Ritual. Part 7

'Yes, sir. "I do not wish to belong to the kind of club that accepts people like me as members."' Martin paused, and then he said, 'You told me.'

'Okay.' Charlie nodded. 'I'll catch you later.'

He walked along the red-carpeted corridor until he reached the fire door that would take him out of the Windsor's annexe, across its so-called ornamental gardens (four sc.r.a.ppy-looking flowerbeds and a tangle of bushes that should have been cleared away years ago), and into its Olde Hartforde Suite and the main building. He laid his hand on the fire door ready to push it open when he saw something through the smudgy wired-gla.s.s window. A white flicker in the unkempt garden. A small scurrying shape that could have been a dog or a windblown sheet of newspaper or an optical illusion created by the evening sunlight on the gla.s.s.

But he stood where he was, feeling cold and uncertain, because he suspected that it wasn't any of those things. He suspected that it was the dwarfish figure that he had seen in Mrs Kemp's garden last night, talking to Martin through the distorting kitchen window. And the figure was here, in West Hartford, in the same hotel, which meant only one thing that Charlie could think of. Real or imaginary, it was following them. Worse than following them, it was tracking them down.

For a moment, Charlie hesitated. Maybe he should go back and warn Martin that the dwarf was around. On the other hand, if Martin had been talking to it, maybe Martin knew that it was around. Maybe Martin had even gone so far as to tell it where they were going. Maybe it was nothing more than his own imagination, creating a demon or a devil which could take the blame for his own failure to make friends with the son he was supposed to have taken care of, and hadn't. He felt 74.confused and uncertain, as if he had been drinking. But at last he pressed his hand against the fire door, opened it, and stepped out.

There was no sign of any creature. Only the dry hunchbacked bushes and the untidy flowerbeds. Only the dark clouds rolling overhead as if they were hurrying on their way to some distant battle.

The food at the Windsor Hotel was relentlessly dull. In an attempt to console himself for not having been able to eat at Le Reposoir, Charlie ordered the Grande Royale menu, which started off with steamers, followed by charcoal-broiled blue-fish, carpetbag steak, and peach pie. In the hands of a competent chef, any one of these traditional American dishes could have been a masterpiece. In the Windsor Hotel, they were tough, dry, slimy, and canned, in that order. Charlie sat alone at an underlit table, facing a badly painted frieze of Windsor Castle in England, chewing his way through this unappetizing menu while a four-piece band played 'Tie A Yellow Ribbon' and the six businessmen sitting next to him chain-smoked cigars throughout their meal.

When he had finished, Charlie was approached by the maitre d', who stood beside his table with his hands folded over his groin. 'You didn't care for the dinner, sir?' the maitre d' asked, with unconcealed annoyance.

'The dinner was - acceptable,' said Charlie.

'Perhaps a small gla.s.s of brandy on the house?' the maitre d' suggested. His tone of voice was almost ferocious.

'That won't be necessary.'

The maitre d' bent forward. He had huge open pores in his nose and his breath smelled of Binaca. 'It isn't my fault this place is so bad.'

Charlie stared at him without expression.

The maitre d' went on, 'I do my best, I used to work at the Hyatt Pilgrim in Boston. But what can I do with a place like this? They won't invest any money on it.'

75.Charlie said, 'What does this have to do with me?'

'Come on, Mr Restaurant Inspector. You can't kid me. I know a restaurant inspector when I see one.'

'You think so?'

'I was expecting you. I knew what you were, the moment you walked into the room. All restaurant inspectors have that same look. Most men who are forced to eat alone will keep their eyes on their food, or on a book. But you - your eyes are never still. You are looking at the cutlery, at the gla.s.ses, at the table linen. You are timing the waiters, you are testing the food. After you have finished your coffee you will go to the men's room to make sure it is clean. You may even try to dodge into the ladies'. I know your kind.'

Charlie slowly shook his head. 'You must be making some kind of mistake here, friend. I'm a salesman, dealing in hydraulic valves. You want to come out and look at what I'm carrying in the back of my car?'

'You can't kid me,' the maitre d' hissed at him, triumphant now. 'I was told. I was expecting you. You don't fool me for one moment.'

'Bring me the bill,' said Charlie.

'No, sir, no charge,' retorted the maitre d'.

'I want the bill,' Charlie insisted. 'In fact, if you don't bring me the bill right now I'm going to call for the manager.'

'No charge,' the maitre d' challenged him.

Charlie paused for a moment, and then stood up. 'All right,' he said. 'No charge. I'm not going to get myself involved in an argument about it.' He raised his eyes. 'All the same, I'd like to know who told you to expect me.'

The maitre d' shrugged, and flapped at Charlie's coat with a napkin to brush off the crumbs of peach-pie. 'The restaurant business is a brotherhood, sir.'

'Like the Cosa Nostra, you mean?' said Charlie sarcastically.

76.'No, sir. More like monks, or friars.' Charlie looked away. The maitre d' was obviously drunk. Either drunk, or so disaffected with his job that he didn't care what he said, or to whom he said it. Monks or friars, Christ Almighty. The only possible religious ingredient in the restaurant business was the prayers of forgiveness they said when they wrote 'Fresh' and 'Home Cooked' on the menus.

The maitre d' said, 'How about that gla.s.s of brandy? Come on, friend. It's on the house.'

A little wearily, Charlie nodded. The maitre d' clapped his hands and the wine waiter came over, a stocky, unsmiling type with a tight maroon coat and a tight maroon face to match. 'Give the gentleman .a gla.s.s of the Courvoisier, Arnold. You'd like it in the lounge, sir? In the lounge, Arnold. Next to the fireplace.'

Charlie sat in a high leather-upholstered library chair nursing his brandy while two large logs smouldered in the olde colonial fireplace like the last remains of a derelict building. Across the lounge, sitting in profile to him, was a thirtyish woman with ash blonde hair and a tight sapphire-blue dress and a little more jewellery than was tasteful, especially for a country mausoleum like the Windsor. Charlie surmised that she was a woman of relatively easy virtue, if not an out-and-out hooker. She made a big play of lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke across the lounge. Charlie sipped his brandy and thought that she had a pretty impressive chest, even if her hips were on the wide side.

After about ten minutes, the woman stood up and came across to the fireplace. She stared down at the logs, the elbow of her smoking arm cupped in the hand of her other arm, her chin slightly lifted.

'I always think a real fire is so romantic, don't you?' she asked Charlie, without looking at him.

'I don't know about this one,' said Charlie. 'It looks half dead to me.'

77.'Ashes to ashes,' the woman remarked. Then, 'Are you travelling alone?'

'Not entirely. I have my son with me.' 'Do you usually travel alone?' For the first time she turned to catch him with a blue-eyed stare. She was good-looking, in a Hollywood kind of a way, short-nosed, broad-cheekboned, almost baby-faced; except of course that the crisscross lines were beginning to show in the corners of her eyes. A diamond brooch in the shape of a star reflected the light from one of the ceiling lamps. Charlie thought: Genuine. This woman has been places, and done things, and men have showed their approval in the time-honoured way.

Charlie said, 'I'm not looking for company, if that's what you mean.'

'You look unhappy,' the woman told him. 'I can't bear to see anybody looking unhappy.' 'I'm a little tired is all.'

'Would you mind if I sat down beside you and talked to you?' Charlie nodded toward the chair next to his. 'It's a free country. I can't guarantee that you'll get any answers.'

She sat down and crossed her legs. Her blue shiny dress rode higher on her thighs than it ought to have done. She smelled of Obsession by Calvin Klein. She blew smoke over him, but he wasn't sure that he particularly minded. The top three b.u.t.tons of her dress were unfastened and Charlie could see a very deep cleavage indeed. White b.r.e.a.s.t.s with a single beckoning mole between them.

'I saw you arguing with Bits,' she said. 'You mean the maitre d'? Is that his name?' 'It makes him sound like a gangster, doesn't it? But his real name's Arthur. They call him Bits because when he was younger he was always saying, 'For two bits I'll quit this job,' or 'For two bits I'll make that d.a.m.ned sauce myself.' Not that he was ever a violent man - oh no. Just a little temperamental. He says he was descended from the Borgias.'

78.'That wouldn't surprise me,' said Charlie. He pointed towards the woman's empty gla.s.s. 'How about a nightcap? Was that frozen daiquiris you were drinking?'

She smiled. 'You know what they say about ladies who have a taste for frozen daiquiris?'

'I can't say that I do. I hope it's polite.'

'Polite?' the woman laughed.

Charlie ignored her mockery and held out his hand. 'I'm Charlie McLean.'

'Velma Farloe.' the woman replied.

'Nice to know you, Velma. Have you been here long?'

'Here in this bar, or here in West Hartford?'

Charlie said, 'I never did feel at home in New England - Connecticut in particular. I always feel like I'm being looked at as some kind of outsider.'

'Where do you feel at home?' asked Velma.

'Illinois, Indiana. I guess I'm a small-town mid-Westerner at heart. Mind you, I was born in Elizabeth, New Jersey. My parents moved to Kokomo when I was ten, and then to Merrillsville.'

He paused, and then he said, 'I don't intend to sit here and tell you the story of my life.'

Velma dropped her eyelids in the warm, coaxing way in which some women would have dropped a perfumed scarf. 'I don't mind if you do."

'I'm a salesman, that's all. That's the beginning and the end of it.'

'Bits said you were one of those restaurant inspectors.'

'Bits confides in you, huh?'

'Come on, Charlie,' said Velma. 'You know who I am. I'm the friendly lady who sits in the corner of every restaurant lounge from here to eternity.'

The stocky wine-waiter brought them two fresh drinks. When Charlie offered to pay, he said, 'On the house,' in a gruff falsetto that was as adamant as it was startling.

79.'Bits is trying to b.u.t.ter you up, that's all,' Velma told Charlie. 'He thinks if he gives you two or three gla.s.ses of brandy you're going to recommend the Windsor and get him a pay hike.'

'Some hope of that,' said Charlie. 'This is one of the worst restaurants between Mount Fissell and Wequetequock.'

'Well,' purred Velma. 'You sure know your geography.'

She shifted herself closer. She touched Charlie's left temple with her fingertips. He could breathe her perfume, and also that other indescribable odour known as Woman On Heat. He sipped at his brandy feeling as prissy as a boy scout. He needed a woman desperately, but for some reason he always held himself back, as if it were the right and proper thing to do. Because of Marjorie? No, he couldn't believe that. Because of everything that had happened in Milwaukee? No, he couldn't believe that either. It was far more deeply rooted. It was a glimpse of his mother fastening her stockings. It was his father's face intruding on his unconscious like a big pale blimp, roaring, 'Women should be respected, Charlie. 'Women are holy: Velma said, 'You're one of those quiet ones, aren't you?'

'I told you. I'm tired.'

'How tired is tired?'

Charlie raised his eyes and looked at her. She was mocking him, in a way; but she was also encouraging him, supporting him, in the way that only women like her knew how. They could take in travellers from the unforgiving night, men who were tired and disappointed and lonesome and very afraid of failure, and give them all the comfort they needed. One night of s.e.x, one night of burying all of their anxieties in darkness and flesh and the pungent smell of intercourse, and they were ready to face the world again, ready to report back to J.J. on how many miles of UPVC piping they had sold, ready to drum up new business. They were as much a part of American business as Lee lacocca or Aaron Spelling.

80.Charlie leaned back in the leather chair and looked around the lounge feeling drunk and detached. 'Who told you to talk to me? Was it the maitre d'? Bits? Or did you decide to proposition me off your own bat?'

'I'm not propositioning you,' smiled Velma.

'You wouldn't be smiling if you weren't.'

'Well, maybe I wouldn't.'

At that moment Charlie knew for certain that he was going to sleep with her. It was her honesty which decided him, as much as anything else. She was handsome and straightforward and big-breasted and that was all that he needed, for tonight at least. He would think about tomorrow tomorrow.

'You can't come back to my room,' he said. His voice didn't even sound like his own. 'My son is there.' He checked his watch. 'Sleeping by now. He isn't used to all of this travelling around.'

'Its okay,' said Velma, taking hold of his hand. 'I have a room. Come on.'

They left the lounge together. At the doorway, Charlie turned around and saw Bits smiling at him through the wine racks which separated the restaurant from the lounge. He turned away without acknowledging that he had seen him. Velma reached back and grabbed his hand and led him through the lobby to the main building. It was well after eleven o'clock now, and the lobby was brightly lit, red-carpeted, smelling of stale cigarettes, and completely deserted.

They kissed as they went up in the elevator. Her tongue snaked into his mouth. Her hand reached directly down between his legs and squeezed him. He wasn't sure whether he ought to feel aroused or frightened. They didn't say anything coherent. The slightest bit of logic would have broken the spell completely, like the fragment of mirror in The Snow Queen.

Velma's room was at the far end of a long, airless corridor. She unlocked it with the dexterity of experience. She went in 81.first, leaving Charlie in the corridor to make up his own mind whether he wanted to follow her or not. He hesitated, and then went inside, closing the door by pressing his back against it.

It was only then that she switched on the bedside lamps. The room was almost identical to Charlie's own room in the hotel annexe, except that the prints were wild flowers instead of locomotives. Fool's parsley, and fragrant bedstraw. Velma, her back to Charlie, unb.u.t.toned her dress. He made no move to help her. She dropped the dress on the bed and then turned around to face him. There was a strange, bright look of elation and defiance in her eyes. She was wearing nothing more than a black translucent bra, through which her nipples showed as smoky pink shadows, and a pair of patterned black pantihose, against which her pubic hair was flattened like the geographical map of a river delta.

Charlie approached her, gradually loosening his necktie. He held her, and kissed her forehead. It was cool, slightly damp with perspiration, and tasted of perfume. 'I hope you don't think I make a habit of picking up women in hotel lounges,' he said, his voice hoa.r.s.e.

'I wouldn't mind if you did,' Velma replied. 'Practise makes perfect.'

She reached behind her one-handed and unfastened her bra, drawing it off her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and letting it fall. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were big and soft and heavy, with nipples that crinkled tight, she unb.u.t.toned his shirt, tugging it out of his pants, and then she grasped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in both hands and pressed her nipples against his bare chest, kissing him with mounting hunger. Her teeth sought out his lips and his tongue, and bit at them so sharply that he could taste the metallic flavour of blood in his mouth. 'I'm going to eat you,' she whispered.

They climbed on to the bed, struggling out of the last of their clothes. Charlie could hear himself panting. He took hold of Velma and rolled her over. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s moved with 82.slow-motion fluidity. Her white thighs parted. He saw dark hair and glistening pink. Then he had pushed himself into her, and the bedsprings began to jounce, and all he could see was Velma's hair and part of the pillow and a torn off piece of wallpaper that looked like the head of a dog. Details, blurs, gasps, and then a snuffling, snorting release.

He rolled off her, trying to catch his breath. Immediately, however, she was on top of him and straddled his stomach, so that he could feel her wetness pressed against him. 'I want more of you,' she demanded, and when Charlie squinted up at her, with one hand raised to keep the light out of his eyes, he could see that she wasn't smiling.

'No good huh?' he said. 'I told you I don't make a habit of it. Next time, I'll try to take my time.'

'I want you now,' she said, and her eyes glittered. 'Come on now,' Charlie protested. 'I'm only human.' But Velma slid down him, and crouched like a cunning animal between his legs, and held his slippery softened p.e.n.i.s in her hand. She stuck out her tongue, and it was very long and pointed, and she teased him by licking at the small sensitive opening. All the time she kept her hair drawn back from her forehead with her other hand, and her eyes fixed on him. Taunting him, provoking him, seeing how much she could shock him. She was irritating him with her caresses rather than arousing him. 'Can you guess how much I want you?' she said. Charlie was almost frightened to answer. 'How much do you think I want you?'

Charlie said nothing as she sucked his softened member completely into her mouth. She sucked too hard, and he said, 'AM' and put his hand on her shoulder to push her away. But she opened her mouth even wider and tried to cram his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es in as well. Her whole mouth was cram full and still she looked up at him with those taunting, glittering eyes. 'Velma-' She bit him gently, then a little harder.

83.'Velma, I have to tell you that hurts.'

She didn't release him. Instead, she bent her head a little lower, and used her fingers to put his second t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e completely into her mouth. Her cheeks were swollen as if she had been gorging herself with too much food.

'Velma, come on, careful now, that really hurts when you -'

She bit him again, sharper and harder this time, and this time she drew blood. A thin dribble of it ran out of the side of her mouth. Charlie felt a peculiar empty feeling in his stomach and suddenly realized that it was panic. Here he was, lying in bed with a woman he had never met before, and she was holding everything that made him a man between her teeth. With one hard bite, she could turn him into an eunuch. She could even kill him.

'Velma, you have to listen to me now ... let me go, will you, please?'

Velma snarled and dribbled and shook her head from side to side, worrying his s.e.xual organs as if she were a young lioness who was refusing to surrender her prey. In spite of his fear, however - or perhaps because of it - Charlie began to feel his p.e.n.i.s hardening again. It uncurled itself against the arch of Velma's palate and gradually forced her to let his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es plop out from between her lips, one by one, two wet plums, although she managed to keep almost his entire erection inside her mouth.

She forced her head forward the very last half-inch. His swollen glans must have actually been inside her throat. Still she kept her eyes fixed on him, challenging, warning. Any other woman would have gagged or choked. Velma kept him there, on the brink between extreme erotic excitement and total terror, and it seemed to Charlie that whole minutes went past.

At last she lifted her head, allowing the shaft to slide out from between her lips inch by inch. 'Did I frighten you?' she asked him. Now she was smiling.

84.Charlie rolled over and got up off the bed. 'I frightened you,' she said.

'I'm just going to the bathroom, that's all,' Charlie felt as if the floor were tilting, and wished to G.o.d he hadn't accepted that cognac. He very rarely got drunk. He didn't like losing control of himself. Apart from that, the brandy fumes seemed to be rising up from his stomach like gasoline vapour, and he knew that it would take only one more drink to make him very sick indeed.

Velma stood in the doorway watching him as he urinated. 'Do you know something? I could have bitten it right off.' She stepped forward as he was finishing and held him in one hand. 'You knew that, didn't you? And you were frightened.'

'I do my best not to live too dangerously,' Charlie told her.

'You still don't understand, do you?' Her face so close to his that he could see the orange flecks in her eyes. 'I wanted to bite it off. I wanted to chew it and eat it and swallow it.'

Charlie stared at her. She had an expression on her face that he could only describe to himself as triumph, with a little mockery thrown in for seasoning. She released him, and he flushed the toilet and walked back through to the bedroom. 'I think I'd better get back to Martin,' he said, and reached for his shirt.

Velma came up behind him and touched the nape of his neck with her long fingernails. It gave him a shiver that was partly arousal and partly apprehension. Maybe this is what Fve always been missing, he thought. Maybe my life has always lacked a little danger.