Josefine followed a systematized routine to maintain some level of structured sanity, immersing herself in romance novels before bed, the type of reading material that preys on the naive, hopeless romantics of the world and breeds delusional activity on the subject matter. She always preferred the company of her books over the company of others. People often left her feeling unfulfilled, bored and drained. Still, the company of others was better than the company of her own thoughts. She despised being alone, but tonight, she didn’t have to worry about the voices in her head. Tonight she would be forced to break the convention of her nightly ritual to charm a distinct type of company she developed a particular distaste for. Tonight, she would milk the fragile egos of her husband’s colleagues by laughing at their humorless jokes and engaging in useless quibbling over semantics. The notion of it overwhelmed her with exhaustion.
She rummages through her closet, dissatisfied with each option she pulls from its depths. She holds up a sexy red dress to her chin, considers it for a long moment, quickly changing her mind and returning it to the rack. Finally, she settles on a black dress. It’s plain Jane, but sophisticated enough. She slips into the dress and glares at her reflection with a disconcerting look for a long moment. Music emanates from downstairs in the background while she methodically applies lipstick and wraps a pearl necklace around her bare neck, struggling with the clasp when her husband, Nicolo ambles in, his walk catching the beat of the music.
Josefine lets out a laugh. She hates herself for it, for finding him so charming and adorable after what he put her through. He takes the necklace from her hands, clasps it together and kisses her neck. She cringes inwardly, discomforted by his touch. He picks up on it but doesn’t acknowledge it.
“You look beautiful.”
She smiles weakly, disbelieving.
“Thanks, you look nice.”
Nicolo twirls to show off his tux and Stefano Ricci neck-tie. He’s dressed to impress. The sound of the doorbell intrudes on the moment.
“You almost ready?”
“I’ll be down in a few.”
He slips out, leaving Josefine alone with the company of her thoughts. A wave of depression creeps up on her. Suddenly overcome with the exhaustion that accompanies the malevolent syndrome, she musters the strength to drag herself into the bathroom and pulls a prescription bottle from the medicine cabinet. She fishes for a pill with shaky hands, throws it back and slips into the corridor.
The juxtaposition of music and chatter fill the air as she descends the stairs. She surveys the room full of white collar folk and their counterparts until her eyes dawn on her husband who is obnoxiously waving her over. Josefine groans to herself, forcing a smile as she approaches the group. Tom, an overweight lawyer, embraces Josefine in an unduly hug. His breath wreaks of whiskey when he speaks.
“You look more beautiful everytime I see you, Josefine. And that dress, wow! Nicolo is a lucky man. If you ever get bored of him, you let me know.”
Nicolo raises his glass of wine and takes a sip.
Josefine blushes. “Thank you, Tom.”
“We were about to play Never Have I Ever. Are you in?” Josefine shifts uncomfortably, clearly not wanting to partake.
“I should get the hors d’oeuvres. Unfed systems and alcohol are a recipe for disaster.”
“Nonsense. Everyone will get drunk faster and be in their ubers, out of your hair, sooner than later.”
He raises a good point. She considers for a brief moment. Barbara, an overenthusiastic, underdressed paralegal nudges Josefine.
“Common, it’ll be fun.”
Josefine gives into the pressure. “One round.”
Tom beams with joy. “Great. I’ll get you a drink. What’s your preference? I’m sensing… dry martini.”
The words dry martini have a strange effect on her. She is equal parts aroused and terrified by the words. Josefine and Nicolo exchange glances.
“She’s not drinking, buddy.”
“I’m 5 months sober.”
“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t know. How about a dirty dolphin then?” “A what?” “Water.” He slaps Josefine’s back playfully, a little too hard.
“Water is wonderful. Thanks, Tom.”
Josefine shrinks a little, embarrassed.
“How about you Nic, another Pinot? That’s a woman’s drink, ain’t it?” “It’s a Syrah. Asshat.”
“Hey! Asshat. I like that. That’s one up from cheesedick.”
“You’re still a cheesedick.”
Tom waves him off and retrieves the drinks.
Josefine laughs, loosening up a little. “So how do we play?” “It’s easy, babe. Each person admits something they’ve never done. If you’ve done it, you drink.”
Tom returns, balancing four drinks and hands them out.
“Water on the rocks.”
“Thanks.”
“Alright, Tom’s up first.” “Right. Never have I ever…”
Nicolo playfully interrupts. “Gone on a diet”.
Tom has a good sense of humor to compensate for his lack of sex appeal, so he laughs. “He’s not wrong.”
Tom raises his drink, downs it and grabs a crab puff from a waiter passing by. Everyone laughs except Josefine. Her eyes are glued to Nicolo’s wine glass as he swirls it with practiced hands. Tom speaks with a mouth full of pastry.
“Never have I ever…”
He scans the room, searching for an answer, settles his glare on Nicolo and Josefine.
“Got laid in the past year.”
Everyone laughs, except for Josefine and Nicolo who exchange uncomfortable glances. His eyes slightly pleading, met by hers, filled with a suppressed rage that’s been buried deep for some time. He breaks contact and stares into his wine glass.
“Aren’t you going to drink?” Her words are pointed, accusatory.
He nurses his wine with apprehension. No one addresses that Josefine doesn’t drink. He clears his throat. Tom picks up on the tension and fills the silence.
“Your turn, Josie.”
“Never have I ever…” She searches the group for an answer. Nicolo looks apprehensive.
“Been called cheesedick.” She glances at Tom, allowing a smirk as she raises her glass.
Tom laughs a hardy laugh and drinks. “Josefine is the only one who hasn’t taken a drink yet.”
Nicolo chimes in. “I’ve got one. Never have I ever… used taco meat in a bolognese.”
He throws a wink at his wife while everyone laughs harmoniously, except for Josefine who maintains a practiced calm. She glances around at the surrounding faces staring at her and suddenly something happens. She lets herself go and laughs uncontrollably, allowing a snort to slip from her lips, causing everyone to laugh even harder. Caught in the moment, Tom chokes on a crab puff.
“Drink that water, girly. Not too fast, you lightweight.”
She sips her water. Suddenly hit by the sensation that someone is looking at her. She turns towards the bar where an ethereal woman in a red dress is staring at her. She’s noticeably younger than everyone else in the room. Her confident demeanor makes her unapproachable, which explains why she sips a dirty martini alone at the bar. Her lips curl into a smile when her eyes meet Josefine’s. Josie smiles back weakly and deviates her attention back to Nicolo who has entered a full on rant about the Italian Baroque art adorned throughout the room, which echoes Nicolo’s upbringing and taste. He mercilessly drones on about Caravaggio, incognizant to Josefine’s indifference on the subject.
Her attention is transfixed on the glass of wine Nicolo mindlessly swirls in his hand as he enunciates the titles of Caravaggio’s most controversial works. Tom feigns interest, nursing his glass of whiskey. Josefine excuses herself and slides into the kitchen for a moment alone where a wine bottle sits on the kitchen counter, open. A glass of Syrah, already poured. Its owner is nowhere to be found. Josefine stands in the kitchen alone with only her demons to keep her company. Arms folded, she glares at the bottle for a long, dreadful moment of indecision, until it passes and she breaks her gaze from the bottle and walks out.
The den feels even more filled now than moments ago. She searches for Nicolo in the sea of people, heart suddenly racing. He is nowhere to be found. Her head involuntarily fills with visions of her husband mounted by another woman, riding him like a thoroughbred racehorse. The sex is intense and slightly grotesque, like two wild animals mating. She blinks the thought away.
A pool of businessmen disperse, revealing Nicolo by the bar with the woman in the red dress. She stares into his eyes lecherously as her hand slowly travels up his leg incongruous to the way her body moves when she laughs. Josefine moves toward them with intention when she is suddenly intercepted by Tom, who drunkenly slurs his words when he speaks. Josefine stares at the stain of cocktail sauce on his shirt, dodging his breath while he rambles on.
“Excuse me, Tom. I need to speak with my husband.”
She pushes past Tom in the direction of the bar until she realizes Nicolo and the mysterious woman are no longer there. A guest tries to grab her, but she pulls away, pushing through the chaos of bodies. There’s no indication of a woman in red. Suddenly, the room falls silent and we hear Nicolo’s voice emanating from the front of the den. She looks up to find Nicolo standing on a chair, speaking with a pronunciation that evokes alpha. She scans the crowd for the woman but doesn’t see her.
“I want to thank you all for your hard work and dedication, my wife, for her unwavering loyalty, patience and love…”
The crowd gushes and glances at Josefine, who smiles faintly, embarrassed by the attention.
“Now get the hell out of my house so I can make love to my woman.”
Hollers and whistling from the crowd. Josefine shifts in discomfort in response to the unwanted attention. Her eyes meet his and for the first time in a long time, she’s filled with a rush of desire to make love to him.
Moments later, final stragglers say goodnight to Nicolo. He closes the door, enthusiasm quickly replaced with exhaustion until he catches a glimpse of Josefine descending the stairs in red lingerie.
“Wow…” He pulls her in close. His hands wander the parts of her body, which feel foreign to him after all this time.
“Did you like my speech?”
He leans her against the wall, pressing his body into her as he slowly undresses her. The feeling of his hands on her skin felt as repulsive as if a spider were crawling on her, causing the lust for him to diminish. She turns her head, finding their reflection in the mirror, growing increasingly perturbed by the sight of him ravenously sucking on her jugular. She draws back, repelled by the pungent smell of sweat mixed with his cologne. He must have wreaked a similar stench when he was inside of that whore, she thought to herself.
He meets her gaze, confused, sexually frustrated. “What happened?”
She feigns casualty. “Who was that woman you were talking to at the bar?”
Nicolo treads carefully, sensing the genesis of an argument. He’s not in the mood for it.
“What woman?”
“The woman in the red dress.”
“There was no woman in a red dress at the bar.”
“I saw you with her, Nicolo.”
“Why do you always look for something to argue about? Did you forget to take your meds today or something?”
“Excuse me?”
“Everything was fine. You were actually enjoying yourself for once. I even heard you laugh. A genuine laugh. You even snorted. And it made me so happy to see you like that again.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just, when I saw you talking to her… I’m just scared of history repeating itself.”
“When are you going to forgive me? I know I fucked up and I shouldn’t have slept with her. I know how crazy things got with the stalking and harassing but she’s not in our lives anymore.”
“I don’t know how to look at you and not see her.”
“You can’t keep living in the fucking past Josefine.”
No longer in the mood, he ascends the stairs and slams the door shut. Josefine stays rooted to the spot for a long moment before slipping into the kitchen where the bottle of Syrah and glass of wine sit on the counter where she left them. She grabs the glass and abruptly empties it down the drain before she can change her mind, then runs the water in the sink and glances out the window, where she sees the territorial mark her husband left on her neck. She tries to rub it away when a sudden movement in the window reflection steals her attention. The woman in the red dress watches her from the doorway. Alarmed by the intrusion, she gasps and turns around.
“The party’s over.” “I’m sorry. The downstairs bathroom was taken so I used the upstairs.” Josefine tries to cover herself up with her arms, which is ineffective and she knows it. The woman eyes her seductively as she approaches her.
“Don’t hide. Red’s a nice color on you.”
The woman pours a glass of Syrah and nurses it while she caresses Josefine’s arm. Her touch doesn’t make Josefine’s skin crawl the way Nicolo’s does. It sends a foreign tingle through her body. Suddenly overwhelmed with the desire for a sexual fix, something she hasn’t felt since the affair, Josefine leans in and kisses the woman on the lips, relishing the taste of wine remnants on her lips. As with any addiction, once you’ve had a taste, the craving becomes insatiable. She gulps the wine down and the tension releases from her body as she allows herself to give into the sensation of the woman’s hand slowly traveling up her leg and underneath her underwear. They rip one another’s clothes off as they kiss and stumble into the den. The other woman smashes Josefine’s body against the mirror, causing it to shatter. Josefine is worked up, panting and moaning until they climax together.
The woman picks up her red dress and hands it to Josefine.
“You keep it. Red looks better on you.”
Josefine peels herself from the mirror, now realizing her back is covered in cuts from the impact. She gives the woman a trench coat and walks her to the door where the woman plants a long, heavy kiss on Josefine’s lips before she exits and disappears into the night. Josefine closes the door behind her and returns to the den with a newfound energy to clean up the broken mirror. She picks up a shard of glass, regarding her reflection with an unusual self-admiration. In her peripheral vision, she notices her reflection’s movements lag behind hers. Josefine takes a step towards the mirror, studying her reflection as it mirrors her perfectly. She wipes the smeared lipstick from the corners of her mouth and sucks on her finger, preserving the memory of the passionate kiss with the other woman, then starts to play with herself, watching herself shake and tremble in the mirror. Suddenly, a grunt of pleasure steals her attention.
She follows the sound upstairs where the door to the master bedroom is ajar; she pushes it open to reveal the woman in red, making love to Nicolo in her red lingerie, her long legs wrapped around his torso while he fucks her on the dresser. Nicolo buries his face in her neck while he moans of pleasure that he’s been denied for longer than the human body is meant to endure. Caught up in emotion, Josefine’s grip on the shard of glass tightens and she charges at them, pulls Nicolo’s head back and stabs the shard of mirror in his eye.
Nicolo screams, holding his eye as he backs away from the woman. Josefine finds the Stefano Ricci tie Nicolo was wearing earlier on the floor and wraps it around his neck, cutting off his circulation until his face turns blue. In a matter of seconds, his remaining eye goes vacant and he drops dead. She stares at her blood covered hands, paralyzed with fear. When she lifts her gaze, the woman is gone. Realizing she is alone with only the voices in her head to keep her company, she starts to cry until she sees her reflection in the mirror. Her expression goes blank. Her reflection looks identical to the other woman. She steps toward it, challenging it. The woman in the mirror follows suit, lips curled into a sardonic smile. Josefine touches her own face, smearing Nicolo’s blood on her cheek. The reflection mimics the motion until it begins moving independently. She applies lipstick and blows a kiss to Josefine. It’s toying with her. Josefine retreats backwards, but this time, her reflection steps forward and emerges from the mirror. Josefine notices the scratch markings on the other woman’s back in the reflection behind her. They are identical to the markings on hers. She runs her fingers across the fresh wounds on her back while the woman walks to the closet, pulls the red dress and holds it in front of Josefine, so she can see her reflection. “You look most beautiful in red.” She gives Josefine one last passionate kiss.
When Josefine opens her eyes, she’s alone again. But this time, she isn’t afraid of the isolation. She revels in it, gaze transfixed on the mirror, infatuated by her own reflection. Her hands explore the red fabric that hugs her curves so complimentary. She lights a cigarette, takes a drag, and disappears into the closet. A long, silent moment passes until clothes are flying in the air and landing on the floor, covering up parts of Nicolo’s lifeless body. The only items remaining in the closet are RED.