Matala (13 page)

“Flatter yourself.”

“No, I'm just saying.”

“I don't like it other ways.”

“Whatever,” I said and began to undress.

She pulled the dress on over her head.

“So why are you getting dressed?”

She looked at me and said, “I'm not giving you anything. From now on if you want it, you'll have to take it.”

“What?”

“You'll have to take it. No more easy street.”

“Easy street? Who the fuck says that?”

She pretended to ignore me. She said, “Hmm-mm-mm, here I am, just a single girl getting dressed for Christmas Eve. All alone in her room. No men anywhere.” Then she looked at me and widened her eyes. “Oh, my God! Who are you? How did you get in here?”

“Darcy,” I said. “Hello?”

“Were you watching me get dressed? You pervert. You sicko.”

She had her arms crossed in an X over her breasts, as if the dress weren't enough to shield them.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

“I'm going to call the police,” she said, “if you don't get out of here. Don't you touch me.” She stepped toward me.

“Darcy.” When I put a hand on her arm, she acted as if I'd pushed her and fell back onto the bed.

“You son of a—I know what you're here for. Don't you dare try it.” The dress had ridden up or she'd pulled it up so that she was exposed now from the belly down.

“Is this the something different?”

“Freak,” she said.

“Listen—” I recognized the game.

“Monster,” she said.

I sat beside her. “Do you like it like this?” I put my hands on her shoulders and held her, and she made a show of trying to push me away.

“Don't…you…
dare.
”

“Is this really what you like? Will you just tell me?” It was in a way a version of Justine's game, only the converse of it.

“Asshole.”

“Bitch.”

“Freak.”

“Weirdo.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck
you.
” How strange that in a sense I had two women, and both had this need of control—one to exercise it and one to be subjected to it.

“Try it.”

I kissed her then, pushing my face to hers even though she pretended to try to turn away, and when I touched her legs, she pressed them together.

“No!” she said when I got a knee between her knees. “No!” She was getting loud now, and I worried that someone might hear and actually call the police.

“Darcy,” I said.

“Get off me!”

And in spite of myself, I felt it turn me on, felt myself harden as I forced her legs apart and pinned her arms and reached down to undo my jeans. And for a moment, I believe, I felt what Justine felt, what beguiled her so. This power over someone, sexual power, this act of quasi-raping plucked some chord that was so deep, so ancient and primal that one could hardly sense it, let alone name it. But it was there.

But that feeling, which I was suspicious of anyway, evaporated when Darcy hit me. I thought later that she'd just meant it as a movie slap, a loud crack on the cheek, but I'd somehow moved so that the heel of her hand split my lower lip badly enough that I was immediately bleeding onto her.

“Ah,” I said and sat back and held it.

“Serves you right.”

“Darcy! For Christ's sake.”

“I can feel your big animal cock,” she said and thrust up against me.

“Fuck it,” I said and got off her. This wasn't Justine binding me for pleasure. This just hurt. “Fuck the whole thing. You're nuts.”

“Sissy,” she said. “Chicken shit. Big man afraid of a little girl slap. Can't get it up?”

“Shut
up,
” I said, leaning into her face. I held one of my T-shirts against my mouth. “Just shut…the fuck…up.”

She looked at me and said, “Big baby.”

That was when I left.

T
HE
K
ORUS
C
LUB WAS LITTLE
more than a glassed-in beach room with a bar, some garden tables, and a mediocre sound system. It had a sour, moldy odor that tended to fade as the night went on. In addition to beer and ouzo, it had some better liquors that still weren't very expensive. And as the holiday had neared, the town began to fill up with travelers, students from Continental or English universities on their winter breaks, and Americans, Australians, and Canadians on longer journeys, come for the relative warmth and sun. On a good bright day, if you had a bit of a constitution, you could swim for a while in the ocean and enjoy it. It wasn't hot, but it wasn't winter, either. These newcomers rented rooms, ate the cheap food, and got drunk every night, and the Korus Club was really the only place to be, so now, on this eve of Christmas, it was wall-to-wall already by nine o'clock.

I didn't care. I tried to ignore it. I sat at the bar, sipping on a Czech Bud and nursing a neat Dewars that I dipped my lip into every now and then. I hadn't been there twenty minutes when someone sat down beside me. I was afraid it was Darcy, so I didn't look.

“Hey, mate. Bitch problems?”

Now I looked and gave a start. I looked around. “Where—”

“I mean, look at that,” Maurice said and held out his hand to show the ugly half-healed burn on his palm. “Bleedin' wenches, all of 'em.”

“When did you get here?”

“Relax, son,” Maurice said. “You're all right.” On the next stool over sat a large ugly man I had not seen before.

“That's Karl,” said Maurice.

Karl did not look up from his drink.

“Where's Justine? Have you seen her?”

“Shhh,” Maurice said. “Just listen to me. Do you know what happened to her?”

“No.”

“No idea?”

“These cops were asking about her, where she was, how I knew her, all that. They'd torn all her stuff apart. I just kind of bullshitted 'em.”

Maurice nodded, lit a cigarette, and offered me one.

“No, thanks. They'd brought my pack down and gone through it, too, but didn't find anything. We had that stuff, you know—”

“Right—”

“But the girl, Darcy? Remember her?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“She'd taken it. She was holding it, so I was clean.”

“Good thing. They didn't rifle her bag?”

“Yeah, but they didn't find anything. Not the package, either.”

“Hmm.”

“And Justine was out there, across the street. I signaled so she'd know.”

“Good lad,” Maurice said. “Very smart.”

“What happened?”

“You really don't know?”

“No.”

“This girl, the one you been shagging the shit out of all week—”

“How do you—”

“Shh. She set her up, mate. She planted the shit in Justine's pack and called the narcs. Claimed Justine was trying to sell them to her.”

“Oh,” I said. I felt dizzy for a moment. “I haven't seen the package. She had it—”

Maurice nodded. “Not especially worried about it. Where she goes, it goes, you know?”

“Yeah. I hope. What is it?”

“You don't know that, either?”

“No.”

“You don't know much, do you?”

I shook my head and said, “I'd rather not, really.”

Maurice laughed, and I felt a little better. Maybe they wouldn't kill me or even beat the shit out of me. I'd never felt comfortable around Maurice even when we were smoking the O. Something about the way he looked at you, like he was just waiting for you to make a slip so that then he could own you. And, of course, Justine had told me stories of what Maurice and his men had done to those who'd crossed him.

“Funny, funny boy,” Maurice said. “I can see what she sees in you. Don't know what you see in her. Well, that's not true. But that's not for now.”

“So what is it?”

“Oh, you might say it's an icon.”

“A what?”

“Icon. A figurine. You know, the female form and all that.”

“You mean like a statue? A sculpture?”

“Something like that.”

“That valuable, huh?”

“A steamin' fortune.”

“You stole it?”

“I didn't. Someone did, in a manner of speaking. I just make the connections, such as they are.”

“And you get a fee.”

“Now you're gettin' it.”

“I looked in her pack when she was sleeping a few days ago, and I didn't see it there. I don't know where it is. I really don't. I wish I did, Maurice. I'd tell you. I'd rather you had it than her.”

“I believe that,” Maurice said. “Not to worry, as I said. But I am gonna have to take you with me, you know.”

“Take me?”

“Just think of it as a party, lad. We'll go on up to my house.”

“What house?”

“She never told you I had a house here?”

“No.”

“Oh, yeah. Nice one. Over in Matala.” He leaned in, lowered his voice, and said, “Got a pipe and a couple balls of O up there, too. Interested? How long since you've done that?”

“A while.”

“All right then.” He straightened up and said, “Yeah, I've had this place for years. She lived there, too, once. Can't believe she never mentioned it.”

“She didn't.”

“Well, yes, I can—believe it, I mean. You got a lot to learn, son, starting with don't ever get involved with two women at the same time when one of them is named Justine.”

Karl laughed, the first sound he'd made, a single
harrgh
down into his drink.

“Right, then,” said Maurice. “Let's take a ride.”

W
HEN
J
USTINE OPENED THE DOOR
of the little hotel room and stepped inside, Little Bitch was lying on the bed, presumably where Will had left her, staring at the ceiling. She had on a black dress, and it was hiked up to her waist so that little cunny was hanging out.

“Came back for more?” the girl said. “You need it as much as I do, don't you, lover?”

“I do,” said Justine.

“Oh!” The girl scrambled up and covered herself. “Shit.” She grabbed a pillow and held it over her chest as if it would protect her. “What the fuck!” she said. “What are you doing? You just walk in?”

“I do, yes, dear. I just walk in.” Justine set down the nylon bag she was carrying, locked the door behind her, turned around the desk chair, and sat down.

“Get out of here.” Darcy sat curled into herself, against the wall.

“Or what?”

“I'll scream.”

“Oh, you may well scream, but I'm not leaving.”

“Someone will come.”

“Only me. This is a small town. The people who enforce the laws and the people who run the hotels are friendly and open to persuasion, especially when you've been around for a while. I used to live here. Maurice still does, some of the time. He has a house not too far away, at Matala. And he's very generous. They love him. So when he asks a favor—like, oh, say, ‘If you hear some screaming coming from a certain room down by the beach, ignore it, will you?'—they're only too happy to go along. Besides, it's not as if there haven't been some pretty provocative sounds coming out of here the past few days. People are used to it by now. You and the boyfriend have developed a bit of a reputation, in case you didn't know. And you might think about closing the drapes now and then.”

“Maurice is here?”

“He brought me here. I had to call him from Athens. Collect. All I had were the clothes I was wearing. But you know that.”

The girl lowered the pillow and sat up a little straighter on the bed. “I'm sorry—”

“Oh, don't even bother. We both know better.”

“Where…I mean, what happened?”

“It was a mess, that's what. We only got in here yesterday morning.”

“Why didn't you—”

“We were watching. We each had our reasons. He was really of the mind that we didn't need to disturb you if it wasn't necessary. He can be surprisingly thoughtful. I, on the other hand, am not nearly so nice. I was just watching out of a kind of prurient interest—and because, as angry as I was already, I thought I could build on it a little more, you know. Really get up a head of steam. And I've got one.”

“Will will come back here.”

Justine shook her head. “He's with Maurice.”

“Whatever you're going to do—I can get you so much money.” Darcy laid the pillow aside, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and looked levelly at Justine.

“I don't want your daddy's money.”

“You don't even know how much.”

“Nor do I care.”

“You did. You sure cared a lot in Rome. You couldn't wait to get your hands on it.”

“Well, that was a long, long time ago, wasn't it? I think we all had different priorities then. Amazing what ten days can do.”

“Shit.”

“You're not swearing in French. Have you noticed that? It happens when you're under stress. Funny how that works. Veneers—and how they fail. How the real person shows through sooner or later.”

Darcy shook her head and looked at the floor.

“Oh, come now. You know exactly what I mean. From the first, I felt it. This…recognition. You know how you feel that with someone sometimes? Your whole life can go to ruin because of it, but still you have to let it happen. That sort of thing—recognition, reunion, vibe, whatever—it doesn't happen so often. It's quite remarkable, startling, don't you think?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You're just not letting yourself admit it, but it drove you as much as it did me, all the way here.”

“I didn't come here because of you.”

“Well, yes, you did.”

“I did not.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because of Will.”

“But I told him to come here. I told you both.”

“I was just going to go. To have a trip, you know. To just not be bored. And to be with him.”

“It goes back further than that—all the way to Rome. When you came with us, you knew we were never going to deliver you to your little group in Florence.”

“I did not.”

“Yes, you did. In your heart you knew it, and you prayed that you were right.”

“You're full of shit.”

“
Merde
is a much nicer word. You really should go back to it. Even before that, though, you knew. You knew the wine was wrong, didn't you?”

“What?”

“It must've tasted funny, and it didn't look right. Bit of a bluish cast to it, no? I know you noticed. I saw you. I was so far in your head that night, I might as well have been fucking your brain.”

“You're crazy.”

“Well, not yet.”

“You don't know anything about my head.”

“Oh, I do, little girl. More than you could imagine. Far more than you know about yourself.”

Justine stood, went over to the bed, and sat down. The girl pushed herself back against the wall again, into the corner, clutched the pillow, and said, “Get away!”

“Shh, pussy. Listen.”

She looked up and said, “What?”

“I'm going to hurt you.”

“What?”

“In ways you've never imagined. Because you see, even though you've been a monstrous pain in my ass and you're an ungrateful, spoiled, nasty girl, and you stole away my boy and acted like a little whore, any one of which would be reason for me to just cut your pretty throat and have you dumped in the sea, I am going to give you what you've been wanting for so long you can't even remember when it began.”

She reached up and lifted a lock of the girl's hair and let it slide through her fingers. The girl couldn't push herself any farther back. She turned her head from one side to the other, trying to keep the hand away. And when she reached up with her own hand to move Justine's, Justine slapped it hard enough that the crack echoed from the plaster walls and the girl shrieked.

“You see?” Justine said.

“What the
fuck—”

“It'll be easier for us both if you relax. Really. You're not going anywhere. You're mine till sunrise, so you might as well make the best of it. I have a bottle of good English gin in that bag, along with my toys. Would you care for a drink?”

“Yours till sunrise for what?”

“For me to beat you.”

“Is this your sick revenge?”

“Not at all. I've been thinking about it ever since I saw you. Disciplining your lovely ass.”

“But
why?
”

“Well, because it's what I do. It's how I take my own pleasure from the world. Ask your boyfriend, if you ever see him again, about some of the scenes we put on. Mmm. He's a natural submissive. He responds to power, surrenders to it—as did Maurice. Many do. It makes them comfortable. Makes them feel as if the world is an ordered place.”

Darcy covered her face and breathed, then said, “What happens at sunrise?”

“We deliver the package.”

“I cut it open. There's nothing in it but newspaper.”

“Well, then, I guess that's not the package after all, is it?”

“It's me,” the girl said. “Isn't it?”

Justine smiled.

With a cry, Little Bitch leaped at her. With fingers arched and claws extruded, she went for the eyes. But Justine had been waiting for it. She swung her arms and deflected the thrust so that Little Bitch fell off the bed, and then Justine was on her. The girl was stronger, there was no doubt, but these things were never about physical strength.

Justine held her against the cool floor. “Shh. Listen, pussy. Maybe I'm wrong about you, but I don't think so. And if I'm not wrong, then you know it. You just have to let yourself accept it. Let yourself have what you've been looking for for so long. It's why you steal, you know. You want to be corrected, but no one ever has—not really. And it's left you unmoored, floating. I can take that away, but only if you'll let me.”

The girl was crying now. Justine felt her let go, when she finally saw how it was going to be. She was not stupid. She was frighteningly bright, really. Justine had known that. But there was something else behind it now, too—a kind of peace. That did not come as a surprise.

Justine said, “That's better, isn't it? You know who I am. You know how happy you can be. Join the world already. It's a wonderful place.”

The girl was quiet another moment, then she said, “I think I will have a drink.”

“Of course you will. Come.” Justine stood and helped the girl back onto the bed. “I'm afraid we'll have to do without ice, uncivilized as that is, but I did manage to find a lime.”

“That's fine.”

They drank in silence, quickly, with a purpose. The gin was smooth and the lime tart, and it went down well. And then Justine set the glasses aside and leaned forward until she could feel Little Bitch's breath on her face, could smell the gin and lime, and under that the fish she'd had for dinner and the horrible Greek excuse for liqueur. Justine licked her face. And licked her face again, up one cheek to the pretty eye and across and down the other.

And then the girl, finally knowing that she was home, could only say, “Oh, God,” and their mouths were each upon the other. And then Justine took hold of the front of the little black dress with both her hands, pulled until it ripped, and tore it all away. And as her tongue searched the girl's mouth, she took her nipples between her fingernails.

“Such tits,” she whispered, and then she pinched. The girl's mouth opened all the way when she screamed so that Justine could now explore its very depths.

I
N THE MORNING, WHEN THE
first threads of light wove themselves through the darkness, Justine shook her and said, “Come. It's time to quit this dump.”

“Mmm,” the girl said. She had fallen asleep minutes earlier, her head on Justine's thigh.

“Come, love.”

“Where?”

“We have to deliver the package.”

“Let's just run away.”

Justine said, “Mmm. You are just a silly little bitch, aren't you?” And she kissed her.

“Please,” the girl said.

“Shh.”

“Please don't. Please.”

Justine felt hot tears running down between her legs. She said, “Shh. You'll be fine. I'll help you.”

The girl went into the bathroom to dress and stuffed her clothing into her new red backpack. They went outside into the dim dawn to find Karl waiting in Maurice's ancient Mercedes 600 saloon. She helped the girl into the back, sat beside her, and held her as they drove through the quiet town toward the hills and the pass that led to Matala.