Jack lit another Camel. “A moving target for what?”
“A woman’s psychology. We’re all devils on the inside.”
“Do you hear me arguing?”
But on West Street she turned serious. She looked at him almost dolefully. “I’m worried about you, Captain Cordesman. If you decide you need some help — and I don’t mean with the Triangle case — please call me.”
She left him at the corner walk, disappearing like an angel — or like a ghost — into the glare of midday sun.
Chapter 7
“Meat racks!” Ginny whispered.
“Shhh!”
The two figures stepped through the foyer. “Ah,” Erim Khoronos said. “Here they are now.” He turned from the bar, pouring glasses of spring water. “Marzen, Gilles, it’s my pleasure to introduce our guests, Ms. Virginia Thiel and Ms. Veronica Polk.”
Veronica felt an itch of rage. Why didn’t he introduce me first? she thought as a child might. But Ginny was right. These guys were…gorgeous.
Standing before them were two tall handsome young men in identical baggy white slacks and sleeveless T-shirts. Marzen had long blond hair; Gilles’ was black and cut like a marine’s. Veronica’s gaze felt immobile on them, and she could sense Ginny’s dopey man-grin. Both men were well-muscled and well-tanned.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Marzen said, shaking hands. His hand was large, rough. His accent sounded German.
“We’re happy you can be with us,” Gilles added. A French accent, obviously. His hand was softer, more delicate.
Veronica raced for something to say but found nothing.
“See to their bags,” Khoronos said.
Marzen and Gilles left.
Shit! Veronica thought.
“Shit!” Ginny whispered.
“Marzen and Gilles are my charges,” Khoronos said. “I think of them as sons.”
“They seem very nice,” Ginny said. “How did you meet them?”
“Through my dealings abroad, over time,” Khoronos answered, but it wasn’t much of an answer. Veronica felt certain it wasn’t meant to be. “They’re masterful men, as you’ll soon see,” he went on. “They look upon me as their pundit, so to speak. I’d like to think that much of their aesthetic insight comes from me.”
As you you’ll soon see? Veronica thought. What did that mean?
“I must tend to some things now. Dinner will be at seven.”
Abruptly, Khoronos left them alone in the great room.
“This is really strange,” Veronica said, and sat back down on the couch. She jiggled her ice in the spring water.
“I think it’s fun. It’s mysterious.” Ginny grinned. “And we’re definitely going to get laid.”
“Ginny, we’re not here to get laid.”
“What, you took all that stuff he said seriously? Come on, Vern, it’s all a game to him. He’s rich and bored and he likes games.”
“Keep your voice down,” Veronica suggested.
“He thinks of himself as some artistic seer or something. It makes him feel good to invite artists up here and pretend he’s teaching us something. All this whole thing is leading to is an orgy. The decadence of the idle rich.”
“You’re rich.”
“Yeah, but I’m not idle. This whole thing’s a party, so I’m gonna make the best of it. I’m gonna party my face off.”
Some party. Veronica looked at her spring water. Khoronos had informed them that no alcohol was allowed in the house. No tobacco either, and no drugs, not that Veronica did them. “True artists must maintain immaculate spirits,” their host had said. “Any substance which taints the spiritus is forbidden in my home.”
Eventually she and Ginny went out on the balcony off the kitchen, a huge deck which overlooked the pool. A faint breeze rustled through the trees, and a scent of pine. “You sure changed your tune about Khoronos,” Veronica said.
“Just because I know what makes him tick doesn’t mean I don’t want to get into his pants anymore.” Ginny closed her eyes, turned her face to the sun. “I do and I will. And Marzen, Gilles — I’ll ride their brains out too. Everyone’s got to cut loose sometime.”
“Cut loose, huh? That’s what life’s all about?”
“You want to know what life’s all about? First I’ll tell you what it’s not about. It’s not about babies, two-car garages, a dog in the yard, and a station wagon in the driveway.”
Ginny hated domesticity, but Veronica didn’t know how she felt about that herself. Jack had never actually proposed to her, but the implication of marriage was clear. Had that been what scared Veronica off?
“It’s about independence, Vern,” Ginny continued. “That’s the only way a woman can be free.”
Veronica wanted to say something mean, like. You’re only saying that because it’s the only way you can rationalize two failed marriages. “Freedom and sexual abandon are synonymous?”
“Sexual liberty, smartass. If you don’t do what you want, you’re actually doing what someone else wants. Whether it’s a person or society doesn’t matter. It’s subjugation. If a guy fucks everything that moves, that’s okay because it’s an accepted trend. But when a woman does it, she’s a slut. Men can be free but women can’t. It’s a bunch of sexist bullshit. My rebellion is my right of protest. I will not allow myself to be subjugated. I’ll do anything I want, anytime I want.”
Sometimes Veronica forgot she was talking to a notorious feminist. She wanted to argue with Ginny but couldn’t. Veronica had thought that being in love was her freedom, but freedom had its price, didn’t it? Experience, she thought. Being in love had kept her from experiencing what she felt she had to as an artist. Either way, she was torn between ideals.
Ginny lit a cigarette.
“Khoronos said no smoking,” Veronica reminded.
“No smoking in the house; this is the balcony. And…” Ginny paused, peering down. “Well, what have we here?”
Marzen and Gilles walked across the backyard. Off one of the pool decks stood a rack of weights and a bench.
“See?” Ginny observed. “Men are such vain assholes. Without their muscles and their cocks they have no identities.”
But Veronica remained looking on. Marzen and Gilles each peeled off their T-shirts and began curling dumbbells of formidable size. They seemed bored, curling the weights and speaking casually. They seemed to be speaking French.
“But I still love ’em,” Ginny went on. “Check out the beefcake.”
Veronica couldn’t help not. In moments, their rippled backs shined, muscles flexing beneath their tanned skin. It was erotic, earthy, the way their sweat sheened their flesh. Veronica caught herself in a secret image: running her hands over those slick pectorals, exploring. At once she felt dizzy, like the first time she’d met Khoronos. She felt prickly.
“They know we’re watching,” Ginny said.
“They do not,” Veronica objected. Or did they? Her throat felt thick. Next image: herself naked, squirming atop Marzen…
“And you’re trying to tell me you don’t want to cut loose?” Ginny continued to goad. “That’s subjugation too. You’re afraid to release your inhibitions. Is that freedom?”
Veronica felt lost in her imaginings.
Ginny crushed her cigarette and dropped it into the bushes below. “You know,” she said, “men have been using women for the last fifty centuries. It’s high time we started using them back.”
Veronica imagined Marzen poised nude above her. His sweat was dripping off his chest onto hers, hot, like hot wax.
“They like to show off?” Ginny was saying. “I’ll show them some showing off.”