The very illusive S. C. Carewe has struck for the sixth and final time and we still haven't had the pleasure of meeting him/her or it. A note, included with the manuscript for Fagin's Love Course, assured us that S. C. Carewe was disappearing into the countryside of mid-America and would never emerge again. We have no recourse; there is nothing we can do to bring Carewe back again.
Carewe (she could only be a woman; a man could never write quite so well), in her good-bye note, said she was closing out her post office box and could not be reached through any means of pursuit and had this to say about her last manuscript:
Fagin's Love Course is the sixth and final book I shall ever write, now that I have told the total truth about all my friends and neighbors without being discovered. It is the last book about Middlesex and the empty bed blues. Fagin's Love Course shows what happens to the innocents (and sometimes not-so-innocents) when they run away from home. When the citizens of Middlesex learn of the perverted and depraved acts that are going on under the innocuous name Sanctuary, they take drastic action. At the same time, some of the parents learn how to keep their own children from turning their backs on a society that has already turned a deaf ear to the cries of the young for help.
As Dr. Karl Menninger points out in a discussion about Susan Atkins, confessed accomplice in the Sharon Tate murders, nobody asks why these young people turn to a surrogate parent - a substitute God. Laurel Leeds' story backs up the famous psychologist's statement that there is a need for a new and different kind of family concept.
Chapter I
Deena sat gazing at the wall while Ted and Maxine fucked. She could hear their animal grunts, but it meant no more to her than the sound of the wind in the trees or the steady drip-drip-drip of melting snow from the roof. The puddle was growing bigger in the living room and she noticed that Maxine's heels were sliding in it. It would be nice, she thought with a part of her mind, if someone got up and mopped up the water. It wouldn't hurt to put a pan under it. Catch the water, then empty it. Ted's toes were turned under on top of Maxine's feet and Deena was aware of them when they kicked in the water, but only as aware as she was of her own feet, bare and dirty, very cold.
As she sat huddled on the pile of rags on the floor, listening without really hearing, looking without really seeing, she wondered where the Father actually was. She knew he had been gone too long just to go to Philadelphia to meet the new girl's bus. Her stomach was rumbling because she was hungry. A cup of coffee would help. But the Father kept the coffee for himself. He didn't turn on with anything so it seemed fair enough. If she had someone to fuck her, she wouldn't be so hungry and cold and lonely. But since the Father had taken her for his very own, the rest of the men in The Sanctuary wouldn't touch her. With a little smile on her face, Deena listened to Billy. He was speaking words, but she turned them off, paying attention only to the rise and fall of his voice.
"Fuck the Father. I want some pot," Billy said.
Billy was in Deena's line of vision. If he hadn't been, she wouldn't have seen him. Such a nice rich brown color. Brown was warm. Brown was food. Like coffee with cream, like chocolate that had been mixed with vanilla ice cream, like a cinnamon cake. How pretty Billy was. His skin would taste like grocery store chocolate drops and if he fucked her she would be warm. The Father had told her she would be warm if she BELIEVED she would - if she THOUGHT warm, so she told herself to believe and to think warm. And all the time she was looking at Billy, but noticing his brown skin was transparent. She could see right through him. Any time she wanted to, she could focus her eyes, then she would see Billy and know he was just a black boy, not something she could make herself believe she might reach out a hand and take a bite of.
"I said fuck the Father. I want some pot."
Ted raised up his head and shoulders, but his bottom half kept fucking Maxine. His toes slipped and slid in the water where it had formed in a pool on the floor. "The Father won't allow us to have pot because it adds to the hunger. Go make some tea, Billy."
"Crackers, even, for Christ's sake."
"Stop talking about eating and smoking pot and anyway, we haven't got pot. Haven't had any for a long time. Besides, it's for babies. Shit. And let me fuck in peace, will you?"
Deena felt the discordant theme to the music of Ted's voice. It ran together in her eyes and mouth and mixed with the taste of the water that leaked from the roof. The water went down a little indentation in the floor and merged with the dirt in the fireplace. She must remember to think warm, to believe she would be warm. If Billy would fuck her she wouldn't have to pretend. His body would warm her. But the Father wouldn't like it if he came and found her on the floor fucking Billy. Anyway, Billy wouldn't fuck her. He said he didn't like the milk in her breasts. The shattering reeds of reality were piercing Deena's mind and she hurt. With hunger. With cold. "It's the nineteenth of December," she said.
"Deena, shit," said Billy. His voice was raw with something she couldn't quite place. Empathy, sympathy, sorrow? Or just his own hunger?
"A marshmallow in the fireplace would be good," she said absently.
"Where's he at?" Billy frowned.
Maxine whistled through her nose. She was coming. She always whistled through her nose when she came. The smell of sperm was high in the air. To Deena the body fluids were filled with music notes, too. There was the wail of a new baby in that smell. She knew the color was translucent and milky, but to her come looked murky and mottled. The sound of coming was the feel of rain, soft and warm. With music and hair blowing, but even so, there was that newborn cry of anguish. A cry of disappointment at the world.
"I could get into the womb again," she announced. But she wondered what kind of high she'd get if she shot sperm.
"What's she on?" asked Ted. He was still pumping in and out of her. Maxine had reached one orgasm and was building toward another.
"She isn't on anything, you fuckers, you know she isn't on anything, she doesn't have to be on anything more." Billy rambled so. Deena knew if she could just take the time someday, she could help him stop that rambling.
"Billy, just shut up. I want to fuck." That was Maxine. "I mean, Billy, do you always have to rattle off the mouth? Ted and I are fucking, Billy."
"It really is going to be Christmas pretty soon," said Deena. And again she thought, looking into the dirty fireplace and the water that was dribbling into it, if there was just time!
"For shit's sake, what's this Christmas stuff?" Billy's eyes were round and they were not brown. Funny about his not having brown eyes. Gray. Sleet/rain gray that should be spelled with an 'e', grey. Most non-British things were gray with an 'a'. Yes, so many things she'd like to tell everybody. What a delight to know about things like that. Yes, she'd always been a very intelligent girl. Her father had said so. Before she got mad at him and left home and went to be a - She broke into her thoughts with a shrill giggle. Her father thought she was a hippie. Had said, before, yes ... had said she was intelligent. Even when he was so mad at her because she'd fucked a nigger - "Those were his words, not mine, Billy. He said it to me when he shot me." Deena made a gun out of her thumb and index finger and pointed it at Billy. "Like this, Billy. Bam! He shot me first. Then Silky and then Sara Jane and Sara Jane had just come to tell me to watch out. She was a virgin, you know."
"Ted, can't you make her shut up? Ted, I can't concentrate on fucking when she goes on and on about the time her father shot her." Maxine's voice was high and thin and petulant. Privately, Deena thought Maxine was stupid. And possibly jealous, because nobody had shot her and left her for dead.
Billy scooted across the floor to watch Maxine's cunt as it swallowed Ted's prick. The linoleum was cracked in places and Deena noticed Billy's jeans picked up a great big hunk of it and dragged it with him. Billy asked if they'd put cocaine on first.
"Yeah." Ted smiled. A very pretty boy, Ted. Deena thought he looked like a blond Jesus, but that was before the Father had made all the boys shave their beards. Now he looked like a blond Italian, but that was because he was a blond Italian. "Jesus belongs to Christmas." She turned her head and looked at Billy, who had his face down on the cold floor. He was only inches away from Maxine's humping ass. She wondered if he would put his nose in it. Decided not, because almost everything she could think of reminded her of 'not.' Dot, pot, Lot - he was the man with the wife who was turned into a pillar of Salt. Lot's wife. Rot, got, hot, tot, even 'twat,' for although it was spelled with an 'a' it still rhymed. But mostly NOT. No - no - NOT.
"It's just an old Teutonic custom, you know, all those silver balls and all," she said dreamily.
"Does the cocaine make it last all that much longer?" Billy wanted to be academic, thought Deena and all Ted and Maxine wanted to do was fuck.
"I'm coming," said Ted.
"I'm coming," said Maxine.
Deena sang the next lines. "For my head is bending low. I hear their gentle voices calling, Old Black Joe." She finished singing the song in time with the gasps and pants, the "oh's," and the constant whistling inside Maxine's noise, imagined they were violins. When she was finished singing, she said, "Racists. All of you. Me, too. For singing that song. Billy, you could jerk off. Nobody would care. You think you could jerk off and hit my feet from there? I would rub your come all over my feet and they wouldn't be so cold."
"Imagine there's a fire in the fireplace," said Billy. He was getting up from the floor and dusting off his jeans. Deena thought she really should tell him he had a piece of linoleum sticking to his pants but she wouldn't, because he had just now spoken against the Father. Not in so many words, but she was out of her trance now and seeing and hearing clearly.
"Billy, you know it's an insult to the Father to talk like that. It would be different if he weren't doing all he can for us. None of us have any money. Thanks to Ralph and Carrie. Perhaps this new girl will have some."
"They're paying us plenty to keep her on ice for a while," said Ted. "Hey, Maxine, that was a good fuck. We should try to do cocaine more often."
"Who is paying us for keeping this Laurel Leeds at the Sanctuary?" Deena's voice was shrill. "I don't remember hearing anything about anybody paying us."
"Sure, man," said Billy. "She's only sixteen. The Circle people could all get sent up for life if she talked."
"Like Ralph threatened to talk about us, poor bastard," said Maxine.
"It wasn't Ralph! It was Carrie who was going to talk." Deena was sure of that now that her mind was clear as a bell. "Carrie, remember. Poor Carrie. May she rest in peace. Shotgun didn't let her suffer, did he?"
Ted shrugged. "Who knows? She deserved it if he did."
"No!" said Deena. And she was slipping, dripping away again. All was blue and there were clouds all around. The Virgin Mary was coming out of one of the clouds and she carried a lantern in her hand. Inside the lantern was the Father's prick. Inside the head was the slit. Inside the slit was a pearl, which should never be cast before swine. "Once a Catholic always a Catholic," she said grimly. An art gum eraser lay on the floor close to her feet. She reached for it, spread her legs apart and tried to plunge the eraser between her legs, forgetting she was wearing panties.
"Wet it in some of the water running all over the fucking floor, Deena," said Ted. She did and smiled and thanked him. Ted looked at the others and his smile deepened. "She's out of it again," he added, just as though they didn't know and just as though Deena didn't hear him.
Chapter Ii
Laurel Leeds opened the car door and stepped out into six inches of snow. Her gray eyes swept over the dilapidated frame house where she was going to live and she shivered. It wasn't what she was expecting, but maybe it would be better on the inside. Father Jennings was certainly nice. She watched him take the cardboard box that contained the few clothes she'd managed to steal in Las Vegas and come around to the side of the car where she stood.
"Don't be shy, Laurel," he said in his kind voice. "We never lock a door and we certainly don't stand on formality. The Sanctuary isn't at all like the system you've just left. You'll see that right away."
As she trudged through the snow toward the front door, Laurel's teeth chattered. The coat she wore was more suitable for the climate in Las Vegas than it was here. "That town we passed before we turned off, Father Jennings. Wasn't it Middlesex?"
"Yes. But we seldom go there. It's a small town and like so many people, they're inclined to pry. You know how the Establishment is."
Laurel nodded. She knew all right. She'd run away from it. The door opened under Father Jennings' touch and Laurel stepped inside. She felt warmth and smelled coffee perking. It was dark inside because all the windows had been painted black on the inside of what had obviously been the living room of the farm house. But a fire glowed in the fireplace and several people sat around on the floor. A black boy stood up and gave her a shy smile.
"This is Billy," said Father Jennings. "You'll just meet one member of your new family at a time. That way, you can keep the names straight. Billy, this is Laurel."
"Hey, man," said Billy. And took her cardboard box. "Where you want this, Father?"
"I thought I'd put her in with you and Ted and Maxine," said the Father. He took off his heavy coat and carefully hung it in the clothes closet. "I have to take very good care of my Establishment clothes, Laurel," he said by way of apology. Then he stood in the middle of the living room and looked thoughtful. "Yes, Billy. Laurel will be in the room with you and Maxine and Ted."
Billy inclined his head toward Laurel and she realized he wanted her to follow him. They went up a flight of steep stairs, their feet making a lot of noise on the bare boards. There was a long hall and all the bedroom doors were open. Most of them had been torn off the hinges. "We used the doors for firewood," said Billy. "Gets colder than you'd believe here." He smiled. "Nobody closes a door here anyway."
Laurel wondered if she'd ever get over the shock she felt when she saw people fucking, as open about it as though they were eating an ice cream cone. As they passed the other three bedrooms she saw a couple on the floor in the throes of orgasm and heard the harsh sounds of breathing.
"This is Ted. He's kind of ripped right now, but if you're cold, he can get you warm." Laurel looked down on the floor and saw a tangled mop of blond hair, a boy's face with eyes staring up at the wall. The mouth stretched into a semblance of a grin and the blue eyes continued to stare vacantly. "Her name's Laurel, Ted," said the black boy as he put Laurel's cardboard box down.
"Laurel," said Ted from the tattered mattress. Laurel noticed he was covered with several odds and ends of clothing. There was no bedding. She was ashamed of herself for even noticing it. She'd wanted to escape from stupid trappings like elegant bedspreads and crisply ironed sheets, electric blankets and all the other earmarks of a decadent society, hadn't she?
"You want a fuck?" asked Ted. He still hadn't looked at her, but Laurel understood that he couldn't see her very well as she moved inside the room. It hurt her eyes when she looked out the naked windows because the sun was shining brilliantly against the snow, flooding the entire room with light. She didn't want to fuck anybody right now, she thought tiredly. But she knew it was a kind of test and besides, it was offered in the name of friendship and acceptance of her, in the same spirit as a cup of coffee. Billy was looking at her expectantly.
"Sure," she said. And got down on the dirty mattress with Ted. She felt a little frightened now, but it would go away soon, she hoped. And she was terribly cold, but that would melt away under the heat generated from the friction of their bodies.
"How old are you, chickie?" asked Ted.
"Sixteen," she said as she unbuttoned the top of her pantsuit.
"Sixteen." Ted still didn't look at her and Billy remained standing there. She wondered if Billy was going to watch or if he was going to participate. "What kind of a cunt you got, chickie?" asked Ted.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Don't pay any attention to him, man, he's out of it," said Billy.
"I'm not that ripped, asshole," snarled Ted. "I want to know what kind of a cunt she's got."
"You mean color?" Laurel was having trouble with the zipper of her pants. Her fingers were icy cold. There was no heat at all in the room.
"Yes, stupid, the color of your cunt. Purple?" Ted grinned and turned his head in her direction. His eyes were hazy and his pupils pinpoints. She wondered what had turned him on, but she knew better than to ask. She would learn in time. She'd already been in enough trouble because she'd asked questions she shouldn't have.
"Brown hair," she said, trying to pull it off lightly. She was impatient with herself for feeling so clumsy and frightened. And she didn't like the idea of Billy just standing there. It was only because of her upbringing, she knew that. She didn't want to be uptight with hangups like that concerning sex. Fucking was natural and good. It shouldn't be something done in secrecy, hidden away like something shameful. Usually she was able to get out of herself, so she wasn't bothered by inhibitions. But the bus trip had been exhausting and she was in need of a fix. Badly in need of a fix. Her face was beginning to feel all crawly and she'd developed a twitch in her eye.
"Let me help you, girl," said Billy. And his brown hands worked at the zipper. Remotely, Laurel watched him take bits of blue material from the pants that had caught in the zipper. "You in a bad way, honey? Strung out?"
Feeling her throat muscles tense suddenly, Laurel nodded her head. "I'm real down, man."
"Here." Billy held out his hand, palm up. "Speed."
She dropped the capsule and long before it began to take effect, she felt better. Oh, if people only knew! If they could just get the message across how great it was! Drugs were never going to hurt anyone. People who went around saying all that shit were nuts. Out of their living minds. Only those people who belonged to the 'in' groups, herself included, knew the heavenly warmth, the dreamy exhilaration, the flooding sense of power and strength. Suddenly Laurel felt very sorry for all the poor bastards that walk around without anything to help them get through the sorrows of everyday living. Every day? Every minute! Because without the speed things were black and slimy, full of dread and ugliness. Like those old clothes covering Ted. Lovely. Colorful rags, the bugs that crawled around in them such radiantly beautiful colors. If everybody could just once understand how perfectly gorgeous that one little black wing on that cockroach was! What a privilege it was to be able to see things as they really are! Because Laurel knew very well ... believed with every fiber of her being that life was beautiful under the enchantment of speed. It was only when she was down that she didn't find every minute a thing of splendid goodness.
"Ted, oh, Ted." She loved him. She loved everyone except people like her parents. Especially she loved Father Jennings, who had given her shelter from the cruel world. She was a little bit hazy as to how he was able to send her the bus ticket, how he knew about her troubles in the first place, but he was one of the good people, one of those who understood. The kids she'd padded out with in Los Angeles had told her Father Jennings would take care of her. And God knew she had to leave Los Angeles, what with heat coming in on her from all four sides. Somebody had blown the whistle on her in Vegas, she was sure of that. Her crazy parents, probably - well, fuck them!
Now it no longer mattered that Billy was there. She loved him, too. Loved his brown face, his nice round eyes, his kinky black hair. She wondered why he didn't wear a natural, but then Father Jennings wore a crew cut. Underground," she whispered. And was thrilled because they were going to turn the Establishment right back around on its crooked ass ... and how funny it was. To go underground just by getting haircuts. By never going anywhere to mix with squares unless hair was cut and clothes were clean. She had to remember to hang up her pants suit. Keep it nice for the public. Her 'costume,' Father Jennings had said. Like his. A good black overcoat, well-brushed, oh, yes. Sheeee-it.
"Ted, baby, you going to fuck me now?"
"Sure, baby. Get on top."
Heroin. Now she knew he was strung out on the shit. It all made sense to her now. Laurel was afraid of heroin, but she'd been afraid of acid and it had been lovely. She'd been afraid of speed and look what doors of the mind it had opened for her! Look at all that energy. She looked down at Ted's only partially hard prick and thought it was beautiful, beautiful. She had enough strength just pouring out of her head for both of them. She would get it hard for him.
Getting to her knees, putting Ted's rubbery legs over the top of her own, she pulled him up toward her, feeling the strength of her hands on his buttocks. Her face came down in his groin and she shuddered, ecstatic at the sheer beauty of taking that flaccid prick in her mouth and sucking it. Biting it a little. Pulling it into life with her loving lips. Kindness. Love. She thought those two words hard as she felt the knob on her tongue and sucked and sucked.
It was taking her a little time to get his cock hard for him. But that was groovy. That was what was wrong with the whole world. Rush-rush-rush, everybody scurrying around, nothing like this slow dream world of love and kindness she felt now. And yes, it was getting hard. No urgency here. All the time in the world. No pressures except the ones you wanted ... she was going to be happy. Getting hard, harder in her mouth. A big cock. A big young man. Beautiful with his blond hair and his blue eyes all hazy because he was with it, doing his thing. Such a blazingly beautiful smile. God-like, she thought and worshipped him, tugging with loving kindness at the prick in her mouth. Worshipped him because he was the fountain of all life, this Ted. She had known him for possibly two minutes, but she was in tune with him just as she was in tune with the universe. In tune with all living things. He was her brother. And the cockroach, too, her brother.
"Mmmmmmm," she chanted through her nose. In tune with him.
"Suck it harder."
"Mmmmmm.", Of course she would suck it harder, she would do anything anybody wanted her to do. Because she could do anything. She was the life and the fire and all eternity because all eternity was just the life.
"Ahhhh, baby, that's great, great." His eyes were growing more aware. Yes, she was taking the strength that flowed through her inner self and transmitting it through her lips as they pulled and pulled on his prick.
Ted reached down and lifted her by the shoulders. "On top of me, baby. That's enough blow."
She got on top of him and positioned her pussy against his upright pole. Loving it. Wave after wave of bliss rolled over her. Felt the hard prick head as it penetrated her hole. (To think she'd been a virgin just three months ago!) "God, oh, God, this is good!"
Said it because it was. She knew she should feel more than just the sensation, just the knowledge that his prick was going deep inside of her. But she didn't feel any more than just the friction. Soon she would, though - she just knew she would. Because it was supposed to be wonderful. An orgasm was supposed to be just one of the countless other trip things that would bring her pleasure. And God knew she needed all the pleasure she could get after what she'd had to contend with all her life. No pleasure in her parents, that was sure. But she must stop thinking about her parents. Enjoy the fuck. Enjoy the big prick pounding up inside of her, bouncing against her womb. She closed her eyes and crooned softly, bouncing up and down, feeling his hands as they squeezed her breasts, saying it over and over and over - "God, that feels good!" Determined to never admit to anybody that she hadn't come. Afterward, when she'd learned all about how it felt, she would look back on the time when she hadn't come and she'd talk about it then, she was sure. She'd laugh and talk about what a silly little kid she'd been, couldn't even come. But first she had to get over all her hangups. And she was sure she was going about it the right way.
Chapter Iii
Sandra Larramie put the slides she had just prepared for the pathologist on his sterile cabinet and went into her own office. Her normally pleasant face was bitter with anger as she sat down behind her desk to write the report on the victim. After she had carried out the usual hospital procedure, she added a short terse statement to the report and charged into Dr. Farthingale's office.
He looked up, gave her a whimsical smile and said, "What happened? You get stung by a hornet or something? Snow on the ground in Middlesex and you've got all the symptoms of someone who just ripped open a hornet's nest."
The beautiful redhead sat down, crossed her legs and lit a cigarette. 'That child! That beautiful child."
"What child?"
"The emergency. Not only is she suffering from malnutrition, multiple lacerations and a broken hand, but she's got every known venereal disease in the book. She's no more than twelve years old, I think."
"Christ!" The doctor's eyes were grave. "What's the prognosis? I've not talked with Doctor Westlake."
"If she lives, she'll be a basket case emotionally and mentally. There's brain damage."
The doctor looked out the window. "Where in the hell are these kids coming from? That's the second one this week."
"The boy won't talk to anybody about anything," said Sandra. "And it isn't because he can't talk, either. He won't. Personally, I-think he's afraid to open his mouth." Sandra stubbed out her cigarette and stood up. "Oh, yes. Among other things, the girl is pregnant. Doctor Farthingale, either those two kids were brought here and dumped out on the road in that condition, or they live close enough to Middlesex to have attempted to walk here."
"And we don't know their names or where they come from."
"No. The girl might be able to talk. It's too early to tell how much brain damage there is. She's younger than the boy and in much worse condition. If she's able to function at all, she might say who she is and what happened to her. I'd like permission to talk to her myself when she's out of recovery."
The doctor nodded. "You have it."
* * *
The kitchen of the old farmhouse was equipped with a pump and a sink, a broken-down kitchen cupboard and a small table. There was a chair for Father Jennings, but the rest of the Family sat on the floor and ate their peanut butter and jelly as he spoke to them in his soft voice. Now and then, Father Jennings reached down and wiped his hands on Deena's hair. Basking under this show of his love for her, Deena trembled and bared her breast. Her shining eyes showed her she didn't mind the cold in the old kitchen and the Father had finished with his peanut butter and crackers. It was time to nurse him. Deena's baby had died, but the Father kept her breasts full of milk. She stood over him and dangled her breasts down, her plump face soft with tenderness as she watched his mouth tighten around the nipple. Deena wanted to squeeze her whole tit in his mouth, but he was constantly telling her she wanted the world and a ring around it and had to learn to be content with unworldly things. She didn't quite understand what he meant by saying she wanted worldly things, because hadn't she given up all her wealth to live with him here? He had taught her all about the New Concept himself, but sometimes she got confused. She told herself it couldn't be true that the Father got confused as she sometimes found herself believing, so therefore it had to be that she was the one. He did get angry with her, though, when she wanted too much.
Right now, all Deena wanted was to continue nursing him. To push more of her great breast inside his mouth. Sometimes she wearied of having to share him with so many people. She had liked it better when there had just been the two of them, planning the New Concept all out on paper. Then he had never sucked another girl's breasts, never fucked anybody but Deena. He kept after her, though and he was so patient and kind to her. The only time he punished her was when she had been bad. Like being jealous. He had seen right through her when she'd objected because he sucked Alfa's breasts. It was true that she had not wanted him to do it. She wondered if she would ever get over the sickness within her soul that made her jealous. Yes, he had seen right through her when she'd said, "Alfa needs the milk for her baby."
"You're jealous, Deena." How gentle his voice had been. Her cunt dripped as she thought about how sweet his voice had been when he had said she was jealous.
"Alfa's baby might die anyway," she'd ventured. She tried to convince herself she didn't hope the baby would die just because hers had.
"If the baby dies, it is because it is not supposed to live," said the Father in his kind voice. "This shall be your punishment for being jealous, Deena. Go and allow Billy to suck your milk for you. Billy must have sustenance if he is to go into Pittsburgh tonight."
Deena remembered how ashamed she had been to have to stand spraddle-legged while Billy tipped his head up and sucked her milk. Not because everyone had stood in a circle and watched. But because she couldn't shake the old prejudice against black people. Knowing perfectly well that this was why the Father had made her do it, she understood. But Billy's purple-brown mouth on her nipple had made her blaze with the old prejudice. The Father explained to her that the prejudice she felt would take a long time to melt away, because she had been brought up to believe she was superior. Almost everyone has, he had continued, even the blacks are brought up to believe they are not as good as white people. Yes, Deena understood, but now she was worrying about the new member of the Family. Laurel Leeds had seemed like a quiet little creature to begin with. That was a threat to her, she felt. Deena had to constantly be at war with the thing in her nature that made her yell and scream when she was hurt, angry or frightened. It would be nice, she thought, if she could be quiet and gentle all the time. Then the Father would fuck her every day, just as he had when they'd first come here. Now he hardly ever did it. Of course she knew she had some terrible faults, but she was trying very hard to rid herself of them. Out of them all, Deena had been the first to vote for bringing Laurel to the Sanctuary. She was at least proud of that.
The Father leaned back in his chair and Deena popped her breast back inside her blouse, disappointed that it was over. She wanted to take her other tit and force it on him, but he was finished. He had not given her permission to move, so she remained where she was, proudly. Her dark brown hair hung to her waist and she was very happy that she was not feeling the cold right then, because the Father would have been angry if he'd opened his eyes and noticed that she was shivering.
"I have some bad news, I'm afraid. Middlesex authorities found Carrie. She's in Middlesex Hospital under intensive care."
The group of young people who sat in a circle around the Father's chair were silent. Something like the sound of electricity as it hums through country power poles was an almost tangible force in the room. At last, after a very long silence, the Father spoke. He gave the signal for open Family discussion. "I am open for suggestions."
"She will talk," said Deena.
Shotgun stood up and stalked around the room, his gaunt face haunted with fear. "I thought I did the job on her," he said.
Deena felt all the blood drain from her body. "If she lives, she'll tell who did it to her!"
The Father leaned back in his chair. An extremely pained expression was on his face. "I was under the impression that I made myself clear. Thus far, I have received two statements of fact. We are all aware of these facts. Deena says in her typically frightened little-girl's voice that the girl will talk. We all know Carrie will talk. Shotgun says he thought sure he did the job. We're all aware of this, too. An assassination is total. It was regrettable that the girl had to be wasted, but it was for the protection of the greatest number that we voted to do this. Perhaps I should reiterate my statement and we shall wipe the slate clean, starting anew. I am open for suggestions."
Chapter Iv
Suzan Hillman bent over and took four loaves of bread out of the oven. Her flaxen hair was in two neat braids around her head and her cheeks were flushed from the oven heat. The rich fragrance of the fresh baked bread rose in the country kitchen and two bearded youths dashed in from the living room.
Suzan laughed. "You fellas would smell bread fresh from the oven if you were all the way in Middlesex."
Tom Kilroy and Matt Hillman busied themselves at the refrigerator with butter, while Matt's teen-aged wife opened a jar of homemade jelly. "Don't spoil your appetites for supper," she said.
The kitchen was old-fashioned, but clean. An electric stove purchased from the Goodwill Store in Philadelphia had been bought with mutual communal funds along with the second-hand refrigerator and the old-fashioned kitchen cabinet. Psychedelic posters brightened the drab walls and Suzan's bead work added a dash of color where she'd left it on the kitchen table. The young people in the commune preferred bright colors, both in decor and dress.
When it became generally known inside the city limits of Middlesex that Marie Travis was going to allow her daughter to marry Matt Hillman before either of the children were out of high school, a hue and cry went up all over town. Then Honey Lou Nordley had allowed Matt to have a substantial amount of money from the inheritance left to him by his father. Matt had used the money to purchase the old Lassen estate. People said Honey Lou had taken leave of her senses since she'd married Joe Nordley. Yes, when she and her new husband said there was nothing wrong about Suzan and Matt's decision to form a commune at their house, Middlesex went into hysterics.
"Why, that's the same as communism," said Marie's brother.
"It certainly is. All those hippies out there running around and taking dope, wearing their hair long and going to school - why, that's terrible!" Paul Stevenson added that he didn't know what would become of the country when these radicals took over.
"And did you know there's an Oriental girl living with them?"
"No!"
"Yes, that's absolutely true. Sure as I'm living and breathing, those fool kids have got an Oriental girl living right in that house with them. I tell you, it's a sin and a shame the way the younger generation is carrying on, but when responsible people like the kids' parents are a party to it! Well! And you know they just have all kinds of sex out there. You know they do. Probably that Chinese or Japanese girl takes turns."
Joan Paine said it wasn't all that bad, she'd been there. "Now, they keep that place clean. And if there's mixed-sex going on, I sure didn't see any signs of it. I just thought they all wanted to live together because it's cheaper. Most of the kids are going to the University and holding down jobs."
"How do you know?"
"Why, as I said, I've been there. They all have certain household chores they do - and I don't think they're on dope, either."
"Well, they wouldn't smoke pot in front of a decent person!"
Joan said, "I can't see there's much difference between what the kids are doing out there and what's taking place at the Sanctuary."
The rest of the people quickly put Joan straight. "That's different. There's a responsible adult at the Sanctuary. You can bet your bottom dollar he doesn't allow free sex to go on. Even though they do have a colored boy out there, you know that Mr. Jennings doesn't allow any fooling around to go on. Those kids are all decent, law-abiding people. Every one of them has his hair cut short - the boys at least and they're all working hard on their studies. Now, the kids in the commune, seems like they've got plenty of time to horse around town - always hanging out at the Looney Bin, driving their cars, cutting up - yes, that's a different matter altogether."
* * *
Paula Mayberry came into the commune from the cold and went straight to the kitchen, where she tore off a chunk of hot bread with her fingers and ate it before she took off her coat. "MMMM, Suzan, you make better bread than anybody!" Paula's cheeks were bright pink from the cold and her eyes were the color of gentians. "I'm freezing. It's stopped snowing but getting a lot colder."
"I'll get you warm," said Tom.
"How soon is supper, Suzan?" asked Paul as she sat on Tom's lap.
"Half hour," said Suzan.
"Time for a good fuck, then," said Tom. And stood up, spilling Paula off his lap.
The bedroom Paula and Tom shared was colorful with posters and an Indian print spread. Paula didn't waste any time about getting out of her clothes and into the bed and Tom was almost as quick. They came into each other's arms urgently, their mouths meeting, their tongues reaching for the warmth of sexual contact. Paula's hips pistoned and Tom's prick was erect and anxious as it rode between her inner thighs in the warmth of her slit before penetration.
His mouth found the nipples of her right breast and his hand took the other one, massaging it and pulling on it as he sucked the right one. Paula sighed and humped madly, everything centered on the hot juices that roiled in her young body, in the heat that always took her by surprise when she opened her arms and her cunt to Tom.
Taking his lips from her breast, Tom said, "Tonight when we go to bed, I'm going to show you what a reamed out, sucked out pussy feels like. And you're going to suck my cock."
Paula vibrated as she let his words sink into her brain, felt her clit flutter as it anticipated the touch of Tom's hot tongue on it. But right now she wanted him to fuck her. Using her body to tell him what she wanted, she adjusted herself and waited for him to mount her, lost in the enchantment of the knowledge they would soon be one again. "I love it," she said simply. "I love it, love it, love it."
He centered his prick on her vestibule and bent forward, kissing her lovely breasts once more before he took the initial thrust. "I love it too. And I love doing it with you." When he thrust it in, he closed his eyes and allowed the sweet hot surge of sensation to overcome him. She was always so tight. So hot. And on the inside of her channel he was sure she had multiple suction cups that embraced his prick in the most erotic, nerve-caressing, fire-producing feeling. When he was inside of her to the hilt, with his balls resting against her perineum, he felt her thrust her hips upward, spread her legs wider to allow him one more half inch of entry. They fucked slowly, dreamily, their bodies in complete union and their minds in tune, lost in the surge and rhythm of their mutual trust and desires.
He looked down at her flushed face, at the way her mouth curled up in a perpetual smile and he loved her. She looked up at him, at the way his eyes devoured her and at the same time his prick was consuming her and she loved him.
Neither Tom nor Paula was screwing anyone else at the moment, but both of them were sure that time would someday come. Neither Paula nor Tom thought of their love in terms of marriage. They belonged to the new morality, the new concept of sexual freedom. They did their thing, sexually, politically and scholastically. To them, sex was something great, beautiful and necessary. The relationship between Tom and Paula had been going on for over a year, but they'd lived at the commune for just three months.
The heat their thrashing bodies had generated was so strong that they'd kicked off the bed clothing. Paula's legs were spread wide apart, but her arms were tightly wound around Tom's neck. "Oh, Tom! I'm coming," she whispered as she humped harder. She felt the gush rip from her body and gave herself to it in the most natural freedom. She was not hung up with the mutual come. Tom would gush whenever he wanted to. She would have another orgasm very quickly whether Tom did or not.
Things had not always been so lovely for Paula. A child of the New York slums, she'd been brought up by a drunken mother who had a child every year by an assortment of men. At thirteen, Paula's mother awakened her one day at dawn and said, "Get up. You got to start earning your keep."
Paula had been a skinny little girl at thirteen. Her periods had started a few months previously and her breasts were just beginning to bud. In her dazed mind, she'd thought her mother meant for her to get out of the ratty bed she shared with three sisters, a bed that always smelled of unwashed bodies and urine because the baby wet the bed and clean up the stinking kitchen. Paula knew better than to argue when her mother was drunk. And since her mother was drunk most of the time, Paula didn't argue often. Obediently, she got out of bed and headed toward the kitchen. Although she was not the oldest child, cleaning the kitchen was her task. The oldest child was in reform school.
"Not there, in here!" hissed Paula's mother. A cold New York dawn was heavy in the sky. Paula saw it as she gazed in confusion out the living room window. She also saw that a man was sitting in the one chair and that her mother had taken the children off the ragged old studio couch. Paula was accustomed to awakening to find her mother asleep and drunk on the floor. Asleep and drunk in her bedroom, with a man or without one, sometimes more than one. But she'd never awakened to find her mother reasonably sober and dressed and at the same time with a man in the living room, also dressed.
"This here's my girl, Delmar. Her name is Paula."
"Come here, honey." The man held his arms out and Paula stared, suspicious. In school, they told her not to go with a strange man if one accosted her on the streets. She was in her own tenement apartment with her mother, who knew this man, but something inside of Paula's head was spinning with alarm. She didn't like the man. He smelled funny. Like oil and sardines and beer. He smiled at her and she noticed he had gold teeth that glittered. For a reason she didn't understand, she bolted and started to run from the room. Her mother caught her and slapped her face. "You behave now. Go sit on Delmar's lap." To the man she said archly, "I told you she's a wild one. Never been touched before."
"You sure?" Delmar held her in his heavy arms and Paula knew there was no way she could get away from him. She knew about fucking. She had seen it going on plenty of times. There was her mother and all her mother's men friends. Her brother who was in reform school was two years older and he had often brought girls to the apartment. Sometimes several boys came to the apartment after school and they'd have just one girl. Paula's brother Ed would hold the girl down and all the boys would take turns at her. Paula had watched sometimes, peeking around from behind the couch. The man across the hall had once grabbed her tits when she'd been taking out the garbage. He'd grinned at her and said he was going to fuck her. She'd seen a man and woman on the fire escape on several different occasions. In the summertime they always came out from their fifth floor apartment and fucked on the fire escape. So Paula had a pretty good idea what this strange man her mother had brought home planned to do to her. She felt the fear wash over her, but she held still when his fat hands reached up under her nightgown and pinched her pussy.
"She's nicely haired out," the man said to her mother. "You sure she's only thirteen?"
"Tell the nice man when your birthday was, honey." Her mother had given Paula one of her "butter wouldn't melt in her mouth" looks, smile and all. Paula told Delmar when her birthday was, what year she'd been born, because he asked that, too. His expression was suspicious as though he didn't quite believe her. Or maybe, she'd thought much later, he'd felt her mother was trying to pull the wool over his eyes.
His hands had continued to rub up and down her bare legs. Now and then he dipped a finger inside her hole and she squirmed, drawing back. It had not hurt, but she had not liked it, either.
"Paula! Now, you behave yourself and let Delmar do what he wants."
"Mom, do I have to?" Sometimes Paula awakened now, at nineteen, out of a deep sleep into remembered terror. Her voice had sounded so childish, yet so adult, so whipped by the knowledge that she did have to; for by then there had been no doubt in her mind, none whatsoever.
She had known it would be bad enough before the man took her from the house. But when she learned she was to be taken away from what little bit of security she knew, she had burst into tears. Her mother had belted her another one across her face and drew back her hand to swat her again when Delmar interfered. "I don't want her face all battered, Eunice." Then he'd told Paula's mother to get the child a coat.
Paula's mother had gone into the bedroom with the bed that always smelled of piss, stale cracker crumbs and filth and had come back carrying Paula's coat. But then she'd stood in front of the doorway, blocking it. "You promised the money first. After, she's my child and she's a virgin. Only thirteen years old and all ... " All of it spoken in a voice that was a cross between a whine and a demand.
"All right. But she'd better be what you said she was. You know The Kid. You know what he wants." There had been a nasty threat in Delmar's voice that terrified the child.
"Mother!" Paula had held out her arms to her mother as she was being carried out of the stinking apartment and down the stairs. She wanted to cling to the familiar halls even though they were dark and dirty and smelled of cooked cabbage and onions. She was crying by the time they got to the street. She was afraid of the man called Delmar, but she was more afraid of what he would do to her. She understood by the general gist of the conversation between her mother and this man that he was going to fuck her. But her terror was in the realization that he might also kill her. She knew men did kill little girls and she'd not had any previous reason to believe her mother wouldn't sell her to be killed as quickly as to be fucked.
They had driven across town and all the while Delmar had told Paula to hush her goddamn bawling. There had been an elevator. They rode up to an apartment and another man opened the door. He was old. Very old. "Get her into the bathroom. She smells!" Those were the first words the other man spoke after he took a look at Paula.
Delmar took her into a beautiful bathroom and told her to take a bath. Then he'd given her nice clean towels, soap and bath oil and instructed her about using none of the other things in the bathroom. She would have stayed in there forever if it had been up to her, but there'd been no lock on the door and she'd been helpless when Delmar came back and told her to stop dawdling. "The Kid wants you now."
Years later, Paula realized who The Kid was. Then, she'd only wondered vaguely why he was called "The Kid" when he was so very old. He was so ancient that he gave off an odor that she associated even then with old and sick men.
That had been Paula's introduction to sex. On a bed with a scarlet satin spread, her small child's body freshly washed. The Kid had stretched her out naked and looked at her for a while. She had known little of real evil then and only guessed at what was meant by perverse behavior. She was aware of what went on around her as only a slum child is aware, but she could sense there was something decadent in the way the old man fondled her body. His hands were bone dry and feverish. Over and over he asked her to tell him her age. She didn't know if he was deaf or if he just liked to hear the sound of her voice. "Thirteen."
"Thirteen? My, my." And then he would shake his mane of gray hair as though he just couldn't get over it.
He combed her light brown hair and curled it around his fingers. Then he took a smaller comb and combed the hairs on her pussy while she trembled at his touch. "How old did you say you are?"
"Thirteen."
"Well, well. Only thirteen. Such a little flower. Just beginning to bud." He inspected her breasts with his eyes. He was so old that he had a milky film over them and the skin underneath hung down in little pockets. His hands slid over her breasts and pinched the firm ripening mounds until she cried out. Then he would ask her to tell him her age again. He fed her chocolate covered cherries from a box at the bedside table. Sometimes he sucked the juice out of her mouth before she had a chance to swallow it.
"What grade are you in, Paula?"
"Eighth grade."
"You know why you're here?"
"Yes."
"Are you afraid?"
"Yes."
"That's good. Because it's so much better when there is fear. I'm not going to hurt you, though." His old eyes with their wrinkles and bags under them peered at her closely. Then his false teeth had clicked as he opened his mouth to ask her, "Well now, are you sure you didn't ever let your brothers fuck you?"
"No, sir. They didn't try."
"Nonsense. All brothers try." He had squeezed her upper arm so hard that she'd cried out.
"That hurt, did it?" He had cackled and gone off on another tangent. He'd mumbled something about somebody named Margaret, then he'd again lifted the pocket comb and parted her pussy hair, smiling all the while with his bright white false teeth. "Such a little jewel of a twat. Nicely haired, but not too bushy. And not used. No, not used. I think. Not even a brother. Hmmmm, usually when they're old enough to fuck, their brothers get to them first, oh, my!"
Now comes the hurting part, she'd thought as she squinched her eyes shut and held her breath. He was getting to his legs, creaking in all his joints. He'd coughed, fumbled for a snow white linen handkerchief and coughed again, patting his lips in a delicate way. Then he'd rung a silver bell on the table. "Delmar! Come, Delmar! Some Vaseline."
"Sure, boss." The oily man named Delmar must have known what the old man wanted, because he had a jar in his hand.
"You want me to oil her up, boss?"
"No, no. Get out. I don't want those crude hands of yours on her."
The Kid's old hands had slathered her all over down there where she peed and she winced when he stuck in a thumb. He frowned because he hadn't felt the hymen. "No cherry, little girl?"
Afraid he was going to hit her, she tried to understand what he was angry about, but he soon forgot, or decided it wasn't important.
Now the thing she dreaded was going to happen. She knew for sure.
And that time she had been right. He had turned down the red satin bedspread and told her to get on the sheets. Then he had taken off his clothes, letting them fall on the floor. She had been afraid to look at him, knowing he would look even more horrid than she imagined. But he made her open her eyes. "You must see my body. A fine specimen of good physical health in spite of my age. Good diet and clean living. Plenty of wheat germ and fresh fruits and novices."
In all her life, Paula couldn't have imagined anything looking worse. In a way, he'd reminded her of a skeleton, but he still had a parchment covering of skin on his bones, hanging down in loose folds from his arms and legs. His neck was a network of tiny, overlapping squares and his prick stood out, slender as a fountain pen. She had seen bigger ones on young boys, she thought with contempt. But she was gutter-snipe wise and kept her mouth shut.
His body came down on her and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her as she fought the impulse to fight him off. That smell of decayed flesh, of liniment and Sen-Sen made her physically ill even yet.
It had not hurt much. Enough to cause her to cry out when the hymen ruptured, enough to make her hands try to push him away. She'd had no strength in her hands, but she beat at him anyway and to her amazement he chuckled. "That's right, my little angel, that's right. Do it some more." It took her a moment to realize he wanted her to fight him off. She understood better because of the increased plunging of his prick inside her vagina rather, than his words.
She felt a weak shooting inside her aching channel and then it was over. He was on top of her, all his weight, gasping and making a weird sound in between the gasps. She had remained quiet, afraid to move, positive that he was dying. In a few seconds the man called Delmar came hurrying into the room and helped the old man off of her.
"No, wait!" The Kid had wheezed. And then he'd flung his face down on the bed and licked the bright red blood from the sheet.
After The Kid, there had been more men who wanted to buy Eunice May berry's little daughter. When Paula dared to protest, her mother screamed at her. "You shut up, you ungrateful brat! You want to eat, don't you? You want to have clothes on your back, don't you? Do you want to be responsible for seeing your little brothers and sisters starving to death?" After a while, Paula became more or less immune to the constant assaults on her young body. Before she was quite sixteen, her mother had been found stabbed to death on a street corner. All the younger children had gone to live in a shelter. Later, private foster homes had been found for them. Paula remained at the big home for indigent children because nobody had wanted a child who had sold herself on the streets. She had tried to say she hadn't sold herself, but the doctor had asked her when he'd made the examination how long it had been since she'd been a virgin. Paula made the mistake of answering him truthfully. When she tried to protest that she hadn't done it out of anything like a free choice, she was told to not speak ill of the dead - and that all the prisons were full of "innocent" people.
When Paula was graduated from high school she was eighteen and no longer under the jurisdiction of the State. After she'd worked for a year as a waitress, she came to Middlesex and found work in a private home where she could tutor their children in exchange for board and room. She was enrolled in the University a few miles beyond Middlesex when she met Tom Kilroy. It had taken him three months to make her body know what her mind had known all along.
"Darling," she said breathlessly. "I love you. Don't go to sleep. I think Suzan has supper ready."
* * *
Mitsu Ling let herself into the commune quietly. Her face, usually vivacious with good health, was not the peach bloom loveliness her fellow householders had come to expect. Sitting a little apart from Matt and Suzan, Paula and Tom, she said, "I'm not hungry tonight. I'll fix myself tea. Sit still, Suzan, please. I shall get it myself."
When Mitsu was out of the room Suzan's face expressed her concern. "Do you suppose she and Allan have argued?"
"She'll tell us, Suzan," said Matt gently, "if it's something she wants us to know."
"I am sorry," said Mitsu after she'd again seated herself at the dining room table. "I have done something I am not usually one to do. I cause distress at the supper table."
"Are you ill, Mitsu?" Suzan halfway started to stand up. Even though she was the youngest member of the commune, she felt responsible in a way, for the rest of the people. Not Matt, of course. He was her husband. But for the rest of the people she and Matt shared their home with.
"It is a bad thing. Something that happen at the hospital. So you see -" Mitsu looked pensive, then finished in her charming accent, "I should not say these things here. Especially when everyone is eating. It is bad manners."
"Please, Mitsu," said Paula. "Tell us."
"It is this very young, so small girl. She is on my floor. She died this afternoon. This is why I am late. It is my first time with a death of a child and I am not sure I should continue with the nursing. So sad. And so much more sad because nobody knows her name, poor child. There are no - mother and father to know she is dead.
Chapter V
From the beginning, Sandra Larramie had felt especially drawn to the little girl. Very often, the beautiful redhead worked in the emergency room, for even though she was a medical technician, Middlesex was a small community hospital and like most, was understaffed. Because she was fast and efficient, Sandra was often caught up on her own work. Emergency room was always crowded with mothers who had allowed the baby's cold to get out of control, accidents and chronic complainers of both sexes who hoped somebody would someday find something terribly wrong with them so they could be hospitalized. She had taken care of a more than usual amount of those poor souls who craved some measure of fame so desperately that they submitted themselves to examinations they didn't need and paid money they couldn't afford for their small space of time in the sun of human-to-human contact.
The day the little girl had been brought in, Sandra had been taking a quick coffee break in the cafeteria. She'd said to a nurse, "And they wonder why so many people in this godforsaken profession go fuck-crazy. I'd rather be fuck-crazy than stark raving mad."
"What's bugging you especially, Sandra?"
"The people. That old woman I just saw. Strong as a horse, but she's so fucking lonely. Nobody to talk to, her kids never come to see her. They live fifteen miles away and they haven't been to see their mother since last Christmas. Now this Christmas they aren't coming. So she thinks she's got cancer. Anybody's better than nobody when they need somebody to listen. Even a nymphomaniac nurse like me. Hell, I'm not even a nurse. I'm just a half-assed medical technician."
Dr. Farthingale came in just then and patted her ass. "Looks like a regulation ass to me. All there. No halves."
"Fuck you, Doctor," said Sandra.
She'd been flippant and hard because there had been something about that little girl who had reminded her of herself at that age. She hadn't been referring to the child's beauty, because Sandra knew she'd been ugly as a mud fence as a child. But the girl had the same color of eyes, drenched with intolerable pain and she'd had the same kind of mouth. Soft and lost. Sandra had learned how to hold her mouth in a hard line and she'd stopped feeling lost a long time ago. She had thought originally the little girl had been beaten by a parent. In Middlesex, they didn't see so many children who'd been brutalized by their parents, but even in a town that size there were enough. One was more than enough, Sandra was thinking.
The days passed. Three, altogether and nobody came to claim the injured child. Sandra learned that she was older than she looked. Perhaps fourteen, maybe even fifteen. She also learned that a bullet wound was lodged in the child's lungs. After an operation, the child hovered in a coma. She was listed as a shooting victim, with complications, of course. The pat two-word explanation that meant several things or nothing. There had been multiple lacerations, broken bones and shock as well as exposure. Nobody knew how long the child had lain, half dead and almost naked, alongside the road. There was some evidence (abrasions on both knees) that pointed to the possibility that after the child had been beaten and shot she'd crawled to the highway.
Sandra had been in her own department when three little boys were brought into emergency, all burned around the hands and arms. They'd been playing with matches. Her telephone had rung and she'd gone right away, helping to hold the screaming children while the nurse treated their burns. Then Stephanie Sleet came down from the children's ward. "Sandra, could you help me a few minutes?"
"Sure."
Stephanie was very big. She was at least a hundred pounds overweight but with the face of an angel. "It's that little girl. The Doe. All I have is a student nurse to watch over the pedes because I've got three babies in intensive care with pneumonia. In about ten minutes the afternoon staff will show up - I hope. I must have someone with little Miss Doe."
"Someday we're going to get caught, me handling nursing jobs," said Sandra.
"We get caught, we get caught," said Stephanie. "What can we do? Short hand, all these people." She looked down at the small girl and her soft lips trembled. Her head shook and her eyes looked sad. "I can't get accustomed to it."
Even though the child was unconscious, Sandra would not voice the question that was forming on her lips. Nobody knew how much the subconscious registered and if the little girl heard somebody voice the fact that she was probably dying, it wouldn't do her will to live any good.
"Those," said Stephanie. And gestured toward the equipment that was keeping the child alive. Sandra nodded and the heavy nurse left on silent feet, with only her uniform rustling.
For minutes, Sandra had looked at the small face, at the pointed chin, watching the equipment, listening to the bubbling sound that rushed through the life-giving tubes, listening to the hum of the oxygen. The student nurse, Mitsu Ling, came in and stood on the other side of the bed. Together, Sandra and Mitsu did what they could. Dr. Farthingale was summoned when the respiration and pulse began to flag. He came quickly, gave the little unyielding, unflinching arm an injection, then shook his head.
When she had a minute to spare Sandra said, "It's murder, of course."
"Of course." Dr. Farthingale gave her a piercing look. "What do you think you're going to gain by going to pieces like this? I've had my hands full with Miss Ling. She takes it as though it were a personal injury. My God, do you people think I want children to die?"
"Oh, Doc, don't be such a bear," said Sandra. But she stopped crying and blew her nose. How stupid of her. How unlike her. But there had been something about that little life, so fragile, so doll-like, so-
"Will you please call the Coroner, Miss Larramie?"
"Yes, Doctor."
* * *
At the Commune, Mitsu sobbed bitterly in Allan's arms. Allan Mays was a pre-med student, several years older than the rest of the young people who lived there. The relationship between Mitsu, the beautiful Japanese girl and Allan Mays, who was a mixture of Panamanian, American and African, was meaningful. It was connected with the future. If they married now, they would suffer financially. Mitsu's parents believed a young lady should remain single until her husband was capable of supporting her. Allan could barely support himself. Mitsu's parents sent an allowance each month that wouldn't quite stretch far enough to support her in a private apartment. Sharing house upkeep, food and utilities with Matt and Suzan Hillman gave the young lovers an opportunity to be together. They felt married. They behaved as though they were married. All their relationship lacked to make it legal was the piece of paper, the ring and a few words said in front of a judge.
Mitsu tried not to think about the future. She knew her parents would disown her. Her ancestry could be traced back for hundreds of years. Traditionally, she was expected to marry a Japanese. Her sister had married an American, a white lawyer. The parents had disowned her. Therefore Mitsu knew when she married Allan Mays they would disown her, too. Mitsu knew she would marry Allan anyway. His behavior that night reinforced her opinion of him, which was already high. She could not think of sex that night, even though she normally was highly sexual. Allan sensed that she would be offended and she was pleased with him. Not only did he hold her very close in his arms and stroke her back and shoulders, kissing her cheeks and forehead in a loving way, but he somehow managed to refrain from getting a hard-on.
* * *
In the second upstairs bedroom of the old farmhouse, Suzan and Matt Hillman made passionate love just as they did every night. Then they slept.
* * *
In the third bedroom, the other remaining couple argued. Tom Kilroy was angrier than Paula had ever seen him. He was majoring in psychology and it irked her when he attempted to psyche her out. "You brought the subject up just because you wanted to make me angry."
"Your tendency to goof off, now it's my fault?"
"No. Not your fault that I've been goofing off. You just chose that hopeless horseshit because you don't want to suck me off. You deliberately went up and down your mental scale looking for something that would get my mind off of your sucking my cock. You want to avoid it, but you don't want to come out in the open and admit you want to avoid it. So you clutched at the proverbial broom straw to get out of sucking my cock."
"Oh, balls. Listen, Tom. I've sucked hundreds of cocks."
"And you don't really like to suck cocks. Admit it."
"All right, damn it, I don't like to suck cocks!"
"Then why didn't you say so in the first place?" he said with an air of injured innocence in his voice.
"Suck my pussy, Tom."
"All right. Out of the goodness of my heart."
"Goodness of your heart!" Paula laughed. "You love to suck pussy. You'd rather suck pussy than eat food. If you had a choice between starving to death for lack of food and starving to death for lack of pussy, you'd say lead you to the pussy."
"I just so happen to think you have a very beautiful cunt."
"Fine. I love it when you suck it. I really do. I wish, I sincerely wish I could feel the same about sucking your cock, but I can't."
"If you'd try harder to like it ... "
"I have tried harder. How many times have I sucked your cock for you? Tell me."
"Shit, I don't know. I don't keep a goddamn scorecard!"
"I don't either, but I know it's a lot of times. I just don't like the taste of it.
"I won't come. I promise you, I won't go off in your mouth."
"Even before you come I don't like the taste of it. The skin tastes funny down there."
"I'm clean. Clean as a pin."
"I know you're clean, I didn't say it isn't clean, I said I didn't like the taste of the skin - it tastes funny down there."
"How about the skin of my arm?"
"I never sucked your arm."
"Suck it. Taste it."
She put her mouth to his arm, ran her tongue around and then sucked. She tasted Ivory soap, but it wasn't unpleasant. It wasn't particular pleasant, either. "It isn't stimulating. The taste of your arm."
"How about my mouth? Do you like to kiss my mouth?"
Paula moved her feet restlessly under the covers. "Tom, I don't like it when you turn our sex into therapy sessions."
"You see?" His voice was triumphant. "See there? You don't like to kiss my lips, either. How can you do it? How can you possibly fuck a man that you don't enjoy kissing?"
"It isn't that I don't enjoy kissing your lips. It's just that I don't particularly like the taste of them."
"You're nit-picking."
"So are you. Are you going to kiss my pussy or not?"
"Yes, but I should think after all we've meant to each other - I mean, Paula, it isn't as though we're a one-night stand."
"Not like Annette and Billie Janine and those other girls you've been balling, is that it?"
"What makes you think I've been balling other girls?"
Now it was Paula's turn to be triumphant. "You see? I can catch you, just as you can catch me out. You have been banging those chicks. If you hadn't, you'd have denied it. Instead of denying, you turn the question back to me."
Tom snaked his body down under the bedclothes. His long arms reached up and squeezed Paula's softly curving breasts. His head came down between her legs and his tongue found the palpitating, fleshy clitoris. The love nectar was flowing freely. He licked the bulging pit, doing it the way she liked it, giving it several good lashings with his tongue, then making the tip of his tongue into a hard arrow-like sword and thrusting it into her tight hot cunt.
It had been a long hard struggle, he thought lazily as he lapped her cunt, then flecked upward to give her clit the treatment. But it had been worth it, both for her sake and for his. She had told him long before he'd fucked her the first time that she was cold. Possibly frigid. "I've never come, Tom, so don't expect too much." He had gone into his usual pitch, expecting her to melt for him. It hadn't been necessary, he realized, because she'd already made up her mind she was going to ball him. He couldn't quite understand why she wanted to ball if she didn't come. And for her to come out flat-footed and tell him she'd never made the big gush had puzzled him and made him try twice as hard. It hadn't done him any good to try twice as hard, though. He'd been a nervous, trembling mass of humanity when he'd finally given in to the screaming nerves of his prick that first night. Held out for longer than he'd ever managed to hold out in his life, although he was proud of his ability to make it last. But even though he'd managed to wait at least a half hour, steadily shooting his eight-inch rod deeply into her, swiveling it out, manipulating her clit - he'd even stuck a finger in her anus and she'd cooperated with him. Yes, he'd never be able to say she hadn't done her share toward getting there.
After a while, Tom had made Paula his project. At the strangest times, like when he was watching an autopsy, he would find his mind wandering off into the wild blue question. What could he do to make Paula come? It became a fixation with him. Most of his waking thoughts were centered around the problem. She had told him about her early life and he'd been appalled, but he didn't think that had much to do with it now. After all, nobody was forcing her to fuck anybody, he'd kept telling himself. And she was smart. Leafing feverishly through the medical textbooks, he tried first one thing and then another. He bought all the sex manuals to see if the medical text books had left anything out. They'd left a lot out. At least he learned that much, but nobody, not Masters and Johnson, not Joan Garrity, not even Allport, Horney or Freud himself had the answer for Paula's specific problem. As a last resort, being totally involved with the emotional side of her frigidity, he realized that he'd forgotten to insist that she see a doctor. It had led to another argument. They had them frequently. "But, Tom, I have been to a doctor. There's nothing wrong with me."
"Go anyway. For me, this time."
The doctor had examined her and said there was nothing wrong with her. It was then that Tom had hit upon his great idea. Paula hadn't wanted to do it, because she was afraid. "If I let this friend of yours hypnotize me, I might get silly or something."
He had talked her into it and from there the problem had been simple. During hypnosis, the fledgling young psychoanalyst hypnotist found out that Paula had not wanted to believe she could reach orgasm. She actually preferred to believe there was something physiologically wrong with her. Tom had been licking her pussy when she'd shot off her gun the first time. Which presented a problem, because she believed for a long time that cunnilingus was the only way she could reach orgasm. It had finally happened to her vaginally and he'd thought he'd whipped all the hangups out of her system. Because she'd sucked his cock for him every time he asked her to. Until she started gushing. Then she wouldn't suck him anymore. Except for sucking pussy, Tom liked better than anything to have a girl pull on his prick with her lips.
Down there under the blankets, he licked and thrust, licked and thrust, bringing her to the hovering brink of orgasm. Then he crawled up to the head of the bed and turned her over. "I'm going to fuck hell out of you. For not sucking my dong."
She laughed and he slammed his prick into her from the rear and he was laughing too. That was one thing about Paula. She liked to argue a lot, but now that she'd started coming, sex was fun with her. Privately, Tom felt that everybody took their fucking too seriously anyway. As soon as he got all his minor little problems straightened out, he was going to write a book on the subject. Fucking is Fun would be the title.
Chapter Vi
Billy did well in Pittsburgh. Not only did he bring back money, but he also had several items of jewelry and a fur coat. The Father gave him a wintry smile and accepted the money. It was more than a thousand dollars. "Very good, my son. Very good." His fingers ran through the soft fur of the mink coat. "The pigs. The gentle selfish lady-pigs who go about dressed in the skin of the animals." He sighed. "No doubt she had this insured, so she won't really pay. But it is always good to make the powerful insurance companies part with their ill-gotten gains." He said the rings and bracelets were of good quality, but they would have to wait for a while before they would dare turn the coat or the, jewelry into cash. For an unusual treat, the Father went into Middlesex and purchased vegetables for soup and a small amount of meat. Deena thought he seemed almost jovial as he ceremoniously instructed Maxine in the making of the soup. Deena hoped he would fuck her now. It had been three days since he had, but she felt sure he'd been cold to her because he was worried about Billy's trip into the wealthy section of Pittsburgh. He smiled at her and motioned with his head for her to follow him into his private room.
Once inside the room and with the door closed, Deena stood in front of him, waiting for him to tell her what to do. It was hard to stand so still when she wanted to rush him. Wanted to fling her arms around him and smother him with her kisses. Slowly, he removed his dark pants and vest, then unbuttoned his shirt. "You may bathe me, Deena."
Joy leapt through the girl's chest at this golden opportunity to show him how much she adored him. Except for the pump that had frozen in the kitchen and had been so for several days, there was no water in the Sanctuary. They had been melting snow for drinking water and to make the Father's coffee, but nobody would be foolish enough to take a bath in the cold house. They had burned the last of the inside doors and had started on the window sills. Deena had been depressed, wanting a fix for a long time, but they'd been told their rations were short. The Father had spoken at length about their need to husband their resources. Deena had watched him giving the new girl, Laurel Leeds, the precious injections of morphine, but she had steeled herself against the envy and jealousy she felt. She knew it was necessary to keep the girl under sedation for several days. The West Coast pigs were looking for Laurel. It was doubtful that they'd find her in the Sanctuary, because so far nobody but those in The Circle knew about the hidden valley that contained the Father and his Children. Of course the stupid people of Middlesex knew they were there, but they also believed the Sanctuary was a school, part of a religious order. As Deena got to her hands and knees and prepared to bathe the Father she thought about the stupidity of those hopelessly square people who lived in Middlesex.
The Father was a slender man, but he had a paunch. It was there that Deena started the bath. If the Father had pointed elsewhere, she would have begun licking him at a different place, but part of her training was to anticipate his desires. She saw the faint nod of approval on his face when she lifted it once to see if she pleased him. Her tongue went around and around, licking every square inch of flesh. When his belly was clean, she moved upward, tonguing the matted hairs on his chest, causing them to lie straight, then down, licking the salty tang of his sweat as she put them back in place. His face was something she left strictly alone, for it was part of The Order that his mouth was held in reserve for his brides. Just because he had taken Deena for his very own didn't mean that he couldn't take another. She knew that, but she hoped it wouldn't happen. So far, he had not shown inclination to use any of the other females. He spoke disdainfully of Maxine. "Maxine the fucking machine," he called her. As for the new girl, he said simply that she had shown strength when she left Los Angeles at the time she did. The pad was raided and Laurel had been out of the house. It had been a lucky break for her to hear the news come over the radio of the little diner where she'd stopped for a cup of coffee. When she learned The Circle Leader had been shot and killed, she had remained where she was, drinking her coffee and smoking her cigarette. That much they knew. They also knew she had taken a bus to Las Vegas instead of going back to the house. In Las Vegas she had stolen enough clothes to get by and remained hidden from the police. Everyone at the Sanctuary was glad that she had not panicked when she started feeling the rat-teeth of withdrawal gnaw on her stomach. Instead, she had remained alone with her misery, calling no attention to herself. When other news began to fill the headlines, she had gone back to Los Angeles and made a telephone call to the policeman who was a member of The Circle, as well as the Los Angeles Police Department. Then he had contacted the Father through the Underground and the Father had made arrangements for Laurel to come to the Sanctuary. Yes, Deena was willing to admit that Laurel had done well. But whether she lived or died was of no real consequence. She knew if Laurel didn't submit to the several tests, she would die, regardless of her past heroic efforts. She had been tending the girl herself lately and a strange red glaze ripped through her belly and loins when she realized she'd been drooling. And why she'd been drooling. She had been considering a way to cook Laurel if they decided to kill her. It seemed a waste to Deena, to let the dead rot in the ground. It was an idea she would mull over carefully and submit to the Father at the time of submissions. She was so excited that she almost didn't allow her senses to dwell on the bittersweet taste of his ear wax as she cleansed his ears with her tongue.
When the front of him was clean, he turned over without a murmur, which signified he was well pleased. Drawing a breath of air into her lungs, she began at the back of his neck and went down. The taste of his back was cottony. There were fine hairs there that Deena didn't find as pleasant as she found those longer strands on his chest. But she didn't really mind the taste. It was just that she was thinking of the delicacy of his balls, of his anus. As she lapped his back, she closed her eyes and thought of his buttocks, of the musty smell that reminded her of turnips. When she did that, she felt an increased flow of saliva, for which she was grateful. By the time her head had worked all the way down to his ass crack she was drooling again and her tongue was able to penetrate with no trouble at all. The Father moaned a little as she cleansed his balls, taking the utmost pleasure in the little puckers and creases, the swelling of the taut skin under her greedy tongue. At last she was finished with him and he turned over on his back, reaching for her.
"You have done well," he said simply. He said it as a blessing and Dana's heart swelled to the bursting point. Her breasts were aching for the touch of his hand, for his mouth. "I will nurse now."
Lying on her side and cradling the Father's head in her arms, Deena rested from her bathing chore and felt the sweet flow of milk as it rushed from her tender breasts. His prick was thick and hard and she longed to put her hand on it, but instead she told herself she must remain content to have it pushing against her belly. Sometimes he pushed it against her navel. He had done that the night before the baby was born, but she had never really believed that had caused the baby to die. It had come too soon. She began to pray, silently, that he would put it in her cunt this time. Her pussy was yearning. She could feel it clutching together on itself and the jizm was flowing from her clitoris as she felt him tug hard at her left breast. She was drained dry, but he continued to nurse for a while. Dizzy with desire and hunger, she felt faint as he sat up from the pile of rags on the floor and started to mount her. Her jaws ached because she could smell the heavenly aroma of the soup. It had been a long time since anything had been cooked at the Sanctuary. Now that soup was cooking, she knew the others would be rapping in the kitchen, drawn there by the warmth of the fire and the good earthy smell of bubbling soup.
"You may spread your legs, Deena."
Deena spread them.
"You may put your arms around me."
Gratefully, Deena put her arms around the Father's back. A fear exploded at the base of her brain. So many times he had done it just this way, brought her to the point of screaming desire, then merely rested his prick inside her quivering cunt. It was a lesson in discipline. She understood that, but she couldn't see how he could do it. Once the prick-head had touched the velvety skin of her cunt, how could he take it away? Relaxing a little, she felt his giant cock pushing through the clutching inner channel of her vagina. Now she must remain mute. "Enjoy, Deena. But don't allow yourself to give in to the animal cries of the Maxine's of this world." She was so glad, so trembling with glad pleasure that he had never told her she must not hump. He had spoken to her about another girl he'd trained, telling her in his gentle voice that the girl had fucked too fast, too hard. But she was proud that he'd never objected to the wild thrusting of her pelvis, never said a word about the way she kicked her legs. Now his prick was digging' deeply inside of her and she was swelling all around it. She could feel the very walls of her channel caressing the length of his cock as it flailed in and out of her. He was breathing hard and she knew he was about to come. She took a chance on bringing forth his ire, half afraid he would pull out of her before he'd reached his own climax if she went too far, humped too fast ... but there was no controlling her body once the long come-lightning began to sizzle up and down the length of her body. The heavenly release came and she arched upward just a little farther, sucking his prick even deeper into her tight moist hole. If she just dared to wriggle a little, she would come again, but of course that was out of the question. She knew herself to be unworthy. Greedy. But she had saved herself a reprimand by sinking slowly back to the floor, her twitching nerves, all prepared for a second shooting of jizm, quelled by her disciplined mind.
"Now you may clean my prick, Deena."
Quickly, Deena sat up and bent down, licking the last drop of love juice from his flaccid member.
The Father leaned back against her breasts. She felt the steady beating of his heart and the jagged breathing as it slowed down to normal. "Deena, I have a very special request of you."
"Yes, Father?"
"Tonight we will have a visitor. You will entertain him."
"Yes, Father."
"This means you will fuck him."
"Yes, Father."
"He has - special needs."
"Anything, Father."
"Do you remember the stretching exercises?"
"Yes, Father."
"I must measure you and see if you are more receptive."
"Yes, Father."
Getting to his knees, the Father inserted one finger, then two, inside Deena's anus. "I believe we shall have to use the hose again."
"Yes, Father." She felt her skin shrinking from the idea of having the hated hose inserted in her anus, but it would have to be done. When he had stretched her in the beginning, it had been torture at first. She had almost forgotten about it, because it had been several months ago. She supposed the friend she would entertain had a big prick. A horrible fear washed over her. If she had to have the rubber hose inserted in her rectum, then she might not be allowed to eat the soup. Her mouth watered and the glands in her jaws went tense and little pains shot through her throat at the idea of being denied a bowl of soup. But it was necessary, she reminded herself. Or else the Father wouldn't have her do it.
"You stay here, Deena."
"Yes, Father."
She watched him dress, for the house was very cold. She had been conscious of the wind howling outside the old frame house for some time and she knew it was getting much colder. She hoped he wouldn't put it in her without warming it first, but then she comforted herself with the promise. It wouldn't be long before they could leave this hellish life they were living. The Father had promised them they would live in a palace. That all the pigs who had wallowed in luxury would be reduced to the status of slavery. Deena believed him. They all believed him. Except Carrie and Ralph. And Ralph wouldn't talk and Carrie should soon die. She hoped Carrie didn't regain consciousness before she died. Wondering what would happen to them all if Carrie did come out of the coma and talk, she fought back panic. But then she heard the Father's footsteps and her body tensed as she waited for the hose.
He was extraordinarily kind to her that evening. "Lie here on the floor with it in place," he said. "Then when we are ready to eat you may come to the kitchen with the rest of us. Hold the hose in place so it doesn't fall out. The motion of your body will naturally cause it to expel, but don't allow it. Are you in pain?"
"No, Father!" It wasn't so much pain as a feeling of wanting to grunt hard and push the horrid cold hose out of her anus. Tears were in her eyes.
"Good girl."
The Children were all sitting in a circle on the floor. The soup was distributed and all of it was eaten except a portion for Shotgun, which was held back for him. Shotgun had gone to Pittsburgh. He had been gone for two days, but he was expected back that night or in the morning. The Father was expansive and once he had bent down and asked Deena if she was in pain. She had said she was not, proudly, although with the hose in her rectum she had not enjoyed the nourishing soup nearly as much as she would had it not been in there.
"We will have a visitor tonight, Children," he said with one of his rare smiles. "We will celebrate a great victory against the enemy."
Laurel Leeds looked at him blankly and licked her bowl with her tongue. Her heart was hammering inside her chest. Billy was careful not to look at her and she was being very careful not to look at Billy and to keep her eyes blank. He had not given her the stuff to make her sleepy and hazy for an entire day. The stomach cramps were beginning and she was afraid she would heave up the soup she'd just eaten, but she forced herself to take deep breaths through her nose and think of something else. Some of the time she almost believed Billy was making it all up, those things he'd told her. "They might kill you, Laurel. This is no Sanctuary. We're all prisoners here. He's got us under his power. Even me. I don't want to steal. I haven't killed anybody yet, but if he tells me to, I will. When he's finished with us, or if he just decides we're of no use to The Circle any more, he'll kill us. You were sent here because you were dangerous. Your life isn't worth two cents. We'll get out of here some way."
Everything in Laurel's previous life had been repelled at such a bald statement. She had thought, when Billy first started saying these things to her, that Billy was the one who was crazy. But she wasn't positive and so she had kept silent. Now she had been there long enough to know that certainly something was out of kilter. It was true that they had all turned away from the trappings of the establishment. But not to eat decent food? Not to eat anything but peanut butter and jelly on bread? The soup they'd just had was the first meal of any substance she'd had since she arrived. There were no chairs, no bedding, no comforts of even the most primitive kind in the filthy old house. The Father had a chair, but that was only because he was the Father. Nobody else was allowed to have coffee, either and Laurel missed it and hungered for it especially when she smelled it being boiled for the Father. Such a little thing, really. But when one is deprived of everything at once, she knew one is inclined to allow small things to take on gigantic proportions.
Other things had begun to loom up inside her mind as threats. It offended her sense of decency to see the old Father sucking on Deena's breasts, draining them of the milk that had formed when she'd given birth. Billy had told her the Father killed the baby. Laurel had shrunk from such a horrible idea, but Billy had taken her in secret to the place where the little was buried and she had seen it with her own eyes.
"He said it would have died anyway," said Billy. "But it was a perfect child. I heard it cry. Deena thinks it died by itself, but I saw the Father kill it. He took its legs and swung-"
"Don't tell me anymore," she'd whispered.
"But you have to get away, Laurel." Then Billy had told her about the beating Shotgun and the Father had given Ralph. "To punish him because he and Carrie ate a whole jar of peanut butter between them. You see, Carrie had been sick. Very sick. The Father said if she was going to die it was in The Order that she should die, but Ralph became incensed and said it was because she wasn't getting enough to eat. Her lips were all cracked and looked like mud and her eyes were burning bright. He begged the Father for more food, then he gave it to Carrie."
"But why?"
"Because he loved her. And she was going to have a baby. He thought she would die and well ... they beat Ralph. He must have become delirious, because he went out into the snow naked. It happened in the night when everybody was sleeping. He was picked up by the highway patrol and taken into Middlesex Hospital."
"Then what happened to Carrie?"
"Shotgun was given instructions to shoot her."
"Did he?"
"Yes, but she lived. She's in the hospital, but nobody expects her to live. Shotgun also beat her. He likes to beat people."
Keeping her own counsel, Laurel agreed when Billy just pretended to give her the drugs to keep her out of it. She was afraid of Billy. For all she knew, he may have been testing her out. Trying her for loyalty. But now, as she glanced around at the pack of people who seemed more like animals than humans, she wasn't sure. They were dirty and stinking. All the boys had short hair, some of them even had crew cuts. The Father wore his in a neat crew cut and his rosy face glistened with good health. Everyone else, she noted, looked gray with fatigue and hunger and cold. She suspected that the Father was getting nourishment from somewhere other than the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches they ate all the time and the milk he sucked from Deena's breasts. Ail the rest of the Children had told her they'd had nothing to eat for weeks until that night except the peanut butter and jelly, so she knew Billy wasn't lying to her about that.
Ted was in his usual state of retreat. He wore an old World War II combat jacket. His eyes looked burned out and vague. Alfa continually cracked her knuckles and giggled. Maxine wanted to fuck all the time. When she wasn't fucking, she was masturbating. Deena reminded Laurel of people who are suffering with numb, mute hysteria. She knew about the rubber hose Deena had in her ass and it sickened her. Ted was never completely out of the foggy mist. His eyes were always hazy and he smiled all the time, his words a mumbled question or a half-whispered expression of hip. For the first time, Laurel was almost willing to believe what Billy had told her. But she still couldn't be sure. If the Father had set him to the task of "testing her out" she would probably die anyway, if there was any truth to what he'd told her about Carrie and Ralph. But if the Father had not set Billy to the task of testing her, she might die, too.
Footsteps sounded on the rickety porch. Shotgun, wearing his "straight" clothes, had returned to the fold. His eyes were little and mean as he handed the Father the money he'd stolen. "I had to waste all the people in that house," he said tonelessly.
The Father's face was without emotion. "Are you clean?"
"Nobody followed me."
"There is soup for you, my Child," said the Father.
"I have more news."
"You are free to speak, Shotgun," said the Father.
"Carrie died yesterday. They're running a picture of her in the papers all over the country."
"Then we are safe," said the Father.
When she was alone in the room with Billy, Laurel asked him what the Father had meant when he said they were safe.
"Well, Carrie died. And they killed her mother and father six months ago. He means we're safe because she won't be identified." He looked at her and she noticed for the first time that he had a gray cast to his skin instead of the brown. His hands were cold when he put them on her shoulders. "We'll leave here together. Soon."
Ted came wandering in with his vacuous grin. "I was banished, man. The cat. You know, man?"
"Cat?" asked Laurel.
"Cat with the stuff." Ted fell in a heap on his rags and gathered his body in a ball. "Assfucker. The one Deena's going to take in the ass. Got to sleep. Sleep."
Chapter Vii
In the hospital, the boy, who appeared to be about eighteen, remained on the critical list. Sandra Larramie came sometimes and sat at the side of his bed, talking to him in a conversational tone. She wondered if there was any connection between the boy and the dead girl who had been beaten, then shot. "What's your name?" She asked it again and again, but if he heard or understood, he gave no answer. Dr. Farthingale said he felt pretty sure the boy was playing mute. But until his injuries healed, he warned the staff that there was to be no game-playing, no attempts at getting the young man to reveal that he not only heard, but understood.
As Christmas neared, the weather turned mild and sunny. All the snow melted away in one day and people began to talk about "back in the old days" when there was always at least two feet of snow on Christmas. Without the traditional weather, sales were not as high in the stores of Middlesex and people had more time for one of their favorite indoor sports. Gossip.
The commune was a thorn in people's sides. Honey Lou Nordley, who was Matt's mother, came in for her share of snubs. People who had always liked Honey Lou now talked openly about the way she was behaving. "Crazy about Joe Nordley all her life, everybody knows that," they said. "Well, she finally got him and him with a deaf daughter. Imagine! Coming back here to open the house for Christmas. Takes a lot of nerve, if you ask me, after giving her son permission to marry Suzan. Fine thing, she goes around acting like she hadn't been a party to such goings-on. I tell you, decent people ought not to have to put up with a place like that commune this close to our town. Why, how can we teach our children to behave themselves with that kind of dirty living going on right under their noses?"
Phyllis Ewing, the new high school principal, was asked by a committee of concerned mothers to speak to Matt and Suzan in private. Connie Gordon, who said she was concerned about her niece learning too much about sex, was the spokeswoman. "You really must warn those kids not to go around contaminating the minds of the other students. We would prefer that our children didn't have to go to school with married people. It would be different if Suzan and Matt were still living at home. Nobody objected when the little Carter girl was married before she finished school. She continued to live at home with her parents and the boy went into the service. But when you consider, Miss Ewing, that children do talk to one another - well, I think it's plenty soon enough for young people to learn the facts of life when they're ready for it!"
Phyllis Ewing asked Connie how old her niece was.
"Fourteen."
"And you don't think she knows the facts of life?"
"I'm not referring to the reproductive organs - the mechanics of having children. I'm talking about how a young, immature girl like Suzan will talk. All girls talk, Miss Ewing. You ought to know that. Why, my goodness, I'm modern and all that and I can remember when I used to listen to older girls. We were all just simply dying to find out all we could about sex. And I'm afraid Suzan will go into the most outlandish graphic detail!"
"Very well. I'll have a talk with Suzan and Matt."
When the Committee of Concerned Mothers had left her office, Phyllis Ewing got up and paced the floor for a few seconds. She was fighting the temptation to call Connie Gordon back into her office and read her off. The nerve of that woman. Didn't she know that everyone in town knew she'd screwed almost every man in town in the past year? How could she possibly sit there with a straight face acting so saintly! Phyllis knew Connie's niece was a nice little girl. The child had come to live with the Gordon's after her mother died. She smiled, thinking of Eric, Connie's son. She wondered if Connie didn't know about Eric. Of course, she was sure Connie didn't know about Eric's close brush with a criminal suit.
* * *
Shortly after Charlene Morgan and Hank Vale were married, Charlene called Phyllis in the early hours of a Sunday morning. "Miss Ewing, we're in trouble. Could you help us?" The young voice had sounded frantic. Phyllis had thought Charlene was referring to herself and her new husband. Charlene was in the middle of transferring to the college town where Hank was going to the university and the first thing that had come into her mind was that the young couple had been in an accident. She had wondered why Charlene didn't call on her mother for help, or the publisher, Seth Vale, who was Hank's father. She didn't say anything about it, though. She asked Charlene where she was.
"At a motel on the way to Philadelphia. Oh, please hurry. Leila's going to bleed to death!"
"Give me the address and the name of the motel," said Phyllis Ewing.
Charlene told her, then she repeated the frightening statement. "Leila's going to bleed to death."
"Charlene, tell me quickly. Has Leila had an abortion?"
"Yes! But that was two weeks ago and we thought everything was going to be all right, but it isn't, Miss Ewing!"
After she put in a call to the hospital, Phyllis threw a coat over her nightgown and got to the motel within thirty minutes. Blood was all over the place. Charlene had tried to get Leila to a hospital in Philadelphia when she'd been unable to locate Dr. Farthingale. Phyllis knew what to do and she didn't waste any time. Dr. Farthingale arrived and finished saving Leila's life. When things had settled down, Phyllis asked Charlene why she hadn't driven Leila to the Middlesex Hospital.
"Because of her mother. And her reputation."
"The baby belonged to Eric Gordon, didn't it?"
"How did you know?"
"Because you said, when we didn't know if Leila was going to make it or not, that you wished Eric, the bastard, could see this."
"You won't tell, will you?"
"No. I won't tell. Now, I think you'd better go back to your new husband, Charlene. What does he think about you leaving him and rushing out into the night to be with a girl friend?"
"He understands, Miss Ewing."
Charlene had said it so simply. She wished everybody could understand what the kids in the commune were trying to do. She called Suzan and Matt in and spoke to them, but very gently, without lecturing.
Matt said, "People are crazy. If everybody in this town who has had or is having sex with someone other than a lawfully wedded spouse had to fast for one complete week, every grocery store in town would have to close. Yet they object to the kids living together at our house."
"That's the way people are, Matt," said Phyllis gently. She added another word of advice before she dismissed the married high school seniors. "And if you have any pot out there, I'd advise you to get rid of it. Bury it, or .something, if you want to - but don't keep it in the house. I wouldn't doubt but that you might have some company before too long."
Suzan and Matt neither confirmed her suspicions or denied them. They gave her a grave look and a shy smile and thanked her. Phyllis had added the last part because she'd overheard some people in the grocery store talking about a raiding party and she didn't think the two ladies were talking about a church social they intended to have the Chief of Police raid.
"And anyway," one of the ladies went on, "I wouldn't be a bit surprised to learn that the little dead girl nobody's claimed was hanging around out there at that awful commune. I bet those kids know more than they're letting on!"
For some reason, nobody in town seemed to think Marie Travis was as responsible for the existence of the commune as they felt Honey Lou was responsible. Suzan was Marie's daughter. She was only two months younger than Matt, but people tended to think of Suzan as "a mere child." Perhaps it had something to do with Suzan's size, thought Honey Lou as she looked at her daughter-in-law and smiled. Suzan was a very small girl and Matt was such a tall, rangy boy. She said, "I suppose you two know you're the talk of the town."
"We know, Honey Lou," said Suzan. "Miss Ewing called us into the office and warned us not to talk about sex to the rest of the kids. Especially me."
Marie Travis laughed about it when she spoke to Honey Lou. "It's funny I m as responsible for allowing the kids to get married as you are - yet they all blame you for their marriage and for the commune. I can't say I exactly approve of a commune, but I won't interfere."
"I know they blame me," said Honey Lou. "Betty Berry cut me dead the other day."
"That whore!" cried Marie. "How can she be so holier-than-thou? My God, remember how she used to fuck all over the place? And I heard she was still at it, even though she's got Ed Reynolds eating out of her hand."
"Hand!" said Honey Lou. "It isn't her hand he's eating out of." Normally neither Marie nor Honey Lou would have been vindictive. But their children were bearing the brunt of the gossip and both women were puzzled and hurt. Neither of them could see why anybody in Middlesex had any right to talk about anybody else's children. Honey Lou went on to tell Marie about an incident that had occurred at the construction site of Betty Berry's new home. Since she'd divorced her husband and moved back to Middlesex, Betty was determined to have a showplace that would make every other home in Middlesex look shabby by comparison. "That's not why she goes out to see how the work's coming on. She's got Ed Reynolds eating out of her pussy, even though he's Superintendent of Schools now that Breedlaw's lost his mind - but Betty was never satisfied with just one man. She's laying her foreman. He's a big burly son of a gun, with a dong this long." Honey Lou held her hands about a foot apart. "At least that's what I heard. And he had Betty backed up against a pile of sheet rock, grinding away. But she cuts me cold on the street! Sticks her nose up in the air and walks on by, just because I won't interfere with what the children are doing."
Marie laughed. "I think they don't hold me responsible because they've called me 'Poor Marie' for so many years. I can't say I'm sorry I'm not taking any of the blame, because it isn't really hurting you, Honey Lou and if they blamed me, it wouldn't take any of the hostile feeling away from you. Old habits are hard to break and remember you've got money. Personally, I don't find what the children are doing so terrible, though."
"As the ads say, you've come a long way, Marie. You used to be such a prude."
"Well, you'd have been a prude too if you had a husband who is hopelessly insane and no chance of ever getting married."
"But you're positively blooming these days!" said Honey Lou.
"Don't tell anybody, but I'm having an affair."
"Who with?"
"Neil Arlington." Marie had lost a little of the extra weight she'd put on during the last several years. She had changed completely, thought Honey Lou as she looked at her old friend closely. She was glad for Marie.
* * *
While the weather remained warm, the high school students were taking full advantage of it. The favorite trysting place for making out was behind the cemetery, but when the weather was cold there was not as much activity. Flip Helmick watched the youngsters enter through the gates and swore silently. "Little bastards." It wasn't what they did down by the creek that bothered him. He liked to watch that and since he'd been so troubled of late with what he referred to as "the rheumatiz," he'd come to rely more and more upon his field glasses when he indulged in his spectator sport. No, what Flip objected to was the way the kids walked over graves. Since all the talk about preserving the lakes and streams had come up, Flip was no longer kept busy picking up used rubbers and wadded up Kleenex. The kids were pretty conscientious about cleaning up after themselves. But the older he got, the more angry he became about their complete disregard for the presence of dead people under their careless feet. Back a few years ago, he hadn't thought so much about it. Now he did. He'd had a sick spell in November and the town had finally found a helper for Flip. Lexington Carter had come back from Vietnam with a bad case of shattered nerves and Middlesex immediately pounced on him when Flip got sick and there was a possibility of dead people not getting buried. "Lex, we've got just the job for you. Of course, it's only temporary, because everybody knows as soon as you get back to normal you'll want to go back to school and study accounting. But it's nice and peaceful out there. Just the place to get over bad nerves. Quiet and all, you'll be able to commune with nature and give those nerves a chance to calm down some." Nobody had really thought Lexington Carter would accept the job, but he not only accepted it, he continued to stay on after Flip returned from the hospital. He cleaned up the caretaker's cottage and put in a few nice pieces of furniture. Then he settled in and said he might just stay on as Flip's helper. Nobody knew why he wanted to do such a thing. After all, everybody knew Lex Carter had a good head on his shoulders.
Flip knew. And he thought he understood. But he was always telling Lex to be careful. "These folks come out here catchin' you smokin' that stuff, your ass is grass and I'm not talkin' about the smokin' kind. In the cities, people don't think so much of it anymore, but in Middlesex, the goddamn silly bastards'd rather see their kids rob a fillin' station as to smoke marijuana." But Flip was glad to have a helper, grass or no grass.
"Maybe it's because I'm gettin' to the pint where I'm thinkin' about bein' in one at them graves myself," he said one almost-warm afternoon. "And that's why it gets to me when I see them kids just a rampagin' over them graves in their hurry to get out there to the cemetery so's they can fuck. Why, shit, Lex, you know how the kids has always been. I seen you many a time out there on Table Rock poundin' it to some little gal."
"Yeah, but I never screwed one on a gravestone, like that story you were telling me about the other night," said Lex Carter. "You telling me the truth?"
"So help me God, it was one of the Berry girls, her red hair just a switchin' and her red twat just a twitchin', it was her and that Joe Nordley that married Honey Lou. Well, well. Yes, I'm a gettin' old for sure. Now Honey Lou's boy done went and married that Travis girl. Say, tell me the truth. What do you think about the goings on out there at the old Lassen place?"
"Why, shit, Flip, they might as well fuck out in the open. People always have fucked, but they just started doing it out in the open."
"That's what I say. Now, here comes them Stevenson boys. You want to watch 'em fuck? They got that little Daw girl. They gonna fuck double. You wanta watch, Lex?"
"No, you go ahead, Flip. I'll sit this one out."
* * *
Eleanor Daw felt better than she'd felt in a long time. When she had first moved to Middlesex, she had made arrangements with the two oldest Stevenson boys to exchange her personal services for ten dollars,' worth of merchandise at the Stevenson grocery. The Stevenson father didn't know anything about these arrangements, but his two sons, who worked in the grocery a few hours a day after school and on Saturdays, were resourceful. Eleanor had been instructed to make her purchases only when the boys were in the store. Dell or Paul J. would write Eleanor's order on a charge ticket. Instead of entering the charge against the Daw account, the boys would destroy the ticket and their father would never be the wiser. In this way, Dell and Paul J. were assured of the girl's ass and the girl was assured of ten dollars' worth of merchandise; usually cosmetics and Cokes, pantyhose and things of that nature. Eleanor had worked up quite a little trade of her own in Middlesex during the months she'd lived there. She had two other steady customers who paid her cash on the line. She also managed to sell some of the items she purchased at the Stevenson store to her friends. "I got this compact, it cost a dollar and a half at Stevenson's cosmetic counter, but I'll sell it to you for a dollar." Suddenly Eleanor's "Stevenson enterprise" had been taken away from her. The boys were spending all their time with Charlene Morgan. Eleanor discussed this situation with her sister. "Charlene fucks for free, the bitch. What do you think I ought to do?"
The sister had told her she ought to "pay back" those boys. "Tell on 'em. Tell their father. That'll fix the little snots."
Eleanor didn't want to get anybody in trouble, she said. Actually, she'd been biding her time, waiting for some better way to pay Dell and Paul J. back.
While Eleanor had been trying to figure a way to retaliate, the publisher's son, Hank Vale, had come home from college for a few days and Charlene had dropped Paul J. and Dell. Hank and Charlene were married and now Charlene was living in Hank's college town with him. They were both going to school. Eleanor Daw complimented herself and decided she had been wise to not do anything in a hurry. "Silence is Golden," she said frequently. Because things were back where she wanted them to be. But right now she was happier than usual because she had just been told another Stevenson boy was working in his father's store. Her busy little mind was trying to figure out just how she could take care of all the Stevenson boys. There were six of them, but Eleanor had never been one to let great odds deter her. Besides, she had quite a bit of time. The third oldest boy had just turned fifteen and Eleanor wouldn't be interested in them until they were fifteen and working.
"So when does your brother Freddy start?"
"He's already been helping out," said Paul J.
"Then he can start fucking and all just like you guys. Huh?"
"We never told him anything about this, Eleanor," said Dell.
"You didn't?" She gave him a wise look out of the corner of her eye.
"Maybe you ought to tell him."
"Shit, you make enough off of just me and Dell," said Paul J.
"I wouldn't want Freddy to do it with somebody else," said Eleanor.
"What you want is a fucking monopoly," said Dell.
"Sure. So tomorrow, if it's real nice out like it is now, you guys better bring him."
They were going down the little slope that led to the creek. The air had a bite to it, in spite of the unseasonably warm weather. Eleanor was wearing a coat and both boys had jackets. Paul J. said, "Where are we going to fuck when it gets real bad? Christmas coming up, pretty soon it's going to be so cold we'll freeze our balls off out in the open."
"How about upstairs over the hardware store?" asked Dell.
"What upstairs?" Eleanor hadn't known anything about any rooms up there.
"Used to be an apartment up there, but there was this guy rented it, he was smoking a cigarette in bed. Caught the place on fire. Hi Henderson never did anything about it. Just left it like it is, but we can get up there. Only thing is, we might get caught."
They considered different places they might be able to sneak into and out of for a while and the wind started blowing. "We better fuck now, you guys," said Eleanor. "It's getting colder and my folks'll be wondering where I'm at."
Flip Helmick could hear every word they said and he had a good view of them from behind a sycamore tree. He'd been wondering why they didn't get at it. He was feeling the sharpness of the wind and he wanted them to get to their fucking so he could go back to his caretaker's cottage. He had a notion to go over there and tell them they could worry about a place to go and do their fucking on their own time, but he settled back and put his field glasses to his eyes, beaming in on Eleanor's boobs. He didn't think they were too bad, but he'd seen better ones in his day. Her nipples got hard right away because of the cold wind that was blowing. It made him think of the way Letty Berry's nipples had always gotten so cold when she'd come to the cemetery to screw. Betty and Letty had often done it on the grave-stones. He thought about how he was getting old, living in the past. Other old men talked about the way the weather had been back a few years ago, but Flip thought about the way the girls' tits had looked, the way their cunts had been. He didn't see a whole hell of a lot of difference as the generations came and went, fucking their way through adolescence into teenagers, then screwing away the hours until they either got married and settled down in Middlesex or moved away. Sometimes Flip could close his eyes and remember as many as two hundred different sets of tits. They all looked something alike, but then they were all different in a way, too. There were round ones, conical shaped ones, almost flat ones and saggy-looking ones. As he watched Eleanor Daw spread her coat down on top of Table Rock he remembered one girl who had been different from all the rest.
JoBelle Scoggins. He hadn't thought about JoBelle for a long time. He wondered where she was and if she still had to have a man beat the living daylights out of her before she could enjoy a good fuck. The first time he'd seen JoBelle with a boy, he'd almost waded in there and knocked the boy down, but then he'd had the good sense to listen.
"Hit me hard, Roy."
The boy hit her on the ass and the sound of it had been loud as a shotgun.
"Harder, Roy!" With JoBelle standing there naked as the day she was born, her tits jutting right out there in front of her. "I said hit me harder." Screaming and yelling and dancing up and down, that weird look on her face, that big cloud of black hair hanging down her back. She had bent over and picked up a stick and handed it to the boy. "Use this, Roy." And Roy had started beating the be-jesus out of her, hitting her on the ass and the hips and finally she had cupped her hands under her breasts and begged him to hit them. He hadn't wanted to do it, Flip remembered. But JoBelle had told him he wouldn't get to screw her unless she did. When she'd finally been satisfied with her beating, she'd grabbed Roy and dragged him to the ground and Flip had jerked off madly while they'd scrabbled around on the ground. The most furious fuck he had ever seen, he thought as he shook his head.
But remembering about JoBelle made him lose some of the conversation going on there on Table Rock. Eleanor was saying, " ... of people do it that way. Come on."
Flip wondered just what it was she wanted them to do. He listened and watched the sullen expression on the boys' faces.
"No, now goddamnit Ellie, I want to do it just like we've been doing it."
"But I got my period."
"That don't make any difference," said Paul J.
"You aren't supposed to do it when you got the curse. Not in the cunt."
"Animals do it then. There's nothing wrong with it," said Dell.
"But I'll feel funny," objected Eleanor Daw.
"Just don't think about it," said Paul J. "You don't know how to suck peter good enough and that's a fact. One of us is going to get under you and the other is going to get behind you and you're going to get it in the ass and cunt."
"But it isn't moral!" squealed Eleanor. She was shivering, sitting on her coat and flinging her arms around.
"Shit, now, Ellie, it's as moral as a prick in the mouth. I said you don't know how to suck cock and that's a fact. You always get your teeth on it." Paul J. obviously considered the discussion closed. He was snaking his lean body on the rock, pulling the girl over on top of him. She was still objecting, saying she wouldn't let her teeth touch it, but neither boy was paying any attention to her. When Paul J. had his cock rammed up inside of her, Dell knelt behind her and held her hips with his hands.
"Hold still, goddamnit, Ellie!" Dell's cock was sticking straight out and every time he tried to get it in her ass she'd jiggle it a little. Flip grinned as he watched, the field glasses so strong that he could see the little puckers of her brownish asshole. Finally Dell held her ass still long enough to get it started. Flip wished he could still beat his meat, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get it up any more. Even so, he still liked to watch.
Moving the field glasses up and down, Flip saw it all. He saw the driving upward thrusts of Paul J.'s cock into Eleanor's twat. He saw little thin lines of blood mixed with jizm as Eleanor pistoned her hips and rode up and down on Paul J.'s joy stick. He saw the thrusting motion of Dell's cock as it flailed in and out of the girl's asshole and the way her asshole seemed to suck Dell's cock back up inside of her when Paul J. was on the out-swing.
It looked to Flip as though they were going to all three make it at the same time. The action was increased. Hips and legs and asses churned madly. Eleanor's voice shrilled out, "Oh, shit, shit, fuck, fuck, I'm COME - COME - COME - ING!"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah!" Paul's voice was a steady rumble as he humped his cock upward, filling Eleanor's belly.
"AHHHHHHH!" Dell emptied his wad and smacked his balls against her slit as he shot his prick all the way up inside the girl's rectum. For a few seconds longer, Flip watched them as they remained where they were, breathing hard and trembling, a three-headed, six-legged monster hooked together inside of Eleanor's ass and cunt.
He was awfully cold all of a sudden. Looking down, he noticed his fingernails were blue. There was a heaviness in his chest and he felt depressed. Shaking his head, he walked away, not bothering about the sound of his footsteps. The wind was blowing up another cold spell or Flip missed his guess, he was thinking. It was howling and the naked limbs of the big old trees were swaying under the force of the gale. He could hear Eleanor's high pitched voice as she shrieked something about how cold it was getting. There seemed to be a roaring in Flip's ears that was different from the sound of the rushing wind. He was frightened. He was afraid something terrible was happening to him. Then he thought of Lex Carter. Lex had a big pot of chili on the stove. Now, if he could just make it back to the cottage, if that animal in his chest didn't claw him to death before he got there - panting, he leaned against the trunk of a tree and held on to the bark. When he felt a little easier, he slowly walked up the little rise that would take him to the path. Once on the path he felt sure he'd be all right, but the pain in his chest was awful. He wondered dizzily if he'd eaten something that disagreed with him. It felt a little like indigestion. Only worse. He had to rest when he got to the top of the hill and his old legs buckled under him. Surprised, he sat down. The pain lessened and he could get his breath. While he was resting, he saw a flicker of color on a distant hill and out of force of habit, he raised his field glasses to his eyes and adjusted them to bring in the scene. Flip's horse-teeth shone for an instant as he stared with his mouth open.
"Sombitch," he said.
With supreme effort, Flip Helmick managed to make it all the way to the caretaker's cottage before the pain in his chest became so intense that he had to sit down again. Clawing at his chest, he looked up with dazed eyes at the blurry form of Lex Carter. He tried to talk, but the thing in his chest was choking him.
"Flip! Jesus!" Lex Carter picked the wiry old man up in his arms and carried him into the cottage.
With his last breath, Flip Helmick said, "Kill. Kid - kill." His arm came up and he pointed feebly in the direction of the far hills. He tried very hard to say another word, but it came out garbled. "Sanary."
Chapter Viii
Shotgun smiled as he looked down at the man he had just killed. There was a bright hard light in his mean eyes. His thin mouth smiled with pleasure. Within a few seconds he was back inside The Sanctuary. "Okay, Billy, you sonofabitch. He's dead. You go dig his grave."
Laurel Leeds trembled. She wished she had enough courage to ask Billy if she could go with him. Maybe they could get away. It had been so senseless. There had been no reason to kill the man. An hour ago he had come knocking on the door. "I saw the smoke coming from your chimney," he said. "My car broke down and I've done everything I can to get it started. I was wondering if you could give me a lift into the nearest town."
Laurel had heard what the man said. She had been crossing from the kitchen, on her way into the living room. The Father was not in the house and it had been Deena who had gone to the door. Shotgun swore as he heard Deena invite the man in.
"What did you folks do, just move in?" The stranger had looked all around the barren living room. Curious without being nosy.
"Yeah, we just moved in," Shotgun had lied.
The man seemed ill at ease and no wonder, thought Laurel. Deena was on one of her mindless streaks again. She had sat on the floor and bared her breasts for the stranger. "I could give you some milk," she'd said sweetly.
"Don't pay any attention to her," said Shotgun quickly. "She's - you know." And he had tapped his temple lightly. Then he had added that the car in the yard didn't run. "But our Father will be back in a little while if you'd care to wait."
"How far is it into town?" asked the man.
"Oh, you wouldn't want to walk it," answered Shotgun. "This wind coming up, it's going to turn off cold. We've had some freakish warm weather for this time of year, but it's getting colder by the minute. It'd take you a good hour to talk into town by the shortcut. About two hours by the road." Shotgun had given Laurel a piercing look and nodded in the direction of Deena. Laurel had known Shotgun, who took charge when the Father was out of the house, meant for her to get Deena out of the room.
For a while, the stranger and Shotgun had remained in the living room talking. Billy had gone into the kitchen to get the man the Father's chair, which he took gratefully. He was quite heavy and he kept looking all around the room, his eyes taking in the rags that were in piles on the floor. After a while, he said he'd better go on back to his car. "Maybe I can flag somebody down," he said. He seemed ill at ease and continued, "I don't think your daddy's going to come back as soon as you folkd figured and I'm already running late." His eyes kept darting from one person to another. "All these kids belong to the same family?"
Easily, Shotgun said, "We're half-brothers and sisters." Nobody from the house was in the living room then but Laurel and Billy and Shotgun.
Billy said with a grin, "All except me, man. I just came to help the folks move in. We've waiting for the moving truck right now. It must have been delayed or something, man."
Through stiff lips, Laurel had added to the lie, hoping she didn't sound as nervous as she felt. It was necessary to make the man believe they were just like any other family who had been inconvenienced by a moving van that had not brought their furniture. She thought he looked a little relieved after that. But a little later he stood up again and said he'd go on down the hill. "It's getting darker and I don't like the sound of that wind. I think I'd better go while I've got a chance."
"I'll go with you," said Shotgun. "Maybe I can figure out what's wrong with your car. With two of us, we can give it a shove, maybe." Laurel had seen the bulge of Shotgun's knife inside his waistband, but it didn't really register with her that Shotgun was going to kill the stranger. Shotgun was never without his knife. He even slept with it.
When Billy had obediently gone out into the howling wind to bury the body, Laurel swallowed three times and mustered enough courage to ask Shotgun why he'd killed the stranger.
"The sonofabitch was nosy. You see how he looked all around?"
"Yes, but when we told him that lie about waiting for a moving van -"
"Deena shouldn't have let the sonofabitch in."
"Yes, but she did and it really does look just as though we're waiting for our furniture. I think he believed us. A lot of people have relatives like Deena."
"Laurel, if that sonofabitch had gotten into Middlesex, he'd have talked about how we're living out here. Besides, we can use his car." Shotgun took a few bills out of his pocket. "Seventy-one dollars. And this watch," he said. "Not much of a watch. A fucking Timex. Well, I needed a watch. Laurel, you take care of his clothes."
Laurel eyed the bundle of clothing Shotgun had stripped from the stranger's body. She didn't want to handle them, but she knew Shotgun would hit her if she didn't. Getting to her feet, she shook out the suit and overcoat. Then she went into the Father's room and hung the clothing in the closet.
* * *
An hour later, Shotgun was laughing. "I went through his billfold. He was an insurance agent. Lived in Utah. Wonder what the motherfucker was doing in this part of the country." He looked at Laurel. "Come on, baby, I feel like fucking."
Billy came in and announced it had started to snow.
"You get him buried good?" Shotgun's eyes blazed with a threat.
Billy nodded.
"Me and Laurel are going to fuck now. Keep Deena in the kitchen. She rattles off the mouth so a person can't hardly enjoy a good fuck."
Cringing, Laurel got on the floor and looked at Shotgun with an expression that she hoped would make him believe she was going to enjoy it. Her mind was made up. She knew she would have to take a chance on going along with Billy. She had to trust him. If she and Billy didn't make it, they'd be buried somewhere in the area. Shotgun often talked about how he wouldn't take a chance again on just thinking he'd killed someone, the way he had Carrie.
Hedda Stevenson and Connie Gordon were talking on the telephone. Hedda was saying, "I tell you what I think, Connie. I think we should just take matters into our own hands. Now, I don't know how you feel about it, but I just don't think that commune is any place for young boys to be visiting. I didn't say anything to Paul J. and Dell about it when they said they'd been out to see Matt and Suzan. After all, they've grown up with both of them; and it's perfectly natural for them to want to see their old school mates ... but it worried me half to death, knowing they'd been out there. No telling what kind of talk was going on. About sex and things like that."
Connie said, "I agree. I certainly do agree. I think we ought to go to the police about this, Hedda. There's a law on the books that has to do with closing down a house that's a nuisance. I think the old Lassen house with those kids in it would be considered a nuisance."
"We'll go together," said Hedda Stevenson. "How about tomorrow afternoon? I hate to do anything like this so close to Christmas and all, but we've got to consider our own kids."
* * *
The next day was the 23rd of December. Flip Helmick's funeral was held in the afternoon and when it was over the committee asked Lexington Carter if he'd consider taking Flip's job of caretaker on a permanent basis. He said he would mull it over, but for the present he'd remain in the cottage and act as temporary caretaker.
The snow that had threatened the night before covered the ground and Middlesex churches filled the air with music. Christmas lights were shining from almost every Middlesex window and everyone was in a hurry to get last-minute shopping done. When night fell, the countryside surrounding Middlesex looked like a Christmas card. Inside the commune, the air smelled fragrant with pine and the tree in the living room sparkled with lights and ornaments. Mitsu and Allan did the dishes, then they came back into the living room and sat down. Suzan was playing the old-fashioned piano and Matt was cracking nuts for a Christmas pudding. She would bake it for Christmas Eve. They would have their private celebration on the 24th and on Christmas Day they would have dinner with Honey Lou.
"Where's Paula?" asked Suzan as she turned around from the piano.
"I have riot seen her since we had supper," said Mitsu.
Matt cracked another pecan and swore when he pinched his finger. "The rest of you guys have to help me pick the nuts out of the shells. I think Paula went for a walk."
Mitsu looked into the fireplace. She is very lonely now that Tom is gone. It is not good to quarrel so close to Christmas."
Suzan said, "Tom behaved like a child."
Everyone laughed. After all, Suzan had just become seventeen and Tom was twenty-six.
She blushed. "I don't care what you say. Go ahead and laugh. Tom did behave very childishly. All along he's insisted there's nothing permanent about his relationship with Paula, then he wanted to take her to his mother's for Christmas dinner. Well, I don't blame Paula. We're supposed to be so modern and all this free love business and everything, true - but why should they go upset Tom's mother by flaunting their relationship? He told her they'd sleep together there, just as they do here. But you know Paula was right when she said it would be wrong to go to his parents' house and sleep together. It would offend his mother and Tom should have considered that. I don't go along with the idea of deliberately hurting someone. It's all right to have different moral values, but it's not right to press your ideas on someone else."
"Tell 'em, tiger," said Matt. His eyes were tender as he looked at his child bride, even though his words were flippant.
"But for him to just drop out of his school because of that - to say he will transfer! That is silly," said Mitsu.
"If you guys want to know the truth of it, Tom was so jealous of Paula that he couldn't go on any more with their relationship," said Allan Mays. "He told me not a week ago he was falling in love with her, but she just sloughed that off. I think Tom was afraid he'd get too deeply involved in something that was meaningful to him and not to her."
"I don't think we should talk about Paula while she's gone," said Mitsu. She got up and went to the window. "It is snowing again. How beautiful! Who would like some hot buttered rum? I shall fix it. I learned how just the other day."
* * *
Paula went for a walk because she was lonely. Now that Tom was gone, she wished he was back. The holidays had always been the worst time of the year for her. She could remember all those Christmas holidays in the past when her drunken mother would become maudlin and tearful. Once she took all the children out to a cheap restaurant for Christmas dinner. 'This is Christmas, kids. If your father had stayed home where he belonged it'd be different." One time she had embarrassed Paula by breaking into tears and swear words in the restaurant. 'These are my poor little kiddies, mister," she'd said to the man at the next table. 'This is all the Christmas they get, a cheeseburger and French fries; ain't this the shits? Oh, it's a cruel world and there's not ever going to be any of your peace on earth good will to men as long as people allow sonsofbitchin' men to screw and make babies, then go off and leave the poor little devils. Are you a family man, mister?"
The man had said he wasn't.
"Maybe you could give my kids a quarter or something. You know. Just to let them know all men aren't sonsofbitches." The man had given each of the children fifty cents and then he'd gotten up and left the restaurant, his food still on his plate. Eunice had taken the money and bought a bottle of cheap wine the next day.
Then there had been the sickening Christmas she'd spent with people her mother had referred to as "genteel quality folks."
"I mean, Paula, you watch your P's and Q's, you'll be on Easy Street. They're kind of peculiar in their tastes, but don't ever look a gift horse in the face, honey." She had laughed and given Paula a five-dollar bill. "Go out and get yourself some new undies, honey. And make sure they're black lace. Mr. Lochard kind of goes for black undies."
"Mom, what'll I have to do?" Paula had been fourteen then."
"Never mind what do you have to do. I get fifty dollars if you behave yourself. And the rent's due. Those welfare bastards don't ever give us enough money to stretch from one month to the other. I swear to God, Paula, I just don't know what I'm going to do if you start crying and carrying on now. It don't hurt you none. You found out it don't hurt you, by now! Now go on and do like I say! Get on down to the dime store before it closes and get yourself some black lace panties and a bra. We got to have this money if we're going to pay the rent."
Paula had gone to the ten cent store and bought a pair of black lace panties and a matching bra. When she got back to the flat her mother was so drunk she could hardly stand up. But she remembered something she'd forgotten. "You got to go right back. Get a garter belt and a pair of black stockings. Black, now. And hurry! They're coming after you most any time to take you to their lovely home."
Paula had run all the way back to the store. When she arrived back at the building, a beautiful blonde woman was getting out of the back seat of a car. The driver held the car door open for the woman and his eyes fell on Paula for a second. She noticed that he had snow white gloves on and that his eyes appeared sad. The woman came forward, looking at the numbers up over the doors, then she turned around and said to the driver, "I think you'd better go, Carl. I don't think I care to enter that building alone."
That was all Paula heard the woman say. She opened the downstairs door and started trudging up the steps. The driver of the big car walked rapidly and soon he was passing Paula. He turned around and looked at her just as he had looked at her down on the street. His mouth had opened slightly, but he hadn't said anything. By the time Paula climbed all the way to her floor, the driver was knocking at the door.
"Are you expecting someone?" the man said to her in a gentle voice.
"Yes." For some reason, Paula had liked the man who had driven the woman's car. There had been something about his eyes, his mouth, that had made her like him.
"You've got black underthings in that package, have you?"
"Yes."
"Okay." He shrugged and she opened the door. Her mother had passed out on the kitchen floor. The younger children were eating cold cereal out of a box and the baby was sitting on her mother's legs, munching away. Besides the usual rancid smell of filth and garbage, the room stank of whiskey.
One of Paula's younger sisters held up the empty bottle. "Mom drank it all down then chucked some of it up - but we mopped it up, Paula." She could see where they had mopped up the whiskey. There was a clean spot on the floor.
Paula ran into the bedroom and picked up the other packages. "I'm ready to go now," she said in a whisper.
The man's eyes had swept over the filthy kitchen and come to rest on Eunice, who had her mouth open and was making whimpering sounds. "You're going to leave these kids like this? All by themselves with her in this condition?"
"Old lady Maloney down the hall, she'll watch out for the kids," said Paula. She felt like screaming. Instead, she told her brother to go down the hall and tell Mrs. Maloney her mother was drunk again.
She saw how the man's shoulders sagged as he opened the door. And she heard him say, under his breath, "Shit."
On the steps, he grabbed Paula by the shoulder. "Listen, kid, you know what you're getting into?"
Out of hopeless eyes, Paula had looked at him and nodded. She was bitterly ashamed.
"This is the goddamndest-" the man began. But then he stopped.
The woman looked at Paula and smiled. She had a bunch of violets pinned to her fur coat and she smelled of some kind of heavenly perfume. "You're a beautiful little thing," she said. "Are you a virgin?'
"No, ma'am," answered Paula.
The pale blue eyes had looked sad. "I was afraid your mother was lying. But that's all right. We'll manage."
They rode for miles, into the country The woman said Paula was to call her Lana. She asked Paula about her school just like the welfare ladies asked her. She also asked about her brothers and sisters and her mother. Paula answered all her questions, but she didn't say anything about her mother being drunk on the kitchen floor.
They finally arrived at a big 'louse on a hill. By then it was quite dark and flood lights bit great holes into the sky above and made the ground below look almost white. There had been no snow that year for Christmas, Paula remembered as she walked aimlessly through Middlesex. She wondered what these people here in this little town would say if they knew that such things as a mother selling her own daughter existed. It hadn't been so many years ago. She was nineteen now ... and she'd been fourteen years old then.
What a sickening Christmas Eve it had been.
The chauffeur stopped the car in front of a sweeping stairway and opened the car door. Stone lions guarded the entrance to the house. To Paula, the steps had seemed to last forever. The woman opened the door with a key and clicked on her high heels down marble halls. Paula walked along, feeling overwhelmed. They took an elevator upstairs. "Papa isn't able to climb steps anymore, so we had the elevator installed," said Lana.
The upstairs of the house seemed more like a downtown office building to fourteen-year-old Paula than a home. There were marble floors and many doors, all of them closed. "I've decorated the ballroom," said the woman. "Would you like to see it? We're having a dance tomorrow." Paula nodded and Lana opened a huge carved door and flicked several light switches. The enormous room burst into a blazing fairyland of Christmas lights. There was a red carpet running all around the edges of a parquette floor. Small Christmas trees marched along the walls. They were all snow white and the lights were bright red. In a corner of the room was a raised platform and to the right of it was another Christmas tree. It was bright red and all the lights on it were dazzling white. It reached all the way to the ceiling and the ceiling was higher than any Paula had ever seen before.
"Now you must get ready," said Lana. "You must bathe before you see Papa. And put on the black things. Nothing more."
Paula had drawn in her breath at the sight of the lavishly furnished bedroom. There was a chandelier that was bigger than the one in a hotel lobby where she'd been taken the week before. The bathtub was sunken and when she got in it she found herself wishing she could bring her brothers and sisters. It would be like a swimming pool to them.
When she was finished bathing, Paula obediently put on the black bra, garter belt, panties and hose. By then she'd filled out and was always surprised at the way her breasts swelled and her hips flared. When she was dressed in the black lace things, she sat and waited. After a while the beautiful blonde woman entered the room. "Sit at the vanity, Paula, I have to fix your hair and put on your make-up."
Feeling like a movie star, Paula had watched in the mirror as Lana arranged her hair in little fat sausage curls that hung down her back. Then she put a lot of rouge and lipstick on Paula's face. After she'd gazed for a long time into Paula's eyes, Lana said, "I won't have to use mascara. Your eyelashes are plenty long enough. Such a beautiful child."
"What's he going to do to me?"
"Papa? You'll see."
"Will it hurt?"
"No. It won't hurt." Then Lana had smiled and took Paula's hand. "We must go now, because he is very punctual."
"Is he your father?"
"No, dear. He's my husband's great grandfather." Lana hesitated in front of a massive door. "Now, dear, he will ask you questions. Among them will be certain - strange words that you may not understand. Just say yes or no and if you don't understand and don't know what to say, look at me. I'll either shake my head for no, or nod it for yes."
When Lana opened the door, she saw an enormously fat man on a chair. The chair was more like Paula's ideas of the way a throne would look than anything else. It was sitting on a dais about three feet high and there were stairs that went up. The wood part of the chair was intricately carved and the covering was red velvet. The man was so fat that Paula couldn't see how he could possibly move. How he could ever have climbed up those stairs. But then she saw a lever sticking out the side, like chairs in barber shops and understood. His eyes were nothing but little round dark holes in his enormously fat face and all of his features looked as though they'd been stuck on as an afterthought when a child makes a snow man. Too small for the face, they looked grotesque - the nose, mouth and eyes.
"Papa? We have the little girl."
The man moved his ponderous head and his little button-like eyes swiveled around in his head. "Are you a virgin?"
"Yes."
"Good." He sighed and reached a hand out. "Well, come up the steps. Let's have a look at you." When he spoke, his voice was filled with what sounded like bubbles and it was high and whining. He did a lot of coughing as Paula climbed the stairs. She stood meekly in front of him.
"Closer," he wheezed.
She moved closer and his pudgy fingers, all of them looking exactly like big fat bratwurst sausages, rubbed the skin on her belly. He laughed. The laugh brought on a series of coughs and wheezes and turned his face an alarming purplish color. When he finished feeling her all over he said, "Let's see your tits."
Paula dropped the black bra down to her waist and let her breasts go free. They stood out proudly, ivory white and firm, with the nipples pink and soft. He squeezed them and frowned. "They stay soft. Why don't they get hard? A woman who wants to work for me has to have some life in her." He turned his head around and let out a roar. "Bella!"
The woman who had told Paula her name was Lana stepped forward. "Yes, Papa?"
The tiny eyes that were almost hidden in the old face were suddenly shrewd. "You're not Bella. You're that two-bit whore who married my grandson. Where's Bella?"
Lana's face went suddenly slack. "Papa, Bella isn't here anymore. Don't you remember? You fired her."
"Fucking bitches. So you're taking over, are you? I don't remember hiring you."
"Papa, I'm only doing it because we haven't anyone else."
Apparently the old man forgot all about Paula's nipples that didn't get hard. "All right. Put her in the gold room and I'll try her out," he said impatiently.
"Yes, Papa," said Lana.
"No, wait a minute. I want to see her piss." He peered at Paula and said in a cunning voice, "Can you piss?"
"Yes."
"Do it, then. Spread your legs and stand right there in front of me and let me see you piss."
It required a lot of effort, but Paula had glanced at Lana, caught the nod of her blonde head and spread her legs.
"Go on, then," said the old man. "Take her over there and put her on the table. I want to look at her for a while."
"Can I let her change her panties, Papa?"
"No, I haven't time. I have to contact the silver miners." Grunting, breathing very hard, the enormous man looked at Lana. "Get Alvin."
A shudder ran up and down Lana's body, but she crossed the vast room and pushed a button on a wall. A few minutes later a man came into the room without knocking. The fat man leaned back in his chair and waved one of his sausage-fingered hands. "Fuck her."
"Yes, sir. Which one?"
"The blonde one."
"Yes, sir."
Paula sat on a table in her wet black lace panties and watched in amazement as the man who was apparently named Alvin took Lana over to the bed and stripped her clothes off. Lana didn't struggle. Neither did she appear to enjoy it.
"Now her," said the old man when Alvin was finished with Lana.
"Yes, sir."
"Don't fuck her, I want to see how well she can suck a man off."
"Down on your knees, girl," said Alvin. He sat in a striped red and white satin chair. "Start sucking, kid," he said in a soft voice.
Feeling that she would gag any minute, Paula took Alvin's prick in her mouth. It was flaccid and still wet from having been inside Lana's cunt. It took her a long time to get it hard and she grew afraid she would make the old man angry. All of her hopes were centered on Lana's answer when she'd asked the blonde girl earlier if the man she called "Papa" would hurt her. Lana said he wouldn't. She tugged and tugged and finally Alvin's prick got hard. When it was a lurching length of mindlessly probing, pistoning strength, the old man chortled gleefully, "Shoot off in her mouth. Don't take it out when you start to come."
Closing her eyes, knowing it would be over with soon if she did a good job, Paula prepared for the worst part. Alvin groaned and banged deeply into her throat and she couldn't help herself. She gagged and made a deep-throated sound of protest.
"His balls, for Chrissake, give him some action on his balls, you say you want to be a whore?" The old man's voice was suddenly a bull-roar in the big room. She immediately started playing with Alvin's balls and the rush of his gush filled her throat. Trembling, she remained where she was for a few seconds, feeling the pulsation of Alvin's cock as it slowly went down.
She was lifted to her feet by Lana, who was whispering, "He's gone to sleep. You can go now."
Looking back over her shoulder, Paula saw that the old man's head had fallen over on his fat chest. He was snoring. Paula was crying.
"It wasn't so bad this week," said Lana gently. "Sometimes he's worse."
"What did he - why does he -?" Paula asked that much and no more.
"He made his money on women. Sometimes he goes back in his mind, reliving the past." Lana made a face. "But he goes to church every Sunday."
"Why do you stay here? Is Alvin your husband?"
"No. Get dressed, now. I'll give you some extra money before you're driven home. You keep it. Don't give it to your mother."
Paula had been so engrossed in the bitter memory that she'd walked all the way into Middlesex and gone around the road that led to the cemetery, without realizing it. As she passed the cemetery gates, a car drove up and turned in. Then it stopped. A pleasant voice called out, "Are you lost or something?"
She looked at the man's face and recognized him. He was the temporary caretaker. "Not exactly. I was taking a walk in the snow and went farther than I'd intended."
"I'll drive you home. Okay?"
Paula got in the car with Lexington Carter. A police car, with the red light on top of the hood rightly shining and turning round and round was parked in front of the house. "Oh, God! Something must be wrong," she said as she jumped out of Lex Carter's car.
"I'll go in with you," he said courteously. "Maybe I can help."
Chapter Ix
"So I said, Jesus, I wonder how come those kids weren't setting up the sonsabitchin' pins," said the man in the bar. He operated a bowling alley on the outskirts of Middlesex. "I tell you, I'm going to have to get automatic pin setters. Because when I got back there to the pits - and the goddamn tournament about to start! There they were, the little bastards. Every goddamn one of them boys, standin' in a circle. They had each thrown a half-dollar on the floor and they was doin' a circle jerk. The one that shot his wad the farthest got to pick up all the money." The man doing the speaking stood up, shrugged into his heavy jacket and looked at the clock. "Well, Merry Christmas. Got to get home before the wife boils me in oil."
At the end of the bar, a group of men sat silently, scowling into their drinks. After several minutes of not saying anything, one of them said, "Well ... Willard must be out at that commune by now. Damn long-haired kids." He spoke in a low voice because Suzan Hillman was the niece of the man who owned Lassen's Bar, Middlesex's one and only place where the men could get away from their wives.
Ralph Gordon looked deeply into his beer. He scowled. "Listen, you guys. I'm not so sure we should have done it. I mean - you take people -"
Someone laughed. "You take people, Ralph. Nobody wants 'em."
"No, now, by God, I'm serious. Those kids out there aren't doing anything kids haven't always done. Adults, too. Still doing, for that matter. The only difference is, the kids are doing it out in the open."
"Why, hell, Ralph. That's the point of the whole thing. Today's kids have got to learn to keep things that shouldn't be done out in the open underneath. That's society for you. That's learning to adjust. To behave yourself. Shit, everybody knows there's not hardly anybody that doesn't screw around a little. They always have and they always will. It's just that you don't do in public the things that's supposed to be kept hidden."
"That's what I mean," said Ralph. "What I mean is, how do we know what's right and what's for godsake wrong? You take these kids, I don't really blame them."
"Ralph, you trying to tell me you're a hippie or something? Ralph, you're too goddamn old to be a hippie. You've got better sense than that. Ralph, you drunk or something?"
"I had a little extra to drink."
"Ralph, you don't ever drink hardly. Whatsamatter, Connie giving you a hard time?"
"Leave my wife out of it. Now, I want to tell you guys something. There's not a person in town that - oh, shit. What's the use."
Ralph didn't say anything more and someone else started up. "Take these dirty movies. My little girl. Now there's something about this modern generation that you've got to watch out for. She said - my little girl, I mean, she wanted to go see this movie. It was playing in Philly and I looked at the papers, you can't be too careful with kids nowadays. I saw where it was rated 'X.' Well, you all know what that means. Sex. Full of sex. So I wouldn't let her go. There was a good clean murder mystery playing right here in Middlesex. But that's what they've all got on their minds and you know it can't - here comes the patrol car down the street."
The men left the bar, all six of them who had been sitting at the end, speaking in low voices. Only Ralph Gordon continued to sit and stare into his beer. He said to his beer, "Every one of those bastards screws around. Every motherfucking one of them. Now, who are they to say?"
Willard Streetman pulled up alongside the Middlesex Pharmacy. He was the Lieutenant. Sergeant Haas sat at his side. Paul Stevenson, the owner of Stevenson's grocery, stuck his head inside the warm police car. "Well, how'd it go?"
"They were clean. No marijuana."
"What about the other thing?"
"You mean fucking around with each other? They admitted it," said Lieutenant Streetman.
"You tell them to get out of town? All except Matt and Suzan?"
"Yes. They said they weren't going to."
"They can't live together like that and not be married," said Paul Stevenson.
"They said they were going to and if we didn't like it we could take them to jail. We can't take Suzan and Matt to jail, hell. Those are Middlesex kids."
"You sure there wasn't any dope?"
Streetman shook his head. "No dope on the place."
"My wife," said Paul Stevenson, "is going to have a shit fit. Now, goddamnit, you know you can't let those fool kids fuck each other in that house and them not married." Paul Stevenson was thinking about the peace and quiet he longed for and wouldn't have. The way Hedda's jaw would flap at him to do something about that kind of filthy behavior right in front of her boys' noses. As though those boys didn't belong to him, thought Paul resentfully. Maybe some of them didn't, for all he knew. He was worried about the jawing she'd give him when he went home and told her the police didn't do anything about the commune. She'd holler her fucking head off.
"I don't know what to do, Paul," said Lieutenant Streetman. "I swear to God, I just don't know what to do. How about let's let them go ahead and we don't bother them any more until after Christmas, okay?"
"I have to tell my wife something," said Paul.
"Shit, tell her we're working on getting them out of town. Tell them we gave them a warning," said Streetman.
That sounded like a fine idea to Paul Stevenson. It was getting colder than blue billy hell, he thought. After he told the rest of the men what he'd learned from old Willard, he'd have time to go see Sandra Larramie.
Streetman and Haas drove on down the street. Streetman said, "There's not going to be anything doing tonight. Take over, will you?"
"Sure. Where you want to go?"
"I'll drive down there. Then you take the wheel. Come back and get me in about an hour."
Josephine Malloy opened the door when Willard knocked. She had her dark hair in braids down her back and was already dressed for bed, with a pink quilted robe over her white nightgown. "Willard, I don't know if you ought to stay - you know Bruce might get home any minute."
"Don't hand me that, Josephine." The Lieutenant of the Middlesex Police Force shoved the door open and put his icy cold hands on Josephine's big cans. She jumped back and looked anxious.
"If he ever finds out you've been coming here, he'll kill you and me both."
"Just get on back there in the bedroom, sweetheart. I'm colder than a frog's ass, but I got me a hard-on the size of a lamp post. Anyway, old Bruce isn't going to come home and catch us. Shit, he hasn't in eight years, he won't now."
Josephine took off the quilted robe. "I swear, Willard, sometimes I get to feeling so bad about us I - especially in church. Looking right at the back of your wife's head and all. Be different if she sat someplace else."
"Don't think about it, sweetheart. Get me warm. Let me feel your twat. Jesus, that's nice and big and hot. Jesus, I wish I could poke it to you more than once a week."
Josephine hiked her nightgown up and sat her generous ass down on the bed. "It still scares me, Willard, you being a policeman and coming here all the time. It'd go bad on you if you were to get caught. That is, if Bruce didn't kill you."
"Don't talk, honey. Just get that nice body of yours up next to mine." He settled his cold mouth against her warm breast. His lips began to take long pulls at her hard nipple. Now and then he remembered to take his mouth away long enough to say, "Honey, I sure love you. I wish we could be married."
When he was ready to climb on, he froze for a moment, going back over his mind what he'd said to her. For a confused second, Willard forgot whether he was with Josephine, Alice or Wilda. They were all married women and Willard "went to see them" often. He usually called them all "honey" or "sweetheart." His only worry in the world was that someday he would call one of them by the other one's name. Or call his wife by one of the other women's names.
His prick sank into her yielding cunt and he felt her arms and legs wrap around him. Breathing a sigh of relief, he knew he was all right, hadn't called her Wilda or Alice. Because if he had, Josephine would never be sucking him into her hot twat like that. She'd be keening and beating him about the head and shoulders. She'd always been a jealous bitch, he thought with a little extra' tang of pleasure. Even when they were kids, back a long time ago and he used to take her out and prong her behind the cemetery. He took his good old sweet-natured time about screwing her. He often thought he liked her better than any of the rest of them. Maybe even better than his wife, although he had no real complaints about her. His wife was a good lay, he thought benevolently. Except she didn't have the same kind of feel to her flesh that Josephine had. "God, honey, but I love to fuck you."
"Willard," she sighed as she rushed into a gush and pistoned her hips wildly up for more. "I sure wish we could get married. Like me divorce Bruce and you talk Mary into a divorce." She was so soft and her skin was so supple and so smooth. Willard got uncomfortable, though, when she talked like that.
"Yeah, baby," he said as he shot his seed into her. "Sure, honey. Be nice, but - it would be nice, but the kids, you know?" He sighed, felt the last terrific fountaining of his come and relaxed against her. "Goddamn, sweetheart. I just love you, you know it?"
She allowed him to lie there on top of her comfortable belly for a while and cradled his head in her breasts. Then she patted him on the shoulder. "Willard, honey, don't go to sleep now. It's getting late. Bruce will -"
"Fuck Bruce," said Willard. But he got up and dressed.
"You been busy tonight, Willard?"
"Yeah. Went over to that commune where Matt and Suzan Hillman are living with those long-haired little bastard hippies. Got to keep things on the old up and up, you know, Josephine." He walked out, whistling. He had to wait a minute and a half for Haas to come and pick him up. As the police car swung around a corner, Josephine's husband, Bruce, was just crossing the street, coming home from his job at the Rutherford Company. Willard waved. Haas didn't bat an eyelash. Bruce waved back.
* * *
Paul Stevenson rang Sandra Larramie's doorbell. She came to the door in her skin. He jumped in and slammed the door quickly. "Goddamn shameless hussy, supposing somebody saw you, Jesus Christ!"
Sandra said, "Get out."
"What kind of talk is that?"
She stood there without a stitch of clothes on, her flaming hair shooting little sparks as she shook her head back and forth. At least that was the way it seemed to Paul Stevenson. Her bush was as bright red as the hair on her head and she stood there with her arms folded across her chest with her boobs just jutting straight out. Jesus Christ, he could eat a fucking egg off those tits of hers and never miss a drop.
"I said, get your ass out of here." It seemed to Paul that even her green eyes were blazing. She sure could be a mean bitch when she was mad, but he didn't think she really meant for him to get out. Shit, he'd just gotten there and he was damn well going to fuck her. He grinned. He'd seen women like this before. All they needed was a little taming.
"Oh, come on, honey, don't be that way," he said as he took two steps closer.
"Get out of here, you big bastard."
"What did you - find out I'm married?"
"I don't give a shit if you're a Mormon with fourteen wives and all of them pregnant. It hasn't got anything to do with your being married. Now get your ass out of my apartment."
"Shit, you've been fucking around with everybody in town."
"So what? I don't go around lying about it, spouting the gospel with pussy hairs in my teeth like you do, asshole."
"What are you talking about?"
"You and your friends went out there to the old Lassen house and told those kids they had to get out of town. Of all the hypocritical bastardly sonsofbitches!"
"I never had anything - well, my wife kept after me, but - anyway, the cops went." He stretched his arms out and turned on the old Stevenson charm. It would work, it always worked, he was thinking, shit, she wasn't any different from the rest of them. "All I did was ask the police to check into-"
"And you've got a case of the clap, too, in case you're interested."
Paul Stevenson felt the world spinning. "Not in my house," said Sandra Larramie. "You don't pass out in my living room." And before he knew what had happened, Paul Stevenson, big man around town, found himself flat on his ass in six inches of snow.
Paul's hands felt gingerly around on his prick. It felt all right to him. He drew his head back and brushed the snow off his britches. Shit. She wasn't going to get him all upset. She was just telling him that. He couldn't have the clap. Shit. No way, man. Then his brain began to swell up on him as he walked along trying to convince himself she'd been putting him on. She'd better be, he thought grimly. Because if it was true his wife would kill him.
* * *
The Man came out of the Father's private room. The Father was smiling all over his face. The Man was not smiling at all, but then he never did. The Children looked at the Father's benign expression and relaxed. The Man came up to Deena. "I'll have you again," he said.
Deena looked at the Father to make sure it was all right, confident that she wouldn't anger him by looking at him directly. It was expected when a woman belonged to a man the way she belonged to the Father to ask permission when another man said he would have her.
"It's quite all right, Deena," said the Father.
Deena wished she didn't have to please this man, because he frightened her. He was cold and he had eyes like a snake. His prick felt cold and slimy when it came pushing its way inside of her, too. She didn't mind taking it in the ass and that was why the Father had stretched her. She understood that the Man was a very important person in The Circle. She believed he was probably one of the most trusted, because she knew he had brought several packages to the Father. The Father had been very kind to everyone lately. She thought maybe it was the Christmas spirit at first, but then it had dawned on her that the Man had brought drugs. Anyway The Circle didn't celebrate Christmas. There hadn't been any drugs before and now the Father was giving them out freely once more. She felt pretty sure the Man took all the money Billy and Ted and Shotgun had stolen, but that was all right, because soon The Circle would be in charge of the entire world. Then they would all look back on this terrible time when they had lived on the outskirts of Middlesex, half starved and cold all the time.
"After I have had the woman again, I'll leave," said the Man. Deena gave him a blazingly beautiful smile, hoping he wouldn't realize how glad she was that he was leaving. It wasn't healthy to offend anybody in The Circle, but she couldn't help feeling relieved to hear he was leaving. More than anything else, she had been afraid he would learn of the death of Carrie. Not that he'd care about Carrie dying. But he would be very angry if her learned Shotgun hadn't killed her all the way - that she had crawled to the highway and been taken to the hospital. If the Man learned all that, he would be angry with the Father and then Deena would be even more upset. Because the Father was not quite as important in The Circle as he would be soon. Deena wanted him to be important. She wanted him to be called the Man, because when that happened they would be done with all this horrible way of living.
Willingly, she followed the Man back into the Father's private room. When she had closed the door, she turned to him and asked his pleasure. Expecting him to say, "In the ass," she was stunned to learn that he was just going to fuck her in the cunt.
He grabbed her and ripped the few shreds of clothing from her body. Then he lifted her up in his skinny arms and seemed to be testing her weight before he put her down. When she was on the floor again, he allowed her to undress him. His prick was already hard. She looked at it as she stroked it with her hand, wondering how she had managed to take all that meat in her ass. It had hurt a little, but not as much as she would think it would have, looking down at it and holding it in her hands.
When she was wondering how he wanted her to position herself, the Man again lifted her in his arms. Holding her body straight out from him, he let her ride back and forth on his mammoth prick for a few seconds, then he told her to take her hands and guide it in. She did and almost immediately she went to pieces. She had never fucked like that before. It felt heavenly to be supported by his strong arms, to feel his, hands under her ass, his finger rammed in her asshole and at the same time to have his prick stuffed inside her cunt. She yelled and screamed and clawed and bucked and jiggled.
"I CANT STAND IT CANT STAND IT, IT FEELS SO GOOD I'M GOING TO DIE, OH, DON'T STOP, DON'T EVER STOP, IF YOU STOP I'LL DIE ON THE SPOT, OH, FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME OH, THIS IS FUCKING, THIS IS THE BEST, BEST, UH, UH, HAH, YES, YES, YES, THE BEST FUCK I EVER HAD!" She was coming and coming. She thought she would never stop. And still he was whanging his meat in and out of her. She adored it. She would follow him out of the house and through the snow in her bare feet. She would never let him out of her sight. "FUCK YOU, the FATHER!" she cried lustily as he shot his gush into her with the force of a water hose.
Fifteen minutes later, the Man walked out of the private room and The Sanctuary. Deena huddled against the rags on the floor, crying her heart out. She was humiliated at the things the Man had said to her. But more than that, she was afraid of what the Father would do to her because of those terrible things she'd yelled out when she'd fucked the Man.
Her heart was hammering and she heard the outside door open and close; then she heard the clatter of feet on the bare boards of the house and everyone was shouting. "Billy and Laurel have disappeared. They've ratted out on us!"
The Father's voice rose above the others. "Silence! Shotgun, we must go after them. But first I have a little job for you."
Chapter X
Laurel's teeth were chattering. Billy kept his arms around her whenever he could, but the snow drifts were very deep and too often Laurel would lose her footing and fall. It was a wet snow. The kind that clings. They didn't dare take the main road into Middlesex, because as soon as they were missed at The Sanctuary, they knew Shotgun would come after them.
"Billy, it's stopped snowing," said Laurel.
"Yeah, man." He pulled her up out of the snow and told her to try not to shiver so hard. "It's as much nerves as anything else."
"Billy, I said it's stopped snowing!" Breathing hard, Laurel climbed up a bank from the bottom of a ravine. "Don't you know what that means? That means they can trace our footsteps!"
"The Man will probably stay for a while. The Father won't dare admit he's let a couple of potentially dangerous people get out of his sight. Don't worry, Laurel." Billy sounded much older than his twenty years. Although she knew he was comforting her and hoping he was right, Laurel knew the people at The Sanctuary could have found out they were missing almost as soon as they left the house. She tried not to think about the smile that would be on Shotgun's face as he tracked their double set of footprints through the snow. For all she knew, Shotgun could be no more than ten feet behind them, his hand already on his knife.
"The awful part of it is," said Billy as he stopped to look all around, "things look so different at night. I'm not sure we're going in the right direction." They huddled together for warmth and comfort for a few seconds, then they walked again, hoping they were going in the right direction.
"Did you get out of the house often, Billy? I mean, do you really know how to take the back road into town?" She asked the question because she wasn't at all sure they were on a road. If it was a road, it was certainly overgrown with trees.
"Not often," he said. "But look. Over there. Doesn't that look like lights glowing in the sky? Like they look when there's a town?"
Laurel looked in the direction Billy was pointing and there did seem to be a faint glow in the black sky. "Then we've been going the wrong way," she said hopelessly. "Isn't that just opposite of the way we've been heading?"
"I'm not sure."
After what seemed hours later, Laurel sank to her knees into a deep hole. She kicked as she fell through the soft wet snow and felt herself sinking deeper and deeper. She was afraid to scream, because there was always the possibility of letting Shotgun know where they were. In the dead silence of the night, the only noise for miles around was Billy's faltering footsteps and her own labored breathing. Billy was soon down in the snow-filled hole, pulling her to her feet. He spoke to her in a whisper. "I know where we are now, Laurel. We're not too far from the cemetery. This is the culvert where the water drains under the road. But keep as still as you can. I heard voices, but I can't tell where they're coming from."
"Our footprints will give us away," she whispered back.
"You're right. We'll have to get out of here in a hurry, just in case they are close. Run as fast as you can. I'll take this tree limb and cover where we've walked."
"But which way shall I go?"
"About fifteen feet ahead, you'll see the gates that lead into the cemetery. Go on. Now!" Billy was busily sweeping, walking backward as he came toward her.
Laurel was sure she couldn't have taken another step when they finally got to the caretaker's cottage. A friendly light was shining from the front window. With half frozen knuckles, she knocked at the door as Billy came running up behind her, still brushing the snow smooth to cover where they'd walked.
* * *
Deena was all alone in the house. She didn't know where the others had gone, but she was nice and warm and comfortable. A black curtain was coming down on the inside of her head. When it closed all the way, she would be even more warm and comfortable. Now and then the flickering little flame of her will to live burned brightly. Then she would remember things she didn't want to. The conversation they'd had when they'd found out Billy and Laurel had defected. The way they had taken flashlights to light the way and the Father had given them all candy bars to give them energy. Deena had wanted to go too, but the Father gave her a candy bar and told her someone had to stay and watch the house. Then he had given her two pills and Shotgun had given her a fix. The fix had begun to do its rosy work right away. The warmth and euphoria had almost immediately stolen over her and she was where she wanted to be. It seemed to her that the needle had hurt a lot and she was bleeding, but it didn't matter.
It had frightened her when Alfa had protested. "But she didn't do anything, it isn't right to kill her." The Father had said she was too far gone to be of any further use to them. But of course, she thought with an empty little smile on her face, he hadn't really meant he would let Shotgun kill her. Why, the Father had chosen her for his very own! It was just something he wanted to tell Ted and Alfa and Maxine. To throw them off guard. Because the Father had promised her he would keep her always. Her eyelids were getting heavier and heavier. She saw a lovely table in front of her, all spread with a beautiful white tablecloth, sparkling crystal and snow white china. Food was stacked up on platters. All kinds of food. Deena smiled and reached out her hands and the table came closer to her. It was going to be heavenly to eat her fill for a change. Something was rattling. Once she thought it might be inside of her chest, but of course that was silly. There was nothing in the old farmhouse but the table laden with food and herself. She smiled and reached for the napkin and closed her eyes because she was suddenly very dizzy and quite weak. She must rest for a moment, she told herself. And then she would eat. It was good of the Father to have such a wonderful surprise sent for her. She fell back against the dirty rags on the living room floor and her eyes opened, the lids fluttered for a second and then the eyes rolled up inside her head. For a few seconds the rattling in her chest continued, but Deena moved no more.
* * *
There was nothing really wrong with what she'd done that night, thought Connie Gordon. She looked at the clock on the dashboard of the car and noted that she'd been gone only two hours. Ralph was at home with her niece Rita and her son Eric. Although Eric was home for Christmas vacation, he wasn't really under his mother's thumb any more. She'd covered her tracks well, she was sure. Ralph didn't have any reason to doubt her when she said she was going to take some Christmas cookies to the Orphan's Home in Philadelphia. It wasn't as though she didn't really go to the Home on occasion. Anyway, it was all Ralph's fault that she'd found out about the Club. The card had come in the mail and it had been Ralph who had suggested they join a swingers' group. Well, the people had run into trouble and that was certainly not her fault, thought Connie as she drove toward home. Lance and Selma Crawford had been picked up by Tony Colombo, the FBI man, just as they were trying to sneak out of Middlesex. Connie had been terribly shocked when she found out Lance and Selma had been blackmailing the people who went to the fuck-parties, as she learned to call them. Then Harvey and Rachel Mandrell had tried to run a successful meeting place where couples could go and have fun, but that hadn't panned out. Connie was sure it was all Rachel's fault. Harvey was to be pitied, rattling around in that old mansion by himself now that Rachel was gone. Connie certainly hoped he was able to make a go of the club on his own. She was afraid he wouldn't, because Harvey didn't seem like much of a business man. But there were still a few people who came and paid for the privilege of group sex.
"Anyway," said Connie virtuously, "I don't drink any more. And Ralph is about as much fun to go to bed with as Reader's Digest. And he's the one who wanted to go that first night and see what it was all about." She spoke out loud, verifying her rationalizations as a sort of rehearsal. Just in case she had to explain herself to Ralph. He'd never been suspicious - sometimes Connie thought he didn't care what she did. But she knew he just might get upset if he found out where she'd been.
"Oh, Chevy, I love you," she said softly. Her belly gave a little thrilling lurch as she remembered what Chevy had done to her. She wondered if it was because he was black. Well, not really black. Just a little bit of black blood. But, oh, Boy, she thought. Could he ever fuck!
Frowning as she drove, Connie slowed down as she came to the hill. The snow-packed road was slippery. And it had started to snow again. She had to turn on her windshield wipers. The snow was so dense she could just barely creep along and even with the snow tires, it was hazardous. But it gave her a chance to relive the way it had been that night.
Connie thought she was going to be with another couple. She had never been able to shed all her conventions. It had been with a little sigh of secret relief that she'd said she didn't really mind when Harvey said they couldn't come. Old Harvey had looked so apologetic. Then he'd told her Chevy was there.
"You could go to bed with him if you'd like. I don't have anybody else for him."
Connie had been just a little bit tempted. Chevy was Middlesex's new dentist. Everybody liked him, even though he was black. But Connie had never been to bed with a black man that she knew of. There had been times when she'd gotten drunk and passed out that she could have, but she didn't think she ever had. Then Chevy had come into the big living room of the mansion and smiled at her. Such a warm smile. Why not? she asked herself. A person, felt Connie Gordon, ought to have a little enjoyment out of life. She'd quit drinking and she was on the board of the PTA and the Concerned Mothers Against Drug Abuse was brought into being because of her own hard work and determination. She was a good cook, she added to her lists of virtues, she kept her house clean and never turned her husband down on those rare occasions when he wanted to screw her. But she deserved to have a little fun out of life.
"You been swinging long?" asked Chevy.
"No. Not long," she'd answered.
"You ever see Harvey's dog fuck a woman?"
"No!" Connie had wondered why anyone would want to let a dog fuck them.
"There's this Jewel Anders. She's going to put on a show for us."
Connie had not been sure she wanted to even watch such a thing. It seemed too undignified. Too far-out, as her son Eric would say. But she didn't want to be considered a wet blanket.
Jewel was a voluptuous blonde with a tiny little waist and the biggest boobs Connie had ever seen. She looked almost doll-like as she stretched out on the leather bench, except that no doll would have boobs like that. She wondered how a person could possibly want to have a dog licking around on her. Connie liked men and she couldn't see why anybody else wouldn't want a man instead of a dog if she had the choice and with a build like that, together with a face so beautiful that it almost hurt to look at it, obviously the girl named Jewel Anders could get her pick of men.
The few people who were at Harvey's house sat around on low sofas or on the floor and there were plenty of drinks available. Connie stuck to her tomato juice and felt virtuous. She still wondered how Jewel could possibly open her dripping cunt to that dog. That lovely face was smiling and the eyes were shining as the dog sat at attention, his long pink tongue dripping saliva down onto his fur. Harvey Mandrell stood at Jewel's feet, watching her open her thighs. Connie gasped when she saw the size of that little tiny girl's clit. It was as big as a marble, but almost twice as long as normal. It jutted sharply out at the upper junction of the labia, bright pink and pulsating already, the softly curling blonde pubic hairs like a nest all around it.
At a command from Harvey Mandrell, Ruff moved forward. His mouth clicked shut for a moment; then his pink tongue licked at his upper lip. Then he buried his nose in that dripping slit and started taking rough, long, loud licks. Jewel's buttocks lifted slightly off the black leather couch. When she lifted herself up, she put her hands down and held steady, positioning herself in order to get as much of that lashing dog's tongue as she could. Her flesh was milky white and her breasts trembled, the nipples hardening as she began to move her hips sinuously forward and backward, meeting every noisy lap of Ruff's tongue with a strong thrust. With a throaty gurgle, Jewel began to speak to the dog. "Faster, boy, ohhhhh, God, lick faster, harder, come on, boy, give me that old tongue all the way in my cunt." Her head and shoulders were moving back and forth against the couch and her body went into a long, shuddering orgasm. Even her breasts strained forward and seemed to vibrate and swell. It didn't last long and when it was over Jewel spread her legs wider and screamed, "Now in the ass!"
Her legs went backward toward her head and she was in the position of someone about to go over on a backward somersault. The dog was down on all four feet, gazing with his intelligent eyes at her anus.
At another short command from Harvey, Ruff moved forward, standing on his hind feet. His penis came out redly, dripping and shining from the furry sheath. His hips were pistoning before he managed to get it positioned and his front paws were resting against the backs of Jewel's upper thighs.
Watching it was strangely erotic to Connie Gordon. She didn't understand how it could affect her in such a way, or why, but she was grateful for the touch of Chevy's hand on her breasts and her own hips started rocking back and forth a little as the dog finally pushed his penis into the little round rubbery ring of the girl's anus.
At the same time, Chevy pulled up Connie's dress and his hand was warm against the bare flesh of her thighs. His fingers caressed the skin where her stocking tops were fastened to her panty girdle. Hunching forward a little, she pushed her bush forward, wanting him to finger-fuck her, wanting him to do more than that, but she also wanted to watch the dog fuck the woman. She knew if she gave herself over to the wild urge to jump Chevy, stuff his big black cock inside of her and hump hard, she would miss the final climax of Jewel and Ruff. To see another woman shooting her gun off always affected Connie greatly. She'd never witnessed one getting it done to her by a German shepherd before, but it suddenly occurred to her that it didn't matter what did it - dog, man, finger, vibrator, the fuck was the thing. She whispered those words to Chevy and he nodded that he understood. She felt only a really sensitive person like Chevy would be able to show so much awareness of just how she felt.
Suddenly Ruff's jack-hammering hips jiggled faster. He was panting so loud that the sound of it made the hairs stand up on Connie's arms, it was so erotic. Then he was quiet, plunged in as far as he could go with his prick squirting juice inside Jewel's rectum. Jewel was screaming and her knees, upside down and grinding against her erect nipples, squeezed together. Her entire body seemed to lift upward and take in more and more of the dog's slimy prick inside of her. Connie almost went off in her pants because just at that moment, Chevy was pulling her clit forward then pumping backward on it, slithering his fingers around in the bubbling juice that was frothing out of it. But he stopped just in time and she was glad. She didn't want to waste the heavenly feeling she knew she would get when he rammed that great big black cock up inside her.
Without saying anything, she straddled him. He'd already taken his pants off. She could feel the heat of his prick as it flogged her buttocks for a moment, so hot she thought surely there must be heat-waves surrounding it. She hunched up and reached underneath, grabbed it in her hand and squeezed using her other hand to yank her blouse up over her boobs so he could get at them with his mouth.
All around them in the dimly lit room, other couples were fucking their heads off, but Connie was certain she was getting the best deal in the room. She felt Chevy's strong hands at her hip bones, lifting her up, then slamming her down. It added to the heavenly feeling, somehow, to be completely in his power. All the headlong thrill of sledding at top speed down a snowy hill when she was a child was in the powerful action of his body piercing up into hers; her body sliding down, battering into his lap, his prick a hot sticky black steel-pole inside her squirming, clamping white-pink cunt.
"You ready?" he said between gritted teeth.
"I'm ready," she said hoarsely.
"Then come!"
"I'm coming."
Their bodies were sweating, trembling, their combined breathing rasping out their rapture. She pivoted her ass and ground it around one last time, feeling the hot shooting of his seed as it banged against her womb. Then she was very still, clinging to him, her chest against his and their hearts hammering together so loud that it was like the crashing of ocean waves against a winter beach.
All around them, on the floor, on chairs and low-slung sofas there was the sound of heavy breathing, of rasped out words, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, ohhhhhh, I'm coming."
Someone said, "Bill, you shithead, you went off and now you've gone limp. Why don't you go somewhere and learn how to fuck!"
"Sorry, Adelaide, Jesus, I'm sorry!"
"You're the sorriest sonofabitch I know - be a cold day in hell before I fuck my own husband again, shit!"
Someone else said, "No! Not in the ass, not in the ass, not in the Aaaaaa Ow! Eeee! Christ, that hurts, hurts, hurts, oh, good, gimme more!"
Then suddenly Connie was down on the floor with the rest of them, crawling around in a madly gyrating chain of flesh. A man said, "I never seen so many titties in my life!" She felt a foot gently caressing her breasts, a bare foot, rather cold because the floor in the old Mandrell mansion were cold. But it felt good and whoever it was bent down and tickled the nipple that squished up between the toes and said, "Sonofabitch, it feels just like I always thought - Hey, Earl, come here and feel this - goddamn! Whoever this is has got tits as big as the broad that fucked the dog!" There were hands all over her body and there were feet. Lips sucked at her pussy and a cock came down in her mouth and she felt another one sliding in and out, in the crease between her breasts - but still, there was a foot going softly up and down. And she wondered what that could be called, a foot-fuck? a tit-foot fuck? Because the prick was between her breasts, slipping and sliding and the foot was just barely pushing against it. It was difficult for her to think with that salty prick in her mouth. She wondered who it belonged to, but it didn't really matter. A prick was a prick was a prick, she thought as it pounded against her tonsils while a pair of lips sucked at her clit ... drew it all the way out as far as it would go, then let it snap back. A female voice down between her legs laughed softly and breathed on her pussy hair ... said, "That's not a snapper snapping, that's a clit flitting." Connie froze for an instant. Only weird women held still while other women diddled with their clits but she wasn't weird, or queer for women or anything like that - she was just enjoying herself.
Then there was Chevy again. She could identify him by the lemony smell of his aftershave. Or cologne. And the smell of her own perfume somehow mingled with that lemony fragrance he used. He shoved the prick out of her mouth and a man's voice said, "Awww," but it was not an angry sound. Then Chevy gently removed the woman who was latched onto Connie's clit with a vacuum mouth and she said, "Hey!" but not angrily. Because nobody was angry right then. Connie felt as though she really belonged, having had all those other hands and lips and feet and pricks on her. The man who had been sliding his prick in and out of her cleavage had gone and the man who had insistently pressured her tits with his foot had disappeared. There was sticky come all over Connie's tits, but that didn't matter, either. Because there was Chevy, kissing her. She tasted pussy on his lips, but that didn't matter either. As long as she didn't get a pussy hair in her mouth. She didn't think she'd like that very well. He was shoving his battering ram of a prick inside her cunt and she was wet, but still nice and tight. And glad she was nice and tight, because wouldn't it be a shame to be all sprung-the-hell out of shape with such nice things going on in the world? She trembled, thinking about how she'd almost missed out on all the fun, being married to Ralph all those years and never getting off the beaten track, except for a few guys. They didn't count. Not compared with Chevy. He liked the kind of fun Connie liked. She had wailed long and loud when she came that time, conscious only of the filled feeling, of being, for the first time in her life, stuffed all the way with prick.
Connie's car spluttered, kicked over and died. "Oh, now, wait a minute," she said angrily. "This can't happen to me." She ground and ground and ground and nothing happened. No comforting sound of engine turning. She ground some more and then it didn't even grind any more.
Wondering where she was, she looked all around at the snow that lay in a purplish-white sheet all about her. The sky overhead was black and there was just a half-moon riding high. It was so silent out there in all that snow. Everything looked so different at night. It took her a while to identify the trees, bending almost to the ground with their burden of snow. She opened the car door and got out, thinking about The Sanctuary. She'd never been there. Nobody that she knew of had been there. But she knew it would be all right. A responsible adult had charge of it. Such a nice man. She'd seen him twice in Stevenson's grocery. Such a clean-cut person. Reminded her a little of a nice healthy minister who had lived there several years ago. Yes, she was in luck. Something always came along and saved her from running amok. On such a cold and snowy night, some people might be unlucky enough to be miles from nowhere. Running through the snow, Connie Gordon smiled, thinking about how lucky she was. First of all, she thought, she had a really good husband. And her son was all right. It was a pleasure to have her niece in the house, too. The house she lived in was pretty nice. Could be a lot worse. Really, she didn't have a lot of worries. Due to her own efforts, Middlesex was soon going to rid itself of the stigma of having a hippie commune so close to town. All the mothers could thank Connie - and of course Hedda Stevenson - for taking care of that problem. She felt rather sad about it for the sake of Suzan and Matt - but then, one must protect one's own children from bad associations.
Connie knocked on the door of The Sanctuary. Nobody answered. The wind was whistling through the big old pine trees that surrounded the place, though, so it was possible that nobody had heard her knock. She hoped everyone wasn't asleep. But she really had to get somebody to help her get into town. And there was a car parked outside - so surely someone must be home. When she tried the door knob it turned.
She opened the door and called out hopefully. "Anybody home?"
Puzzled, she took a few steps in the darkness, aware of no comforting warmth, no delicious smells of happy youngsters preparing for the Christmas holidays. She wondered if they'd all moved out or something. Surely someone in town would know if they had. But her footsteps did echo eerily ... as if there were no furnishings at all in the place.
Connie stumbled over something lying in the middle of the floor. She fell to her knees and swore. Something sticky was on her knees. Then she remembered the little pen light she always carried in her purse. Just find it - she clawed around in her handbag, her fingers clutched the cold slender metal and flicked it on.
"No!" she said as she stared at Deena's dead eyes. "Oh, no!"
Forcing herself to do it, Connie flashed the light all around the living room. She saw piles of rags sitting around. Nothing else. Once more she played the light on the girl. The blood was making a steady dripping sound.
Babbling to herself, she protested. She'd just been telling herself how lucky she was. It had been Connie who had found Hortense Grigsby a few months ago. Breedlaw Salyer had killed her and Connie had found the body - but Breedlaw had been right there with her and although totally out of his mind, he obviously meant to do Connie no harm - and somehow, this didn't seem anything like finding Hortense. So much worse! Hortense had been old anyway. And not very nice. But this girl. Just a girl. Not much older than Connie's son, Eric. And she was so dead! So terribly dead!
Her footsteps rang out as she scrambled out of that dark house. A house so dark and so empty and so cold.
"Help me, somebody!" she yelled into the cold and starless night. "HELP ME, SOMEBODY!"
Nobody answered Connie but her echo. Even that sounded cold and forlorn and disinterested.
Chapter Xi
It was fifteen minutes till twelve when Connie Gordon wearily made her way through the cemetery gates. She saw the lights on in the caretaker's cottage and drew a deep breath of relief. She felt half frozen and her legs were aching with fatigue. It had been a long time since Connie Gordon had walked for several miles. It had been longer since she'd walked uphill through blowing snow in freezing snowdrifts that were so deep she sometimes sank in up to her knees. She was almost incoherent when she fell against the cottage door. The tears in her eyes caused Lex Carter to seem to waver before her as he brought her inside, poured her a stiff brandy and got her calmed down enough so that she made sense.
"And the girl is dead," she finished. "I know she's dead - I just can't understand how they could do such a thing - go off and leave a girl like that, all alone in the house - such nice people, all of them so clean-cut and all - but to go away and leave her like that - oh, the blood! The only thing I could think was that they'd all left the house. It wasn't really a very nice place, you know, but the rent was probably cheap. Well, they must have moved away and that poor girl just wandered in there and somebody came in and killed her." She knew she was babbling again, but really, she kept thinking, it had been such a shock. She'd tried and tried to get her car started, but it just wouldn't! And walking all that way, it must have been three or four miles, she thought, in that driving snowstorm, well, it was just too much!
"You sit right there by the fire, Mrs. Gordon. Get yourself warm and I'll start my car. Get the heater going before I drive you home."
"My husband! He'll be worried to death."
"You can call him, Mrs. Gordon." Lex gestured toward the telephone.
Connie struggled with her cold-numb hands and finally dialed the number. She told Ralph all about why she was later than she'd thought she would be, coming from the Children's Home and how her car had stopped. How she'd been forced to go to The Sanctuary for help and the finding of the dead girl. She explained in great detail how she'd walked through the snow, just hoping she wouldn't freeze to death before she got to the caretaker's cottage at the cemetery. Ralph listened patiently until she wound down. He said he would come and get her. She told him Lex Carter was going to bring her home. "He's got snow chains on his car, Ralph and believe me, in this blizzard, a person needs them." By then, Connie was feeling warmed from, the unaccustomed drink and she was getting drowsy. She asked Ralph before she hung up if they'd done what they were supposed to.
"What are you talking about?" asked Ralph.
"That - commune, you know, dear," she said loftily. "Did the police go out there tonight and - tell them they have to leave?"
He told her the police had gone to Matt and Suzan's house and she hung up. Then she turned around and saw that Lex Carter had his coat on. Very primly, she said, "Being away in Vietnam for so long and then coming out here with Flip and all, you wouldn't know about this terrible thing that's been going on right under our very noses!" She told him all about the way Matt and Suzan had gotten married and bought the old Lassen place and that they'd turned it into a commune. "Hippies. They smoke marijuana out there all the time, I'm sure and really, Lex - well, we just had to put a stop to it.
Lex didn't say anything, but now and then he nodded his head. He was wishing the silly bitch would shut the fuck up. He supposed there was something perverse in his nature that caused him to be so taciturn. Or maybe living out there in the lonely cottage with old Flip Helmick for those few months had caused him to be stingy with his words. He could just as well have told her all about those "nice clean-cut people at The Sanctuary" - about the way they had planned to kill Laurel Leeds; about a young black boy who had risked his own life to save Laurel's. He also could have told her he had taken Laurel and Billy to the commune for shelter and that the Middlesex police force had arrested the man who called himself the Father along with the rest of the gang of hard-drug pushers and murderers. But he decided he'd let Connie Gordon find it out for herself. Besides, he knew that nothing would ever change the Connie Gordon's of the world.
Lex was tired. It had been a busy night. All he really wanted was to go back to the cottage, smoke a joint and go to bed. He hoped he would never have to put in such a night again.
Chapter Xii
Early on Christmas Eve, Billy watched Suzan open the oven door and take out a ham. He drew in a deep breath and felt his mouth water. Suzan said she couldn't think of letting him leave without eating first.
"I'd love some dinner," he said, "but is there time?"
Suzan nodded. "Just barely. Matt said he'd drive you to Philly so you can catch the bus there. I think it's better, Billy, because by now Middlesex is standing on its head, wanting to get everybody that's been connected with The Circle."
"I'm not going to turn myself in," said Billy coldly. "To hell with Middlesex. So okay, so I stole some car radios and did some time in reform school. The Father came to the reform school with his nice round friendly face and his lying sonofabitching tongue and said he'd get me out of there if I'd promise to go straight. Shit, I'd have promised anything to get out of that place. I can't blame the authorities too much, though. I mean I was taken in by Mr. Jennings as well as the next guy. Shit, I was scared to death for fear I wouldn't behave well enough for the old bastard. Then when I learned it was just a front to get kids to do his dirty work, I didn't want to stay. But what choice did I have? If I went back to my folks, they'd think I jumped parole. That bastard is really cool, man. The way he works things, everybody believes him. My folks thought he was standing right up there next to God Himself. Now I can go home and get my mother and dad to sign responsibility papers for me."
"What are you going to do, Billy?" Laurel was crying, softly and brushing the tears back from her eyes.
"Go back to school. When my folks find out about Mr. Jennings, the way he really is, I mean, they'll be responsible for me. I was eligible for parole when he came along and conned me out of the reform school anyway. My folks were glad enough to get me in with a decent man who would see to it that I didn't get off the straight and narrow. Shit, when you stop to think about how that bastard conned people!" His eyes settled on Laurel. "What are you doing to do?"
"I don't know. I can't go back home, Billy. My folks won't have me."
"Stay cool, though, man. No more dope. Okay, Laurel?"
"No more dope, Billy."
Suzan looked at Laurel. "Are you sure your folks won't let you come back home?"
"Positive," said Laurel.
"Maybe you can stay here. I think after all this has happened, people won't be so uptight with us anymore. You could go to school, Laurel. People can't make it any more without an education."
"Little towns are weird," said Laurel. "I'm not so sure I'd fit in here. They'll always think of me as the girl who was mixed up with people who peddle hard drugs. And it's true. I thought I was so fucking smart - doing my thing, you know. Then I went out West and really got into the drug scene. And I found out it isn't where it's at. I knew the Father was in The Circle, but I didn't know he'd killed all those people - didn't know the extent of his crimes. But no. I can't stay here. I'll take you up on your invitation to Christmas dinner, Suzan. If you're sure your mother-in-law won't mind having me. Then I'll ride."
Paula came in from outside. She heard Laurel's last words. "You can't just ride off somewhere, Laurel. You have to have somewhere to go."
"I haven't," said Laurel simply. "There just isn't any place for someone like me to go."
"You'll get into trouble all over again," said Paula. "You'll end up in some big town somewhere and you'll be lonely. Then you'll run into somebody like Mr. Jennings who'll offer to help you out. You'll end up in a narcotics hospital somewhere. Or a mental hospital. Or dead. Why don't you stay here? Finish high school."
"People will talk about me. They'll point me out on the street as 'that girl who just barely made it with her life. I'm not sure I could take that, Paula."
"Honey, people in Middlesex are going to talk about somebody. So what do you care? We'll take care of you. In the commune, you'll have to do your share of housework and you'll have to get a part-time job so you can pay your own way. But you're not made out of strong stuff, girl. You need somebody to watch over you."
"You're willing to be big sister? Is that it?"
Paula nodded. "I've got some little sisters of my own somewhere. They're happy. Adopted by decent people. Maybe they're a little on the square side, but the kids are clean and getting plenty to eat and nobody's hurting them. I'd shake them up if I tried to interfere. People in Middlesex, on the whole, are pretty square. I mean, they screw around on the side, some of them are closet alcoholics, some of them are closet homosexuals. But most of them do what they're supposed to. They pay their bills and shovel the snow off the sidewalks. They're kind of scared of this generation, but when they were young, the older generation was kind of scared of them. Things have always been that way. The way I look at it, Laurel, some people are just not able to cope with the kind of thing you got mixed up in. It's no more of a crime than not being able to cope with sex or poverty or suddenly being a millionaire. I think we'd all feel better about you if you'd stay."
Laurel felt like crying, but of course she couldn't allow herself to.
Mitsu came in from the hospital, her lovely peach-bloom complexion glowing. "That boy, Ralph, you know? That boy who was so badly beaten? Well, he spoke for the very first time today. He said what is his name and also asked about the girl." Tears were in her eyes as she turned to Laurel. "It was very sad to have to tell him she is dead. The little girl you said was named Carrie. But all along, that boy did not speak just because he could not. I believe I shall stay with the nursing after all. It is bad when people die, but it is so good when people get well. I believe, Laurel, you were speaking of staying here with us in Middlesex? We are so glad. We want you to be with us."
* * *
On Christmas Day, Middlesex was quiet. A girl named Deena Wilks rested in a slab under a sheet, waiting shipment back to her home in Illinois. All over town, people were in the middle of preparing a big Christmas dinner. They talked about the shocking events that had taken place just lately. "And just imagine! Imagine! That horrible man, taking all those children out of reform schools and promising them sanctuary. When he was sending them out to steal things all this time. Just imagine! And he always looked so clean and neat - and none of those kids looked any different than any other kids. The boys didn't even wear long hair."
Connie Gordon said, "Well, I never was so sure everything was on the up-and-up out there myself. I mean, after all, we were busy worrying about other things - the commune and all, for one thing. I still think somebody ought to really look into what those kids are doing out there. And I understand that one of the girls who was mixed up in that dirty dope-taking gang of young criminals is going to live there ... go to school with decent Middlesex kids! Who knows what kind of stories she'll tell our own kids? Ralph, I think you ought to make the police really look into that commune, I don't care how good a friend we've always been of Matt's mother and Suzan's."
Ralph Gordon was carving the turkey. His son Eric was looking at his mother as she rattled on and on and his cousin Rita was looking out the window. Ralph was looking at the turkey. His hand gripped around the handle of the knife and the fingers of the other hand tightened around the fork. For a terrible space of a few seconds, he thought about how nice it would be to carve Connie instead of the turkey. To slice off her arms and her legs. Or just simply to run the fork through her stupid heart and be done with it. Put her to hell out of her misery. But then he put such thoughts out of his head and went on carving the bird.
It wasn't Thanksgiving, it was Christmas, Ralph was thinking as he put a piece of dark meat and a piece of white meat on each plate, but still and all, he figured he had a lot to be thankful for. Sandra Larramie had called him during the night and scared the living shit out of him.
"Hello, Ralphikins?"
"Yes, this is Mr. Gordon." When he said it that way, it was his sign to Sandra that Connie was at home and he couldn't talk.
"This is Sandra. I just wanted to tell you I'll be all alone on Christmas night. So you can come over and fuck me. Three times, maybe. Once in the cunt, once in the ass and once in the mouth. I'm going to give you the sweetest, hottest, stickiest most come-runny Christmas present you ever had."
"What about that other matter, Miss Kellerman?" He always called her that when Connie was around, because Connie couldn't possibly muster up any suspicions about his old maid secretary.
"You mean when I was mad at you the other night and said I didn't want to see you again?" Sandra laughed sexily.
"Yes. That's right." He'd kept his voice crisp and businesslike, feeling his prick getting harder and harder. He wished he could have her right then. He'd show her what a fucked-out pussy felt like along with a sucked-out one. Goddamn bitch-slut Connie, all the time acting like he'd been carved out of a solid slab of shit when it came to fucking. But crap. She was his wife. They had a boy in college and the little girl who'd been left an orphan. He was just naturally trapped and couldn't see his way out of it. Connie had at least stopped drinking, he told himself. And she wasn't a bad-looking broad. Nothing like as good looking as Sandra Larramie, but then, Jesus ... he wasn't exactly Marcello Mastroianni, himself. And as long as he could see Sandra once in a while ... but she still hadn't answered his question about not letting him see her any more. She was running on and on, going into deeper and juicier details about the things she was going to do to him. Finally she stopped, just before Ralph went off in his pants, standing there with the telephone pressed up close to his ear while his wife made last-minute preparations for Christmas dinner. And Sandra had finally said, "I was just mad at you, Ralph. And I'm not going to screw Paul Stevenson any more, either. So come on over."
Yes, Ralph Gordon thought with a heavy sigh as he started to sit down to dinner. He was a pretty lucky bastard when he got right down to it.
Connie said she forgot the gravy.
"I'll get it," said Ralph.
"No, let me, dear," she said. But then she called over her shoulder and asked him to come into the kitchen anyway, to help her get the heavy pan out of the oven.
When she had him all alone in the kitchen, she whispered, "I think you ought to say Grace today, Ralph. Set a good example for Rita. And it wouldn't do Eric any harm, either."
"Oh, all right," answered Ralph Gordon.
Then Connie said, "But I still think, Ralph - I really do think you shouldn't stop with just investigating that commune out there. Now, as soon as Christmas is over and things have kind of settled down a little after this other business, I think you'd better investigate into-"
"Connie?" Ralph looked at his wife's petulant face.
"Ralph! I wasn't finished talking."
"Connie, fuck off. Just fuck off of that subject."
Connie looked at the man she'd been married to for twenty-two years. She saw a firm jaw and blazing eyes and his hand, wrapped around the big bread knife, was so tightly clenched that his knuckles were white.
"Why, Ralph!" She opened her mouth as though she might speak again and then she thought better of it.
* * *
Neil Arlington drove up in front of the Travis house. He looked at the windows, at all the Christmas wreaths, the sparkling ornaments on the tree in the big bay window. A twinge of nostalgia overcame him for a second. He thought for a space of time of his childhood. Of the way he'd always felt as though he didn't quite belong to his mother's family. Her second one, after she married again and had his half-brothers and sisters. He knew people tend to get emotional around the holiday season; that it's common for people to look back. He'd read once where someone said the bad things aren't remembered as well as the good things, but he wasn't sure that homily held true in his case. He'd never gotten completely over feeling as though he were on the outside, looking in. Maybe, he reflected, he had married Julie bitch because he'd been in a big hurry to have a home of his own, children to love. He wished he could see his step-sons. Julie had written him not too long ago, asking him to take her back. He had written her a nice letter, but he had been definite about not taking her back. When he'd walked in and found her humping her real estate man, on their sofa, in their living room, he'd had his fill of Julie. He had loved her little boys, but she wouldn't give either the boys or Neil the privilege of visits. He sent them Christmas gifts and letters, hoping she'd let them have the letters, not caring whether she told them the gifts were from him or not. After she'd left, he'd had a ball. Maybe too much of a ball.
Looking back on the past year, he wondered if he hadn't been trying too hard to enjoy himself. It seemed somewhat frenzied, running from women to woman, fucking his fool head off. A widow route. But he hadn't really hurt anyone. Sandra Larramie would continue to be herself. So would Helen Ringold. Donna was going to marry the FBI man, Tony Colombo. He'd gotten Karen Reeder out of her shell. He could at least be proud of himself for that. He had set out to make her come alive, to know what it meant to reach orgasm. Brought her from frigidity to a sexual woman, even a sensual woman. Of course she'd gone a little haywire - run off with Joan Paine to live in a hippie commune. Joan had come back, but Karen had stayed for a while. Karen's sister Dee Dee told him just the other day that Karen was married again. Maybe she'd had her fill of sexual freedom, banging men and women indiscriminately. But no. He hadn't really hurt anybody.
If it hadn't been for that nosy old bitch, Hortense Grigsby, he'd probably have been married to Phyllis Ewing by now. But Phyllis had left town after Sunny Martin got mixed up with the phony evangelists. When Phyllis came back to Middlesex, she hadn't seemed to want to take up where they'd left off. It had probably been for the best, he decided as he continued to look at Marie's Christmas Card house.
It seemed to him that one hell of a lot had taken place in Middlesex during the past year and three months. But when he really considered it, he supposed about the same thing had taken place in any other town of the same size. People would continue to be people. They'd eat and sleep and fuck. Kids would go right on being kids. They'd eat and sleep and dream about fucking until they got old enough to do it, then they'd join the adults, either above-board about it or under the covers.
When he opened the car door, it occurred to him that maybe he was programmed for failure. In his job he was highly successful. But in his personal life, hell ... he'd wanted so much. Neil Arlington, the man who refused to eat on a soiled plate. Big deal. Maybe he really wanted to remain single. Look at the situation he was in now. Marie couldn't marry him. Her husband was hopelessly insane and divorce was impossible in their state. Yet he didn't want anyone but Marie. Maybe what people said was true. It didn't seem too far-fetched to believe he was one of the many who was more content when he was wanting something than he was when he had it. He smiled, flipped his cigarette into the snow and went up the sidewalk. They would go to Honey Lou's for Christmas dinner. It would be a good dinner and everyone would enjoy themselves. Marie's daughter, Suzan, would be there, with her husband, Matt. The rest of the kids from the commune would be there and when they left Honey Lou's house, he and Marie would be alone together. It wasn't all he wanted, but he supposed nobody ever got absolutely everything they wanted in the whole wide world.
Marie opened the door before he knocked. She looked absolutely beautiful. "I thought you were going to sit out there and meditate all afternoon, Neil. Merry Christmas." She held up her face for his kiss and he held her close. In the personal closeness of their embrace, his introspection no longer seemed important.
"Merry Christmas, darling," he answered. "I was just out there doing some mental shifting of gears. Or maybe looking forward to the new year."
* * *
Dee Dee Darby opened her eyes to greet Christmas Day at one o'clock in the afternoon. At her side was a great big box, big enough to hold a couple of blankets. It was wrapped in gold paper and tied with a red ribbon. She could hear water running in the bathroom and knew Whitman Stewart had crept out of bed and put her Christmas present on the bed where she'd see it first thing. Hefting the package, it seemed light. Whit didn't play practical jokes. She didn't think it would be empty. She sat on the edge of the bed and put her feet on the floor. Then she started to untie the big red bow. Whit was sweet, she was thinking. Really sweet. She'd slept with him off and on for over three years. He was single and as far as she knew had never thought seriously about getting married. It was especially nice to have someone like Whit on the string, especially during the holiday season. She loved her job at the publishing company and most of the time she was perfectly content with single life. Now and then, though, she was tempted to take one of the offers of marriage she frequently got under serious consideration. .
Something bright red and shiny was in the bottom of the box. On top was a white box with the elegant Tiffany name engraved across it. The big thing interested her most. She had plenty of bracelets and other jewelry, but whatever Whit had chosen for her would be in good taste.
"Oh!" she said with a little threat of tears in her eyes as she held the doll up. It was beautiful. It wore a bright red pair of lounging pajamas that showed off every line of a voluptuous figure. A cloud of dark hair, arranged simply, was on the doll's head and when she looked closely at the face, Dee Dee realized Whitman must have had the doll custom made. The likeness was uncanny. How like him to figure out something like that, so utterly different ... so clever. Besides, she'd once told him she'd never gotten over her childhood adoration of dolls. Pinned to the front of the doll's pajamas was a card. She opened it and read:
To my favorite bed doll:
When you decide to give up your bachelor girl's life and get married, you might be lucky enough to have a little girl. You can keep this Dee Dee doll on your bed until then and when your little girl gets big enough, you can give it to her. It'll be a real Mama doll.
Love, Whit
Yes, Dee Dee thought as she put the doll down and opened the white jeweler's box. That was the only thing lacking in her life. She would like to have a child. Well, she would adopt one. People were doing it all the time now and she could certainly support a child. She gasped almost as loud when she opened the Tiffany box as she had when she'd taken the doll out of the package. There was an enormous diamond and a matching wedding band blazing against the velvet. Dee Dee slipped the diamond ring on her fourth finger, left hand. Holding it out in front of her, she watched it sparkle. For just a second, she was tempted. It was a beautiful ring. Whit was a lovely person. They could probably have a good marriage. But then she slipped the ring off. When Whitman Stewart came out of the bathroom, the ring was back in the box and the doll was on the bed.
Phyllis Ewing looked out of her apartment window at all the snow outside. The snow made everything look like an old-fashioned Christmas. Her apartment was neat and clean and decorated tastefully. A small Christmas tree was on a table in the front window. As she walked restlessly around the living room, she admitted that she was lonely. It was fine to be the principal of Middlesex High School. She could look forward to a lonely life of being principal, then after Ed Reynolds died or retired, she could be superintendent. She might even be superintendent of the school systems before that happened if Ed kept on showing signs of changing careers in the middle of his life. Ed was thinking seriously of returning to school, going into architecture. Phyllis' eyes clouded over a little as she thought about Ed. About how crushed she'd been when she finally realized there was no future in playing around with him as long as he was married to Lu Anne. Lu Anne had surprised everyone when she showed her true colors. Who would have guessed that delicate and fragile little Lu Anne Reynolds was a butch at heart! Well, Lu Anne left Ed and then Ed had wanted to pick up where he'd left off with Phyllis. Her pride had not been the only thing that had told him to go screw himself. Her common sense made her realize he wasn't the kind of person anybody could have a meaningful relationship with.
"Well, neither was Neil Arlington," she said to herself. She spoke it out loud to lend the statement strength. But Neil happened to come along at the right time and he'd been good for her. She didn't figure she'd hurt him, either.
But damn! Now she wished she hadn't turned down all those invitations to Christmas dinner. But the hell of it was, Phyllis just didn't want to be poor Miss Ewing, somebody people felt sorry for, someone who must be asked to dinner. She wasn't that old yet. She wasn't that lonely yet. Maybe she ought to call Regina and Seth Vale. She liked the publisher and she liked his wife. She'd get a chance to see Charlene Morgan. Regardless of Charlene's tendency to screw anything that had a knob on it before she married the Vales' son, Hank, Phyllis had always liked Charlene. Besides, she had a lot of good qualities. And from what she'd heard, the girl had settled down to married life and was doing as well in school as always. Or she could have gone to the Martins. She'd already seen Sunny, who was home from college and she'd always liked Sunny, too, sexpot that she was ... Phyllis broke into a smile. She knew why she'd always had a special feeling toward the smart students who had hot pants. She'd been a smart student with hot pants herself. Now she was a smart principal with hot pants. And not the short ones made of material all the rage right now, either. Although Phyllis Ewing could wear them if she chose ... not in Middlesex, though, not if she wanted to keep her job.
"All right, telephone, ring," she said to it as she stared at it. There was another reason why she'd turned down all the invitations to dinner. A month ago, Chester Owens, President of Royalton Paper Company, had taken her out to dinner. He had asked her then, back in November, what she would be doing over the holidays. She had given him an off-hand answer, because at the time she really didn't know what she'd be doing.
"I thought we could have dinner together. Maybe drive into Philadelphia. Or we could go to New York. Take in some of the shows." He had called her again on the tenth of December, saying he had to go out of town for a while, but he hoped to be back by the holidays. Foolish of her, she knew. But all this time, she'd been hoping he would call her. Chester had been a widower for almost a year. In spite of her past disappointments, Phyllis was still the small-town girl at heart. She'd begun to think in terms of vine-covered cottages, cakes baking in the oven and all the things that went with husband and home. She knew if the telephone did ring, she'd be a fool to let him know she'd been just sitting there waiting for him to call.
One thing she was not going to do. She was not going to eat Christmas dinner all by herself, reading a book for company. Defiantly she went into her bedroom, sprayed herself with expensive Christmas perfume and flung on her coat. She'd go to a restaurant, by God. If she hung around the apartment, she'd end up Christmas Day listening to records and crying like a baby.
When she opened the door, Phyllis Ewing walked right out into Chester Owens' arms. He'd been in the act of ringing her doorbell. When he rushed into an apology for not calling her, all about car trouble and hoping to make it back to Middlesex in time, hating to come at the last minute like that, she brushed it all aside. "I'm just glad you came, Chet."
Maybe she was being dumb again. Maybe she was leaving herself wide open for another kick in the ass. But she didn't think so. Not with Chester's eyes devouring her like that.
* * *
Helen Ringold cooked Christmas dinner for several friends as well as her son, who had come home for the holidays. The conversation around the Ringold table, like the rest of Middlesex, concerned the macabre doings at The Sanctuary.
Helen's son said, "It seems to me that Middlesex has more than its share of weird people, far-out happenings."
"Not at all," said Helen. "You pull the blankets off of any group of, say five thousand people, you're going to find them doing pretty much the same thing as any other group of people of that size."
Helen thought of her final sales pitch when she was getting ready to close a real estate deal. "You'll find Middlesex is a quiet little place," she always said. And on the whole, it was.
FAGIN'S LOVE COURSE is the sixth and final EMPTY BED BLUES. All six books are available at your favorite news dealers or direct from the publisher using the coupon at the end of this book.
