He looked at her warningly. " That sounds therapeutic, not romantic at all."
" Just don' t let me faint here."
" I think you' d better go home. Come on, I' ll get you there."
" No," she whimpered, but she let him help her dress.
" Go home and get some sleep," said Jules. " You' ll feel better."
" Better? What do you mean better? I' ll just have to fuck till I die… till I can come and look into a pair of dead white eyes."
" You' re getting pretty morbid."
" What the hell. What time is it?"
" I have ten- thirty," answered Maurice.
" Yes, take me home," she mumbled. " I have an eleven o' clock appointment. That will keep me going."
She walked to the door with Conrad. " Thanks for the pot; thanks for the couch; thanks for the lay." Conrad opened the door for her and she moved her hips around him and into the hall.
CHAPTER V
She sat on the couch and opened a fresh pack of cigarettes. It was five to eleven, and she was waiting. All her life, she thought, she had spent waiting. Listening to footsteps in the hall. To keys turning in other locks. The people next door always led a fuller life… of groaning bedsprings and sated morning looks.
And what am I waiting for now, that won' t vanish and won' t separate like mercury in my hands, if I try to hold it? But if you stop trying to hold to things, you relinquish your hold on life. Maybe that' s how you win the game. To find the world, you must first lose it.
Big deal. Here she was waiting to be fucked by two faggots, and that was the only reality. That was the total. Twenty- four years of girlish fantasies and self- importance and faith in her specialness, and now two twentieth century crusaders were going to try to be men for her, or girls for each other, or father and son, or mother and son, or daughters and mothers, or daughters and fathers, or sisters or brothers. Because everyone had just forgotten how to be men and women. And did the men forget first, or didn' t the women – the eternal teachers – teach them a damn thing? Were they all doing it for " kicks?" No, this bug in her was more than a kick. It was voracious enough to swallow her, to suck her in upside down, replacing her head with a great, yawning cunt. Maybe that' s why she was drawing bleeding gashes on her canvas.
Why didn' t they come? Her cunt was beating like an exhausted heart. Probably they' d never arrive. Off somewhere buggering each other. Proving they could do without women, which they could… but who wanted to prove it in the first place? You could do without anything; you could not get born. No, that was the one involuntary action, and Christ, you paid for it.
She heard the shuffle of shoes on the stairway, then a shrill excited laugh, not male or female. Then a rap on the door.
" Let us in. Let us in, you witch."
" We' re dying. We' re just dying."
She opened the door for the two handsome men. The chosen people. The self- sufficient. The suicidal, dead and breathing hard.
" Honey, we' ve worked out a juicy itinerary."
" Well, I' ve got juice enough for the two of you."
" You' re so dirty…"
" I' m so hot."
" Look, doll, we' re more cultivated than that. Let' s have a drink and talk and act like we don' t know what' s going to happen till we get our clothes off."
" All right," she said. " Shall I mix a pitcher of martinis? We might get thirsty."
" A pitcher. Not a drop less. We' ll have a party."
Harry took her hand in his and looked at her with his serious compassionate eyes. " Gloria. Are you just flipping? I mean, if you' re just suffering over some guy, we don' t want to move in and take advantage."
" I' m suffering over all mankind. Look at you two."
" Now that' s no way to talk to your guests," said Jack. " Just go mix the booze, darling."
" My God, Jack," Harry murmured, " you' re so insensitive."
" You bet your next ten screws I' m insensitive. I don' t want histories. I don' t care what' s bugging her. I just like to get my cock in where I can – men, women, children, rocks, walls, water hydrants, old shoes…"
" Okay, okay. You can be such a bore."
" What' s egging you? Is it because you never screwed a woman? It' s easy," Jack snorted. " Just close your eyes and think you' re in any old hole."
" But what does he see when he closes his eyes?"
" His mother, fucking his father and screaming, ' Oh George.'"
" Why don' t you shut your filthy faggot mouth?" Harry spat.
" Cause I' m just a faggot, darling. I don' t care what my mother did. I hope she had as good a time as I do."
" She had a ball."
" Then let' s have a ball. That' s what we' re here for… not group therapy. Not too much vermouth. Please don' t dilute all that beautiful Gordon' s gin."
" You' re so fey," Gloria laughed
" I' m all things to all people."
" And lover to me?" she asked.
" Not lover, baby. Just fucker. Harry is my love."
" Your first?"
" I' m my first. I' m my first and no doubts about that."
" I' m surprised I got into the picture at all," Harry said with a suggestive pout.
" Oh, lover boy, don' t brood." Jack ran his hand over Harry' s tight- muscled buttocks.
" Don' t touch me."
" Whore," said Jack, and kissed his angry lover on the lips.
Gloria sat and watched them. This insatiable trembling between her legs filled her with fear that they would argue and leave, to caress each other later into forgiving sighs.
" Drink your martinis," she said. " No more bickering. We don' t want to hate each other when we screw."
" A little hate is good, cause it' s so violent," said Jack.
" God, you could turn wine to water," giggled Harry.
" But most of all, I' d like to just drink it."
" Let' s just be gay."
" We' re nothing, if not gay."
" Does that make you something?" said Gloria.
" Two very interesting lays."
" I' m finished with my drink. Let' s find out while we can see straight."
" Straight. Straight. I hate that word."
" Yes, Gloria. Be careful of your language."
" Jesus, I think you just came here to discuss language. Easy baby. You know… easy come, easy go."
" God, you' re both scared. Just plain scared. And I thought it was so fancy to be a faggot."
" Just come here," Jack said furiously, " and suck me and you' ll see how scared I am."
The rapist had made her take his prick, already rigid, in her mouth, but the prick offered to her now was flaccid and limp, like a wet rope. She put the flesh into her mouth and her tongue urged it to virility. Her teeth made soft loving bites up the hidden spine of his cock. Her heart felt wild with anger. What if he can' t get in me after all this? Why must we suffer and beg to be laid? Except when you don' t want to. Then they' re hard and urgent against you all the time. They really don' t want you to like it. Not anything. Get hard you bastard. I swear I' ll bite if off.
" Gloria," he wailed, " you' re hurting me," and he pulled her head away. " I' m sorry, baby. Too much talk; too much liquor."
" Look," she said, the madness spinning inside her, " I' m sorry. I didn' t mean to hurt you. But don' t leave me like this. I think that I' d kill myself. Just put your fingers, or your tongue, or the broom in the closet in me. I' ve got a cavern inside of me."
Jack looked at her with pity and contempt. This was what he had always suspected lay hidden behind the modest performances of women – this rage that made them want to swallow your prick and press it out through their cunts. He felt like laughing into her agonized face. You can' t have it baby. It' s all mine, and Harry' s, and it even belongs to the men I offer it to, and sell it to, and give it to. They' re safe. They' ve got cocks of their own. They know enough to give mine back… and really admire it.