Bethel's Meadow (14 page)

If Warren was offended by my playfulness, he didn’t show it. Angelica, on the other hand, almost spewed wine through her nose laughing.

“Oh darling,” she said to her husband. Every man was darling tonight. “And he has a delightful sense of humor, too.” She looked at me and purred, and then said, “Warren my dear, please excuse us for a few moments, if you would.” Good old Warren turned tail and scrammed like a good little puppy. He seemed happy, though, just as any man would who was unburdened by a conscience. Angelica reached for my free hand and caressed it. “I’m very much interested in fucking your brains out, my darling Mr. Smith.”

“Uh huh,” I said. I wasn’t stunned or taken aback. I already had a feeling things were going to get weird. Besides, I was drunk anyway. “I think I’d like to fuck your brains out as well.” It was all I could think of to say. What was I supposed to do? Comment on the stock market? And, after saying it, I felt quite titillated. The naughty side of me was really getting into this shit.

“I have spoken with Samantha about this,” Angelica said. She was one cool customer. Nothing I could say was going to faze her. And truthfully, I was attracted to her. I noticed she was quite petite. I just love ballsy brunettes with tiny figures and silicone tits.

She continued: “As you well know, there is an after-party this evening.” No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t know that. But I let her continue: “This after-party has different rules than the usual functions we attend.” Okay, they were swingers. I didn’t have to ask. “The rules that normally apply do not apply tonight. This evening it is anything goes. If you want to touch me you have my permission, and my husband’s as well, to do so. There is no quid pro quo. Samantha never swaps, and even when she was married she didn’t much care for the lifestyle. The point is, she only likes to watch, as does my husband.”

“Uh huh,” I said again. I have to admit: I was getting a hard-on.

And she went on: “Tonight we will have an upstairs bedroom to ourselves, just the four of us. It has been prearranged. The rules are simple: there are no rules. If Samantha changes her mind and, for instance, offers her breasts to be sucked by either me or my husband, it will be her decision. She may offer to give my husband head. However, she would never go past that point. They watch us while we fuck, and we watch them while they play with one another.”

“Uh huh.”

“Does the proposed scenario meet with your approval? Sam mentioned that you would be willing, provided the idea was presented to you by me first.”

“Fucking-A hell yes I’m interested,” I said, rather enthusiastically. “I am all over this shit.” In that short burst of craziness I had gulped down all of my drink. And brothers and sisters, I really needed every drop of it to stay sane now. “When does this happiness occur? I’d like to set my cell phone alarm for it, in case someone else is giving me a blow job when the magic moment arrives.”

She giggled and reached for my thigh, petting it like it was a fucking Chihuahua. “After those not invited to the special event have departed, whenever that will be, is when the
real
party will begin.” She leaned over and kissed me on the lips, slipping me the tongue in the process, right there in front of God and everybody. But as she stood and walked away, I noticed that nobody gave a shit about what had just occurred, and I doubted that God was in the building. I was looking around again for Allen Funt, but he wasn’t there either.

I thought about Joy Behar to make my hard-on go away, which took all of five seconds. I then shot out of my chair to go outside where I interrupted Samantha and her potential recruit.

“What the bloody fuck?” I said, ignoring the CEO. He excused himself, and the entire back deck cleared in an instant. I must have had smoke coming out of my ears, but that was better than having cocaine coming out of my nose.

“Darling, I—”

“I’m
darling
all of a sudden?” I shouted. “Have you been snorting the same shit as half of those assholes inside?”

“Listen to me,” she said defensively. She was smiling, though, trying to keep up appearances. “This is just an extension of what I have been giving you since we met. I am helping to expand your . . . horizons.”

“You mean you want to fuck me up as bad as you’ve fucked up Sidebottom?”

“Calm down, baby,” she said, patting me on the chest. “I enjoy you so much that I wanted to share you with my close friend Angelica. I’ve told her how awesome you are in bed, and about that monster cock of yours. Baby, I want you to put it inside of her, and to do to her what you do to me. God, that would turn me on so much and make me so hot and wet.” She spoke all of this madness with the earnestness of a Baptist minister. She then kissed me and slipped her tongue into my mouth (two different tongues in less than a minute—a new record for me), creating a suction so strong I thought I was going to get sucked down her windpipe.

Dammit, I was getting a hard-on again. Let me tell you, it’s rather difficult to feign righteous indignation about
anything
when you have a hard-on the size of the Washington Monument going. I was also completely floored by what she had just said. I apparently didn’t have enough alcohol in me to absorb that particular shock to the system.

And then, wouldn’t you know it, Sidebottom opens the sliding glass door and pops his head out. “Hi guys. I know I’m early, but I want to scout the talent for the . . .” He turned around to make sure no one was listening. Then he turned back and whispered, “The you-know-what.”

Samantha kissed me on the cheek. “Walter, you talk to Smith while I go inside and mingle.” And off she went.

After letting Samantha pass, Sidebottom stepped outside and slid the door closed behind him. “Dude,” he said to me, “this is so fucking awesome. Sam has told me for years about these after-parties, but this is the first time she’s invited me to one. I am so pumped.”

Sidebottom looked like he was high. I shrugged my shoulders and began to walk past him, but he stopped me.

“Don’t fuck this up, man,” he said. “You may never get a chance like this again in your life. This stuff is so hot!”

“No shit, Wally, have you been hitting the coke, or maybe just the whacky weed?”

He held up his hands and shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. I just had a little twist with my girl tonight to get me fired up. You should try it sometime.”

“Jesus Christ, what is happening to you?”

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you, okay?” He tapped his finger on my chest. “I am so jealous of you about Sam that it makes me want to puke. I’ve always wanted to fuck her.”

“Brother, listen to me,” I said, backing him up to the glass. “You just overstepped your bounds. You fuck up like that again and I promise you I will kick your ass from here to next Sunday.”

I didn’t give him a chance to respond or to defend himself. I went back inside and headed for the bar. I told the bartender to keep hitting me until the party was over. I was going to sit my ass right there until everyone left. I was going to see just how far Samantha would go with things, if she’d really do something like this. Maybe she was just putting me to the test.

…

Two hours passed and I was still seated at the bar. I was inebriated to the point that the room appeared to be spinning a bit. I was deep in conversation with the bartender. He had a French accent and he’d told me he was a sommelier-in-training. For that entire time he schooled me on the finer points of winemaking, followed by a helpful primer on how to properly pair wine with cuisine. He was definitely far more interesting than almost all of the rich and famous in attendance.

There’s no denying I was intrigued and turned on by the thought of having sex with another woman, especially while Samantha was watching. But I hated myself at the same time for feeling that way. On the one hand it seemed morally reprehensible, and on the other hand it seemed like a wonderful opportunity. Live a little, I told myself. Try something new.

The crowd was thinning out a bit as it neared one a.m. Amidst the band’s somber rendition of “Bartender’s Blues” I could now begin to hear whispers about the after-party. The talk was confined to the select few. Angelica had walked past me a dozen or more times, flashing me the most seductive come-hither looks in the history of mankind. My morality was caving into the pressure exerted by my prurient desires. My moral resolve was fading and fading fast. I was going to do this.

But I had one last hope. I peeled my ass from the bar stool and headed for one of the bathrooms. I closed the door behind me and locked it. I didn’t want any crazies following me in, offering me a twist of cocaine or a blow job. Some asshole had flipped the toilet paper roll back to the same disappointing state I had corrected earlier. After I quickly remedied that, I got on my knees and prayed.

“Dear God: I’m such an asshole. I’m the weakest man on the planet. All I ask right now is that if You’re there, if You really exist, just please, please give me a sign. I’ve been down here walking around depressed and confused for nearly forty damned years without ever hearing a thing from You. I think I’m only asking for a small favor here. I’m not asking You for money, nor am I asking You to help me get laid, like that time I did when I was twenty and still a virgin. No, I just want a sign from You, just one sign. Let me know You’re there.”

Later, back at the bar, a contrite Sidebottom approached me, flashing the peace sign. “I’m sorry, bro. I was just a little jazzed there. You were right: I was out of line.”

I told Sidebottom to beat it and contemplated my whisky, wondering if the Big Man was going to come through for me. At about two, Samantha came to my side and gave me a hug.

“You’re not going to believe this,” she said. Her smile was so tender and warm. She had never really smiled at me that way before.

“What?”

“The host’s teenage kids came home unexpectedly just a few minutes ago,” she said. “They were supposed to spend the night at a friend’s house, but the friend got sick and the boys came on home.” She patted me on the back. “Let’s go home, darling. The after-party has been canceled.”

15

“
G
OD HAD NOTHING TO do with it,” Samantha said as we lay in her bed. “It was just a coincidence, that’s all.”

I wasn’t in the mood to fight about it. It was almost noon and neither one of us had been to sleep. Samantha said that between three and five a.m. we’d had wild monkey sex, but I had no memory of it. I thought I had fallen to sleep. If she was being straight with me, the truth was I had blacked out from a serious overdose of alcohol.

“Don’t ever doubt the power of the Big Man,” I said. “I just learned of His power a few hours ago. Because of my request to Him, good prevailed over evil.”

Samantha rolled to her back and sighed in frustration. “God, Smith, after some of the things we’ve done in bed, I know you’re not that much of a prude. And what right do you have to be so judgmental?”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I said. I looked out the window and the sun was shining brightly, which really did nothing to brighten my spirits. I wanted it to rain so that I might be able to sleep. But, with Mean Mister Sun out there, it wasn’t going to happen.

“Okay,” she said, “let’s change the subject.” She retrieved my manuscript and her reading glasses from her nightstand. She sat up with her back against the bed frame and put on the lenses. “I’ve read your book and I have made some notes, mostly pertaining to grammar and sentence structure. I also noted some things I thought were bullshit and needed to be changed.”

“It’s all shit,” I said flatly.

“No, it’s not shit.” She punched me in the arm. “Don’t be so negative. It’s a great book, Smith, as far as detective novels go. If I had to guess I’d say you were influenced by John Sandford and the guy who wrote those Spenser novels. Um . . .”

“Robert Parker,” I said. “And yeah, I’ve read every Lucas Davenport and Spenser novel. But I’m not Sandford or Parker, and nobody is going to buy my book. I wrote it for fun. Sidebottom, on the other hand, says he’s writing a book just so he can get laid more often. I’m still trying to convince him of the folly of that notion.”

“I’m going to find you an agent,” she said. “Whether you like it or not, I’m going to get this book published.”

I closed my eyes and tried to relax. I rolled over to my side, away from Samantha, and said, “Sleep is better than sex. If I don’t get any sleep I’m going to go completely insane. Insane, I tell you, completely insane.”

“Then take the goddamned pills,” she said. “Quit your bitching and just take your sedatives and hide away from the world.” She hopped out of bed and went to her closet. She continued to babble: “You know what’s bullshit? This whole elaborate charade of you being a manic-depressive. It’s just an excuse you have used your whole life to escape reality and responsibility.”

“The doctor is in,” I said. “How about shutting the bloody fuck up.”

“Psychiatry is one hundred percent bullshit,” she declared. “That’s why I’ve mostly gotten out of it, so I don’t have to deal with pathetic pantywaists like—”

Samantha stopped herself, took a deep breath, and stepped to the foot of the bed. She stood before me, completely nude. As beautiful a sight as I might have otherwise found it, I now felt completely alienated from her. She had now gone way too far.