The Quirk (24 page)

She released him and looked up at him with stricken eyes. “Oh, darling, it’s all ready to take me. You said you would if I made it hard again.”

“No, I didn’t. I want you to suck my cock. If you argue about it, you’ll undo all your good work. It’s not ready yet anyway. Look at it. Do you call that hard?”

“Almost.”

“You were getting there. Go on.” He lifted his burgeoning erection in one hand and pulled her head back to it. She drew it into her mouth again and began to redouble her efforts. Watching her obediently perform this service was as exciting as the physical sensations she was producing, and together they restored his virility.

After another moment she drew her head back and spread her hands out flat on his belly and looked at what she had accomplished. “You can’t say it isn’t ready now, darling. Magnificent.” She darted her tongue around it and made it leap in response. “It’s no hardship for me, sucking a gorgeous cock. Shall I go on? It’s entirely up to you, darling.”

“That’s more like it. I may yet teach you how to treat a man.” He settled back on the edge of the table and spread his legs and leaned over and lifted her by the arms. He dropped his hands to her very womanly buttocks and pulled her in hard against him and looked into her eyes. He saw a middle-aged woman in the grip of anxiety and desire and was touched by her. He was so firmly in charge now that he could let her have what she wanted without compromising anything of himself. “Jesus, all this fuss about fucking. We’re naked together. What is there to do
except
fuck now that you’ve proved you really want it?”

“Do you always expect so much proof?”

“I’ve never behaved like this in my life. You’re such a spoiled bitch you asked for it. I’m in no mood these days to be pushed around by anybody. Mmmm. Nice tits. Go lie down and we’ll pretend we’re just getting started.”

He gave her behind a pat as she turned from him. He stood and drained off his glass and followed her. She stretched out on her back to receive him. He dropped down on her and drove into her, feeling no need for any additional buildup. She gasped, and he felt a great shudder pass through her, and then she went limp beneath him.

He had planted himself as deep in her as he could and held himself there, stirring slightly to let her feel it. “Satisfied?” he asked.

“Yes, darling. Utterly. Your cock is sublime. It’s going to make me come very quickly. You’re really quite a prize all over, cousin, one of the most perfect physical specimens I’ve ever seen. Who would have guessed? I really did almost let you go. And now all this. Your heavenly body taking possession of me.”

“People are weird. Just because a little part of me is inside you, we’re supposed to think something important is happening.”

“Far from little, darling, and it
is
a rather intimate thing to do,” she drawled, her voice playing its complicated tricks. “For you, of course, I’m just another woman you can take or leave, but I’ve never wanted a man unless there was that little extra something that happens when people want to know each other. It’s something you can’t pay for.”

“If you get what you want, what’s wrong with paying?” His cheeks were burning. He had no intentions of returning the money, but his sense of fair play operated even for her and demanded that he do his best. He withdrew from her and then drove slowly into her again while she uttered little cries of delight and lifted her hips to take him. “Wouldn’t you pay for that?”

“Heavens, it goes on for miles. Oh, yes, darling, but only if I felt it would happen even without paying. I know I can’t pay you.”

“How amazing. You get a reward for that. I was sure you thought you could buy anything.” He lifted himself to his knees, pulling her up with him and put his open mouth on hers. She devoured it and gripped his hips with her thighs and flung herself about on the hard flesh within her.

“Are you going to make me a famous painter?” he asked coolly while her body was swept by a frenzy of lust.

“Yes. Anything. I haven’t felt anything like this for ages. More and more. Oh, God, do it, darling. Do it.”

Rod climbed out of a taxi in front of the big doors in the rue de Verneuil wearing his dinner jacket in broad, unexpectedly sunny daylight Whores could afford taxis. All his thoughts were focused on Patrice, the only person he could tell about his night, the only person who could help him over the feeling of self-disgust it had left in him. Waking up in bed with Germaine, riding home in his stale evening clothes, he had tried to convince himself that it was all part of the toughening process that was helping him to shed his background. He had to adapt. He had to be ready to exploit every situation that arose.

Stealing from the rich might be justified for an important cause. Hitting and humiliating women, being unfaithful–everything could be justified–but it left him in a confusion of guilt and self-doubt. He had tried to give value for money; that was the only redeeming feature of the squalid episode. Seeing it through Patrice’s eyes might reveal others.

He let himself into the apartment and stood listening by the door for a moment He heard an indistinct noise from the kitchen and called. He met Patrice in the living room as he came bustling out, wearing his robe and looking fresh and saucy. Rod immediately felt better. The hangover that had been making his head pound seemed to subside.

“There you are,
chéri.
I hoped you’d come in before I had to go.”

“You’re up early.”

“So are you.” They smiled at each other. “You have been with Nicole?”

“No.” He remembered that Patrice didn’t know about the abortion and told him.

The boy’s face fell. “I’m very sorry,
chéri.
You knew it had to happen but–it’s good you didn’t have to worry until it was over.”

“I guess so. It’s as good an excuse as any for the way I behaved last night.”

“You were very wicked? You have the hangover?”

“I’ll say. At least I did. It’s better now.”

“Come. Coffee is just ready.”

Rod unfastened his tie and collar as he followed his friend. They sat at the kitchen table with steaming cups in front of them.

“I went to Lola’s party after all,” he explained. “I was so upset about Nicole that I couldn’t stay here alone, not that you’d have known it from what happened. I hoped for an evening with you.”

Patrice reached across the table and touched his hand. “
Merde.
I assumed you’d be with Nicole. Was it a glamorous party?”

“Lots of people.” He reached into a pocket and found a card and pulled it out. “This is one of them. Jean-Marie Andre’ Phillipe et cetera et cetera Lussigny-Forbain. A prince.”

“Beauty Lussigny? He was there?”

“Yes, and a beauty he is. You know him?”

“I did. I haven’t seen him for a long time.”

“You’ve been to bed with him?”

“Yes, that is one I don’t regret. He was in love with me for a week or two.”

“He invited me to his bed, as he put it.”

“I’m sure he did. You weren’t tempted?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course not.”

“You will tell me if you ever feel like that for a boy?”

“I never could, but suppose I did. You’d want me to tell you about it?”

“Of course. Not the details but that it happened. I would be glad. It would mean I’m not entirely a–what do you call it?–a quirk of your nature and that you’re not always thinking of girls. Except Nicole, but that is love.”

“The prince gave me the idea that she might understand about a lot of things.” He stroked the hand that lay beside his. He turned it palm up and placed his over it and experienced a moment of profound relief. He was home and safe after a particularly stormy voyage. He help Patrice’s hand in both of his, gently, not wanting to stir an amorous response. His own looked brutal by comparison. “You’re a sweetheart, monkey mine. As soon as Nicole’s better, I want you to meet her. I thought a lot about you all night. We can start sharing the bed again if you want. The sofa’s a bore.”

Patrice’s fingers tightened around his. “You mean it?”

“Why not? I always feel as if things might turn out all right when I’m with you. It’s something we have–it’s ours–nothing to do with boys the way you mean it. You’re being very discreet about last night. No questions. You don’t still suspect I worked in a fling with the prince, do you?”

“No. Only for a second when you pulled out this card.”

“I have a more important one here somewhere. I admit I’m curious about his body. Is it as beautiful as that head?”

“I thought so at the time. I’m sure not as beautiful as yours. He was an adorable lover. I remember that.”

“I do believe I’m jealous. How strange. Do you think I’m a bit in love with you without knowing it?”

“Don’t even say it. It’s too much at 8 o’clock in the morning.”

Rod laughed and relinquished his hand and gave his hair a tug. “Maybe I’m still drunk or maybe it’s the company I’ve been keeping. As a matter of fact, I’ve been with a lady–the one I’ve told you about, Lola’s stepdaughter with the American name.”

“Really? Why?”

“Why indeed. For various reasons I’m ashamed of. It was a lousy thing to do to Nicole.”

“I don’t think you should worry about that. It is something the French don’t understand about American girls–that they expect men to be faithful. French girls don’t. She would mind only if you had a serious affair.”

“At times I get the feeling that that’s what we’re having.”

“Yes, but with a boy she wouldn’t think it serious.”

“No. I suppose not. Still, I’d like her to understand a bit how much you mean to me. I’ve been brought up to believe that I ought to be faithful to the girl I love. Maybe you Catholics have something. Confession. Am I absolved for fucking Madame Powers?”

“If you did nothing to hurt Nicole. If Madame Powers won’t tell.”

“I’d kill her if she did. Maybe I should warn her. That’s not all of it.” He felt for the money and pulled it out and put it on the table. A card slipped from it, and he picked it up. “Here’s the one I was looking for.”

Patrice was gazing at the money.

“Why are you carrying all that,
chéri?
”

“I stole it.”

Patrice looked up and his eyes widened. “You mean it?”

“Absolutely. She was–Germaine–she was carrying on about all the wonderful things she could do for me if I–well, if I fucked her was what it amounted to. I decided that if I was going to be a whore, I wanted to be paid in cash. Piles of the stuff were falling out of her bag. I could’ve taken more. I’m not much good as a thief.”

Patrice studied him for a moment, and then his eyes began to dance with mischief. “You’re a very expensive whore. I can’t afford you. How much is it?”

“I haven’t counted it. It’s still pinned. A hundred thousand, I guess.”

“You must have been very angry with her.”

“Yes, only you would understand that,” Rod said gratefully. With Patrice, life always seemed to make some sort of cockeyed sense. “She’d been treating me like a gigolo, like a new toy. I had to get back at her. Stupid.”

“For you to fuck somebody is a funny way of getting back at them. I’m sure many people would like you to get back at them in that way.”

“Yeah, she got what she wanted finally, but I made her work for it.”

“And what are the wonderful things she’s going to do for you?”

“That’s where this comes in.” He flicked the card with a finger. “She introduced me to a guy who owns a gallery, or galleries. They didn’t say which ones. Well, hell, you probably know him. A guy called Thillier.” He held out the card. Instead of taking it Patrice did something clumsy with his hands, and his empty cup overturned with a clatter. His expression was suddenly closed and defiant, shadowed with fear. Rod put down the card. “What’s the matter, baby?”

“Nothing,” he said in a strained voice. His hands flew about wildly. They briefly clutched at his hair and came to rest on his chest, gripping his robe. He choked and made an odd sound like a croak. His eyes stared. “You just–Gérard.”

“Thillier? What about him?”

“He is the one–the man I told you about.”

“Told me about what?”

“The one who came here.”

“You mean ‘the Voice?’” It was Rod’s turn to stare as it all clicked into place. “Your so-called guardian?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Rod picked up the card and put it down again. “I don’t believe it. I should’ve known. There
was
something familiar about his voice.”

Patrice made a visible effort to get control of himself. He dropped his hands and leaned forward. “You must tell me everything, everything that was said,” he demanded sharply.

“There wasn’t much. Germaine told him he should give me a show. He said it would be expensive, and Germaine said she’d discuss it with him. That’s about all.”

“Did he know who you were?”

“Who am I? An unknown American painter. Germaine told him that much. He wrote down my name.”

“No. I mean, did he make no connection with me?” he asked with startling force.

“How could he? Wait a minute. I remember. I was pretty drunk. We were arranging for him to come see my things and he asked for my address. I gave him this one and he changed his mind. He said something about not liking artists’ studios and asked me to bring a picture to his place. Of course. He must’ve known.”