(1987) The Celestial Bed (38 page)

‘Whatever you say.’

‘That’s what I say,’ growled Scrafield, as he headed for the front door.

They went out to Scrafield’s Buick, and Darlene settled behind

the wheel, waiting for the preacher to get comfortable beside her. Then she drove off.

Their round table at Mario’s Gardens was near the dance floor.

As host and hostess, Brandon and Gayle dominated the group. To one side of them sat Nan and Demski, at the other sat Hunter and Suzy, and the seventh chair meant for Dr Freeberg was removed.

They’d been finishing dieir drinks, as well as their chopped Italian salads, when a waiter took their plates, and two further waiters appeared and served them their hot pasta main courses.

Observing Gayle twisting her spaghetti around her fork, Brandon said, ‘You still haven’t told me something.’

‘Told you what?’

‘The meaning of a Tom Jones dinner.’

‘This is it, right now,’ said Gayle. ‘Remember that old movie, Tom Jones? There was a terrific eating scene in it. The hero and the heroine were eating together, eating food out of each other’s plates and staring at each other. It was the sexiest scene in the whole movie. Somehow, the therapy surrogates, from the very onset of their treatment, adopted this eating scene as their graduation ritual.’

‘Why?’ asked Brandon.

‘Because there’s a pretty close link between food and sexuality,’ said Gayle. ‘What we’re doing here this evening is merely symbolic of an actual Tom Jones dinner. The real Tom Jones, if it’s scheduled to take place, occurs in the last exercise between surrogate and patient. Each brings finger food, and you don’t talk, but sit side by side and feed one another and maybe have some wine. It’s not a sex session, but it is lusty. A way of being intimate and saying good-bye. Eventually, there is talk, of course. The surrogate and partner review their close relationship, what went well in it, what went poorly, what was funny, what was sad, and what they could do to make things better in the future. They recollect their original fright and nervousness, and the high points of the days behind them. Talking, we know we may never lay eyes on each other again as long as we live, but what we experienced together can never be taken away from us as long as we live. We talk about how we’re closing our relationship with each other, and

setting out to form new relationships, always retaining a fresh view of the sweetness and richness of life. We pleasure each other by exchanging food and remembrances. And, symbolically, that was what Dr Freeberg wanted us to enjoy together tonight. So let’s enjoy our Tom Jones dinner.’

Gayle held her forkful of spaghetti up to Brandon’s mouth, and he nipped and sucked at it, eating and swallowing, and then speared a fork of fettuccine and fed it to Gayle.

Chewing, she looked around the table.

‘All of you, get into it. Chet, you feed Suzy, and let her feed you. And Nan and Adam, you do the same. You’ll see what fun it can be.’

They busied themselves with the ritual, and halfway through their main courses, they started to engage in conversations recollecting the best and the worst times of their therapy, and all agreeing that on this night they all felt happy and exalted.

Eventually, the music from the five-piece orchestra resumed, and Gayle and Brandon could see that Suzy and Hunter were already in each other’s arms on the dance floor, and that Nan and Demski were leaving their chairs holding hands, and dreamily beginning to dance together.

For a while, Gayle and Brandon, their fingers entwined, silently watched the two couples swaying and moving about the partially darkened room.

‘Want to join them?’ Brandon asked quietly.

Gayle shook her head. ‘I just want to join you, as soon as we can leave here.’

Brandon nodded. ‘I’ll see that it’s very soon.’

Darlene and Scrafield drew up before the ivy-covered exterior trellises of Mario’s Gardens.

‘Here we are,’ said Darlene. ‘What next?’

‘You stay behind the wheel, double park, keep the engine idling. I’ll be out in a minuted

Inside, in the foyer of the restaurant, Scrafield accosted the short, slick-haired maitre d’.

‘I’m looking for someone who is dining here tonight,’ said Scrafield. ‘Miss Gayle Miller. She’s at Dr Freeberg’s table.’

‘Oh, yes … ‘ As the maitre d’ started away, he paused. ‘Who should I tell her is asking for her?’

‘Tell her Mr Lewis. She’ll know. Tell her I have something I want to give her.’

Observing the maitre d’ leave, Scrafield smiled to himself. He was getting adept at using other people’s names and Voices. When he had hit upon his scheme, he had called Dr Freeberg’s secretary and told her that he was Otto Ferguson and he wanted to know where he could talk to Gayle Miller. The secretary had told him that Dr Freeberg had reserved a table at Mario’s Gardens for this evening, and that Gayle Miller would be among the guests.

That had been easy. So was this, using Hoyt Lewis as bait.

Scrafield fingered the bottle of sulphuric acid in his pocket. When he gave Gayle what he intended to give her, what she deserved, she would look like the Phantom of the Opera, even worse. No man would ever again be enticed by the little whore.

That instant, he saw the maitre d’ returning, and a step behind him - one last look at that beautiful face, those wiggling hips -was Gayle Miller.

The maitre d’ gestured towards Scrafield, and turned away to his reservations.

Puzzled, Gayle approached Scrafield. ‘It’s you! The man said Mr Lewis was here. What do you want?’

Scrafield took a step closer to her. ‘I wanted to leave you something to remember me by.’

‘What do you mean?’

Scrafield dug into his pocket for the sulphuric acid, unscrewing the top as he tugged it free.

Holding the uncapped bottle in his hand, he swiftly raised his right arm, pointing the mouth of the bottle at Gayle’s face, about to fling its contents at her.

As his arm came back slightly to spew the contents over her, another arm suddenly came from behind Scrafield, under his throwing arm, smashing up hard beneath his arm, lifting it and the opened bottle toward his own face.

The jarring upward blow sent the sulphuric acid splashing out across Scrafield’s startled countenance and into his mouth, which was agape. The acid had the searing effect of a flamethrower. Scrafield scratched at his forehead, cheeks, mouth, and shrieked.

At the same moment, Gayle screamed for Paul.

As the maitre d’ went down on his knees before Scrafield, now

writhing and moaning on the floor, Gayle stared into the face of Darlene Young.

‘I’m Miss Young, his assistant,’ Darlene said quietly, watching as Brandon arrived to take Gayle into his arms. ‘I had an idea he wanted to get even with you, Miss Miller. Now he’s the one who’ll be disfigured.’

‘Better beat it before the police come,’ Brandon urged her.

Darlene shook her head. ‘No. I want to tell the police what happened.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Sorry to have spoiled your dinner.’ She paused. ‘But maybe I didn’t after all.’

Three hours and three cognacs later Brandon was slowly driving Gayle to her home.

As they turned the corner and approached the house, he glanced down at her as she moved closer to him. Placing an arm around her, he asked, ‘How do you feel?’

‘Recovered, Paul. Never better.’

‘It could have been horrendous.’

‘But it wasn’t. I hardly remember that it happened. In fact I remember just one thing. You forgot to offer me a dessert.’

‘I didn’t forget it at all. I thought this was a Tom Jones dessert. Something we should share together at your house. Do you approve?’

She tightened her hand over his. ‘What are we waiting for?’

Gayle was fitting her key into her front door when Brandon started removing her black sequined sweater and then unzipping her long skirt.

In the dimly lighted living room, they embraced and clutched each other, and then silently came apart and began to undress each other.

His arm around her shoulders, her arm around his waist, they padded barefoot into the bedroom illuminated by a single lamp.

Arm in arm, they moved to the side of the bed. Then Brandon lifted her up and lovingly placed her on her back on the bed, and lowered himself beside her, very closely, until they were flesh to flesh, bodies contacting each other.

His fingers ran over her forehead and mouth, and her hand moved across his abdomen.

‘Paul …’

‘Yes?’

‘I — I hope you don’t mind — but since Dr Freeberg’s not looking over our shoulder … can we go short on the touching and caressing?’

‘You want me to break the rules?’

‘No rules tonight, please. No patients tonight. Just you and me, on our own time. And in love. So let’s - ’

Her legs had opened wide and he was over her.

‘Paul, I’m ready. Very. And you’re — ’

‘Very.’

‘It’s going to be fun,’ she said breathlessly.

He went into her slowly, slowly, deeper and deeper, to the very hilt. It was moist, her vagina, and soft as down and it engulfed him like a frantic hug. He began moving inside her, back and forth, still slowly.

‘Ahhh,’ she moaned, T love it.’

‘I love you,’ he gasped.

They were going steadily, when her hands gripped his ribs, slowing him even more.

‘Paul

‘Yes?’

‘Do you talk when you make love?’

‘Sometimes. Maybe. I don’t know.’

‘I do, Paul. I talk.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘Because usually I don’t talk doing it with patients. We’re not supposed to.’

T know.’

‘But this is just you and me alone and I like to vent my feelings. Also, maybe — ’

‘What, darling?’

‘ — because I’m enjoying myself so much with you, it keeps me from being embarrassed. Besides …’

‘Besides?’

T - I hope you don’t mind if I’m noisy. I like to let go.’

‘Let go. I will, too.’

‘Ahhh, good, good. Faster, Paul, faster. Not so slow. Faster.’

He quickened his movements, downward, upward. He accelerated their coupling faster and faster.

‘Paul …’

He could hardly hear her, with her head going from side to side on the pillow, and her pelvis rocking to and fro.

‘Paul

‘Yes?’ he gasped.

‘You know a woman takes maybe fifteen minutes longer to come than a man does?’

‘I’ve heard.’

‘Not me, Paul.’

‘No?’

‘Not me. I get ready much quicker - maybe as quickly as you … Do you mind?’

‘Can’t wait,’ he gasped.

For minutes they were lost in each other, totally fused, all sense of time gone.

‘Oh, Paul - ’

‘Yes, darling?’ he gasped.

‘I’m almost there. All I need is - ’

‘Is what?’

‘ - for you to rub my clit a little harder … No, not that way, didn’t mean your hand. I want your body to rub my clit when you go in and out — ’

‘Like this?’

He clasped her by each cheek of her buttocks, and drew her up against him. Pressing hard together, they caressed each other.

‘Oh, yes, yes - that’s - yes - just right - ’

‘Just heavenly,’ he gasped.

On and on, clamped tightly together, on and on, both breathing hard.

‘Paul - ’

‘Darling?’

‘ - those, those books, novels, where the hero, heroine, they’re making it, and near the end she screams, “More, more, more -don’t stop - do it harder, please harder.” You know?’

‘What - what about them?’ he gasped.

‘They’re not phoney, not fantasy; they’re real, they’re realistic. I know.’

‘Know what?’

‘It’s true … I’ll prove it.’ Silence, only heavy breathing, body-writhing, and then from deep in her lungs came an outcry, ‘Don’t stop … more, more, more… harder, please harder - ’

He was blinded by perspiration, his chest heaving, his arms trembling, as he went berserk inside her.

She was holding on desperately, her heart hammering, her skin flushed, her breathing irregular, her nails raking his flesh, as her pelvic mound wrenched upward. ‘Paul, my God, I’m coming, I’m coming, I - ’

She screamed out words unclear, and then, panting, she said, ‘I came.’

He could not hear her. He was erupting inside her. The eruption continued and continued and then it was spent.

‘I came,’ she repeated from far away!

‘I came, too, my darling,’ he gasped, ‘like never before.’

Gradually disengaging, he fell back on the pillow close to her, his matted hair against her dishevelled hair. After a long interval of regaining their equilibrium, she finally turned her head and looked at him. ‘Hey, where have you been all of my life?’

Their arms went around each other, and after a little while they were sound asleep in their embrace.

Brandon awakened first at shortly after nine o’clock in the morning, his head clear and his muscles loose and rested.

He shifted his head on the pillow to see if Gayle was asleep. Her eyes were closed and one of her breasts, not covered by the blanket, lay in repose and slightly spread out.

Realising the blanket covered them both, he guessed that she had briefly awakened in the night to draw it over them.

Feasting on her gentle profile, the happy memory of last night suffused him. He wondered if she, too, upon awakening, would still feel the sensual aftermath of their lovemaking.

As his gaze held on her, he saw her eyes flutter open. After an instant, they opened wide. She seemed to know where she was, and who was with her, because she searched for him at once. She found him regarding her so lovingly, that her lips curled upward, and she stretched her arms out for him.

Brandon went into her arms, pressing his mouth to hers, and then working his kisses down her neck to her breast, where he circled the nipple with his tongue.

‘I know what I’d like before breakfast, darling,’ he whispered.

She reached down beneath the blanket and put her hand

between his legs, taking hold of him. ‘I think I know what I’d like, too,’ she said softly.

His hand grabbed the top edge of the blanket and stripped it away from her.

That moment their passion was interrupted by the sound of a distant thunderclap. Or what sounded as loud as a thunderclap.