Destiny (43 page)

He put the glass down, and she did. There was a silence. He looked across the room at her as if what she said surprised him. Then he smiled slowly and took a long pull on the cigar.

"Sixty dollars?"

"It would be a loan, of course. I'd pay you back, every cent. It's just that I need it now. I ... I need it for a friend."

"Sure you do. Anyone I know?"

"No. No—you don't know them."

"Well now—let's see."

He reached inside his white jacket and drew out a fat billfold made of crocodile skin. There was a thick wad of notes inside it. He looked at the notes, then at her, then he closed the billfold and put it away.

"Come here, honey."

268 • SALLY BEAUMAN

He patted the seat beside him, and Helene got up slowly and moved across. As she sat down, he took her hand.

"You going to be nice to me tonight, Helene? You going to make me feel happy? You do that, and I'll be honored to help you out. I told you. I like to give my little girl presents, you know that. . . ." He took another long swig of the bourbon. His hand felt sweaty though the room was cool. Gently but insistently he lowered her hand and pressed it against the thick muscles of his thigh.

"Give me a kiss, Helene. Just one little kiss ..."

Helene leaned forward. His lips looked full and red; and he had that glazed look in his eyes again. Carefully she pressed her mouth against his.

"Not like that, honey . . ."He shifted a little in his seat. "Open your mouth, you know the way I like to kiss you. More. Yes. Oh, honey, Uke that ..."

She could taste the bourbon on his lips. His moustache was rubbing her skin. He tilted her back, leaning against her with his full weight, his hand moving up over her dress. His tongue moved in her mouth, deep and warm.

"Honey, what are you wearing under that dress?" He squeezed her breast playfully, so the wire cups of the bra bit into her skin. "I think you bought something else besides the dress, something else to please me. Did you do that, Helene? Did you?"

Helene lowered her eyes. Her heart was beating very fast, and her throat felt tight and dry.

"Maybe ..."

Her voice came out low and husky, and she saw the answering response in his eyes as she looked up. It excited her, and confused her, the quickness of that reaction, the ease with which she could evoke it.

"You're a little fox, you know that? A cute, wicked little fox. You know just how to drive a man wild. Where'd you learn that, Helene? A little girl like you." He lowered his mouth to her neck and nuzzled wetly at the skin beneath her ear. "You like it, don't you?" he whispered thickly. "You pretend not to sometimes, but I know. Tell me, Helene, tell me you Uke it when I kiss my own little girl. ..."

"I do like that. I like it when you kiss me."

"And when I touch you? You like that too, honey?"

"Sometimes." She looked away. "Maybe I shouldn't."

"Now, don't you say that; don't you think it, you hear?" He lifted his hand and began to stroke her throat. "If it feels good, it feels good. No sense in denying what you feel, honey. You know I'm just crazy about you. You know I'd never hurt you. And besides, you trust me, honey. I know

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you do. You wouldn't come to me for help if you didn't trust me, I know that."

His voice had been soft; now it took on a slightly hard edge. For the first time, Helene felt a dart of alarm, a sense that things were slipping out of her control. He began to kiss her again, and to stroke the full curve of her breasts under the thin cotton dress. Then, abruptly, adjusting his trousers, he stood up, just at the moment when Helene had decided she must tell him to stop. He took her hand.

"It's hot in here, don't you think? Let's go someplace cooler, more comfortable. ..."

He half-led, half-pulled her out of the room, across the hall, and up the wide stairs. If he heard her protests, he gave no sign of it. On the wide galleried landing, he pulled her against him tightly, his breath coming fast, one hand fumbling for the handle of a door. He pushed it back and drew her inside.

They were in his wife's bedroom. Helene recognized it at once, even after all these years. The blinds were up, and moonlight striped the floor. It gleamed on the triple looking-glass, the heavy silver brushes, the cut-glass bottles. There were white linen dust sheets over the upholstered chairs. Ned moved away from her and roughly pulled off one of them. He turned, and tossed it across his wife's bed, over the embroidered silk cover. He adjusted it fussily, smoothing out the folds, so there was a square of white linen right in the middle of the silk. Then he started to undo his belt.

Helene stood very still. For a moment, she could feel the clutch of bobby pins in her hand, could smell the hair tongs, could see the sallow skin, the powder caking in the heat. She lifted her hands.

"I can't. What are you doing? Ned—please . . ."

"Look, honey, let's not play games anymore, all right?" He lurched sHghtly, his mouth smiling, his voice filled with a sudden impatience.

"You want a present, you just be nice to me, all right? Real nice, the way I know you can be."

His fingers were on his fly; she heard the zipper as he moved toward her. He laughed and reached for her hand.

"Come on now, Helene. Give me your hand. Don't tease now. Don't you know? Men don't like women who tease. That's it. Now touch me, honey. Go on, slip your hand right inside my pants. Nice and slow." He gave a grunt of pleasure.

"That's it. That's it, honey. That feel good? Feel big? You see what you do to me now. . . ."

He had her hand trapped between his palm and the thrust of his flesh. The heat of his skin, the size of his erection, terrified her. She couldn't move, and he seemed to interpret her silent stillness as acquiescence. He

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drew her over to the bed, lifted her in his arms, pushed her back onto the white square of sheeting. Then he began to take oflf his clothes, taking his time, as if he enjoyed stripping in front of her.

Helene sat absolutely still on the sheet and watched him. Her mind stopped all its dart;ing and flurrying, and became hard and cold and clear. She understood, completely, and with a sense of calm detachment, as if this were happening to someone else.

He had been leading up to this for months, waiting perhaps for the moment when his wife was away. Asking him to lend her the money had given him an additional excuse, that was all. Now, she saw, he felt perfectly justified in what he was doing. It was a bargain, an exchange. She had accepted a present; now she wanted money, and he wanted this. Love was not involved, of course not—how stupid she had been. Just sex and commerce. Sixty dollars worth of a good time.

He kept his boxer shorts on. Helene looked at him. Undressed, his body was powerful and square, thickening around the waist, with the beginnings of a paunch. There was a mat of thick black hair across his chest, narrowing to a line that disappeared beneath the waistband of the shorts. Compared to the tan on his face and neck and arms, the rest of his body was startlingly white. His erection made the shorts pucker and bulge. He had his hands on his hips, and a smile of absolute confidence on his mouth. Helene looked at him and knew she hated him with all her heart.

"You ever seen a man hke this before?"

"No."

He grinned. "Let's make you feel a Uttle more comfortable, okay, honey?"

His fingers reached for the zipper of her frock, tangled in her hair. As he undid it, his hands shook a little. He eased it off over her head and tossed it onto the floor. Then he kneeled back on the bed and just looked at her.

"Jesus. Sweet Jesus."

He didn't bother to undo the bra. He just lifted her breasts higher in the lacy cups so the nipples were exposed. Then he pushed her back and began to suck. Half-kneeling, half-crouching, he burrowed his head against her flesh. Helene lay quite still; she watched him and felt him from a long way away, a million miles away, the other side of the moon. With a part of her mind she had not known she possessed, she was calculating where she'd make him stop. At first he was too busy to notice how quietly she lay. He was too busy licking and sucking and probing. His fingers moved down, flickered across her smooth stomach, hesitated, then moved on down. They glanced across the sheer nylon, felt for the pubic mound, tweaked the nylon aside, gripped her painfully by the pubic hair the way a man might grab a dog by the scruff of the neck.

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"Part your legs, honey. Just a little bit now. I won't hurt you. I want to give my little girl a good time. Let me feel, let me touch. Is that nice, honey? That feel good when I touch you there?"

One finger inserted between the lips, searching, pressing too hard. He jiggled the finger about.

"You're still dry, honey. Wait awhile now." He gave a low laugh. "A woman's just like a car, you know that? Have to give them time to warm up."

He jiggled the finger about some more, and Helene winced.

"Come on now, honey, you're not tryin', you know that? Here." He withdrew his hand abruptly, and reached for hers. "You feel me now, get to know me. Feel how warmed up I am, how hot ..."

He pulled her hand in through the slit in the boxer shorts, guiding it roughly over the smooth hard skin of the shaft, down to the loose skin, the swing of his balls. They felt damp and crumpled, round and hard inside, like little rocks. The shaft of his penis dipped and lifted as she touched. Helene shut her eyes.

"You want to take a closer look, honey? See the goods?" She could tell from his voice he was smiling, could feel him easing the boxer shorts down over his hips.

"Open your eyes now, honey. Take a good long look."

Helene looked. His flesh looked red and swollen. The tip of his penis was like an eye, she thought. A small unwinking eye; at its center, one moist wet pearl of white.

"You can kiss me down there, honey. It feels real nice." His hand closed around himself, as if to display himself the better. A tremor ran through his body.

"Honey ... I can't hold back much longer. You know what I want." His voice was thick and indistinct; he was trying to straddle her, two thick thighs either side of her waist. Helene raised her clear blue eyes and looked him directly in the face.

"I'm not going all the way."

The words came out quite distinctly. She saw his eyes widen for a second in surprise. But it was only for an instant; his face was flushed, his hps slack, his eyes purposeful again. It was as though he didn't see her, she thought detachedly.

"Sure, sure. Lie back . . ." He was panting. He pushed her back roughly, his hands fumbling for her breasts, cupping them up and together so they made a narrow channel of flesh for the shaft of his penis. Then he began to rub himself, back and forth, back and forth, with an angry erratic motion. Above her, his face contorted and swayed.

272 • SALLY BEAUMAN

"Like that. Like that. That feels good. So good. Jesus — don't move now. You're so big. Just a Httle girl and so . . ."

For a second the friction increased frantically, furtively. Then it stopped; his body went rigid, and his breath was expelled in a groan. Helene had shut her eyes; it was all very very quick. Now she opened them in sudden alarm; he sounded as if he were dying. Then she felt wetness spurt across her breasts and throat. Then he slumped on top of her, breathing hard.

After a few minutes, she pushed him a little, and he rolled off her. Carefully she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She looked back at the square of white sheeting. It had been accurately placed; no mess on the silk of his wife's bed. How many times had he done that before—and why there? She didn't care, but she felt coldly curious.

"I should go home now."

He sat up, pulling up the boxer shorts. "Sure. But we better clean you up a bit first."

It was he who fetched the tissues and rubbed at her skin and hair. Quite without embarrassment, she noted. "Best skin lotion in the world." He grinned. "That's what they say, honey."

Helene put on her dress and zipped it up. She waited silently while he got into his shirt and pants. "Could I have the money now?"

Not "present"—money. She said it quite clearly. She wanted him to know she understood, that she wasn't deceived. Above all, she wanted him to know that she had felt nothing. He had bought himself a good time, that was all.

He frowned. She could see he was offended, but he tried to pass it off.

"You've got kind of a blunt way of putting things." He hesitated, his hand on his jacket. "That all it meant to you? Come on now, honey?"

"I thought you said you liked to give me presents?"

This time she couldn't keep the scorn out of her voice, and he heard it. His face darkened. Very deliberately he took out his billfold. He counted the notes out, tens, onto his wife's dressing table. Thirty. Forty. Fifty. Fifty-five. He gave her a cunning smile and put the billfold back into his pocket.

"I need sixty."

"Five on account. You get that next time you're nice to me."

Helene looked at him. Then she walked stiffly across the room and picked up the money. He caught her hand.

"Jesus—you're something, you know that? I don't believe this. I've seen more tact in a New Orleans cat house. ..." His fingers tightened around her wrist. "Come on now, honey—why are you acting this way? I did

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something to upset you, or what? Helene, talk to me, say something. You enjoyed yourself, didn't you? I gave you a good time. ..."

"I have to go now." She freed her wrist and turned. She was starting to shake, and she wanted to get out of the room before he noticed.

"Helene . . ."

There was a note of pleading in his voice. He hfted his hand to her, and she looked back at him for a moment.

"Helene, honey, please. Wait a minute. . . ."

"I won't!" Suddenly the anger and the hurt overflowed. She stamped her foot. "I hate you. I hate myself. You shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't."

Her voice rose, and choked. She knew she sounded like a child. She also knew she would never be a child again. She turned quickly and ran from the room.