That Phillip and Carol were meshed together.
And where the hell did that leave Harry? Somewhere at the end of the table being a brusque fool who stared and refused to eat. He was an outsider, mainly because they were too much for him. They were a black lacework of intricacy, and he was a rough green thread that looped through the pattern. But he always remained vulgar and somehow outside of it.
Yes, there was even something immaculate about their incest. It left Carol the eternal virgin. She would never really give herself to a man, only to Phillip. And that was some mysterious kind of breast-feeding.
Something Harry couldn't figure out, would never figure out. He just sat there, feeling the anger in his body, watching Phillip wipe the plate clean with a piece of French bread after each course, as Carol sat there like his rebuked child.
"You've really gotten a kick out of life, haven't you Phillip?" he finally said.
"I intend to continue having a 'kick,'" Phillip said, holding the word up like a dirty sock. "That's what I'm trying to impress on you Harry.
Life can be lived very effortlessly, very pleasantly."
"I believe in making an effort," Harry said. His knuckles were white on the edge of the white table cloth. "I don't want to make it in your swamp, Phillip. That's not for me." He turned to Carol. "It disgusts me."
"Harry," Carol spoke in a cool voice, "doesn't like swamps, Phillip.
He prefers jungles. Harry is a kind of Superman, a Tarzan. He likes to swing from tree to tree and pound his chest."
"I see you've inherited your father's wit," Harry said, bitter and dry.
"Phillip's given you everything he has. You're a very lucky girl, Carol."
"Yes," she agreed, "Phillip has given me many things. I've had the most generous daddy a girl can have."
"Let's not throw the paternal dignity around too much," Phillip said, seemingly disinterested at the cruel banter, as if he had told Harry the story and was disappointed in the unnecessary reverberations.
"The younger generation," he murmured, "is considerably more neurotic than mine. You take everything so dramatically. Everything must be a crisis. The only crisis I respect is the one Cezanne created in the nineteenth century. Now Harry, don't you feel unimportant, like some Boy Scout next to that?"
Carol laughed the way Phillip often laughed, turning her head slightly to the side and not opening her mouth. "That's perfect, Phillip, exactly the word. Harry is all confused and indignant. He thinks it's disgusting that you got to my cunt first."
Her boldness sounded hollow, like dying words. "It's not that Harry particularly covets my cunt. It's just an idea he has, something about people in the same family shouldn't touch. Harry, you're a hero, but you're so old-fashioned. There's really nothing for you to do in this world. You missed the Crusades."
Harry pushed his chair back and got up from the table. "I think you've both educated me enough," he said coldly. "Fresh air might undo some of it."
Carol sat still, as though stunned. He was the first man to know of her and Phillip, and the first to matter. And he was going to leave, giving her a dead look over his shoulder. She thought desperately, Phillip, help me. Don't let him despise me. Help me.
Phillip put his napkin next to his plate. "I think we should all have coffee first," he suggested. "That will make us all feel a bit more normal." The last word echoed in the dining room, and he hastily added, "I always find scenes banal. Have some coffee Harry, and we'll try to be civilized."
Harry felt the spider wrap another liquid thread around him. He clung helplessly to the web. Carol had not a said a word, had not seconded Phillip's suggestion. She looked beautiful, really beautiful tonight. The long white gown left her curved shoulders bare, the skin on her breasts and arms and shoulders looker powder soft, and he could smell the spicy perfume that emanated from her. He was sure the odor came from her flesh. Looking at her, he wanted to bury his face in her arms, or hair, or fluffy cunt and breathe deeply. Her profile was marble, chiseled from an inner tension and pain that made her extraordinary. He hated her and wanted to ram his cock into her, to despise her, to rape 'Daddy's little girl' out of her virgin pussy.
Phillip watched his eyes and said, "You look really lovely tonight, Carol. I like the piece with that dress. Sets if off nicely."
"I thought you never wore jewels," Harry said, trying to be calm as well. He was going to be calm until he invaded the marble statue.
Carol sat quietly. What were they doing to her now? What was this round-robin of hate? Suddenly, for the first time, she thought they shouldn't have pricks. They shouldn't have anything but smooth round hairless flesh, like I have. They don't want their pricks. They interfere with the cruelty. With the way he'd like to hate me without ever touching me.
Her mind became a jumble of heat and fear, until it suddenly crystallized and Harry's meaningless words got through to her. She was ready to be meaningless too.
"Do you like it?" She fingered the heavy pendant around her neck.
"I know you have a feeling for such things. It belonged to my mother."
She finished, and got up from the table to lead them to the library.
Sitting in the deep chair in the study, Carol looked casually around her and said, "Daddy has one of these rooms everywhere he goes."
"Well not quite everywhere," Phillip answered her gently. He was talking like an old man, the illustrious head of a distinguished, but modest family. "But I've asked you once, and I repeat, let's not talk about Daddy. Especially after such a delightful dinner. I'm tired. You both make me feel like a bent old patriarch. I'd better go to bed early tonight. Anyway, I have a frightening amount of back-cataloguing to get done tomorrow. I hope you don't mind too much, Harry." He was being the perfect father, polite to the stumbling suitor. "Perhaps you and Carol will take a drive. It's stopped raining, I believe. Carol can show you a little of the country here."
He looked at Carol promptingly. Remember your manners; be nice to our guest. She was relaxed now, self-assured and polite. She replied, "I would like some air. How about it, Harry?"
They were winning. He would get the cunt and they would win.
The fair-haired beauty could be had without the Golden Fleece.
Shaken out of his jungle, Harry looked at her a moment before speaking, and then said, "All right, Princess, show me the kingdom."
They sped along the road in a white Jaguar, the top down and the wind fresh on Carol's hair. "How romantic," he thought sarcastically, as he watched her hands, slim and competent on the wheel. She had thrown a cloak over the gown, looking regal and untouchable.
"You're strange," he said finally.
Carol smiled and said lightly, driving gaily away from the darkened estate, "That's the nicest thing you've said to me since we met."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I mean for once you've noticed me, instead of looking at me like so much equipment."
Harry laughed. All right, for a change he'd play it her way. "Oh, come on, you know there are those who 'also serve.'"
"Do I?" she asked softly.
"Are you serious? Phillip would be paralyzed without you."
"And you?" She looked straight ahead, driving fast and expertly.
"I work with Phillip."
"You mean you were working with Phillip. It's all over, you know."
"Because of you?" he asked bluntly. "We'll get over that."
She glared at the road, more insulted by his calm than his ugliness at dinner. "Phillip isn't a pig, that's why. Phillip wants to live, for life, for pleasure. He isn't some stupid little boy playing Indian and creeping into other people's windows." She added abstractly, "It's all over."
"You could be wrong," he warned. "It's not so easy to drop off, just like that. You get hooked. It's like some kind of drug habit." He stopped, unwilling to reveal himself to her, making the obvious effort Anonymous The Pleasure Thieves Page 92