“May all the known and unknown gods protect me from such a fate,” said Aslan, laughing. “I don’t think it’s necessary that I run for office. If we don’t execute our project, someone else will. If not during my lifetime, then after I die, but I’m convinced we won’t have to wait that long.”
She changed her tone. “Let’s talk about something else, Mr. Beckford. I’m going back to New York at seven o’clock. If you want, you can come with me. We will be back before ten o’clock.”
“Well, ma’am, that would be great.”
Beckford poured himself a glass of cognac and another for Aslan. He started to feel out of place now that tea was officially over and as usual, he had nothing interesting to say. As usual, Aslan was beginning to grow bored as she did whenever she had to spend more than thirty minutes with him.
Glaring sunlight filled the room. Aslan got up, walked over to the large window and closed the curtains. Immediately, the room took on a comfortable coziness.
“I think I will go now, ma’am,” said Beckford, hesitating as if he were waiting for something. “Thank you for the tea.”
“You are welcome, Mr. Beckford. And don’t forget, seven o’clock in the lobby, unless you plan to stay a few more days. For your studies,” she added, without the slightest hint of irony.
“Not at all. I am very happy to go back with you and to be home tonight.”
He still did not make to leave. He poured himself a second cognac at the little table where tea had been served and downed it.
Aslan, still at the window, turned and stared at Beckford in puzzlement.
“You just said you wanted to leave, Mr. Beckford.”
Aslan came back slowly from the window, as if she intended to come closer to him to show him more clearly that his presence was no longer welcome, and that he was getting on her nerves. She stood close to the divan and turned toward the bedroom, apparently to change for the return trip and to pack.
Beckford happened to glance at the book that was lying on the side table of the divan.
“May I see what you are reading, ma’am?” he asked. His voice shook.
“Why not? It’s no secret,” answered Aslan, walking around the divan and coming close to the side table as if to hand him the book.
Beckford was also standing close to the divan, so close to Aslan that his body was lightly touching hers. He turned and Aslan found herself wedged between Beckford and the divan. As he had done the night before, he pressed his knees against hers. She said nothing but fixed her eyes on his.
He expected that she would rebuff him, but she didn’t attempt to defend herself. She just looked at him indifferently for several seconds. He thought it quite possible she would kick him again, but he’d endured so many kicks in his life, what was one more, especially if it came after all the fun.
Aslan’s lips curved into a mysterious smile, which could mean everything or nothing at all. It confused Beckford. He did not know how to interpret it. He grabbed her harshly by the shoulders and pushed her onto the divan. She covered her eyes with her left arm, but kept her right arm free to defend herself. The smile on her lips had only widened.
He wanted to kiss her, to erase that smile from her lips. But she pushed his face away with the palm of her hand, while pressing her left arm more tightly against her eyes. He pushed up her dress, much higher than necessary, she thought. Again, she let it happen with complete indifference. She felt nothing. She could not even muster disgust.
Afterward, he tried to kiss her again. And as unexpectedly as last night, she kicked him, except this time she kicked him in his groin so hard that he sank to the floor, moaning. She got up, pulled down her dress, searched for her panties, went inside the bedroom, and slammed the door.
Beckford quickly gained his bearings and picked himself up off the floor, as you would expect from a well-drilled sergeant of the Marine Corps. In basic training, he had endured worse beatings. In his naivete, he saw the kick as proof of her love for him, delivered in the moment of climax that had finally overcome the little woman. He tidied his clothes and left the room.
17.
At exactly seven o’clock, Beckford was in the lobby with his small suitcase, which the bellboy was clutching tightly. Ten minutes later, he was sitting next to Aslan in her car.
She was driving, although he had offered to do so. She had declined curtly. They did not speak a single word on the way back to the city. They were both lost in thought.
He was basking in the wonderful feeling of returning victoriously, crowned by laurels. He had finally managed to make her his lover. And he had not even had to resort to rape to win her over. She had come to him like a lamb to slaughter.
Speaking of rape, he remembered several he had committed here and there. As he was remembering those incidents, he concluded that any prostitute, occasional whore, or hussy whom he had picked up on the street had provided him with greater pleasure than the women with whom he had had to use force.
Fortunately, this is all over now, thought Beckford, as the car was racing toward the city. For right now and hopefully for a long time, no more bar girls and no more girls picked up on the street. That is all over now, thank the Lord! Now I have what I have always wanted. A posh, elegant lover. Divine figure. And as a welcome extra: heaps of money. Riches beyond measure. Finally, a lover. How much she must have missed it! Married to that old geezer for years. He’s probably at least sixty. And he always thinks about construction. Day and night. Construction. If you should play the part of the uppity lady as you did before, my dear, I’ll slap you until you have understood who has taken over control now.
He was dreaming like this as the car was gently and almost silently gliding along. In the meantime, night had fallen. In this darkness, his thoughts only revolved around the details of the next intimate moments with Aslan. As her current master and ruler, he would make sure that those would occur the next day.
They reached the first streets of the suburbs, which were already illuminated. Aslan suddenly slowed down the car.
“Out of gas?” asked Beckford, turning toward her rather grumpily, because he had been so abruptly interrupted in his pleasant thoughts.
“Not at all,” answered Aslan. “The tank is still almost half full.”
Driving at this reduced speed, she looked left and right. Maybe she was searching for a particular street or a certain building. Beckford, who was still lingering in dreamland, woke up suddenly. He thought that he was finally understanding what she was trying to find.
She is looking for a discreet hotel where she can spend the night with me, he thought with satisfaction.
Finally, Aslan seemed to have found what she had been looking for. However, she avoided letting Beckford guess what was going on inside her. Beckford looked all around, almost straining his neck, but he could not see any kind of hotel, neither elegant nor common. Aslan brought the car close to the shoulder of the street and turned off the engine. Traffic was not very heavy here, and if necessary, she could park in this spot all night without anyone bothering her. She leaned back comfortably in her seat.
In the light of the shop windows and the streetlights, Beckford could see the same mysterious smile that had irritated him so much that afternoon. It was a smile that could mean everything or nothing, but never anything in between.
Without looking at Beckford or turning toward him, and without giving up her comfortable position, she declared with devastating sarcasm in her voice: “Mr. Beckford, on this long trip from the hotel, you have thought about nothing else but that you have conquered me, and that I am your lover now and you are my gigolo, or whatever you might have imagined. Isn’t that right, Mr. Beckford?”