Sabbath’s Theater (42 page)

Suck it. Suck it really hard. I want to suck your balls. I want to lick your balls. Oh, God.

And what else?

Oh, I just want you to squeeze me. Then I want you to start pumping me.

Pump you? I’m pumping you right now. Tell me what you want.

I want you to pump me. Oh, I want you inside me.

What are you doing now?

I’m on my stomach. I’m masturbating. I want you to suck my breasts.

I’m sucking on them right now. I’m sucking your tits now.

Oh, God.

What else do you want me to do to you?

Oh, God. I’m going to come.

You’re going to come?

I want to. I want you here. I want you on top of me. I want you on top of me right now.

I’m on top of you.

Oh. God. Oh, God. I have to stop.

Why do you have to stop?

Because—I’m afraid. I’m afraid to not be able to hear.

I thought no one was coming back. I thought he was playing basketball.

Well, you never know. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God, this is awful. I have to stop. I want your cock. Pumping me hard. Digging into me. Oh, God. What are you doing right now?

I have my cock in my hand.

You squeezing it and rubbing it? I want you to rub it. Tell me. I want my mouth on it. I want to suck it. Oh, God, I want to kiss it. I want to put your cock in my ass.

What do you want to do with my cock right now?

I want to suck it right now. I want to be between your legs. You pull my head.

Hard?

No. Just gently. And then I’ll move around. Let me suck you.

I’ll let you. If you say please, I’ll let you.

Oh, God. This is torture.

Is it? You got your finger in your cunt?

No.

It’s not torture. Put your finger in your cunt,
(bleep)
. Put your finger in your cunt.

Okay.

Put your finger right up inside your cunt.

Oh, God, it’s so hot.

Put it up there. Now move it up and down.

Oh, God.

Move it up and down,
(bleep)
. Move it up and down,
(bleep)
. Move it up and down,
(bleep)
. Fuck it,
(bleep)
. Come on, fuck it. Come on, fuck it.

Oh, God! Oh, God!

Go ahead, fuck it.

Oh! Oh! Oh! Mickey! Oh, my God! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Jesus Christ! Oh, my God! Jesus Christ! I want you so bad! Uhhh! Uhhh! Oh, God. . . . I just came.

Did you come?

Yeah.

Was that good?

Yeah.

Want to come again?

Uh-uh.

No?

No. I want you to come.

You want to make me come?

Yeah. I’m gunna suck your cock.

You tell me how you’re going to make me come.

I’m gunna suck you. Slowly. Up and down. Slowly move my lips up and down your cock. Move my tongue. I’m gunna suck off the top of your cock. Really slowly. Ummm. Oh, God. . . . What do you want me to do?

Suck my balls.

Okay. Okay.

I want you to put your tongue on my ass. Want to do that?

Okay.

Make my asshole very excited with your tongue.

Yeah. I can do that.

Put your finger up my ass.

Okay.

Did you ever do that?

Nooo. Uh-uh.

Take your finger while we’re fucking. Gently put it on my asshole. And then fuck my ass with your finger. Do you think you’d like that?

Yeah. I want to make you come.

Play with it with your hand. And when a little drop comes out, you can smear the head of it with the drop. You like that?

Yeah.

Did you ever fuck a woman?

No.

Didn’t you?

No.

No? Just have to ask, you know.

(Laughter)

Nobody at school ever tried to fuck you? No woman ever tried to fuck you in the four-college program?

Ummm, no.

Really?

Ummm, no. Not that I haven’t thought about it.

You have thought about it?

Yeah.

What do you think?

I think about being on top of a woman and sucking her breasts. And putting our cunts together—and rubbing. Kissing.

Never did it?

Uh-uh.

Did you ever fuck two men?

Uh-uh.

No
?

Uh-uh.
(Laughing)
Did you?

Not that I recall. You ever think about that?

Yeah.

About fucking two men.

Yeah.

You have fantasies about it?

Yeah. I guess so. I think about just sort of anonymous men. Fucking.

Did you ever fuck a man and a woman?

No.

Did you ever think about that?

I don’t know.

No?

Maybe. Yeah. I guess so. Why are
you
asking all the questions?

Well, you can ask me questions if you want.

Did you ever fuck a man?

No.

Never?

No.

Really?

Yes.

Did you ever fuck two women?

Uh-huh.

Did you ever fuck a prostitute?

Uh-huh.

You did? Oh, my God
(laughing)
.

Yeah, I fucked two women.

Did you like it?

I loved it. I love it.

Really?

Yeah. They loved it, too. It’s fun. I fucked the two of them. They fucked each other. And they both sucked me. And then I would suck one of them. While the other sucked me. That was good. I had my face in her cunt. And the other one would be sucking on my cock. And then the first one would be sucking on the other one’s cunt. So everybody would be sucking everybody else. And sometimes one of them sucks you and makes you hard and then she puts it in the other one’s cunt. How does that strike you?

It’s good.

I like to watch them suck each other. That’s always exciting. They make each other come. There are lots of things to do, aren’t there?

Yeah.

Frighten you?

Yeah.

Does it really?

A little bit. But I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you. I don’t want to fuck you with someone else.

I’m not asking you to. I’m just answering your questions. I just want to fuck you. I want to suck your cunt. Suck your cunt for an hour. Oh,
(bleep)
, I want to come all over you.

Come on my breasts.

You like that?

Yes.

You’re a very hot girl, aren’t you? Tell me what your cunt looks like now.

Uh-uh.

No? You’re not going to tell me what it looks like?

Uh-uh.

I can imagine it.

(Laughter)

It’s a beautiful cunt.

You know what happened?

What?

I had a gynecologist appointment. And I thought the gynecologist was coming on to me.

Was he?

She
.

She was?

It was very different from anything that had ever happened to me before.

Tell me.

I don’t know. She was just, like . . . She was very pretty. She was beautiful. She put the speculum in and she said, “Oh, my God, you have so much stuff in here.” And she kept saying it. And she sort of lifted out this huge glob. I don’t know. It was weird.

She touch you?

Yeah. She put her hand in me. I mean her fingers to do the exam.

Make you excited?

Yeah. She touched this . . . I have a little burn on my thigh, and she touched it, and she asked me what happened. I don’t know. It was different. And that’s when . . .

That’s when what?

Nothing.

Tell me.

I just felt really good. I thought I was crazy.

You thought you were crazy?

Yeah.

You’re not crazy. You’re a hot kid from Hazleton and you’re excited. Maybe you should fuck a girl.

Uh-uh (
laughing
).

You can do whatever you want, you see? You want to make me come now?

Yeah. I’m all sweaty. It’s cold here, too. Yeah, I want you to come. I want to suck your cock. I want it so bad.

Keep going.

You have your hand on it?

You bet.

Good. Are you rubbing it?

I’m jerking it.

You’re jerking it?

I’m pumping it up and down. I’m pumping it up and down. I’m going to take my balls out. Oh, it feels good,
(bleep)
, it feels good.

Where do you want me?

I want your cunt to sit right down on my cock. To slide on top of it. And to just start pumping up and down. To sit on it and go up on it.

Squeeze my breasts?

I’ll squeeze’em.

Squeeze my nipples?

Oh, I’ll bite on your nipples. Your beautiful pink nipples. Oh,
(bleep)
.

Oh, it’s filling up with come now. It’s filling up with hot, thick come. It’s filling up with hot white come. It’s going to shoot out. Want me to come in your mouth?

Yeah. I want to suck you right now. Very fast. I want to put you in my mouth. Oh, God. I’m sucking it hard.

Suck it,
(bleep)
. Suck me.

Faster and faster?

Suck me,
(bleep)
.

Oh, God.

Suck me,
(bleep)
. Want to suck my dick?

Yes, I want to suck you. I want to suck your cock.

Suck my stiff cock. Hard, stiff cock. Suck my hard, stiff cock.

Oh, God.

Oh, it’s full of come,
(bleep)
. Oh,
(bleep)
, suck it now. Ahha! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! . . . Oh, my goodness. . . . Are you still there?

Yeah.

That’s good. I’m glad it’s you who’s still there.

(Laughter)

Oh, sweetheart.

You’re an animal.

An animal? You think so?

Yeah.

A human animal?

Yeah.

And you? What are you?

A bad girl.

That’s a good thing to be. It’s better than the opposite. You think you have to be a good girl?

Well, it’s what people expect.

Well, you be realistic and let them be unrealistic. Jesus. There’s a mess here.

(Laughter)

Oh, lovely
(bleep)
.

Are you still alone?

Yes. I’m still alone.

When’s your wife coming back?

²
“Give strong drink unto him that is perishing, and wine unto the distressed in soul: Let him drink and forget his misery and remember his sorrow no more!” (Proverbs 31.6-7)

I
T WAS
Michelle Cowan, Norman’s wife, who’d got the fifty tablets of Voltaren sent over from a pharmacy on Broadway and written him a prescription for four refills, and so he was in great form over dinner that evening because he knew that he’d soon be getting some relief from the pain in his hands, and also because Michelle was nothing like so gaunt as she’d looked in the Polaroid photos hidden beneath her lingerie along with that envelope of a hundred hundred-dollar bills. She was a nicely fleshed-out woman very much in the mold of Drenka. And she laughed so easily—so quick to be amused and entertained by him. And she’d done nothing at all to indicate distress after he stealthily hunted down beneath the table her unshod foot and lightly laid upon it the sole of his slipper.

The slippers were on loan from Norman. Norman had also sent his secretary out to an army-navy store to buy Sabbath a change of clothes. Two pairs of khakis, a couple of work shirts, some socks, undershirts, and briefs were all in a big paper bag on Debby’s bed when they got home from the funeral. Even handkerchiefs. He looked forward to organizing his new things in among Debby’s later that night.

Michelle’s hidden Polaroids had to be at least five years old. Mementos of an old affair. Ready for a new one? She looked ripish all right, though maybe because she’d let herself go, gotten heavier, figuring it was over with men. Probably about Drenka’s
age but living with a husband who, of course, in no way resembled Drenka’s Matija. Though sooner or later all husbands resemble Drenka’s Matija, do they not?

The previous night Norm had described the antidepressant he was taking as not a “dick-friendly” drug. So here there was nobody fucking her, that much was clear. Not that Sabbath was about to take up the slack if she was getting a thousand bucks a shot. Though maybe it wasn’t men who gave her the money but Michelle who gave money to men. Young men. In her laugh was the lowdown trace of a coarse rumble that made him want to believe that. Or maybe the cash was for the day she packed up and left.

The plan to leave. Who didn’t have one? It evolves as tortuously as the wills of propertied people, rewrites and revisions every six months. I’ll go stay with this one; no, I’ll go stay with that one; this hotel, that hotel, this woman, that woman, two different women, with
no
woman, no woman ever again! I’ll open a secret account, hock the ring, sell the bonds. . . . Then they get to be sixty, sixty-five, seventy, and what difference does it make anymore? They’re going to leave all right, but this time they’re
really
going to leave. For some people this is the best thing to be said for death: finally out of the marriage. And without having to wind up in a hotel. Without having to live through those miserable Sundays alone in a hotel. It’s the Sundays that keep these couples together. As if Sundays alone could be any worse.

No, this is not a good marriage. You wouldn’t be far off guessing that much no matter whose table you happened to be eating at, but Sabbath could tell from that laugh—if not from the fact that he was being permitted to play footsie with her only ten minutes into the meal—that something had turned out wrong. In her laugh was the recognition that she was no longer in charge of the forces at work. In her laugh was the admission of her captivity: to Norman, to menopause, to work, to aging, to everything that could only deteriorate further. Nothing unforeseen that happens is likely ever again to be going to be good. What is more, Death is over in its corner doing deep knee bends and one day
soon will leap across the ring at her as mercilessly as it leaped upon Drenka—because even though she’s at her heaviest ever, weighing in at around one thirty-five, one forty, Death is Two-Ton Tony Galento and Man Mountain Dean. The laugh said that everything had shifted on her while her back was turned, while she was facing the other way, the
right
way, her arms open wide to the dynamic admixture of demands and delights that had been the daily bread of her thirties and forties, to all that assiduous activity, all the extravagant, holidaylike living—so inexhaustibly
busy
. . . with the result that in no more time than it took for the Cowans to cross the ocean on the Concorde for a long weekend in Paris, she was fifty-five and seared with hot flashes, and her daughter’s was now the female form exuding the magnetic currents. The laugh said that she was sick of staying, sick of plotting leaving, sick of unsatisfied dreams, sick of satisfied dreams, sick of adapting, sick of not adapting, sick of just about everything except existing. Exulting in existing while being sick of everything—
that’s
what was in that laugh! A semidefeated, semiamused, semiaggrieved, semiamazed, seminegative, hilarious big laugh. He liked her, liked her enormously. Probably just as insufferable a mate as he was. He could discern in her, whenever her husband spoke, the desire to be just a little cruel to Norman, saw her sneering at the best of him, at the very best things in him. If you don’t go crazy because of your husband’s vices, you go crazy because of his virtues. He’s on Prozac because he can’t win. Everything is leaving her except for her behind, which her wardrobe informs her is broadening by the season—and except for this steadfast prince of a man marked by reasonableness and ethical obligation the way others are scarred by insanity or illness. Sabbath understood her state of mind, her state of life, her state of suffering: dusk is descending, and sex, our greatest luxury, is racing away at a tremendous speed,
everything
is racing off at a tremendous speed and you wonder at your folly in having ever turned down a single squalid fuck. You’d give your right arm for one if you are a babe like this. It’s not unlike the Great Depression, not unlike going broke overnight after years of raking it in.
“Nothing unforeseen that happens,” the hot flashes inform her, “is likely ever again to be going to be good.” Hot flashes mockingly mimicking the sexual ecstasies. Dipped, she is, in the very fire of fleeting time. Aging seventeen days for every seventeen seconds in the furnace. He clocked her on Morty’s Benrus. Seventeen seconds of menopause oozing out all over her face. You could baste her in it. And then it just stops like a tap that’s been shut. But while she is in it, he can see how it seems to her that there’s no bottom to it—that this time they’re out to cook her like Joan of Arc.