Chapter 16
Garnett watched as Clara came out the small bathroom adjacent to her room and gingerly let herself down into a pink plush armchair. "Is it painful?" he asked, smiling sardonically.
"No. It just feels awfully feverish, really. It makes me quite restless."
"All that's wrong with you is a literal case of 'hot pants.' You know, Clara, I'm afraid you're simply incurably unfortunate. Wherever you turn, you seem to find yourself in the middle of an indelicate situation."
"Don't make fun of me. You know very well that at least half the 'indelicate situations' I get into are of your making. And, whatever I've done, I've done because I thought it would help you in your investigation."
"I know," said the devil's advocate soothingly. "I was just teasing you. As a matter-of-fact, I don't think your efforts to help me have been in vain. Everything we learn about these people and this place will ultimately form a composite picture, which we can then study and analyze in terms of the causal factors of your sister's disappearance. And from this analysis we should be able to ascertain her current whereabouts."
"That sounds like a lot more legalistic double-talk to me. And how can I help but be pessimistic when I see the horrible things that go on here? All those women going into a room to be whipped-wanting to be beaten, just like Ruth said she wanted to be." She sat up with a start. "Oh! Were you trying to suggest that because Ruth does seem to enjoy whipping, no matter how ghastly it seems to me, that we might find her in that horrible little room?"
"Well, it'd be a good idea for one of us to spot check the corridor every once in a while, just to see who goes in and out. There's no point in posting a perpetual guard, because that would ultimately draw attention to ourselves-and besides, it would waste time we can better use exploring the rest of this ever-fascinating entertainment palace." He paused, then went on: "But you know, Clara, you must be more tolerant of the things you see here. Who are you to say what's right or wrong, pleasant or horrible? If these people enjoy being whipped, and it doesn't disfigure them in any way, or mar their health, why should you think of them as perverts? Why, you yourself admitted that the whipping made you feel quite 'restless.' What you meant was sexually excited, didn't you? Well, that's why these people go to be lashed. To stir up their sexual appetites."
"I don't want to hear such talk," cried Clara. "What I did just now, you made me do. You're just talking to hear yourself talk. You seem to forget that we're here to find my sister, not to see what dirty things you can make me do or like doing."
"I haven't forgotten. You're the one who's delayed our investigation. What with getting yourself whipped, and then distracting, or should I say seducing, the investigator.. . "
"Oh ... I never ... how can you...? " Clara's apparent outrage at this suggestion left her seemingly unable to complete a coherent sentence.
Garnett, taking advantage of her sputtering, went on: "I suggest that we begin immediately to 'case the joint,' as I understand the saying goes, and waste no further time in this useless bickering."
"And I suggest," said Clara, who seemed to have recovered her powers of speech, "that we ought to meet as many people as we can. We won't get anywhere staying in comers by ourselves."
"Excellent," said Garnett. "And I'd especially like to meet your lesbian friend with the brand on her belly."
They left the room and started down the stairs.
"Shall we begin with wine or something stronger?" he asked.
When she looked at him with apparent bewilderment, he explained: "It's my theory that the people you meet at parties are determined by what you drink. So, shall we begin with wine or something else?"
"But if we start with such a mild drink, we're bound to meet mild people. And it seems to me that the people who were instrumental in Ruth's disappearance are more forceful than wine drinkers-more the scotch or bourbon type."
"Theoretically, yes, but wine is a mocker. Red wine is especially deceitful." By now they were standing near a large sideboard, and he poured them two glasses of Burgundy from one of the decanters among the vast assortment arrayed there. Then he took Clara by the elbow and propelled her through the crowd, keeping up a running commentary as they walked. "Here, for instance," he said, indicating the object of his attention with a nod of his head, "is an excellent example of what I mean. The sizzling brunette in the red velvet gown. She looks pretty forceful to me. And she's sipping a good, red wine. And here-"
"Is something even better," interjected Clara. "The lady with the tattoo on her stomach."
Alice Burton smiled and stood up as they crossed the room to join her. "I'm so glad to see you, my dear," she told Clara. "I've missed you this evening."
"Oh," said Clara. "I've just been showing my friend around the grounds. Mrs. Burton, this is Mr. Douglas."
Alice smiled at Garnett and extended her hand. "I'm very pleased to meet you. Your name is familiar to me, you know. I'm sure I know Douglasses somewhere. ... Oh, yes, the airplane people. That wouldn't be you, would it?"
Garnett smiled and said no, that wouldn't be him. He did not say what line he was in, and she did not press him. Instead, she asked: "How do you like it here, Mr. Douglas?"
"Very much, so far. Of course, we've just arrived, you know, but the grounds are lovely. At the moment, Miss Ree-Miss Morrow and I were speculating on the possibility of some formal entertainment."
Mrs. Burton did not appear to notice Garnett's slip of the tongue. "What did you have in mind? A poetry recital? A pantomime? A record concert?"
"Something on the order of a Roman circus. Our minds have been stimulated for too long; right now we're looking for something to tickle the libido."
"I believe they're throwing some male poets to the lesbians," quipped Alice. "But are you serious?"
"Completely."
"Then we go this way," she said, linking one arm through Garnett's, the other through Clara's.
As they walked toward the north wing of the house, Mrs. Burton said to Garnett, sotto voce: "I hope I'm doing the right thing. This is no puppet show, you know."
"We've seen the puppets at Coney Island," Garnett replied. "Very silly and squeaky, with people batting each other about for no apparent reason ... Dash it all...." He stopped. "We must have some more wine. You wait here, I'll get some. Clara, give me your glass. Mrs. Burton, we're drinking Burgundy. What's your brand of poison?"
"Burgundy will be fine," smiled Alice. Then, as Garnett hastened off, she said to Clara: "Your friend is charming. I suppose he's your lover." She sat down on a nearby settee and drew Clara to her. "Quick," she whispered loudly, "raise your dress!"
"Not here," cried Clara. "You can't."
"I must!" She lifted Clara's skirts to her thighs. "Just for one moment. It'll taste so nice with the wine."
"He'll be right back," warned Clara.
"He will be if you keep arguing about it." She drew Clara's skirt all the way up and laid her hand against the bare stomach. "No panties," she said. "You are progressing! Or is this in honor of your friend? If that's the way it is, then you must let me know, for he'll have you all night and I'll have to be content with only the memory of a stolen moment. Don't begrudge me such a small pleasure, Clara." As she spoke, she pushed the younger girl's legs apart and kissed the soft moss that grew between them. The tip of her tongue curled around and down into the slit. Clara shuddered. "Rub against my tongue," Alice whispered. "I won't get off my knees until you do, not if everyone in the house comes by."
Clara spread her knees, sunk her hips into a semi-squat and rubbed herself back and forth against the woman's mouth. Soon, Alice's lips and Clara's little flower-patch were both as wet and slippery as a peeled plum. "Please let me stop," begged Clara, continuing to rub. "He'll be back any second ... listen, someone's coming now!"
Alice ducked her head and brought her nose up through the petals of Clara's rosebud in a gesture of farewell.
When Garnett entered the room moments later, the older woman was primly seated on the settee while Clara languidly reclined on a nearby sofa. But the roseate hue of Clara's cheeks and the heavy feminine odor which hung in the air were enough to enlighten Garnett as to how the two women had occupied themselves in his absence. He pinched Clara's fingertips as he handed her a glass and smiled knowingly at her before extending the other glass to Mrs. Burton.
Alice smiled her thanks as she accepted the Burgundy. "This way," she said as she rose. She lead Clara and Garnett through a door in a shadowy corner of the alcove in which they had been waiting and up a tiny, twisting flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs they turned sharply through another door and down a narrow, unlighted hall which led to another tiny flight of stairs. At the top of these stairs, Alice opened a door and shepherded the attorney and the younger girl into a small private theater.
At one time there had been two rooms here, one above the other, but the flooring between them had been broken through and had been replaced by a narrow balcony with a low railing. The balcony ran around the entire room and was furnished with chairs, couches, hassocks and countless, multi-colored cushions, all of which were drawn close to the railing for the convenience of the spectators. At each corner of the balcony was a stairway leading down to the stage, and the hanging pillars that supported the balcony divided it into facsimiles of theatre boxes.
The balcony was submerged in darkness. One could see only by the soft glow of the lights underneath it which focused on the oval dais in the center of the stage. Blue and diffused, this illumination was sufficient to light everything onstage with detailed clarity but soft enough to create an atmosphere of compelling intimacy, an atmosphere which was reinforced by the delicate romantic strains of a Chopin "Impromptu" flowing through the theatre from hidden amplifiers.
The dais was covered with a huge, diamond-shaped, white angora rug. On the rug were over-sized satin cushions, some blue, some green, some black and some white, and a heavily smoking incense burner set into a dull brass stand.
The entrance of Alice, Clara and Garnett evoked no interest among the persons who were already in the theatre. Smoking and conversing in intimate tones, no person among the score or so of spectators so much as glanced up at the two women and the man who now stood near the entrance, adjusting their eyes to the dim light.
"We can still leave," murmured Alice, glancing toward Clara and then looking intently at Garnett. But, if Garnett heard her, he gave no sign of having done so, for he said: "Let's be seated, shall we?" He then sat on a small couch in an unoccupied loge, and motioned to Clara and Mrs. Burton to take places on either side of him. They did so as he observed: "Our hosts provide handsomely for their guest's entertainment, I must say."
"The guests provide for one another," Mrs. Burton corrected. "The hosts merely supply the opportunity."
The throaty tone of an unseen gong, melting into the liquid quaver of a vibraharp, now cast a hush over the audience, putting an end to all conversation. Suddenly a girl materialized out of the darkness. She ran lightly to the center of the stage and up onto the dais, flinging herself down on the cushions. Her red hair glowed like flame in the semi-darkness, providing a vivid contrast to the stark whiteness of her naked body. There was a pause, while the audience absorbed the picture before them. Then two men in their early twenties entered the stage. They approached the dais from opposite sides.
"The artistic touch," whispered Alice Burton. "Color combinations: a blonde, a brunette and a redhead."
The two men mounted the dais at the same moment, and the audience was now able to perceive that one was blonde, deeply tanned and muscular, while the others was black-haired, sallow and angular. Together they approached the cushions over which the girl sprawled.
Clara bowed her head and covered her eyes as the men sank down on the pillows surrounding the girl. Garnett leaned toward Clara and stroked the hair on the back of her neck, murmuring into her ear: "Don't look away!" She pulled her head away from his grasp, but he persisted. "I want you to look," he hissed, taking her hand and holding it tightly in his.
The two men were sharing the girl, caressing her thighs and her belly, exploring between her legs with their fingers. Her clenched fists dug into the cushions around her, and she arched her body, rubbing her thighs against the men. Then she turned and rubbed her breasts-the nippled grown sharply erect-against the shoulder of the muscular blonde, at the same time rotating her buttocks against the crotch of the brunette.
Next, she bent over the blonde, swaying her shoulders and brushing her nipples against his chest. Then, jutting her breast forward, she rubbed them against his chest and belly, at the same time slipping her hands under the waistband of his trousers. He turned her over on her stomach, and she lay between his legs, probing inside his pants with frantic fingers as he began rubbing his hand between her thighs. She began to slide one hand up his trouser leg as Clara whispered: "Please, let's go now."
"No. Drink your wine." Garnett pulled her hand across his lap and pressed it against the bulge in his trousers. He held it there, curling her fingers around his shaft as the girl on the dais opened the fly of the blonde man.
Now the girl pulled the trousers down over the man's smoothly tanned hips and along his strong, muscular legs. She ran her fingers through the blonde curls over his already erect organ, bending over him and taking the organ itself wholly into her mouth. While she did so, the other man stripped off his bathing trunks and lay down at her side, stroking her breasts and her belly. She removed the shaft from her mouth and turned towards the dark-haired man, arching her body as she did so. She licked his member for a short while, then rolled over on her back and began to rub the testicles and organs of both men simultaneously.
Almost immediately, the blonde mounted her. Supporting himself with one hand, he held his shaft with the other and pressed it between her legs, rubbing it back and forth for a moment before pushing it upward into her gaping love nest. He drew it back and then pushed it forward again, and the girl exclaimed loudly: "Harder."
The thrust that followed seemed to knock the breath out of her, but a moment later she murmured the word again. She fell silent as he began pumping rhythmically in and out of her, then once again cried: "Harder!" She drew up her legs, bicycling them up and down in the air, lifting them higher and higher until at last they were practically straight up and down.
She now worked her hips violently against her partner's slow but unremitting strokes. After a moment, she turned her head and stretched out her hand toward the sallow man. He approached her, and she took his organ in her hand and moved it toward her mouth.
Clara, her hand trembling, gulped down the last of her wine. Garnett quickly refilled her glass with some wine from his own. Then he removed her hand from his lap and put his own hand on her thigh, underneath her dress. He stroked the smooth flesh for a moment, then allowed his fingers to stray between her legs, gently probing and tickling the soft, fleshy lips of her nether-mouth.
Clara slid forward in her seat, allowing his hand more freedom to roam, as the girl on the dais rubbed the organ of the darker man against her lips. Suddenly, she took the whole rigid shaft into her mouth. The blonde man shuddered convulsively, then lay motionless atop her. She clawed the thighs of the sallow man, and the blonde rolled off her, to be replaced almost instantaneously by the other.
"Here," whispered Garnett, "give me your hand." When Clara did not respond, he reached for her hand and placed it on his member, which protruded boldly from his trousers. He put his hand over hers and showed her how to move the skin of his shaft up and down. Then he put his hand back between her legs. He slid one finger into her now-warm oven and rubbed his thumb around the oven door.
The men on the dais were taking turns with the redhead, the sallow one making love to her while the other one allowed her to gratify him orally.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" whispered Garnett.
"No!" hissed Clara. "This is horrible! Filthy! I don't see how she can let herself do such things. And with all these people watching!"
"Friends and enemies," said Alice Burton's voice out of the darkness. "Which do you think would be more trying?"
Clara did not reply, and the voice continued casually: "And there's her husband. On the other side of the balcony."
"She must be a monster," whispered Clara, "to do this with her husband watching."
"Oh, he doesn't mind," laughed Alice. "He knows she married him for his money and not his sexual prowess. It gives him great pleasure to watch her sex workouts. You see, he loves her, and he wants to see her satisfied in every respect. And she has come to love him, because of his understanding and tolerance." . The subject of their discussion was now laying on her stomach between the two men, each of her legs thrown over one of each man's legs. She took the blonde's sex in her hand, placed the other's member in her mouth and wriggled her toes as though she were in ecstasy.
Garnett gently removed Clara's hand from his shaft, which she had been pumping vigorously up and down. "Oh...." she whispered. "I didn't realize ... that is, I didn't notice...."
"...that you were about to bring my organ to a state of erection which it would be impossible to sustain for any lengthy period of time-say, no more than fifty seconds?" Garnett's words seemed to add to her confusion, and she wrung her hands together in her lap, whispering over and over: "I'm so ashamed ... so ashamed."
She squirmed and wriggled away from his fingers, but they would not release their hold. "My bottom is starting to burn again," she informed him suddenly. "From the switching, you know. Strange, how restless it makes me feel. Or maybe it's the wine that's making me so restless. And you, too. With your finger wiggling up and down. That makes me restless. Do stop, Conrad. Or I'll make you stop. If I press my legs together hard enough, your hand won't be able to move and then you'll have to stop!"
She seemed very pleased with herself for having figured this out, but she did not suit the deed to the word. Perhaps she thought she did. Perhaps the unaccustomed amount of wine she had consumed so confused her that she thought she was pressing her legs together when, in reality, she allowed them to relax and spread even farther apart. Perhaps.
"It's cold in here," she said suddenly. She began chafing her wrists, imitating the up and down motion Garnett had taught her to use to stimulate his love instrument
On the dais, the darker man removed his organ from the girl's mouth and stood up. She turned to him on her knees and he thrust the shaft back into her mouth. She threw her arms around his legs and began sucking his member passionately and in such a way that it was apparent that she meant to bring him to a climax. Clara leaned forward in her seat.
Suddenly, the girl on the dais jerked the man's knees to her breasts with all her strength. He thrust forward with a savagery which almost sent her toppling backwards, with him on top of her. He staggered, and Clara pressed clenched knuckles against her lips.
The man recovered his balance. He then moved away from the redhead, who began to crawl on her knees toward the blonde. She approached him and tried to take his member in her mouth, but he made her lick it instead.
"More wine?" asked Garnett. He handed Clara his glass, and she downed the contents with one gulp. "Slowly, slowly, or you'll get dizzy," cautioned the attorney, raising her dress over her hips.
"Oh! Stop!" whispered Clara. "I feel as though everyone is watching me-as though it's me on my knees down there...." Her voice faded as the redhead arched her torso and stretched, cupping one of her breasts in her hand and lustfully smearing the roseate nipple with the dark and fevered tip of the love instrument she had been licking.
Clara stiffened. Slowly she raised her hand to her own breasts and touched the nipples through the silk of her dress. "Perhaps I should have worn a brassiere," she said aloud, swaying her own hips in what seemed to be an unconscious imitation of the motions the girl on the dais was now making as she bent her head toward the blonde's manhood.
He drew sharply away from her. The theatre was totally silent-the music had stopped when the gong sounded-and the girl's heavy breathing could be heard in every corner of the balcony.
The man began to move away. The girl held onto his member and crept after him on her knees, following him as he stepped backward across the furry rug. She stretched her neck forward, trying desperately to reach the object of her desire with her lips. "Please.. . " she whispered loudly. "Please...."
"Oh!" gasped Clara, "I'm so ashamed ... so ashamed ... for her ... to lower herself like that.. . "
The redhead bent forward again, and Clara's lips silently formed the word as the girl repeated: "Please."
The tanned, sleekly muscular body stopped its backward progress, and the blonde Adonis allowed the supplicant to touch his organ with her lips. Soon she had thrust the length of the coveted shaft into her mouth and was sucking it even more passionately than she had sucked that of the sallow man. She tossed her head from side to side as she moved the love instrument in and almost out of her mouth. Her hair fell over her face, but she didn't even stop to fling it back, only brushing away the strands that strayed between her lips.
Clara ran her hand through her own hair and pressed forward against Garnett's hand. Her thighs tensed, her belly shuddered, her breath came quickly and her fingers clenched tightly. Garnett moved his hand faster and faster, harder and harder.
The redhead drew back, then savagely plunged forward again. The blonde grasped her shoulders, digging his fingers into her flesh. He threw back his head, his face ecstatically convulsed, as his splendid body bucked uncontrollably. The redhead sucked and swallowed.
Clara gasped: "Oh ... I'm ... I'm ... going to ... I'm ... Ahhhhhhh! Her own body jerked spasmodically for several seconds before relaxing into limpness, and she murmured: "Oh ... what gorgeous fireworks!" Her eyes were tightly closed, and her lips smiled dreamily. "So bright and green. And such interesting shapes ... Oh! They're fading now. What a pity." She slumped back against the couch cushions and opened her eyes.
A match flared suddenly in the darkness, revealing Alice Burton with her face buried in Garnett's lap while his hand worked vigorously under her skirt, which was pushed high above her thighs. The brief illumination flickered out just as the attorney threw back his head, his face contorted. Tiny sucking sounds pierced the newly-fallen darkness.
Clara sprang out of her seat. She yanked down her skirt and adjusted the waistline. Almost immediately, Gamett was standing also, calmly buttoning his fly and taking Clara's arm.
"Shall we leave now?" he asked. He turned to Alice, who was lying back in her seat limply, licking her lips and working her hand violently up and down under her dress. "Later," she said.
Garnett took Clara's arm and escorted her out of the theatre. As they reached the bottom of the little staircase, Clara suddenly exclaimed: "Oh, darn! I've left my purse upstairs." She turned and Garnett prepared to follow her.
"You needn't bother," she said. "I can see very well in the dark. I'll find it myself."
Garnett chuckled. "In other words, you didn't need that lighted match to tell you what was happening."
"I have nothing to say to you," retorted Clara.
"You understand, of course, that I was merely trying to find the mark on her stomach."
"Of course," echoed Clara. "And she was merely trying to bite the same mark into yours."
"What she did was her own idea. I didn't ask her to, but I didn't see any reason to stop her either. You hadn't made a better offer."
"Oh!" gasped Clara. She turned on her heel and ran quickly back up the stairs.
Three minutes later she reappeared. Her face was white and she looked as though she had just had a terrible shock.
"Is something wrong?" asked Garnett as she pelted down the stairs toward him. Clara nodded dumbly. He took her by the shoulders and shook her lightly. "Pull yourself together," he said, "and tell me."
Clara raised her head. "On the stage," she whispered breathlessly. "Rita ... my sister!"