Chapter 2
In the natural order of things, Rufe thinks, I would be in the sack with her. Our bodies were made for each other. We belong together.
And not, as at present, her in bed with that pink cherub of a sexual pervert and financial genius, while Rufe, alone, takes a cold shower, then a warm one, soaping and rinsing several times, feeling somehow dirtier than as if he had just finished working under the hood of the limo.
And yet, not so much dirty as used.
It's wrong, he thinks, wrong for a man to be used as an object, a thing, in order to satisfy the perversions of another.
And not even the whole perversion.
Rather, he has been merely an element in Chipper's satisfaction, and an interchangeable element at that.
Yes, it did not have to be him.
It could have been any, or any combination of an almost endless variety of "talent" at the disposal of the Harringtons, of the Harrington money.
What the wallet of man can conceive, the hand of man can procure.
Which, Rufe reflects, is not entirely true.
He wanted Cynthia tonight, even as he wants her every day, in the sense that he, that any normal, healthy man would want such a woman.
So that he would have been more than happy to do the number on her, even with the special considerations, the restrictions, even if there had not been a bonus in it for him.
And yet-and yet.
Without the whole fucking setup, without the money behind it, none of this would have occurred, with or without the goddam bonus.
And this is not only true, he realizes, but true in depth.
Because she was money marrying money.
So that he can't even use the po' black man argument with which to solace himself.
You know-the one that goes, What chance does a black guy have with a beautiful blonde chick like that?
Because race is not a factor here. They belong to two different worlds, he and she. No way in hell do they meet, except under these circumstances.
Meaning mistress and hireling. Meaning user and living robot. Unfair?
Yes, the order of the universe is indeed unfair. The deck is stacked, stacked many ways, stacked in depth.
Problem with that?
Then go and fucking kill yourself, Jack, because that's the way it is!
Still, he tells himself, there is another way with her.
What if?
What if they were to do as they did for its own sake rather than for Chippers, and without his even being present.
Certainly, the opportunities are there, and there in force.
Young, healthy blonde bombshell like that, alone for weeks, months on end? " And then too, there is precedent for this.
How many times has she called that fucking pimp Bruce and ordered herself an orgy the way other people would send out for pizza?
She does it the same way-and probably for the same price-as when she stages her special homecomings for Chipper.
Except that sometimes she does not, preferring instead to do as she did last night, that is, using Rufe.
So that what if, indeed?
A fair question, now he thinks about it further.
Because, dammit, if she could do it for Chipper, then she could just as well do it for herself.
And Rufe comes to a decision.
Next time Chipper is out of town, he will force the issue.
He doesn't know how yet, but he will take action.
So that he can raise himself, in his own estimation, up from thinghood.
So that he can be, in every sense of the word, a man.
Certainly not too much to ask of himself, to ask of the world.
Not out of a sense of fairness, either. First of all, nothing in this world is fair. Not the natural order of things, even. Because, in the natural order, he is superior. That's right, dammit, he is!
Because he's built, because he's hung, and because, unlike Chipper, for example, he is completely sane.
All that money and the best his boss can do to get his rocks off is this sick, this sickening thing he insists on doing?
No, Rufe tells himself, there has got to be a way.
There has got to be some method, some procedure, some technique whereby he can obtain for himself, by himself, that which he has been permitted to sample in behalf of another's interests.
Because, Chipper or no Chipper, she had to know, had to feel how good he is, how good they are together.
That part of the natural order has to be working in his favor, anyway.
And now, he dries himself off, sets the alarm on the clock radio at his bedside, and quickly dozes off, his exertions, along with his anxieties, taking their toll.
The men in the office are friendly, helpful-and nervous.
They don't like having the boss around. If he actually had an office here, if he were around every day, it wouldn't be so bad.
But no, he shows up unexpectedly, distracting them from their daily routine.
So that the buy-sell positions on the commodities markets, second nature to the guy who handles that in Chipper's absence, in his presence become mysteries, wonders to be looked at anew, or as if for the first time.
And suddenly, his arbitrageur seems to have lost his feel on the pulse of world-wide currencies.
And will defer taking any action at all today, preferring instead to monitor the situation without doing anything, lest Chipper question the rationale behind any move he might make in his presence.
And the most unnerving thing of all is that huge black chauffeur, lingering at his shoulder like some kind of an enforcer.
Because he, more than anything else, is the symbol, the outward manifestation, of Chipper's power, of how far above them Chipper actually is.
Do they now, have or will they ever possess such a thing?
No way!
A house in the suburbs, a mortgage that would choke a horse, a car paid in full, but not the one they want, really, hand to mouth, and so it goes.
Whereas Chipper is in a whole different world.
Because that is not just any chauffeur there, but a bouncer, an enforcer of a chauffeur.
And they know that this is a civilized world, that there is no possible way that Chipper is going to order Rufe to clobber any or all of them.
Nonetheless, Rufe symbolizes difference, menace, power to them.
And yes, they are team players and it is Chipper's team, no question, and yet there is here in clear evidence a kind of opposition.
As though they are somehow on one side, with Chipper and Rufe on the opposite.
And they breath a mini-sigh of partial relief when, having lugged Chipper's briefcases into the office, Rufe deposits them and leaves.
Irrational, they know, childish, even, but there it is.
Go figure.
And Rufe?
He senses it, the feedback of their anxiety, their fear.
And he feels a kind of pride in the power, even though reflected, they see in him.
So that he does not try to reach out to them in his mind, to see in them fellow employees, fellow prostitutes of mind and body, selling themselves in order to survive.
Rather, he has the same questions in his mind that they project into Chipper's.
What have you guys been up to?
Are you doing the best you can, or have you let golden opportunities slip through your fingers due to your ineptitude or indifference?
In short, Have you or have you not done something thatt you should/should not have and, if so, should you be fired for it on the spot?
So that there is this other factor which isolates him from them as well.
Namely, that they are under performance pressures which find no analogy in his own position.
And then too, there is the social aspect of the situation.
Could Chipper, for whatever reason, seek Rufe's advice concerning them?
And if so, is there a danger lurking there?
("Waddaya think of Farley, Rufe?") ("Seem ta me lak de dude got shifty eyes, Mista Chippah, lak he 'bout ta pull sumthin' mighty crookit; bestes' thang y'all gits ridda his wimpy ass befo' he do sumthin' fuck up de woiks.") ("Maybe you're right, Rufe. Had that in the back of my mind for some time now. Thanks.") ("Enny tarn, boss.") So that, without a chance to defend themselves, they would have been tried and condemned. Which could very well happen. Because life is not fair.
Because if it were, they would be where Chipper is now.
All this, Rufe knows about. Office politics.
And there is really no such thing as being good at them.
Which is one thing his lack of education and, face it, his color, have enabled him to avoid.
Still, he is, like them, a loser, only in a different way.
Because he can never, not ever, make a significant contribution.
He is a convenience and a luxury.
He is not a contributor to success, but an appurtenance, a prerogative of success.
He is a part of the reward for having arrived in a major way.
He is at best helpful, at worst superfluous.
He is not even as essential as Carlotta.
Because cooking and cleaning, grocery shopping and supervision of maintenance are household necessities which it is impractical to expect someone like Cynthia Harrington to perform for herself and Chipper.
But what is it to get behind the wheel of something more elegant, more sporting if less grandiose than the limo?
Not much at all, he reflects, as he goes to pick up Carlotta.
Hell, it would even be cheaper for Carlotta to take a cab.
And merely pick things out and have them delivered.
This is Cynthia's idea, this chauffeured shopping trip.
But Chipper, who must surely know better and is even being inconvenienced by it this morning, does not care to contradict Cynthia in that province.
So that she is at least that much the lady of the house.
But then, he supposes, that's not so dumb, either.
Because there must be a clear differentiation in her favor between herself and all his other possessions.
In return for which he gets the stability, the harmony, and above all that individual understanding which few, if any, others would accord him and his "hobby".
So that here, now, they are what they are, loving husband and affectionate, possibly (is it still possible?) adoring wife.
To a degree, he reminds himself.
Because she has partied.
And it is true enough that she may consider this Bruce merely a provider of living toys, but the fact of the matter remains that she has experienced the ultimate pleasure with them, whoever, whatever, however she may think of them.
And he is willing to let himself be used on the same basis.
Why not?
And at least, that way, he gets to play all the games with her.
And not what is, inevitably and inescapably, someone else's game.
He pulls into the garage and uses the intercom.
Carlotta will be right down.
"Hey, beeg boy, joo do de deed las' night, or what?"
"Yeah, I did."
Said almost absent-mindedly, his eyes, his concentration on the road. Carlotta laughs.
"So tell me-he suck joor come from her poosy, her ass hole, or bot'?"
"Both. Listen, do we really have to talk about this?"
She shrugs.
"Coul' talk about anythin' joo like. "CouP talk servant chop talk, joo like. "Wadda joo thin' of Spic an' Span for bat'room floors?"
"Sorry," he says. "Just that I feel so damn used- after."
"Leesen, m'fren', we are all jused, okay? "Any time joo don' like eet, hey, there's the door, rl'?"
"One door closes an' another opens, huh?
"You really b'lieve that?"
"No' for one second. An' joo don' neither."
"You got that right."
"Face eet," she says, "we hot' got eet made. "An' we hot' take a lotta crap an' we hot' ge' jused. "Only we gotta consider, like, wha's de alternative, joo know."
"Ain't one."
"joo know eet, pal. "Joo gotta hang een there."
"Been thinkin' about that."
"Oh?"
"If I can do what I do with her when he's around, waddaya think my chances are of making it with her when he isn't?"
"Excellent.
"Weeth the rl' kine of help, that ees."
"Meaning you, I suppose."
"Who else."
"And in return?"
"Wha' choo bin theenkin' abou' for some time now.
"Or joo gonna say joo don' geeve me tha' look."
"What look?"
"The look like eef joo don' keep joor mouth close, joor tongue gonna come out."
"Oh, that look.
"Hey, I didn't know you were interested."
"Joo come een my room tonl' an' I choe joo who go' de eenteres'!"
"You have got yourself a deal, babe."
"Talk abou' joor freenge benefeets, huh? They laugh.
Rufe reads the newspaper. They are parked in the park, under a shady tree. As Chipper makes call after call on the car telephone.
He is very clearly putting something big together and is using the limo as his office.
Which, face it, is what it actually is.
Part of the hassle of his regular so-called office is that he has no desk there.
Chipper is not too cheap to get himself a larger local office, of course, but it is part of his self-discipline that he will not establish a place here which will be too comfortable for himself.
You can't do business sitting on your ass, is Chipper's adopted motto.
And this is as close as he is willing to come to doing exactly that.
But if they are not moving physically, then financially, at least, great progress is being made.
Such is Rufe's impression, anyway.
And Chipper seems more and more cheerful with the completion of each call.
Until- "Back to the office for a few minutes, Rufe, and then back home.
"If all goes as anticipated, I may have to cut short my stay here altogether.
"Situation in Europe looks very promising.
"In fact-never mind."
Remembering who he is speaking to, over the limo's intercom.
And people don't talk to furniture, right?
Oh, yes, Rufe thinks, starting the limo, I am most definitely gonna have to get into the lady's pants on my own.
Meaning with Carlotta's help.
"Jus' leev eet to me, okay."
"You got it.
"But I hope it can happen real soon.
"Chipper's leavin' in a couple days, y'know."
"I din't. But don' make no deeference.
"An' I know jus' how I gonna do it, too."
They are having their supper in the kitchen as the Harringtons use the formal dining room.
They are having guests tonight.
The Birmingham Steeles have joined them for supper.
Neighbors from ten floors down, Steele is also an entrepreneur, his philosophy and outlook the opposite of those of the flamboyant, free-wheeling Chipper, but enjoying steady, if less spectacular success nonetheless. "Is she-never mind."
He was about to ask Carlotta about a farewell party.
But that is his idea, nobody else's.
The Harringtons are not in the habit of celebrating Chipper's departures.
Only Rufe and, no doubt, the boys downtown are glad Chipper is going to be leaving again, very soon.
Rufe helps Carlotta load their dishes into the dishwasher.
And he helps himself to a couple of handfuls of her abundant charms, en passant.
And she stops in her tracks, sitting down on his lap, melting into his arms, but then remembering that she, at least, is on duty.
And there are plates to be cleared, desserts to be served.
But she is glad to see that Rufe is so enthusiastic.
"Tonight," she says to him, on one of her trips back and forth to the dining room.
So that he awaits eleven or so with great anticipation.
Once again, Rufe is impressed by how much larger the same woman seems when naked rather than clothed.
Sure he knew that Carlotta had large breasts.
In fact, he has even helped himself to some handfuls of them earlier.
But here, now, looking at her, she seems almost a different person-a larger, sexier version of her already large and sexy self.
"Oh, yeah," he says, seating himself on the edge of the bed, naked himself, twisting around to look at her, then twisting onto the bed, leaning over her, sealing his mouth to a huge nipple as she lies there, covered to just below her breasts by a single sheet.
And she lets him work on her mammaries, sucking each nipple up, erect and rubbery, even as he kneads and fondles the large glands behind them.
He wallows on her chest, between her breasts, clamping them to his head on both sides, losing himself, smothering himself in her.
As she gets hotter and hotter, face and breasts becoming flushed.
And now, he pulls the sheet off of her, exposing her full, voluptuous charms to his lascivious view.
And he slides down her body, taking mouthfuls of her, chewing and releasing them, on his way down, down, down.
Until now, he is opposite her snatch, covered with thick, jet black hair.
And he wallows in her crotch as she raises and spreads her legs to give him a better target.
As he finds her clit with his tongue and strums it, flickering at almost vibrator speed.
And she writhes and moans, tugging at her nipples in her excitement, as though to stimulate them still further.
Swiftly now, he mounts her.
"Unnnh!" she murmurs as he shafts into her in a single, smooth movement.
And he begins to fuck her, moving his hips so that his long, thick, vibrant pole pistons in and out of her in steady strokes.
And he holds back.
There will be no slavish letting go this time.
Rather, there will be a lingering, a savoring of each level of pleasure.
There is no hurry, none at all.
And no objective, but rather merely an eventual outcome.
Because the act must have meaning, content, value.
She must know that she is in the hands of an expert.
She must be convinced that he intends to uphold his part of the bargain with full talent and enthusiasm.
She must be made to understand that, between the two of them, Cynthia and herself, it is she who is to receive the brunt of his passion, of his sincerity.
While he, or he and Carlotta, will use and manipulate Cynthia even as she is accustomed to using, to manipulating them.
Except that he will be far less obvious about it.
Besides which, he does feel genuine passion for her body.
Except that she is so far removed from him that this passion is not that of one person, one human being for another.
No, for that, he has Carlotta.
Rather, for Cynthia, his is the passion for a desired goal or objective, almost on the order of scoring in a favorite sport.
And to score and to make love are two quite different things.
And rarely, if ever, do the twain meet.
So that here, now, he is giving Carlotta better than what Cynthia will ever know, ever have, at least from him.
As now he varies his technique, now pistoning in and out of her, now rotating his hips, causing surge after surge of sexual electricity to shoot through the both of them.
And now, he climbs the rainbow with her.
They have tarried enough along the way.
They have tasted sufficiently of the delights offered at each level of their ever-mounting arousal. And now, they are flying.
Level after level of their passion, reached and surpassed as hunger and satisfaction stairstep one another, higher and higher.
And the surges of sexual electricity merge now into a steady hum, echoing loudly in their ears as the pressure of the pleasure grows and grows within them.
And now, they surrender to it, not trying to prolong, to hold back, to delay.
Because now, the pressure is insistent. And now, overwhelming.
As they climax together, the pleasure beyond pleasure flowing into them, overtaking them, exploding, blowing their safety valves.
And this time, when they have finished alternating, his discharges and her multiple orgasms, he is in no great hurry to pull out, preferring to linger there in closed embrace.