Chapter 9
The next week became a hectic series of fanagling, the details of which he would never know completely. What galled him most was that Cee-Zee wasn't willing to implicate Lilio. He tried to show her that it would be best for her if Lilio were stashed behind bars for a couple of years. But Cee-Zee remained stubborn. She had her reasons, apparently. And he couldn't pry them loose from her.
Now she was back in his apartment, thinner than usual, not quite so perky. The ordeal had drained her vitality and though the days were getting warmer, she kept herself wrapped in a blanket. He made her drink broth and eat soft boiled eggs. She didn't tell him she was grateful, but she didn't have to. They seemed to have a way of speaking to each other without words. And he knew she wouldn't forget he had saved her, not only from a jail sentence, but her life as well.
He sat opposite her and surveyed this subdued, frail creature, thinking that she was in no condition to help him out with Donald.
"You're looking pretty glum for a hero," she said, mustering fragments of energy. "Because I'm staying here to pull the odd pieces together, you don't have to hold my hand. Why don't you go out and wrestle with that broad who keeps phoning? I'm tired of telling her you're not in."
Eric turned uncomfortably in his chair. "She called again today?"
"Didn't you expect it? She's got a real thing for you." She smiled wryly. "I feel sorry for her." So do I, Eric thought.
He felt peculiarly helpless about Hilda. The tortures that must be burning up her brain every time she heard Cee-Zee's voice instead of his own were terrible to consider.
"If you ignore her long enough," Cee-Zee said, "she'll do something desperate."
"Maybe she'll go away."
"Not a chance. Some of us aren't built for defeat. And she takes herself very seriously, poor thing. Do me a favor and see her, will you? I think you've got enough troubles as it is."
A band of stubbornness gripped him. Hilda was not going to strong arm him into seeing her. "Let's not talk about it anymore. Let's talk about you, instead."
Cee-Zee laughed aloud with a spark of the old self. "And what exactly is there to say about me? I don't even have the strength to spread my legs."
This was true and he knew it. But he had faith in Cee-Zee's power of recuperation. She wasn't the hypochondriac type. In a couple more days, she'd bounce back on her feet again, the incident with Lilio forgotten, her old, trouble-making self raring for action.
"While you're languishing on your sick bed, let me plant a few seeds in that crazy subconscious of yours."
"That's right," she said shrewdly, "you never did tell me what brought you around in the first place. I don't suppose you wanted to catch my act." There was no malice in her voice. Only humor and the need to be entertained.
He took the bowl of soup from her lap and refilled it from the potful simmering on the stove. The strong chicken odor touched off his own appetite, but not for soup. Six days he'd been living like an invalid to keep Cee-Zee company, the animal strengths lying dormant within him. But now he strained for something more. A juicy steak in one of the better restaurants and a juicy girl afterwards. His nerves were becoming touchy.
Returning with the soup, he spread a fresh napkin on her lap, feeling the roundness of her thighs beneath the blanket. His mind brought up images that took effort to thrust away. The curling triangle between her legs and the oval of her belly button.
"You look like you're suffering, Spooky. I'm sorry I'm such a drag."
"Forget it," he said roughly. "Now, what were we saying?"
"You were going to tell me...."
"Yes, I remember. What brought me into that hell hole." He sat down on the couch and crossed his ankles on the arm. "To tell you the truth, I was out to get a favor from you. A very big favor."
"Don't sound so sad, honey. You're in a terrific position to ask for it now. Ask away."
He hesitated, brushing bits of tobacco from his trousers. Newspapers lay scattered in sections beneath the table. A layer of soot sprinkled on the windowsill, unwashed these many weeks. It occurred to him that the place was really falling apart. He had come a long way since Cee-Zee first walked in the door. A long way down. It was time to bounce up again, higher than he had been before. Push toward progress and all that kind of jazz.
"All right, I'll tell you," he said, sitting up. "There's a certain guy, a real creep of a character, who's worth a good couple of grand to me if I can get him in bed with a woman."
"What's so difficult? Unless somebody cut it off."
"No. He's all man. But for reasons best left unsaid, he is determined never to."
"A swish?"
"Not that either."
Cee-Zee let the spoon drop into her soup. "Well, either you tell me or you don't. What's all this playing footsie if I'm supposed to help?"
"You're right."
He cast about for a way of telling her without implicating Robin. The girl trusted him not to give away the family secret and he had no desire to betray her.
"The guy is afraid of knocking some broad up. I'm positive he won't rely on the usual means of prevention. My guess is that he probably has been fooling around in ways that frustrate him worse than not bothering at all. Voyeurism. Looking at dirty movies. Maybe milk bottles for all I know." And he wanted to add: and he's got a rise for his sister.
"Not another word," Cee-Zee said, leaning over to set the bowl on the rug. "I know what's going through your mind, you bastard." She grinned slyly. "You have a proper respect for my ability to con men into such things."
Eric grinned.
"All I want to know is, what's all this got to do with you? I didn't figure you for the vicarious type."
"I told you. Money. Enough cash to stuff this whole apartment." He moved his arm in a grand gesture.
"You know something?"
"What?"
Cee-Zee pushed away his offer of a cigarette. "I don't believe you."
She said it with a conviction that made him go into a I slow burn. He felt as though she had caught him at a I banquet with his fly open. "Don't you know that I'm greedy for the bucks?" His voice didn't come out as convincing as he would have liked.
"You should see the color of your face," Cee-Zee laughed. "Try me again tomorrow."
How would it strike her, he wondered, if she knew he was going all out for a girl he didn't have the remotest idea of chasing into bed? The thought made him ashamed of himself. Sissy. Better to keep it to himself than have Cee-Zee scream laughing at him.
"Fine, fine," he said impatiently. "We'll drop it."
"Not so hasty. I didn't say I wouldn't. I just wanted to tickle my idle curiosity. But I guess you'd rather be tickling something else. Anyway, I'm not one to turn my back on a pal. What's a little snatch between friends?" She drew the blanket up to her neck. "If you can give me some time to get in working order again, I'll be glad to put it at your service. For personal use or otherwise."
Eric nodded, thinking that this was a switch for her. He was surprised that Cee-Zee could admit to being grateful. This time, her nonchalance was tempered with something of an almost human heart. He felt a sting of gratification, of progress. He had not lost the game to Cee-Zee yet. The possibility of undermining her independence still existed. This gave him a feeling of exhilaration and he thought it a damn crime to have to waste her on Donald. But one man more or less wouldn't make any real difference to Cee-Zee.
"So get the balls rolling," she said and winked. "I won't even ask for a commission."
He didn't want to think what kind of antics Donald would put her through. He had known many a high priced whore in his day. They really worked to earn their money. He'd seen beautiful women with their behinds bleeding. He'd seen jaws locked in muscle cramp from six hours of steady manipulating. It was a tough thing to ask of Cee-Zee. Yet he knew that she knew the score. This wasn't like leading an innocent lamb to the slaughter.
"When you're on your feet again," he said, "well arrange a little party."
"Maybe I should stay on my back," she said with amusement.
In the meantime, he'd better keep in touch with the Millardson clan, Eric thought. He felt nervous about Robin. That she had gone these many years unharmed didn't impress him. And during the time Millardson had been fixing things for Cee-Zee, he had tried not to see Robin at all. Now he had a reason to take her out again.
The raw nerves in his body were creeping up now to muddle his thinking. He wasn't quite sure that he wanted to see Robin so platonically. The demands of his body were too subtle and more intelligent about obtaining their desires than his rational brain. Yes, he wanted to see Robin just to talk to her. But he also felt an anticipation that kindled other feelings. He had never permitted himself to think how she would look undressed. How she would respond to hands groping and fondling the forbidden areas of her body.
He gazed at Cee-Zee, wishing he could take it out on her. But it would be no fun for either of them in her condition.
"You're a mess, Spooky," she said out of nowhere.
"I need to stretch my legs," he said. "I'm going for a walk. Want me to bring you anything?"
"Please," she said, waving her hand at him impatiently, "go already."
He grinned and left her. The driving force in the pit of his stomach moved him around the city without direction. The thought of calling Robin burned bright and compelling in his brain. The coincidence of his physical needs and her pure beautiful body made him distrust himself. He wasn't the kind of man to kibitz with a girl. Nor was he accustomed to being interested in someone who didn't have experience. He began to conjecture just how far she had ever let herself go with the married men she'd known. The thought of frustration hovering behind that innocent face piqued him. If it weren't for that crazy idea in her head, he knew he could show her a good time. No doubt she needed it by now. The notion of women remaining untouched until their wedding night made him laugh sourly. Any normal, full-blooded girl should have sex and plenty of it. Make 'em more normal. The more he thought about her, the more he convinced himself that it would be just as important to work on Robin as on her brother. They both needed the works. And needed it bad.
He stepped into a drugstore and dropped a dime into the slot, dialling the Millardson number before his good sense stopped him.
She consented to see him, without acting coy, without playing hard to get. He felt a pang of guilt that she agreed so readily to meeting him in the Village. Of course she couldn't suspect what lurked behind the casual invitation.
He fidgeted around the half hour, knowing she wouldn't agree to a hotel room. He couldn't take her home. Cee-Zee wouldn't mind. But there were few people as broadminded as Cee-Zee. He strolled around Washington Square circle inspecting the girls and telling himself that he'd have been better off to pick up one of these than start up with Robin.
The honk of a horn caught his attention. He saw that she had pulled up to the curb in a gray Jaguar roadster. The long graceful line of the fenders blended well with her own erect posture. She sat easily behind the wheel with that familiar open smile which suspected nothing.
"Nice little buggy," he said appreciatively.
The red leather seat against her orange striped blouse made a vital combination of color that pulsed through him.
"Get in," she said. "I like to drive."
He got in and pulled the door shut. The resounding clunk gave him a thrill. He stretched his legs out and inhaled the fine odor of the rich leather appreciatively.
She wheeled the car around and they zoomed up Fifth Avenue, the wind flapping the points of her collar against her soft cheek. He leaned against the door and watched her, trying to find her mood. She held the wheel lightly with one hand, resting her other arm on the doortop. He found nothing tense about her that matched his own tenseness. She drove fast because she enjoyed the beautiful machine at her control. He felt like a slavering wolf sneaking down to the chicken yard.
They rode all the way uptown to the George Washington bridge. He didn't mind that she wasn't talking much. In the rush of wind it was hard to speak beneath a shout. They moved across the bridge and she turned for a moment to watch the lights, strung like beads along the highway below.
When they reached the Jersey shore, she made the car climb up the palisades and it moved like a prancing horse, the powerful engine roaring in a low-throated key. They could gallop to Mars, he thought, the stars looked so near.
She parked in the darkness and leaned her arms on the wheel with a sigh. "It's good to be away," she said.
He crossed his legs and kept himself as far away from her as he could in the intimacy of the car. "Away from what?" he said.
"Oh, everything. You like to get away yourself, Eric. Don't try to deny it."
The green smell of country made a bower of fragrance around them. His senses felt enlarged. He wanted to touch and smell and have everything there was to have in the world. Then he remembered he spent forty hours a week locked away from this world. And the most he could ever get out of it was a bankroll not quite large enough to buy him everything he really wanted. He was clawing up the sides of a well that had no top. It made him hungry and restless. For two bits, he would reach out and take this girl. Ignore her silly excuses, forget tomorrow and all the dull tomorrows lapping in endless waves on the dry sand of his lonely beach.
"Sure I like to get away," he said gruffly. He watched fireflies punctuate the darkness. "That's why I called you."
"Yes, I know."
He turned to her now. "Just what do you know, little girl? Tell me."
She opened the door and let it swing. "I know that you're a lonely man looking to take his mind off himself. Just like me, just like my father." She brought one foot up onto the bucket seat and hugged her knees close. "Just like everyone. I hope I can help you a little, Eric."
That was a laugh, Robin helping him. But he couldn't really laugh because it was true in a way. "All right," he said. "Then help me." He touched her elbow lightly and saw his fingers close around her arm.
She studied his grip on her. "I suppose I asked for it, taking you up here like this. But I'm asking you not to ... please." She didn't sound at all frightened. Her voice was matter-of-fact. She might have been saying, please pass the butter.
"Why not?" The warmth beneath his skin seemed to singe the ends of his nerves. "What have I got to lose? Or you, for that matter?"
"We went through all this, Eric. I thought you understood me."
"I understood. But, you remember, I didn't agree with you."
She sat very still, not struggling with him, paying no attention to the hold he had on her. "But I have a right to think for myself," she said. "Isn't that so?"
He didn't want her to be thinking now. He wasn't thinking, only feeling the pull of her, sensing the flow and sweep of her youth, imagining the rough grunts that would tear from her as they lay on the grass together. That was better than any thinking. Superior to all logic and plans. If he could feel her nipples grow hard between his lips, the insides of her legs quiver and tighten around him. If he could have her yield to the cravings of her own flesh, this was all the thinking he wanted or needed tonight.
"Must you think all the time?" he said.
"I guess we don't really understand each other, Eric. I'm disappointed."
Her straightforward judgment made him release his grip on her arm. "I hope you're spared the regret, the looking back on nights like this one. You probably have lots of them tucked away already. Tell me, Robin, how many times have you brought a man to the end of the road and put up a no-trespassing sign in his face?" He stared out to the necklace of bridge silhouetted against the hazy sky.
"You talk as though I enjoy it. That I do it purposely for the sake of some cowardly amusement." She took a bandana from the glove compartment and tied it around her neck, tucking the ends into the v of her blouse.
"Think about that sometime," he said. "Maybe it's exactly what you do. According to what you've told me, there's never going to be any real sex in your life. Unless you have your tubes tied and make yourself a female eunuch." Frustration was making him coarser than he'd intended. But it was right not to coddle her. "You've got to get your kicks some way. This is as good a start as any. And who knows? Maybe sweet little Donald will introduce you to other more gratifying aspects of perversion. There's a lot been done in that field. Ask him some time."
She put her head back against the cushioned edge of the seat and stared up at the sky. "Thank you for your kindness," she said softly.
"Oh baby, face the facts. Is it kindness you want or realities? What are you, a fifty year old bag with her life behind her? You don't have to conduct yourself as though every time you look at a man, an infant monster'll sprout from between your legs. There are plenty of people with lousy chromosomes who don't lie down in the middle of the floor and die. Maybe I'm being cruel and unsympathetic. The narrow-minded male point of view." He flicked a lock of hair back from his forehead. "But somebody has to challenge this melodramatic approach of yours. And one day some lucky guy'll convince you and won't you be glad."
He felt all talked out. "Now let's go back."
They drove into Manhattan with a different kind of silence between them. He glared at the passing traffic, disgusted with himself for giving Robin the credit of good sense. He felt stony and far removed from her. She was the spoiled kid with too many toys, though he hadn't wanted to recognize it.
He felt lousy but he didn't want to go home at eleven o'clock.
They pulled off the highway at seventy-ninth street. "Are we still speaking?" she said as they waited for a red light.
"Sure," he said between his teeth.
"Then why don't you move closer instead of hanging half way out of the car?"
He was surprised that she wasn't hostile. "I thought you'd want to kick me out," he said.
"Why should I? I believe in the right to personal opinions. And frankly you didn't change my personal opinion of you either. I knew you wouldn't do anything that I didn't want. So far as I'm concerned, we're still friends."
"Fair enough," he said. But he wasn't going to spring back into the jolly companion she wanted. Definitely he had made up his mind that Robin should see things his way. Whether she went to bed with him or not didn't matter, so long as she would agree to go to bed with someone ... all the way.
At the same time, he had his own problems. They centered in his groin. He had no intention of going home to spend an uncomfortable night feeling Cee-Zee within arm's reach and knowing he couldn't touch her.
"If we're still friends," he said, "you can do something for me."
"Of course."
"Let me borrow your car tonight. And see me tomorrow."
She grinned easily. "Yes to both questions."
He jammed his foot down on the accelerator and let the Jag carry him. Knifing through the deserted streets released some of his pent up force. He felt himself part of the car's power. He seemed almost to lift off the earth and he kept the speed steady at sixty five, not giving a damn if the cops got on his tail. He turned off at Forty Second Street and slowed for the tunnel. Only vaguely was he thinking of Hilda as a person. She became more of an object, a willing receptacle into which he could release himself. The thought of her spread before him as the universe spread above, and his desire became a sleek rocket moving open throttle toward her.
The sound of the roadster announced his presence in the sleeping town. As he parked in front of the old Buick, he saw a light go on in her upstairs window. She opened the door as he reached it.
He pushed her back into the hallway and planted his mouth on hers, not wanting her to speak, not caring what she had to say. For an instant she struggled, pushing at his shoulders weakly. Then her resistance dissolved. Her arms tightened around his neck, her belly strained against him. She wore a nightgown and all he had to do was lift it up. Her heaving breasts felt overwarm. All of her body seemed to be burning up. Her hands moved quickly over him, her ringers licking at his flesh like shreds of flame.
He pulled her to the dining room table and lifted her onto it, the lace cloth bunching beneath her thighs. The light threw her shadow long and grotesque on the floor and perpendicularly on the wall. Whenever she tried to say something, he closed the words off with his mouth or the palm of his hand. Finally he straddled her shoulders.
She was willing, so willing. He felt her knees come up and jab him in the small of his back, egging him on. Her hands hung on to his belt, then dug into the flesh of his waist. The bursting rocket took off and he felt the convulsions of her throat as she swallowed. But he wasn't through with her yet.
They separated for a moment. She turned over onto her belly. The table creaked beneath their combined weight. It was a solid old-fashioned table he'd purchased in an antique store. He laughed silently, thinking that she would have fainted had she known at the time the use to which they would put it.
He lay down on her back, sliding his hands along her ribs to hold her flattened breasts. His stomach folded to the curve of her buttocks and her legs began to spread. She held them rigidly apart and waited. Through the material of his trousers, he could feel all of her, sweaty and eager. For awhile he lay there tantalizing her, then with a swift jamming motion caught her far up and began pounding, slamming all of her against the table. She would be black and blue in the morning. And love it. Now she clutched the edges of the table to keep herself from sliding. The cloth had tangled between them. He pulled it out of the way and heard it tear. The precious lace wedding present from her folks in New England. He flung it away and it landed dangling off the cushion of a chair.
She worked with him, hitting herself hard on the solid wood, not giving a damn, straining herself upward as far as she could go. Her perspiration and his own soaked through his shirt and it stuck to his chest. "Never stop," she grunted.
He socked her across the cheek and shut her up.
At their peak he had her pinned to the table top, almost cracking her ribs, surely bruising the front of her. He could feel her gasping for breath, choking for air and with gratification both at the same time.
When he finally slid away and stood up in the semilight, he knew he was completely drained. For awhile he walked around, not turning the lamps on, feeling the pleasant lightness in his limbs, a sensation of floating not quite walking. She sat up on the table. The nightgown had long since disappeared in tatters. He saw her rubbing her arms slowly and she cooed to herself. If she'd said one word, he'd have knocked her teeth in. But she didn't. She merely continued to sit on the table, a contented Buddha in the darkness. When he'd gathered all his perceptions, he straightened out his clothes as much as they could be straightened.
Then he slammed out of the house and gunned the motor mentally scanning his list of restaurants for the possibilities of getting a good steak at three o'clock in the morning.