. Stephanie Del Frey. First Place, Mr. Jamie Edwards.”

Jamie raised his hands, and again to further cheers from the crowd.

“Final scores after penalties applied. Third runner up, Mr. Jamie Edwards. Second runner Up, Mr. Boris Milling. Runner up, Mr. Kenji Sato. First Place, Mrs. Stephanie Del Frey.”

The French woman had done a sequence with a man that was a bit cruel and very humiliating. Despite herself, Olive hadn’t been able to look away. It had been beautiful and disturbingly exciting.

“What does that mean?” Olive looked to Jamie; he and Mrs. Okazaki shared a glance before he reached out for her.

“We lost to Sato. He now has The Collector’s contract.”

“Will you lose the house?”

He tugged her closer. “We have some time. We are all three of us talented. We’ll work it out, Olive.”

All three. He saw her in the solution, saw her in the long term…

Mrs. Okazaki moved away, going over to Sato’s model who was sitting back in a corner.”

Sato sauntered over.

“Pity. Looks like the best man won.” Then he laughed and walked off.

Jamie stepped to go after him. Olive reached out. “It’s not worth it, Jamie. Without the penalty, you won hands down.”

They had done so well. All that work, to lose because of penalties seemed very unfair.

Jamie reached out to her.

“There will be a party, do you want to stay.”

She didn’t need to know Jamie well to read the look on his face. He was done. He was tired and disappointed.

“No. I’m tired,” she said.

He smiled and shook his head.

“Come on; let’s get back to the hotel.”

A few hours later, they lay in bed after a walk around the city to work off the charge from the performance.

Jamie was quiet, his arm around her and half sitting up against the headboard.

The moon shone silver through the lace curtains as the sounds of the street drifted into the room. People returning to their rooms, walking down the street, and rooms opening and locking shut.

She ran her fingers against his tattoos. Placed her fingers on the one for each mark.

“Why did you put the mask on me?”

He kissed her head.

“You know why.”

Olive twisted around and looked at him.

“I think you love me.”

He moved so fast, she yelped in surprised as he rolled her under him and slid his leg over her to keep her from wriggling out.

“Do you?” He held her face and looked down at her.

“Yes, yes, I do.”

His lips were soft as he kissed her… then he nipped at her lip. She squeaked. Her heart starting to race.

“Maybe I do.” His hand moved down over her belly, down between her legs. “Maybe I want you to stay with me, even if we lose the house.”

He tugged up her nightgown. Her breathing came faster.

“What happened to rule number one?” her voice was breathless as his fingers slipped between her legs.

“It’s gone the way of Rule number two, three and four. It seems to me”-he nuzzled into her belly-“that I am owed compensation.”

Her pulse raced and her legs got restless. He was in one of those moods, it meant she didn’t know what was coming.

There was a knock at the door.

“Jamie-san”

They both stilled.

Okazaki-san never interrupted them.

Jamie rolled got out of the bed putting on his nemaki. Olive did the same. Tension tightened through her.

They turned on the gaslights to the room and opened the door.

“Is everything all right?” Jamie ushered her in. A small sofa, table, and chairs were at the foot of the bed.

They sat.

Mrs. Okazaki’s face was flushed.

“We beat Sato!”

Jamie stood.

“What do you mean?”

“Sato’s model has a serious injury. Her leg and arm are numb. He received penalty points and has fallen to the bottom of the list. Despite the penalty, we beat him. We still have the contract.”