Chapter 14

Rick had slept past four o'clock in the afternoon, killing time before returning home and seeing his mother. He'd dreaded her visit for two days now, ever since Paul had told him she was coming. He stretched his arms, feeling the pain in his legs. He'd been lying out in the sun much too long without once turning his body. He applied some sun cream lotion to his calves and ankles, then wiped his hands on a towel and got to his feet.

He'd been doing a lot of thinking. Perhaps Paul was right. Maybe he was being spiteful concerning his mother. He had every reason to be, he knew that, but his attitude with the woman grew steadily worse. It did not ease the situation between them. One thing for sure, she was going to be paying them a lot of visits. He knew that. And he also knew his mother was intrigued with their living together. She may have suspected by now, he wasn't sure. Whatever, he realized now that fighting the bitch was not the answer. Perhaps that was what Paul was trying to tell him Maybe if he gave in a little, tried to get along with her, it might work out for the better.

He walked resolutely to the house, rehearsing as he went the exact words he would use on his mother. Glad you came. Yes, he'd tell her that. You look very nice. That would make her feel good. How would you like to go to a movie, just the two of us? He'd hate it, but she'd eat it up.

It was a real surprise for him, however, on entering the house to find both his mother and Paul engaged in quiet conversation in the bedroom. He thought it strange their being in the room About to knock on the partially closed door, he hesitated when he heard his name.

"What about Rick?" his mother asked.

There was a silence on Paul's part.

Rick stood motionless, trying desperately to follow the drift of their conversation. Then he heard his mother's voice again, only this time on a completely different subject, and her voice had changed, sounding higher, lighter.

"Oh, Paul, everything's working out so well. I've been as busy as a queen bee in Los Angeles."

There was a rustle of paper as she fished into her purse.

"Look, Paul."

Rick got closer to the door and peered in.

Paul took the circular from her and looked at it.

"Three thousand of them have been sent through the mail. The showing will last a week. Seven parties from seven to ten. And all the art collectors will be there. Oh, yes, it'll be covered on Tuesday night by channel thirteen. That's what a publicity man can do for you," she laughed.

He handed her back the circular. "It's great."

"Like the color?"

"Yes."

"That's my idea. I designed it. Oh, they got me so mad. They had it all wrong. I made them do it all over again. You should have seen me licking three thousand envelopes. I had a girl come by the house to handle it for me."

"You know, just thinking about it, I get nervous."

"I know. But that's only because it's your first showing. Don't worry, you'll win them over. Oh, I saw some of your new work. Peeked when you weren't around. Paul, the sea you painted is absolutely gorgeous."

"Glad you like it."

"It's happening, Paul," she whispered. "Finally."

"Yeah," he smiled. "Thanks to you."

"Oh, I've tracked down the fifteen paintings you've sold. Managed to buy three of them back, the rest have given their permission for us to show them."

"That's great. I'll have nearly fifty paintings."

Rick stared frozen to the spot as he watched his mother slip her arms around Paul. She reached up to accept his warm kiss. Rick wanted to cry out, but he remained glued to the spot, his throat dry, emotionally stunned beyond words or actions.

"Now," he heard his mother whisper. "Tell me of your decision. Are you breaking with Rick?"

Rick felt numb, as if all the blood had frozen in his body.

Another pause, and finally Paul whispered, "Yes." Rick saw his mother's face light up, then lean forward to kiss Paul fully on the lips. "Oh, Paul, Paul, I'm so glad." Rick's breath quickened.

"I haven't told him yet, Susan. It-it isn't easy for me."

"Yes, darling. I know. I know. But you've made me so happy. You'll see, it'll be marvelous. You'll have a whole new life."

Rick's body stiffened and his knees felt wobbly, so much so he had to hold onto the door for support. Jesus, he thought, that's why Paul has been so busy. His look went to his mother. She crawls, he thought, my mother crawls like a snake. What he had been listening to could not be true. It was not happening, these words were not being spoken, he was not standing here. It was a bad dream.

"Now I can say it," he heard his mother almost giggle. "I was going to be very feminine and work it so that it was your idea. But knowing you, it would never work. Paul, I've been doing a lot of thinking. I-I want you to marry me."

Rick saw Paul stare at his mother in complete bewilderment. "Marry, Susan?"

"Yes, darling."

"I-I hadn't thought about it."

"Well, start now," she laughed. "Marriage?"

"You'll be a very rich young man. That's something that should tempt you," she kidded.

Rick began to feel a dizziness come over him in waves. He hardly dared to move as he listened to their muffled voices.

"I don't mean to rush you into it, darling. And I don't mean to marry you tomorrow. But soon. We'll have a lovely wedding-a big one-and a wild party after. And I'll take you to Europe. And-" Suddenly she broke out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Paul asked.

"I was just thinking," she said, through another peal of laughter, "you'll be Rick's stepfather!"

Rick made the gap between the door and the sofa without falling over. Somehow he staggered down the steps that led to the beach and threw himself onto the sand. His fists beat against the sand until they felt raw. Finally he stopped and regained control of his emotions.

That's what it was all about. That's why Paul had been acting so strangely. How blind he'd been. How stupidly, naively blind! Of course, his mother! She had been seeing Paul all along. When? When had it all started? He felt ill-terribly ill. He turned away from the sun and stared up at the house, his face a mask of contemptuous hate. The two of them! The two of them! He felt drained of all emotion as an emptiness took hold of him.

His mother now claimed the one person he really loved. She had taken Paul from him, just as she had taken everything else from him. He'd put up with it all-but this-this was something else!

He threw himself onto the sand, buried his face in his arms, and, shuddering gently, plummeted nauseously into hooded sleep.

He didn't know how long he had slept, but when next he looked up, it was night. He was cold to the bone. He hugged his arms around his bare chest and pulled the bathing trunks tighter up around his hips. Slowly reality returned to him by successive expanding degrees. Voices and visions and remembrances emerged as movie slides; and recognition, from amidst the swirling mixup in his mind, assumed tangible, shattering form.

His throat felt dry. How he would like a drink, beer, scotch, anything. He rubbed his eyes, then stared up at the house, the house which had represented a new, happy life for him. He stared at the windows, the doors, the brush, as though expecting to find it vanished. Yes, that would be marvelous, he told himself, if it would vanish at the snap of his fingers. He snapped them hard, and stared, and snorted a hollow laugh.

"Oh, Holy Jesus," he muttered; but Jesus bore no significance, the mutter held no surcease. The need to go to Paul, the need to warn him about his mother, protect him, the desire to profess his love for the man, was so imperative that he found himself halfway to the house on the run before he stopped himself. Then the sense of revulsion for his mother-and suddenly for Paul-hit him so violently, it fairly choked him.

Mistake! Mistake! Mistake! The word hit into his brain like a hammer. It had all been a mistake. Seeing it now, clearly in his mind, he observed the mistakes he'd made. He should have never let his mother know where he was. Once she knew, he should never have permitted her to visit. He should never have led Paul to believe he was rich. He should never have told Paul of his true feelings for him. The whole thing should never have happened. He should have left home a long time ago-cut out-got away-away from his mother's clutches-away from her evil fingers.

An inner weariness took hold of him when he thought of his mother. Ruthless, conniving, jealous, horrible bitch! The evil in her was eating her body like a cancer.

Unsteadily he got to his feet and slowly, with great effort, made his way up the stairs. He did not want to see either of them again. He would go back into the house, put on a shirt and Levi's, grab his checkbook, get into the Rolls, and drive. Drive anywhere, as long as it was away from them.

Inside the house he glanced at the clock. It was ten p.m. He made his way down the hallway and stopped cautiously at the bedroom door. Her car was parked outside in the front, as well as Paul's jalopy. They were still in the house. He pressed his ear close to the door. Then he heard Paul's voice.

"I wonder where he is."

"Rick? Oh, who knows. He's a loner."

"But the least he could have done was join us for dinner."

"Leave well enough alone. But I did enjoy dinner. I always do when it's with you, darling."

Rick crept closer, his hand twisting the doorknob, opening it slightly. Inside the bedroom he saw them lying side by side, the only light coming from the opened bathroom door. They were both naked and she was rubbing his neck.

"I feel so wicked," she laughed. "And daring. I mean, being this way with you in your bedroom-with Rick on the loose."

"You really have a thing about him, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like he's your competition."

"He is, darling." She cocked her head, smiled and said, "Correction. Was!"

"Why do you dislike him so, Susan?"

"Because he hates me."

"Does he really?"

"You can see it, can't you? You're not blind. Every time I come here he's off somewhere doing anything he can to avoid seeing me. Oh, you don't know. The things I could tell you."

"Like what?"

"Like how different he is with me when we're alone. You know what he does? He just stares at me." She shook her head. "Just stares at me like a cat. When he was a kid he used to sneak in and watch me bathe and put on my makeup. He'd run home from play just to watch me do that. But it wasn't because he wanted to be with me, his mother. Nothing warm and tender like that. He just watched me with his cold eyes. I finally had to lock my door. But he would look at me every chance he got. At the dinner table, while watching television. It's scary having someone stare at you all the time."

"That's all, Susan? I mean you said he was-"

"He was always getting into trouble all the way through school. Not the usual kind of trouble like the other kids. No, he had to set the girls' room on fire. Can you imagine? The girls' room. Now tell me why would he do a thing like that? Oh, Paul, he never fit. I saw him go through the hippie period. I had to bail him out of jail because he was involved in those damn college uprisings or whatever in hell they call 'em. If it meant trouble, there was Rick. He was arrested three times because of dope. Did you know that?"

"No."

"No? Well now you do. I don't think he's on it now. He's probably drinking now. He goes from one to the other."

"With me he's been-well-fine. I never for one moment would have suspected any of these things. He seems to have made an effort with me. I wish I had known how much of an effort."

"That's because he wanted something from you. Look, he has no bearings, Paul. He's a poor soul, malformed in a malformed culture. Isn't that the pattern for our typical lousy American youth today? No, baby, I'm not the heavy that little shit makes me out to be."

"Perhaps if he had a motive. If only he were just a bit more ambitious-"

"Oh, hell, Paul. You saw the way he works. He wants to be a writer. Okay, did you ever once see him pick up a piece of paper and a pencil? Of course not. I bought him a typewriter to encourage him. The very thing you do to encourage him is the very thing he hates you for. No, Paul. He's a hater. He destroys anything good in himself."

Paul shook his head. "He's terribly troubled. I had no idea just how troubled."

"He hasn't got any friends, you know. He's a loner. He's been that way all of his life. Listen, I was concerned, believe me I was. I tried sending him to a psychiatrist. He went twice, then told the poor doctor off in no uncertain terms." She sighed. "I don't want to talk about him. He gets me depressed. Let's talk about us."

Rick's ears burned at her words. He watched, as a curious weakness crept through him. He gazed with silent, unblinking eyes as she pressed her mouth to his.

"Oh, darling, nibble!" she sighed. She pressed his mouth to her breast and moaned at the feel of his lips flitting over the taut, puckered pinkess of her aroused flesh. "Oh, Paul, hold me, love me. I need you so," she whispered breathlessly into his ear.

Rick saw Paul swing his body over hers where he rested himself on the palms of his hands and his knees. He saw his mother spread her legs and throw back her head, her body moving from side to side as Paul's penetrating fingers plunged deep within her hot, eager vagina. He held them there as she moaned her delight. Then she reached down and ran her fingertips around the outline of the head of his cock. Her breath came quick and heavy and Rick saw her eyes slant and her lips part, her face a mask of lust. Paul's hands reached forward to grasp her bouncing globes. His fingers rubbed the brown nipples, his other hand was busy at her crotch.

Swallowing hard, Rick dared to open the door wider. Quietly, he brought his face closer to the door.

Now Paul lowered his body on top of Susan's and his hands reached down to her calves. He ran his hand over her, sliding over the firm muscles and the smooth skin. Paul stared at her breasts. The sight of the huge, upright, spherical tits, seemed to turn Paul into a wild animal. Rick watched Paul as he held the globular breasts and brought them to his lips, running his tongue over her nipple.

Rick's eyes slanted hatefully as his glance returned to his mother. She lay there, her eyes fluttering, watching Paul's every movement, seemingly enjoying his searching hands over her body as she became more and more aroused. She began moving her hips from side to side, then upward, pushing against him.

"Oh, Paul, fuck me. Please, fuck me."

"Now, Susan? Now?"

"Oh, yes, yes, now."

Paul smiled, kissing her eyelids. "All right, baby," he whispered.

"Oh, Paul, Paul," she cried aloud at his growing strength.

Rick's eyes darted to Paul's cock. He saw it swell and gleam as Paul guided it to his mother. Rick wet his lips. My cock! he thought. That's my cock! And now his mother reached for it, clasping it, holding it tenderly, loving it. Paul's cock! The cock that belonged to Rick! He held his breath when he heard his mother's gasp of delight as Paul entered her.

"Oh, Paul, Paul," his mother cried. She bit into Paul's shoulder, thrusting her hips upward to meet his wild attack.

Rick saw Paul lunge his hips forward, sending his hardness deep into his mother's cunt. He stared for a long time, listening to their moans of pleasure. Finally he heard Paul whisper:

"Ohh, Susan, you're a wild fuck. I can't hold it any longer. I've got to-" Then suddenly he saw Paul lunge deeply into her cunt. He stayed that way for a moment then fell down heavily on top of her.

"Oh, Paul," his mother cried. "Fill me with your come. Fill me!"

Rick felt the perspiration slide down the nape of his neck. He inhaled deeply and as silently as he could through his mouth, desperately fighting the nausea that was enveloping him. Quickly he stepped backward. He had seen enough. He couldn't watch any longer. Quietly, with great effort, he made his way out of the house and back to the beach where he fell to his knees, digging his fingers into the sand for support as his stomach heaved. When he could vomit no more, he got to his feet and hurried down to the water. He cupped his hands, filling them, splashing his face with the cold sea water.

For what seemed an eternity, he stood by the shore, overcome by the experience he had just witnessed. At length he walked along the sand, wandering aimlessly. He was the only one on the darkened beach, and the only sound was that of the water at high tide. He was hardly conscious of his movements.

The feeling of loneliness was so intense that he found himself staring in despair at the sea, at the black horizon, and at the barren stretch of gray beach. He was swept with the sad and hopeless feeling that he had been stripped completely of everything he had left.

The air was soft and cool on his face. He walked for what seemed miles before he stopped and looked about curiously. He shook his head, and pressed a hand to his temples, as if this gesture alone would take away the pain he felt there. He sat on his haunches and stared at the darkness beyond, seeing an occasional light from a passing ship. He wished with all his might that he might be on that ship, that he had not heard or seen what he had this day. He wasn't sure just what he felt, other than an aching emptiness that was almost physically painful in its intensity. The resentment of his mother tortured him. God, he thought, she's a horror. There was nothing she would not do to satisfy her lust. She had taken the one all important thing from him. She had taken the man he loved. He had never loved before-anyone. He did not think he could live without this love. It was like a confused nightmare; he did not quite believe it. Yet it was true. His own mother had taken his lover! His own mother!

God damn her! God damn her! GOD DAMN HER!

"Paul," he cried. "Paul ... Paul ... Paul!" There was a moment that had become elongated beyond endurance as though time had stopped save the enormous, thunderous, painful pounding of his own heart. He wanted to cry, but the tears would not come. There was nothing left for him. He'd been stripped of everything. His mother had taken the one chance he had left. The one man who could help him, give him some sense of being, some sense of belonging.

Why had Paul turned from him? Was it greed alone? Could he possibly be in love with his mother? He did not believe that, it could not be. No, it was she! She had poisoned their love. She had thrown herself at Paul. She had promised him a whole, new, rich life. And he had believed her-the stupid bastard believed her. The lengths she would go to hurt him, he thought. She was rotten to the core-every muscle in her body-rotten. Every thought in her head-rotten!

He stood motionless at the water's edge as the idea came to him. His thoughts were spinning so fast, so clearly, that he felt almost drunk. Yet his thoughts, as wild as they were, were at the same time calm and quite sober, despite the excitement that was welling up inside of him.

It was over for him, he knew that now. He would never find another Paul, he knew that, too. What more could he lose? Nothing mattered to him now. Nothing but the idea generating in his mind. Maybe he'd be playing a trick on himself, maybe he would be hurting himself more, but he didn't care anymore. His thoughts raced so fast in his mind that he found himself running back to the house.

It would be so simple, he told himself. Really so simple. Nobody would suspect. He could get away with it. And for once in his miserable life he could throw off, by the very force of this decision, by the sheer force of the act, the tedious, frustrated, lonely, angry, impotent feelings that had been with him all of his life and were with him now. In one moment he could do this, he told himself. The flick of a wrist and it would be done.

No longer did he feel lonely, oppressed, angry; now he felt only an enormous elation. As he ran he could feel his cock swelling beneath his tight trunks. The idea had not only stimulated his spirit but his physical senses as well. He slowed down when he came within sight of the house, then stopped, studying it. There was a moment of doubt, but it was only a moment.

Inside the house it was warm, the only light coming from a lamp in a comer of the living room. He saw that it was past midnight. He lit a cigarette and dragged hard on it, pulling the smoke deep into his lungs. His mind was reeling. His hands shook and he felt a sliding line of perspiration down his back and under his armpits. He snuffed the cigarette out in a flowerpot. Silently he edged his way along the carpeted, narrow hallway. Slowly he crept until he came to the door. His hand gripped the brass doorknob and he slowly twisted it to the right. A smile came to his face. His hands had stopped shaking. He would be fine now, he told himself. The sharp clicking sound made him hold his breath. He waited, swallowed hard, his hand still gripping the doorknob tightly. Carefully, slowly, quietly, he edged his way inside the doorway. He dared not breathe as he slowly permitted his eyes to become adjusted to the darkened bedroom.

Then he saw them. With an intake of breath, his eyes widened. A nerve began to twitch in his eye.

Both of them were asleep. His mother had thrown off the bed sheet and was lying on her back completely naked. His breath came in nervous spurts at the sight of his mother's immense breasts, her shining red hair framing her face against the white pillow. His eyes traveled to Paul. He, too, was naked, his now limp cock resting against his thigh, his balls hanging down to the sheet. Rick's eyes took in the slightly rounded stomach, traveled the length of the slim hips past the long, muscular legs, to the cock, down to the tips of his toes.

Rick swallowed hard, then made his way to the bed. Slowly, holding his breath, he leaned down and brushed his lips against Paul's forehead. Paul did not stir. Again Rick leaned down, this time kissing the head of Paul's cock. "God," he muttered, "Oh, God, oh, God."

Paul stirred.

Rick drew back as quick as a flash. He waited, then backed away, careful not to bump into anything, then turned and headed for the window. Reaching up, he very slowly and carefully lowered it, locking it. Then, turning, he silently made his way to the comer of the room.

Quietly he knelt down by the gas heater. He reached out. His hand began to shake. He sucked in a lungful of air through his mouth and waited until he had himself in control. Carefully, silently, his hand reached out. He felt the cold brass handle. He hesitated, turned to look over his shoulder, then quickly turned the handle to the right. There was an immediate hissing sound. Another twist and he had opened it as wide as it would go. Already he could smell the heavy gas filling the room.

Rising, he held his breath, then made his way to the door. Opening it, he suddenly turned to look back. His eyes were dark with an odd lifeless stillness as he looked at the naked couple, then at the wide-open gas heater. He allowed himself a thin grimace of satisfaction as he surveyed his handiwork, then carefully, very slowly, very silently, he pulled the door shut.

He leaned heavily against the wall for a brief flash out of eternity, then sighed deeply, walked out of the house, down the steps to the beach, and across the sand. He seemed to be unconscious of the change in the consistency of the sand particles under his feet as they went from dry to moist.

He did not even give much thought to the fact that the sea was inordinately calm as he permitted it slowly to swallow him whole....