“Even if I was the black sheep-you know about my literary career.”
“So you eventually started to sell some of your romantic mystery stories. You do okay for a writer, but not well enough to pay for the wardrobe you need to mix in with these circles. I figured there was something else.”
“I couldn’t just be coordinating charity balls like any other society slit? As an officer of the foundation my wardrobe for all formal engagements is covered.
Donated funds are especially earmarked for restoration and preservation-”
“For what amounts to your personal residence and estate. Not when your royalties would never pay your other property taxes or upkeep-and after the job I did to slaughter your character with regard to your divorce negotiations with Arturo, I knew you got nothing coming in from that scheme.”
“But my husband Lance-”
“Don’t make me puke. That sucker stinks out loud and clear through all diplomatic channels. His family pissed away all their real wealth right after World War Two. Your dashing Lance Fondulac obtained his present ambassadorial station through blackmail, his nearly convincing fortune through his roles in arms deals, art smuggling, drug-money laundering, sale of espionage secrets, and white slavery on an international scale. He keeps his gelt to himself through the terms of his prenuptial agreement with you-the only reason he ever wanted or needed you, Constance, is as a front for his US contracts.”
“You think that’s true?”
“Sure do.”
“That’s what I pay you for. What’s your vigorish in stepping on this fish?”
“Suck on it, sister.”
“You’ve had that already. What’s wrong with coin or property?”
“Too material. Remember, I’m a spiritual kind of guy. I’ll be satisfied if you just get clean out of the biz after this bazaar closes.”
“I don’t know you’ll pay off your racket.”
“Go straight is all I’m asking. Meanwhile, how about a kiss?”
Constance pursed her lips.
Griffith inclined his head toward her. She spat into his mask.
“Tut-tut, Constance.”
“But it’s not my fault. Even if I did know or suspect. It means something that I called you in to investigate, after all-”
“To cover your fanny if it blew, as well as to provide a little physical leverage should things get rough. But if the press gets wind-and those pinhead vultures can sure smell carrion when they’re led to it-they rip into you for the sake of a juicy story and Charity House goes down regardless of who’s guilty. And you go with it.”
“But if I’m clean-I can just take my lumps and walk away.”
“No dice this time. You may officially can that excuse. Word, sister. Care to hear Griffith Poindexter’s version of the final ruse?”
“I’ve already paid my dues.”
“Not entirely. Estimate the total gate for this shindig tonight. And make a mental count of the receipts Charity House has taken in for the two days of wining and dining and orgying and opiating before tonight. Impressive to some.
But not to those enquiring eyes that pry.”
“The auction’s not over yet. That’s the biggest single money-raising event we’ve got, especially if my pearls and I are among the lots.”
“Even after the auction, your foundation’s books will inflate the take.”
“Go ahead, shit me-”
“The laundered money that passed through one thousand and one hands back in London will be inserted into the till. Oila! Armscam and Cubanocon booty converted into nontaxable income for Constance Charity EastwickWestbrook’s not-for-profit organization. The international cultural world has indeed reaped great bounties from Charity House’s funding for the arts and international athletics.”
“Maybe Morrigana takes a little cut off the cupcake. And I suppose Veronica gets commissions from my two husbands. I only receive a small stipend as foundation president.”
“But through Morrigana you funnel the cashflow. Appearance fees to glittery celebrities like Jasmine Hyacinthe, alias you, Sandor Kroughleigh, and Veronica Van Damme, to mention but a few, over the past two years have amounted to over five million dollars.”
“So what do you want me to do’ Turn Charity House into a summer retreat for geeks?”
“Might not be a bad number, now that you mention it. You could still hang out here during the winter. And run your ponies and have your dirty dances during the off-season.”
“Shit. I would rather go inside. You could lock me up to fuck and suck dykemeat in prison before I would do that.”
“Hope it doesn’t come to that, sis. How about no more of the charity jokes at all? Your foundation might subsidize and invest in housing for middle and lower income households-instead of riddling the landscape with faggot-designed digs for the fickle tastes of the monied classes.”
“Maybe I’ll give it a whirl.”
“Good girl. Now tell me about the pearls.”
“That the only part of the mystery you haven’t solved? I’m surprised.”
“Don’t be. The way it plays now is I thfnk both Morrigana and Veronica got uptight to the edge of psychopathy because they thought you were, really going to auction off their favorite playthings instead of just their services. The girls took turns, at first without each other’s knowledge, switching the strands on you, ramming them marbles up their, glands and so forth. Sentimental attachment they had developed. So one of them-Veronica’s my candidate-had another set made, be they real or fake, just in case-sounds nutsy, huh? Didn’t think so. Both those women are in love with you. As you have manipulated them skillfully, what else could you expect?”
“For shame on all of us.”
“All the same. Pretty lame the way those two little pussies got all hopped up on pearlfucking and pisswater.”
“You’ve tried it yourself-”
“Ah-I prefer champagne and caviar.”
“I never thought it would come to this.”
“I never thought I could love you like this. Kiss?”
“Bulishit, Griffith.”
“Logos, philas.”
“You better tell me-what’s that Greek for?”
“Word, sister.”
“I’ll take that kiss-if there’s no other hitch. On with the bazaar!”
Trevor, Alistair, and Nigel hoisted Constance from her moving stage and set her on the dail next to the society shrink Tristan Chartning, who, acting as auctioneer, was stamping about in his high-heels, snapping his garters, flattering into the microphone and pounding his dildo-shaped gavel onto the bareassed contessa Isolde Peck’s exposed siliconeimplanted boobs.
“Yabba-dabba-mama-hawma-” Tristan jabbered as the bids for Constance’s pearls rolled in. “The ever-so-British gentleman has bid twenty thousand to bed this wench for the night!”
“That’s my husband’s paltry bid,” Constance hissed. “He never loved me at all!”
The doors blew open and in strode Arturo Mondragon Bourbon, with his fuck-blistered sister Morrigana Lafayette in tow. He pulled out a revolver, raised his arm and snarled out a preremptory bid of one hundred thousand dollars for the services of Constance’s pearls.
“To the dashing man in black,” Tristan knocked down with a whack to Isolde’s jugs.
Griffith, in black leather hood, hobnail boots and mailed gauntlets, stood from his seat next to Constance. “I say the lady’s not yet bought.”
Tristan eyed the man in the black mask. “Shall I declare her to be sold American?”
“I have properly invested shares in her wares.”
“Who stands by this bid?” Tristan said.
“I do,” Constance mewed.
“So you offers herself would purchase yourself?” Tristan said in disbelief.
“The ultimate charity,” Constance syruped. “I purchase and again donate my services. Therefore the wares remain untainted.”
Tristan reeled, fainted into the tough pile of silicon titties on the bareassed cuntessa’s chest. His head came to rest.