“Look at me, Vince. Don’t I look good? Look at my breasts. They’re nice, aren’t they? You know, I think they’ve grown since I met you. I mean, they’re getting all this exercise and everything. It’s stimulating them, sort of, and they’re getting bigger.”
If they got much bigger she’d need a suitcase to carry them in. He looked at her. She was having that old effect on him again, the effect she invariably had. He didn’t want to go another round, not mentally. But his body somehow wasn’t listening to his mind. His body was acting as though it had a mind of its own, which was sort of disconcerting.
He grabbed her and heaved her down on the bed. The hairnet thing fell away and he threw himself down on her, hungry for her, but now it was her turn to play. She was being coquettish. It was sort of funny, but he didn’t feel like laughing.
“Not so fast,” she was saying. “Let’s go nice and slow now, Vince. Remember the way you teased me that day I was on fire? Remember the way you made me wait and wait and wait and I almost went out of my mind waiting so long? Now you can wait, Vince. Now you can wait until I’m good and ready.”
He was being placed in the difficult position of raping a girl he didn’t want in the first place. Raping a nymphomaniac, which was even worse. How in the name of the Lord did you go about raping a nymphomaniac?
And she wouldn’t stop squirming around. Every time he thought he had her, she would give a little twist and laugh a mean laugh and suddenly she wasn’t where she had been a second ago. It was like banging your head against a brick wall. He got hold of a breast, and held it, and felt all that creamy flesh. And then he would reach for more of her, and, suddenly, the grand prize wasn’t there any more.
Saralee, he thought, you are now about to be raped. Lie back and enjoy it.
The thirty-five dollar hairnet disappeared. It was an exhilarating feeling, ripping a thirty-five dollar hairnet into gossamer wisps. It was even more exhilarating when he hauled off and belted her in the belly with his closed fist.
She let out a roar.
So he belted her again.
Then the prize was his, and it began, and suddenly he heard her bellowing like a wounded steer. Except that she didn’t sound wounded at all, or, for that matter, bovine.
When it was over and he was lying on his back staring vacantly at the ceiling, he knew just what he had to do. It was the only way out, and although it might well kill him, it was the best way to get out of the hotel without her. It would not be easy, not at all, but it was the only way. He had to tell himself over and over again that it was the only way or he could never possibly go through with it. And he had to go through with it, of course, because, after all, it was the only way.
It was a simple way. Very simple.
He simply had to keep doing it to her until she passed out. Over and over again, until she couldn’t take it anymore and passed out. Then he would get up and get dressed and take the car key from her purse and off he would go and the hell with her.
The second time was tough, but he did it, and when he was through he looked hopefully for signs of weariness. But she didn’t look very weary. She looked ready for more.
“That was good,” she told him, her eyes shining. “You know, you seem to improve with practice. You just keep getting better.”
More, he thought. Got to do it again. Then she’ll be so tired she’ll pass out, and that will be just ginger peachy. Then I’ll spring out of bed and off I’ll go, back to the pea-green waters of Lake Lugubrious.
“Come on, Vince,” she said. “Let’s do it again. Gee I haven’t had this much fun in years. For a while there, I thought you were slowing down, but I must have been wrong. Three times in a row! Gee.”
Gee, he thought savagely. Gee, oh, dee, dee, ay, em, en. Gee.
The third time was sort of like trying to climb a mountain with your hands and feet tied together. The third time was sort of like swimming through sand. The third time was torture.
But the third time did the trick. He rolled away from her when it was finally over and looked down into her eyes. They had a dreamy look to them and he knew it was only a matter of seconds before she would fall asleep. Then he would bound out of bed and get that cruddy key and off he would go.
He looked at her, waiting for her to fall asleep, hoping that she would have the decency to conk out before too long. He looked at her, and he felt envious of Bradley Jenkins. Jenkins might have lost a lot of money, but now he had the chance to get his health back. Lucky Jenkins.
Her eyes closed, and her breathing leveled off, and he was ready to get up and go. He was ready, but his body wasn’t ready, and he waited for a minute or two to get his strength up.
And then, abruptly, Vince passed out.
He woke up. He sat up in bed and opened his eyes. He looked over at Saralee but she wasn’t there. She had managed it, had gotten up before him and vanished into New York, leaving him there.
Her purse had gone with her, which meant that his key had gone with her, which in turn meant that he was right back where he started from.
Which was nowhere. Which was up the creek in a lead canoe.
Which was unpleasant.
And it had been such a perfect plan. He’d worked like a Turk, managed three masterful assaults on the castle, and then, with the prize within his grasp, he’d pulled a Bradley Jenkins. Not a faint, perhaps, but a crap-out, and it amounted to about the same thing.
His mind groped around and presented him with a marvelous mental picture. He would wait for her to return, and then they would do it again, and again, and again, and he would keep falling asleep, and he wouldn’t get back to the cabin ever again. And, damn it, today was the last day he had. He couldn’t afford to wait any longer.
Well, the hell with the key. He could always run a jumper wire and get the car started without it. He’d done that once before. It might look strange, might baffle the lot attendant a little, but what the hell, it was his car, and he could play games with it if he wanted to. The lot attendant’s private opinion of him didn’t count now. All that counted was getting back to the lake.
He pulled himself out of bed and jumped into his clothes. He picked up his suitcase, left the room and rang for the elevator. He wasn’t even going to wait for breakfast, not now. He could grab a bite to eat on the road. For the time being, all he wanted was to put as much distance as possible between himself and New York.
He left the elevator, walked around to the garage and found the attendant. “I’m James Blue,” he lied. “I’d like my car, please.”
“Sure,” the guy said. “Hang on a minute and I’ll run her out for you.”
The attendant disappeared and Vince steadied himself. It was suspicious, him leaving with a suitcase. Almost as though he was trying to skip out on his bill. Which, come to think of it, he was.
Well, if the attendant made any trouble, he could always leave the suitcase behind. The suitcase didn’t matter. He mattered, though, and the car mattered. To hell with the suitcase.
The attendant came back smiling. “Sorry,” he said. “Guess you and the missus got your signals crossed.”
Vince looked blank.
“It’s in the book,” the attendant explained. “I wasn’t on then so I didn’t know, but your wife picked up the car a few minutes before eight.”
Vince felt blank.
“If you don’t have too far to go,” the attendant said, “you can always go out front and grab a hack. Easier than driving, especially if you don’t know the city. Doorman’ll flag down a hack for you if you ask him.”
He headed back to the room. All of a sudden he didn’t feel too good.
He felt worse when he got back to the room. Much worse, because he gave the room a quick going-over and saw something, something he hadn’t noticed when he jumped out of bed and headed for freedom.