“Sometimes…not always.”
“I’m not surprised. I don’t think he gave much thought to a woman’s gratification. Happily, though, not all men are like that. In fact, this evening I’m seeing one of my current favorites—he’s young, vigorous, and quite remarkable in bed, as you’ll see.”
“As I’ll see?” The shocked look on Alessandra’s face must have been extreme indeed, for La Celestia burst into laughter.
“You won’t be in the room with us,” she said, and then she’d taken Alessandra to the voyeur’s chamber. “He’ll never know you’re here,” she promised. “Tonight you will stay, watch, and learn.”
Alessandra smoothed her nightgown over her thighs and kneeled on the upholstered bench beneath the peephole for a better view. As to her own inquiry of La Celestia—what more was there to sex beyond what she’d done with Lorenzo?—the courtesan had remained infuriatingly silent. “What you’ll see tonight will be far from usual,” she had replied, “but I think you should know what is possible. Your life as a courtesan can be full of pleasure, if you want it.”
La Celestia and her lover entered the room clad in long robes, having just come from the bath. They said not a word, but stood on the rug in front of the fire, facing each other. La Celestia looked up at him with a sweet smile as he slipped her robe over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
The courtesan was even more beautiful naked than she was when dressed. The roseate points of her breasts and the flourish of dark hair at the juncture of her thighs were the only touches of color on her exquisitely pale body. Everything about La Celestia was round and supple: her full, high breasts, the inviting curve of her stomach, and her buttocks, so round they appeared as halves of a perfect globe. It was easy to understand why men wanted so desperately to possess her.
Her lover—Gabriele, La Celestia had called him—stood a head taller than the courtesan, and his thick gold hair brushed his shoulders as he bent to kiss her. La Celestia unbelted his robe and, as he’d done to her, slipped the robe over his shoulders and to the floor. A quiet gasp of wonder escaped Alessandra’s lips. She’d never seen such a man, except in paintings of Adonis or Hercules. Where La Celestia was composed of curves, Gabriele was sharply drawn, with muscular, well-defined legs and a broad chest. His tawny skin contrasted dramatically to La Celestia’s own.
As they drew apart, Alessandra saw that he was already aroused, something that was not lost on the courtesan, who reached down to stroke what Alessandra could see was much larger than her hand. Then La Celestia sank to her knees in front of her lover.
What could she be doing? Alessandra wondered. For a second she thought that La Celestia glanced at the voyeur’s chamber with a brief, mischievous smile just before she took Gabriele’s penis in her mouth. Alessandra’s jaw dropped in amazement. She had never done that with Lorenzo; she hadn’t even known it was something that lovers did. But La Celestia’s actions didn’t seem to surprise Gabriele at all, and it was clear that he was enjoying it. He rested his hands gently on La Celestia’s head as she caressed him with her lips, tongue, and hands, and his head fell back with what appeared to be intense pleasure.
La Celestia raised her eyes to his and stood up. Gabriele ran his hands over her body, then brought his mouth to her breasts, suckling each one in turn. After a moment, he knelt down, too, and for the second time Alessandra looked on with astonishment as he buried his face between her legs.
The effect on La Celestia was immediate and even more remarkable than the effect she’d had on him. She moaned with delight, her hands briefly on his head before they restlessly moved over her own body, fondling her breasts and her lips, the touch of her own fingers adding to her gratification. Gabriele clutched her hips and pressed his mouth more firmly into the tender spot he’d found. La Celestia moaned again, louder this time, her legs trembling. Then her lover, without forsaking his post, braced her back with one hand and placed the other on her buttocks, and lay her down before him, continuing to bite and lick her with the most spectacular results. The courtesan writhed on the floor, her legs bent, her back arched, her hands on Gabriele’s head as if to more closely embrace him in this extraordinary kiss. Shocking sounds issued from her lips. If Alessandra had not been a witness to the scene before her, she would have thought that La Celestia was in tremendous pain, with piteous cries that were rising to a crescendo. At last, with a long and terrible moan, the courtesan sat up and, pressing her lover’s face to her most sensitive part, rocked back and forth as if being shaken by an unseen force, then collapsed back upon the rug.
Never with Lorenzo had Alessandra ever experienced anything like that, certainly; La Celestia’s satisfaction was almost frightening in its intensity and yet undeniably compelling. It had affected Alessandra more deeply than she could have imagined: the flush she felt in her face, her fractured breathing, the spreading warmth at her very core all testified to it.
The lovers sat back, La Celestia leaning against her hands, her lover on his haunches, smiling contentedly at each other. So Gabriele had liked what he’d done; but was this it? Alessandra wondered. Then Gabriele stood up and walked to La Celestia’s side, leaned over, and took her up in his arms. No, of course there was more, Alessandra realized as he carried La Celestia to the bed and placed her on the edge, facing him. The bed was of a height for them to be perfectly positioned as he stood before her. He gripped her ankles and raised her feet in the air as she sank back, stretching her arms out. She rested her ankles upon his shoulders, gazing up at her lover with a look of unashamed delight. Gabriele grabbed her hips and pulled her closer, and the passionate struggle began.
The lesson went on for more than an hour. Alessandra would not have imagined, before this, that the act of love had so much variety. For the first time since entering into her agreement with La Celestia, she looked forward to her new vocation with something that felt like anticipation.
7 June 1617
A
LESSANDRA PEEKED OUT
from behind the door of the
camera d’oro
to the
portego,
where La Celestia’s guests were seated around an immense banquet table, finishing the last course of the feast she had provided. All of the guests were men, all of them were considerably older than she, all of them were wealthy and influential. Two wore the scarlet togas that signified their membership in the Senate, one was a vestment-clad prelate, the others were dressed in the best aristocratic fashion, with somber-hued garments made of the finest fabrics money could buy. None was conspicuously handsome, but none, she noted with relief, was markedly hideous, either.
Alessandra stepped back as La Celestia entered, closing the door behind her. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“I suppose so.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”
“I’m of two minds,” Alessandra admitted. “One part of me can’t believe that I let you talk me into doing this. The other part knows that you’re right—it’s the best way.”
“Of course I’m right. First impressions cannot be erased. To be revered and respected, you must be thought special—and after tonight, you’ll be considered extraordinary. People will talk about this, mark my words.”
“At the moment, I’d prefer to be standing in a window.”
“Don’t worry, you’re going to enchant them.” La Celestia led her to a table, at the center of the room, on which sat an enormous silver platter with a domed lid. “Alvise,” she called, and a sturdy male servant came forward. He clapped; three others were soon at his side, and together they lifted the cover off the platter. Inside was a huge, gold-leafed papier-mâché seashell, large enough for Alessandra to lie down in.
“Hand me your robe and Alvise will help you up,” La Celestia said.
Alessandra was glad it was night and the room not too brightly lit. Underneath her robe, she was practically naked, though not in the least unadorned. Her neck, wrists, and ankles were wrapped with pearls; slender gold and silver ribbons were interwoven in her hair, which fell in waves around her shoulders and down to the middle of her back. A sheer tunic hung to midthigh, though it did little to conceal the parts of her body it covered—as she looked down she could clearly see her nipples, which had been carefully painted gold, and the triangle of gold fabric that hid her sex. For the crowning touch her skin had been coated with a combination of gold dust and sugar, and she gleamed and sparkled as if she were made not of flesh, but of gold.
“You look ravishing,” La Celestia said, arranging Alessandra’s hair around her shoulders as she settled into the shell. “Perfect, in fact, like Venus just risen from the sea. Now don’t forget to smile, just a little. You want to seem inaccessible but not
too
inaccessible, understand?” She nodded to Alvise, and the servants placed the cover over Alessandra, shutting her inside what felt like a giant silver egg.
The seashell was created for dramatic appearance, not for comfort, Alessandra realized as the four bearers picked up the platter and carried it into the
portego.
Thank goodness she wouldn’t be in it for very long; it took only a few moments to reach the banquet table
.
From inside the enclosed salver, she could hear the chatter of La Celestia’s male guests, then the courtesan’s voice ringing out over them.
“Gentlemen—now, for the reason you have all joined me here tonight…”
The chattering stopped. Alessandra’s heart was beating so loudly it seemed to echo inside the dome. She was going to stand up naked in front of a room full of men. It was the most shameful thing she had ever done. “You mustn’t think that,” La Celestia had said when Alessandra confessed her reservations about this debut. “You have no reason to feel ashamed, or to be embarrassed. You will be one of the most beautiful women these men have ever seen. There is great power in that, and you must not forget it. Until you become rich, the power of your beauty is the only power you have. If you use it well, you can live life in whichever way you see fit. If you do not use it, you will be at the mercy of fate.”
Alessandra felt a slight jolt as the bearers set the platter down at one end of the banquet table and then, as they’d rehearsed, waited until La Celestia spoke.
“Gentlemen, may I present”—the four bearers slowly lifted the lid—“La Sirena!” La Celestia finished with a flourish as they removed the cover.
At first, there was a profound silence that seemed to Alessandra to go on endlessly. She looked down the table at the two rows of men who stared back at her, apparently not entirely comprehending what they were seeing. She glanced at La Celestia, who prompted Alvise to go to her. Alessandra took his offered hand and stood up. As she did, the august assembly seemed to realize that she was a living, breathing woman—and gave a collective gasp of surprise, then burst into applause.
“So, did you get a good look at any of them?” La Celestia asked.
“No, I was too nervous,” Alessandra replied. They had returned to the
camera d’oro;
outside, a trio of musicians played while the men talked in small groups scattered around the
portego
. “So many faces—it was all a blur.”
“I’m happy to say that the reverse isn’t true.” La Celestia regarded Alessandra with pride. “I don’t think any of them will ever forget seeing you rise up out of that shell. It was brilliant. They were struck dumb, which is astonishing. Not one of those men ever shuts up voluntarily. You were a resounding success. They’re lining up for you; truly, you have your pick.” She motioned Alessandra to the door and peered out. “So, which one strikes your fancy?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“Choose three, then, and I’ll help you decide who should be your first lover.”
“Three, is it?” Alessandra studied the men along with La Celestia. “To begin with—
not
the bishop.”
“I understand your disinclination, but eventually you’ll want a high-ranking man of the church as one of your lovers. Every courtesan, at some point, needs protection from those who would cast doubt on her moral character.”
“Ahh. I see.”
“In the meantime, may I suggest Dario Contarini, in the senator’s toga, and Sebastian Valier, over there by my portrait. Both are of excellent families, rich, and generous, both in and out of the bedroom. As for the third…what think you of that man standing with the bishop?”
“The dark-haired one?”
“Yes. An interesting man. I suspect he is wealthier than he lets on. Quite unusual in Venice, where everyone claims to have more than they’ve got. And he is very ambitious—rumor is, he’ll be a duke before long. I remarked on his face when he looked at you. I know desire when I see it, and I would say that he had a serious case.”
Alessandra looked at him more carefully, noting his muscular jaw, powerful neck, sensual mouth. His eyes were his best feature: they regarded everything with an amused irony and a certain dispassion, and it seemed that there was little that escaped his attention. He exuded power and authority, and she suspected that he could charm or threaten with equal success. “There is something about him…”
“Yes, I agree. He is attractive, is he not?”
“Yes.”
“Come on, then, I’ll introduce you.”
Alessandra, wrapped in her robe once more, followed La Celestia across the
portego.
The bishop and his interlocutor turned as they approached. “La Sirena”—La Celestia gently offered Alessandra’s hand to her intended—“may I present Alphonso de la Cueva, the marquis of Bedmar and the Spanish ambassador to Venice.”