from under the blankets, trying to get the stiff cold fingers up over his face.
But Mark lunges forward, one knee on the bed, slapping at his hands, shouting, “Don’t you cover up! Never knew
“I just—” The worst of the attack is over, the sobs becoming half-gasps as Koo strains to catch his breath, recapture control. “—went through life,” he finishes, and gestures helplessly with his leaden arms, like a bug on its back.
If there was a risk that Mark would explode into his usual rage it seems to have subsided as abruptly as it came. Still leaning forward with one knee on the bed, his expression now merely impatient, he says, “Don’t sentimentalize. If you loved everybody, you didn’t love anybody.”
“But it could have been—” Koo wants to believe this, wants to find a way to phrase it that won’t sound false to himself. “
“No,” Mark says. “If you’d ever learned about me, I’d simply have been an embarrassment. You’d have spread a few dollars on me, like Noxzema on a sunburn.”
“But I’m not—
“Now you’re sick, and scared, and wounded, and old, and you’re probably gonna die. You’re a set-up for the sentimental reaction.
Astonishingly, through the sobs and the gasping for breath, Koo finds himself smiling, looking up at this mad boy with something very like pleasure. “Where’d you get to—” He has to pause for a spell of coughing and snorting, then finishes: “—be such a smart-ass?”
“It runs in the family,” Mark says, and turns abruptly away, leaving the bed. Koo watches him as Mark opens mirrored door after mirrored door, finally returning with a box of tissues, dropping them on the bed beside Koo and saying, “Here. Blow your nose. You look like a science-fiction monster.”
Koo struggles upward to a semi-seated position against the padded headboard, using his elbows as he would normally use his hands, then takes several tissues to blow his nose and wipe his face. His fingers are fat white sausages with hardly any feeling, but he persists, while Mark stands beside the bed watching him, a faint smile on his lips. Finally Koo discards yet another tissue and lifts his face, saying, “How am I?”
“Less disgusting.”
“That’s terrific. Can I ask a favor?”
Mark’s face subtly closes down, as though he’s afraid Koo is about to take advantage of this altered relationship. “That depends.”
“I could really use a drink.”
Mark relaxes, with the first honest uncomplicated grin Koo has ever seen on that face. “Sure thing,” he says. “And you ought to take your pills, too.”
“My schedule’s so thrown off, I don’t even know which ones to take.”
“I’ll bring you the case.”
This is ridiculous, Koo thinks, watching Mark move around the room; I think I’m happy. Under the circumstances, that must mean I’ve flipped out completely. And why not?
Mark first brings the pill-case and a glass of water, and Koo thanks him, then says, “You know I ought to be in a hospital.”
“Not yet.”
Koo frowns hard, trying to read something constant in that ever-changing face. “What’s going to happen?”
“We play out the hand,” Mark says. “I’m not changing that. Peter wants to kill you, you know, but I won’t let him.”
“Because of the TV show.”
“That’s right. He sent the Feds an ultimatum they can’t accept, then he’ll have the excuse to kill you and blame them.”
“Lovely.”
“He was going to send them one of your ears, but I wouldn’t let him.”
“My
“We took one off Joyce instead,” Mark says, his manner calm, merely informational. “She still had one in good shape. Scotch and water?”
“Oh, definitely.”
Trying not to think about people who want to cut off his ears and ultimately murder him, Koo browses among his medicines until Mark comes back with a very strong Scotch and water. Mark sits on the edge of the bed, watching Koo drink, his expression soft, even friendly, and for a moment or two neither of them speaks.
Koo sighs. The liquor is relaxing him, easing his mind and the pain in his arms. He says, “I hope you didn’t inherit my stupidity.”
Shrugging, Mark says, “I must have got it from
Liz awoke with Peter’s hands on her body. “Don’t move,” he said, his voice low and teasing. Uninterested but not repelled, she remained where she was, on her back on the large bed in the master bedroom, with reflected sunlight amber on her closed eyelids, while Peter manipulated her with his hands, prodding and kneading her breasts while his finger nuzzled her clitoris. He was impatient and too rough, so it took longer than if she’d done it herself, but finally the familiar pressure began to build, the growing tension through her body until the magic instant of transformation, when this caterpillar yet again burst into a butterfly; only to subside, twenty seconds later, into the same caterpillar as before, long-bodied and ground-locked, with stiff limbs, abraded skin, angry mind.
(There had been a time, years and years ago, when orgasm had spread a warming beneficence through her mind and body that might last for hours, even for an entire day, but that was part of a past so dead that Liz hardly remembered it. These days, orgasm was a quick almost-angry relief, a sudden spasm of pleasure, used up in the instant of its birth, leaving no residue at all.)
“Now me,” Peter said.
Liz opened her eyes at last. By day this bedroom proved to be done in shades of tawny green; avocado, some lighter tones. The effect was vaguely unpleasant, like the metallic color of a rental car. Sunlight streamed through sheer curtains gauzing the view of sea and sky. Peter, wearing only a shirt, had shifted around to sit with his back against the headboard, bare legs extended, erect cock jutting up at an angle like the stubby cannon on a courthouse lawn. He was smiling at her, with a kind of challenge in the smile. “Come on,” he said.
She sat up, turning sideways toward him, and reached out her left hand to hold and stroke his cock. She felt no sexual interest at all, but had no objection to bringing him off with her hand.
But he had different ideas. Still with the same obscurely hostile grin, he said, “No, honey, it’s round-the-world time.”
“Not today,” Liz said. “I don’t feel like it.”
“You will. We’ll start with the mouth.”
Looking at him, she understood that the setbacks of the last two days had left him with the need for revenge. He had tried to dominate the world and had failed; he would soothe his wounds by dominating her.
Up to a point. Her hand motionless, she said, “If it hurts, if anything hurts, we stop.”
“Sure.” He grinned more broadly, shrugging. “You know me.”
“Yes, I know you,” she said, and twisted around to lie on her stomach with her head in his lap. Could she make him come fast, get this over with? But she’d barely put the head of his cock into her mouth, now stroking the shaft in short quick movements of both hands, when he said, “All right. Next, next.”
He was in a burning hurry. She rolled onto her back and he descended on her, poking between her legs. “Easy,” she said. “You’re scraping me.”
“What are you so dry for?”
There was no answer that wouldn’t be insulting. She remained silent, and the natural juices solved the problem, and almost immediately he was out of her again, kneeling back on his haunches and saying, “Roll over.”
