My friend, when you are in the Oval Office, you will have anything you wish. Women will be at your call.’
But I need her now, Hotchins thought to himself. ‘I’m not talking about women,’ he said, ‘I’m talking about her.’
‘Are you in love with her?’
‘Possibly. No, not really. Not in the dramatic sense. But in a way I . . . hell, I don’t know. Don’t push me. Don’t pu.th me.’
DeLaroza scowled. He was on dangerous ground and he knew it, Now was not the time to start pulling the strings. And yet, the issue was crucial to him. ‘Am I to believe that you would risk something like this for a piece of ass?’ be said.
Hotchins glowered at him, his face red, anger boiling in his eyes. ‘What was that?’ he demanded.
DeLaroza shook his head violently and waved his hand in the air. ‘I am sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘That was a foolish remark. Forgive it.’
They sat without speaking and the minutes crept by. Finally DeLaroza said, ‘We will drop it for now. I did not mean to cause harsh words. I was speaking as one friend to another. Just promise rue that you will consider it. Think about it. Will you do that?’ It annoyed him to patronize Hotchins, but he sensed two egos keening the air like duelling swords.
‘Sure,’ Hotchins said, ‘I’ll think about it.’
More silence.
Hotchins felt boxed in, but the furies began to settle down inside him. Perhaps DeLaroza was right. And yet he had never known anyone like her. Her sexuality had given him a new vigour, a vitality that he had missed for years. It was not a motivation; it was fuel for the motivation. And yet if giving her up was part of the key to winning
‘Let us get back to the money,’ DeLaroza said. ‘We have commitments from individual contributors for almost a million dollars. I can call them in today. In the meantime I can make the funds available through my own accounts. Immediately if necessary. Oh, don’t worry, it will be done properly. Nothing would ever appear as a loan.’
Hotchins held up a hand. ‘I trust you, Victor. I am sure it will be done in a way that’s above. . .‘ He started to say ‘suspicion’ but quickly changed it to ‘reproach’. He sank back in the seat. His shoulders drooped and he sighed. ‘I’m sorry too,’ he said. He held out his hand and they shook.
‘There will be many anxious times,’ DeLaroza said. ‘I sometimes forget that we are both emotional men.’
‘It’s forgotten,’ Hotchins said. ‘Look. I’ve got to get back. It’s hard for me to get away at all these days, even for a few minutes. They want an itinerary when I go to the bathroom.’
‘Get used to it,’ DeLaroza said. ‘Your private days are about over.’
‘I’ll be in touch,’ Hotchins said. ‘Thanks.’
He left the car and DeLaroza settled back. The smile vanished from his face. He sat deep in thought for several minutes. Yes, his private days are over, he thought, and so are mine. Thirty years of living in shadows and now, in a few short days, the recognition he bad needed for so long would be his. He had built an empire and was about to create a king and now, finally, he would have what be deserved — applause. An ovation! The plan to emerge from his self.. imposed cell of secrecy had started forming in his mind when he met Hotchins. It bad taken sixteen years to gestate. Sixteen years. And now the blood hammered in his temples. Four more days.
He pressed the button, lowering the window between the front and back seats of the car. Chiang, his chauffeur- bodyguard, handed him a cassette. Another addition to the Gwai-lo file. It was time to discuss matters with Kershman.
Gerald Kershman was sprawled face down on the bed, his hands and feet bound to the corners by velvet cords. Sweat stung his eyes and he gulped for air as the strips of leather bit into his already tortured flesh. He turned his face into the silk sheets that muffled his cries of pain. The naked young man standing over him with the cat o’ nine tails was hard and lithe; his blond hair tumbled in sweaty ringlets over his forehead.
Finally Kershman turned his face towards the youth. ‘Enough,’ he gasped.
The blond, who was in his late teens, lowered the whip and stood over him. Kershman took several deep breaths and shivered involuntarily and then relaxed. ‘Untie me,’ he said.
The young man freed him, and Kershman, his back and rump slashed with red welts, struggled from the bed soiled with his own semen and grimaced with pain as he sat on the edge. He was a small, fat man with thick, contemptuous lips and froglike eyes. Black hair curled obscenely on his shoulders and back. He reached out to the night table near the bed with chubby, trembling fingers, feeling for his thick glasses and putting them on with some effort.
‘Okay I get dressed now?’ the youth asked.
Kershman stared at his naked body for a few more moments and nodded. He wiped the sweat from his face with a towel and watched as the young hustler slipped on a pair of red bikini briefs and arranged himself. ‘You really love t, dontcha?’ he said. ‘1 never seen nobody eat up a beatin’ like that before.’
‘Shut up,’ Kershman groaned. He got up and walked towards the bathroom, a silk bathrobe trailing from one hand.
‘Hey,’ the blond said, ‘how about my bread?’
‘You’re not through yet,’ said Kershman. ‘Come in here.’ He lay face down on a massage table in the opulent bathroom and pointed to several bottles of ointment and balm in a tray attached to the table. The boy spread them on carefully, chattering aimlessly as he did. Kershman turned his face away from the youth. Tears edged down the side of his nose. They were tears of humiliation, not pain. The blond completed his task and Kershman eased himself off the table.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘you can leave now.’
‘The bread, the bread,’ the hustler said, snapping his fingers at Kershman. The small man looked at him and hate filled his eyes. His lip curled viciously.
