Live Girls

by Ray Garton

  Anya moved around with her mouth still full of him until her legs straddled Davey's face. The skin of her thighs was like satin against his cheeks and his face was gently smothered in her pubic hair, and in her fleshy lips. He slipped his tongue inside her, wanting to give her pleasure but able to concentrate very little because of the waves of sensation flowing through him.

  Anya began sucking vigorously. Davey could hear her gulps and feel her fingers clutch his thighs hard. He felt a sudden draining sensation, a feeling of being emptied, not unlike that of relieving a full bladder but without the feeling of relief. With each of her deep, throaty gulps, a tremor passed through him, and with each tremor came a euphoric weakness. He let his head fall to the pillow, unable to keep his mouth on her. Anya moved herself luxuriously over his face as she sucked him. Davey's body became helplessly limp beneath her. He could not move or participate, only feel.

  Only when she finally stopped and lifted her head did it occur to Davey that he had not yet come.

  Anya pulled herself away from his face, turned around, and mounted him. There was a controlled frenzy in her movements as she rode him, bending forward until her breasts were swaying just above his face.

  Davey wanted to bury himself between them but he couldn't lift his head. His body felt heavy as iron.

  Slipping an arm beneath his neck, Anya lifted his head to her breasts. Davey opened his mouth and licked her, inhaled the musky smell of her skin. Perspiration trickled down his sides, over his ribs, but she remained dry and smooth and cool.

  Anya leaned back and, with surprising strength, lifted him with her, one hand between his shoulders and the other behind his head. She pressed his face to her neck.

  “Bite me,” she hissed, never losing the rhythm of her movements. “Bite me, Davey."

  He tried to kiss her, but she wouldn't let him; she kept pushing his head back to her neck.

  "Bite me!"

  Bite her? He couldn't ... do ... that...

  “I said bite me, Davey Owen!"

  “I ... I can't..."

  She held his head down, pressing his open mouth to her neck just below her ear. She pressed harder and harder; Davey teetered on the edge of orgasm and his body tensed, his eyes clenched, and he closed his mouth over her, vaguely feeling his teeth break through her skin.

  She bucked on him, moaning in his ear.

  Davey's cry was muffled as he came inside her. His lips were wet with sticky, warm fluid and he ran his tongue over her skin, sucked on it.

  “Suck it!” she gasped. “Suck it, Davey, suck it in..."

  Davey felt himself slipping away; the darkness around him deepened.

  Everything went away....

  When Davey awoke—he wasn't sure how much later—Anya was kneeling between his legs. She was silhouetted in the soft glow from the bathroom as she gently dabbed a warm, wet cloth between his legs.

  Davey opened his mouth to speak and his lips peeled apart, sticky and dry. There was a sharp, harsh taste in his mouth. Anya reached up and patted his lips with a corner of the white cloth.

  “How long have I slept?” he asked.

  “Not long. But it's late.” She got off the bed and walked to the bathroom. “You'll have to go."

  Davey sat up and put his legs over the edge of the bed. His limbs were weak and a dull ache throbbed between his legs.

  When Anya came from the bathroom, she wore a heavy black robe that reached to the floor.

  “You can use the bathroom before you go if you like,” she said.

  Davey stood, picked up his scattered clothes, and went into the bathroom. He washed his face with cold water, rinsed his mouth, then stood over the toilet to urinate. Touching his penis made him wince; it was tender and, in one spot, sore.

  The cut. It was pink and streaked with red. He carefully rubbed a finger over it and held his hand up. Blood.

  He took in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and leaned on the edge of the sink. The room seemed to tilt a bit; his head felt light.

  After he relieved himself and began to dress, Davey spotted the cloth draped over the edge of the tub. It was stained with deep red.

  It's not a cut, he thought suddenly. He realized he'd known since he'd first discovered it in the rest room at Penn. He looked closely at the two small lacerations; they were puncture wounds. It's a bite.

  Davey peered through the slightly open door and saw Anya moving about in the dark room. Although he'd rinsed, his mouth still tasted ... metallic. Coppery.

  Bite me, Davey...

  Suck it ... suck it in...

  He hurriedly finished dressing and went into the bedroom. Anya stepped before him and smiled.

  “Do you have cab fare?” she asked.

  He nodded and said, “I want to know what—"

  Anya took his hand and his mouth snapped shut as she looked into his eyes. His throat felt tight as she led him through the apartment to the door.

  “Good night, Davey Owen,” she said as he stood in the doorway.

  He opened his mouth.

  What did you do to me? he wanted to ask. What's wrong with you?

  But those eyes calmed him, reassured him, and made more silent promises.

  “Will I ... see you again?” he asked, his voice forced.

  She said, “Of course. And soon.” Then, very softly, as she closed the door: “You'll have to."

  The lock clicked on the other side.

  8

  ____________________________

  IT BEGAN TO RAIN AGAIN AS BETH STARTED DOWN AVENUE C toward Vince's apartment building. She took her retractable umbrella from her bag and opened it. The rain sounded like machine-gun fire above her head.

  After leaving Davey's early the previous morning, she'd gone straight to Vince's apartment and let herself in with her key; Vince had never asked for it back when she left nine months ago. She'd put her things in the bedroom and showered. Vince still hadn't returned when she left for work later in the day.

  Beth wondered if he was back now. She wondered how he would react when she showed up.

  Up ahead, four very large men were mounting motorcycles parked at the curb. One of them tossed a bottle over his shoulder as he settled his bulk on the seat. The bottle shattered on the sidewalk.

  Beth stepped around the chunks of glass and wrinkled her nose at the powerful smell of whiskey.

  “Hey, sweetcheeks!” one of the men shouted.

  She ignored them and hurried on.

  Beth thought about Davey; surely he wouldn't be too crushed. She hadn't been good for him; Davey had a lot of love to give, but he would have to give it to someone who knew how to take it.

  She climbed the steps of Vince's building as someone opened the door on the way out. Beth collapsed the umbrella and looked up at the smiling face of the man holding the door open for her. He had slicked-back hair, plucked eyebrows, crooked teeth, and a spike through his right cheek.

  “Hi,” he rasped as she went in. When she didn't reply, he spat, “Cunt,” and stomped out.

  Upstairs, she slipped the key in the lock and opened the door. She heard his voice even before she was inside.

  “Well, fuck me!" he said loudly. “Look who groveled in!"

  She closed the door and turned to him.

  The apartment was dark and stuffy. All the windows were closed and the only light came from the fluorescent light above the stove in the small kitchenette. Candlelight flickered in the bedroom. He'd been doing business.

  Vince wore an open white robe that came to his knees, and his gaunt body was bare except for blue briefs. He was nearly bald on top and his dark brown hair was mussed and thinning on the sides. His face shimmered with perspiration and his eyes were wide.

  “I'm not groveling, Vince,” she said calmly. “I just came back, is all. If you don't want me here, give me a day or so to get my—"

  He dashed across the room toward her so suddenly, she flinched, expecting him to hit her.

  “Why wouldn't I, babe?” he brea
thed. He put his arms around her and pulled her to him until their noses touched. “Missed you, babe. Things are great now. Heat is off with the cops. Business is good. Got me a little customer in the bedroom right now. Things are fuckin’ great."

  “I'm glad, Vince,” she said, trying to smile.

  “So what broughtcha back, babe? Your little boyfriend broke? Can't get it up? Doesn't wanna go down on ya? What?"

  Beth recognized the look in his eye, the fire in his movements; Vince was flying. Probably dexies. In this condition he was a time bomb; his mood could change in a heartbeat.

  “It just didn't work out, Vince. That's all."

  He buried his fingers in her hair, closed his fist, and pulled her head back. Not hard, but firmly. “Knew you'd be back. Knew you'd miss me. But you shouldn't just pop in, you know? Liable to get your little throat cut, babe. My work makes me a little edgy, like. Know?"

  “Sorry, Vince. I didn't think you'd mind."

  “Still thinkin', are ya?” He grinned unpleasantly.

  "Viiiince!" a girl whined from the bedroom.

  He let go of her hair and stepped back. “Got some business goin’ down here, babe.” He started toward the bedroom. “Yeah, business as usual. Didn't think I was gonna be mopin’ around waitin’ for you, didja? Didja?"

  “Course not, Vince.” She put down her bag and took off her coat.

  Vince went into the bedroom and shouted, “Okay, get the fuck outta here!"

  “But Vince, I wanna—"

  “I said out!"

  Beth heard rustling and whispering.

  “No,” Vince said.

  “Please ... please, Vince."

  A sharp slap made Beth close her eyes. Business as usual.

  “Put your clothes on and get out,” Vince growled.

  In a moment, a painfully thin young girl—seventeen at best—staggered out in dirty clothes. She stumbled across the room and shut the door quietly on her way out. Beth heard her stumble and cry out in the hall.

  Beth went into the bedroom where Vince was clearing a stack of clothes and soiled underwear off the bed. On the nightstand, Beth saw the burning candle, a belt draped sloppily over the stand, a syringe, and a couple wet spoons.

  Vince shrugged off the robe and flopped on the bed, grinning wildly. His erection was sticking from the briefs.

  “C'mon, babe,” he said, patting the mattress with a jittery hand. “Wanna welcome you home."

  “I'm pretty tired, Vince. I didn't sleep last night, I've been working at the—"

  The grin turned cold. “The fuck you think this is, a hotel?” He lifted his ass and pulled off the briefs. “Little Penny couldn't do shit,” he said. “Too fucked up. Good customer, always finds money, but gives head like a dead fish and I got me some ashes to haul, babe, so...” He cackled. “You just get your little ass over here."

  Beth rubbed her eyes a moment. When she pulled her hands away, Vince was tugging on his penis; his eyes were half closed and the tip of his tongue sparkled in the corner of his mouth. “Cmon, babe, get it over here, now,” he panted. His hand slowed down and his eyes opened. “You gonna suck me or am I gonna kick ya?"

  She began to undress.

  “And how many times I gotta tell ya,” he said, “open the fuckin’ window, it's like a tomb in here!"

  She opened the window and finished undressing, knowing that in the morning, he would be better. Usually, for the first couple hours of the day, Vince was almost a sweet guy.

  Walter Benedek was at his sister's wedding once again.

  Doris stood at the altar facing Vernon. Benedek sat in a pew near the front, sweating in his stiff, prickly suit.

  The reverend spoke, but very quietly. It sounded like he'd said, “You may kill the bride."

  Benedek leaned forward and clutched the back of the pew before him.

  Vernon lifted Doris's veil and smiled as his lips twitched back over his teeth.

  “No!” Benedek shouted, shooting to his feet. “No, kiss the bride!"

  Doris's eyes were closed and her head was tilted back; she was smiling gently in anticipation of the kiss. Vernon plunged his head forward and buried his teeth into the soft skin of her throat, pulling his head back sharply as blood gushed from the opening and darkened her snowy gown. A ragged patch of skin dangled from his mouth.

  "Kiss the bride, Goddamn you!” Benedek roared. "Kiss her!"

  Vernon turned his head toward Benedek and smiled around the meat clenched in his teeth, then spat hard. The bloodied flesh slapped onto Benedek's cheek and clung there. Vernon pressed his face into the hole in Doris's throat as she gasped and jerked, clutching desperately at her collar. Vernon began to bite and suck.

  “No, kiss her, Goddamn you!” Benedek screamed, sobbing now, stumbling into the aisle. Something was holding his feet, snagging them. He looked down.

  The floor was covered with hair. Blond hair—Janice's hair—matted with blood. It tangled around his ankles like wet weeds.

  “No!” he bellowed. “No, no, kiss the bride, that's my sis and you're supposed to kiss her!"

  He awoke in Jackie's arms.

  “Dreaming, Walter, that's all, you're okay,” she whispered.

  He felt her lips on his ear, her fingers in his hair. His face was moist with tears.

  “I'm sorry,” he croaked.

  “Don't be.” Her voice was soft, her breath cloudy with sleep.

  “I'm ... I can't...” He took in a deep breath and released it with a groan. “I want to find him, Jackie. I want to find that fucker and kill him."

  Casey woke from a fitful sleep at the sound of Lisa's sobs in the next room. She'd been on the phone crying and arguing with Selig since Casey had gotten home. Words occasionally became clear when Lisa raised her voice.

  “...expect from me after that ... want the same from you then..."

  Rain pattered against the small window in Casey's room.

  Her period was about to begin and she felt achy and irritable. She was annoyed by the ongoing argument between Lisa and Selig; she was annoyed by the people she had to work with, even more so now that Davey was no longer there to make the job a bit more tolerable. The only thing she felt at all good about was Davey.

  Casey was very pleased to see him showing a little maturity, a little self-respect, by not jumping from one relationship right into another. He was giving himself a little time to regroup.

  Maybe when he got his act together, they could really enjoy one another. Casey thought they deserved that.

  She took a cigarette from her nightstand and lit it as a sharp cry came from Lisa's room. She heard the phone slam down hard. A few moments later, it rang and was picked up on the first ring.

  Davey hadn't looked at all well when Casey left him earlier. She hoped that he would get a good night's sleep and feel better in the morning. She wanted him to get things rolling, find a new job.

  Casey smiled at her impatience as she reached over and stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray.

  Davey lay exhausted in bed, but he could not sleep. He'd considered getting up and drawing for a while, but he was too weak. He'd turned on the radio beside his bed, but the jazz it played seemed off-key. The volume was low, but the music stabbed needles into his scalp, so he'd turned it off.

  The normally soft sheets on his bed scraped against his skin like sandpaper, so he threw the top sheet and covers off.

  His bedroom seemed hot and stuffy, but when he tried to get up to open a window, he nearly fell over with dizziness.

  He wouldn't see her again. He would stay away from that filthy booth in Times Square and that flashy club with its perverse entertainment. And he would stay away from that sick woman. That sick ... beautiful ... soft ... woman...

  “This is a very sick world we live in, Davey,” his mother had once told him on the way home from church. They passed a woman sleeping in a doorway; his mother looked away and sniffed. “Very sick,” she had continued. “And the only medicine is Jesus. I'll be dead and gone so
meday, but you can always turn to Jesus. Remember that."

  Davey suddenly felt ice cold, as if he'd been stripped of his skin and his bare bones were chilling. He pulled the grainy covers over his body and curled up, shivering, beneath them.

  When sleep finally came, he dreamed.

  He fucked Anya violently, biting her skin, as his mother stood over them screaming hymns at the top of her lungs and crying, after each verse, “Jesus is the only medicine! The only medicine!"

  And somewhere deep in his muddy sleep, Davey bathed in blood....

  9

  ____________________________

  CASEY'S ASHTRAY WAS FULL. ASHES WERE SCATTERED around it on the desk and a stray butt had toppled over the ceramic rim.

  Halfway through proofreading a story for Loves Lost and Found magazine, she struck a match and lit another cigarette, blowing the smoke hard from her lungs.

  Her mind was not on the story. She'd called Davey three times that morning and had gotten no answer. He might have awakened after she'd gone last night and unplugged the phone before going to bed, but surely he would have plugged it in this morning. She'd told him she would call.

  Casey was startled by a hand on her shoulder. Chad put his head next to hers and spoke in her ear.

  “Hey, hon, how about lunch?"

  She shrugged him off. “What about lunch, Chad?"

  “Are you eating alone today?"

  “Yes."

  “No sense in that."

  “I'm not up to it today, Chad. All right?"

  “Okay. How about tomorrow?"

  She spun her chair around, standing so suddenly that Chad had to step out of the way.

  “I didn't mean I'm not up to lunch," she snapped. “I meant I'm not up to you. Not today, not tomorrow, and not a week from Saturday. Okay?"

  “Fine,” he chirped with an optimism that made Casey's veins chill.

  She grabbed her coat and stepped outside the cubicle. Chad stood in the doorway with arms folded.

  “I just thought that, since Owen's gone now, you'd be—"