'They in there?' He motioned to the bedroom behind them with his chin. 'Yeah,' he answered his own question a moment later. 'Look, I've seen this kind of thing a lot. Sometimes it gets too much, not everyone can handle it. You want me to – '
'I want you to leave me the fuck alone, Sal,' Frank growled. 'That's what I want.'
His mouth twitched into the slightest hint of a smile. 'No problem, asshole.'
Frank steadied himself against the wall as Sal moved by him. He didn't bother to look over his shoulder. He knew where he'd gone.
After what seemed an eternity, Beth strolled from the room totally nude. 'Hey, Frank,' she said evenly. 'Where have you been? Knee deep in Pepper, no doubt.'
Frank moved to the side so she could pass, offering no reply as she descended the stairs and drifted into darkness.
The smell of his breath, stale from marijuana and liquor, was nearly intolerable. Groggy one moment and relatively alert the next, her awareness of the situation seemed to come in waves. Gliding backwards, Sandy felt two strong, callused hands tighten around her waist and realized that she had been propped up into a sitting position.
'Yeah,' someone said, the voice distant and distorted. 'Fuck her, man.'
She looked down and saw Steve lying beneath her. He was inside her.
'That's it, baby, that's it,' Steve said beneath her, his lips moving but slightly out of sync with the sound drifting about. His hands clutched her waist and she felt him pushing deeper.
She slumped forward and collapsed next to him on the bed, curling into a fetal position as if to go to sleep. 'Stop,' she sighed.
Undeterred, he rolled her over.
'You do her mouth yet?' the other voice said.
'Before you got here.'
'Soon as I catch my breath I'm gonna stuff it in there again.'
'You almost drowned her last time, dude. Big Sal, still the man!'
Laughter, joyless and dirty, echoing around her followed by more bursts of hot breath. Large hands tightened around her again, and the world began to spin. Nothing seemed real. Swallowing was nearly impossible, her mouth mucky and covered in thick cum still dribbling from her lips, a physical memory, residue of the man belonging to the other voice. The man who had opened her mouth with rough hands and put himself inside her, telling her to suck, holding her head and pumping his erection deep enough to gag her, even when she'd gone along with what he'd wanted, before finally releasing, emptying himself into her.
'It's okay, honey.' Another voice – Steve's voice? 'Roll over on your tummy, okay, baby?'
'Wait.' She struggled to raise the volume of her voice but felt too weak. 'Please… wait.'
'Its okay, baby.' A hand stroking her forehead, feigning tenderness, Steve's voice pretending to sooth. 'Help me turn her over. Let's fuck her ass, man.'
'Please…' Her voice? Had she spoken, was she only thinking? Was any of this real? 'Stop… stop.'
'Did you hear what she said?'
Steve turned; surprised to see Frank standing in the open doorway. 'Hey, man, I – I ah, I didn't know you were watching. If you're gonna get off come on in and have some – '
'Did you hear what she said?'
His smile slowly vanished. 'Yeah,' he said softly.
'Then get the fuck away from her.'
Steve slid off the bed as Sal casually zipped his pants. He motioned for Sal to follow him, gave an apologetic nod and slipped quietly from the room.
Sandy was sprawled out on the bed, her head lolled to one side, resting against a pillow. Her eyes searched for Frank, and when they found him a quiet whimper escaped her. Unable to look at him now, she rolled over, gathering the sheets along with her.
Frank turned away, noticed a full-length mirror on the far wall. Someone he had never seen before stared back: hair mussed and eyes bloodshot, remnants of cocaine still smeared beneath the nostrils. His eyes dropped. His pants were undone, and a sticky wetness had gathered between his legs.
Frank turned and vomited into a small wastebasket.
Supporting himself against the wall, he shut off the light and sank to the floor.
Tears came to him first in the form of small sobs, increasing in intensity until his entire body shook and he wept like a child.
CHAPTER 11
After the September tour the holidays came and went without incident. Frank and Vincent focused their attention on wining and dining a new crop of potential clients, and helping Gus and his salespeople close the deals that would lay the foundation for the next run of shots. Working primarily out of the office, it was an unusually long down time for them, and when they finally hit the road again in late December, Frank was relieved, knowing that they wouldn't return until middle January.
Things at home had become increasingly difficult since the night of the party, and Frank found Sandy more distant than ever. Because neither of them had found it possible to even broach a discussion concerning all that had taken place, the tension level between them had festered. Four consecutive months of lukewarm conversation, no sexual contact, and mechanical, uninspired social interaction made what little time they spent together nearly intolerable.
The New Year was less than three weeks old when Frank returned from the tour that had begun in Massachusetts and ended in Maryland. Fearing his mood swings and bouts with severe depression might lead to further problems, Frank had spent many of the days and nights isolating himself from the troupe in a way he had never done before. With the Turano situation about to unfold, the difficulties in his marriage mounting, and a drinking problem that had become increasingly difficult to manage, Frank knew that if he didn't get his life back under control soon, he might lose all hope of ever doing so again.
His first night back, Sandy prepared dinner. They sat at the kitchen table, together, yet apart. Where there had once been inane small-talk there now resided apprehensive silence. Pushing his plate aside, Frank lit a cigarette and rested his elbows on the table. Sandy ignored his obvious posture and continued to eat without comment.
'I can't do this anymore.'
Sandy glanced across the table at him and picked at a pile of peas with her fork. 'You can't do what anymore?'
'Live like this,' he said quietly. 'I wish you'd get mad, cry – something.'
'Am I the only one capable of such things?'
Frank stared at the table. 'I feel like we're roommates.'
'Yeah, well I'm not in the mood for introspection, okay? Just eat your dinner and go watch TV like you always do.'
'I'm not hungry.'
Sandy stood up, took both plates from the table and emptied them into the trash beneath the kitchen sink. 'Neither am I.' She slammed the dishes onto the counter, grabbed a pack of cigarettes and her purse from the bedroom and headed for the door.
'Where the hell are you going?'
'Out.'
In springing to his feet Frank caught his chair with the backs of his legs. It tipped over onto the floor with a
