Almost Paradise

by Susan Isaacs

  “I have.”

  “Then show it.”

  Jane stayed still, kneeling by the fireside. Finally, she closed the flue and stood, brushing the soot from her hands. Suddenly, Rhodes was beside her. “Please, Rhodes,” she said, “I’ve really had enough for one night.” He rested his elbow on the mantel. Jane looked at him. He should be the star, she thought. His face had gotten stronger, the planes of his cheeks and jaw squarer and more manly, but that merely deepened his beauty. He grinned at her. Even his teeth were flawless. “Let’s deescalate, Rhodes.” She smiled at him, trying—in vain, she knew—to flash a grin to match his.

  But his expression turned somber. “You need help,” he said quietly.

  “I’ve had it.”

  “Jane, please, just listen to me. Before I leave I want to know you’re—”

  “We’re being rude to Cecily.” She nearly chirped. Hurriedly, she moved away from him, returning to her seat at the table.

  Rhodes followed her but stood behind his chair, watching her. “Sorry, Cec,” she said. “The two of us have been horrendous. It’s just that we have this need to let loose, to test whether the old sibling rivalry is still in working order.”

  “Jane,” Rhodes said, “you can’t go on living like this. It’s not living.”

  “Rhodes, this little exercise really isn’t necessary.”

  “For God’s sake, Jane, it’s the most necessary thing in the world. You’re dying and this house is your fucking tomb! Don’t you see that? Don’t you—”

  “I have a guest, Rhodes.” She looked at Cecily. “I apologize. I thought it would be fun for all of us to have one final dinner together before he goes back home.”

  “Jane,” Rhodes began.

  “Not now.”

  “You can’t keep—”

  “Not now!”

  Cecily looked from Jane to Rhodes and back to Jane, then lowered her head. When she spoke she could barely be heard. “Listen to him, Jane.”

  “I thought we’d agreed this wasn’t a subject for discussion, Cecily.”

  “No. You told me it wasn’t a subject for discussion,” Cecily replied, her voice strong now. “And so I played along, because I figured that was the price of the friendship. Well, do you want to know something? It’s too damn high a price.”

  “Why can’t both of you believe me? I’ve told you over and over I’m fine. I’m happy. I have everything I want in the world right here in this house, and there’s no reason for me to leave. But you just can’t let up, can you, Rhodes, you—”

  Cecily reached across the table and put her hand over Jane’s. “Your brother loves you.” Rhodes looked away. “You know he does.” Jane shrugged. “And it hurts him to see you like this. Jane, don’t get up and walk off in a huff. Listen to us. You need professional help.”

  “No! No more psychiatrists. They don’t help.”

  “You know what’s so ironic?” Rhodes said. “Ninety-nine percent of the women in the world would change places with you in a minute. You have everything they want.”

  “I do! That’s right. I have everything a woman could ask for, so why don’t you leave me alone?”

  “Because you’re sick!”

  “I’m sick? What about—”

  Rhodes banged his fist on the table. The glasses shivered. “You listen to me, damn it. I can choose what I want to do with my life. You can’t. You need help. Your world is getting smaller and smaller. You’re going to wind up living on the head of a pin!”

  “Rhodes, you really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Jane, listen to him,” Cecily said. “Listen to me. Life is too short. I know. Please, don’t throw it away.”

  Laurel Blake lay on her back on the canopied bed in a pair of lavender bikini underpants. She brought one foot close to her face to examine the polish on her toenails and to give her the opportunity to spread her legs. The underpants were so tight and so sheer all they did was emphasize her vulva and tint it lavender. There was one tiny, wet purple stain. “The French really do a nice job,” she said, examining her toes.

  The telephone rang. “If it’s my wife, you get the hell out of here,” Nicholas said.

  “Can’t you take the call inside?”

  “Christ!” he said, and stalked off, slamming the door, into the living room of the hotel suite. He picked up the phone on the third ring.

  “Bonjour, Nick! How’s Paris?”

  He stepped away from the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Fine,” he said. He was naked. When he leaned against the wall, the plaster felt cold and damp on his back. He stood straight. “Jack?”

  “Of course it’s Jack! Who were you expecting, Louis B. Mayer maybe?” Jack Crowley had a particularly irritating manner with Nicholas, starting conversations by putting on what he obviously assumed was the voice of a Hollywood insider, hyped up, with a whine that was supposed to be a Yiddish inflection. He was the senior tax partner in his father’s law firm and with everybody else sounded like what he was: a boring Wall Street lawyer. “Boy, you must be tearassing around the City of Dreams. I’ve been leaving messages for days. Anyway, this is the reason for my call. You there, Nick?”

  “Yes.”

  Laurel Blake opened the door and waited. Then, not receiving any gesture of dismissal, she sauntered into the room. She had removed the lavender underpants. He stared at her. The half-drawn drapes subdued the daylight, but he thought she’d rouged the tips of her breasts.

  “We have a syndication you might be interested in, Nick. Just among some of the partners and preferred clients. One of the oil deals. There’s an exciting exploratory play in the Anadarko Basin. A lot of major companies are purchasing leases in that area.”

  “Where is it?”

  Laurel edged behind him and put her hands on his haunches. He reached back and pushed her away.

  “Oklahoma. There’s been a really successful wildcat discovery. And when I say successful, Nick, I mean it. This is pretty impressive. Pretty damned impressive.”

  Laurel slid around front. She knelt before him and took his penis in her mouth. He lifted his hand to push her away, then let his hand drop. Within seconds he had an erection so powerful it was almost painful. She ran her tongue lightly and rapidly around the top.

  “Which isn’t to say it isn’t speculative,” Crowley said. “You know that as well as I do.”

  “Right,” Nicholas said.

  Laurel’s arms went around him. Jack droned on. With her hands on his behind, Laurel coaxed him forward, driving him deeper into her mouth. She dug her fingers into the muscles of his behind.

  “But it can be written off totally in the first year.”

  “That’s an advantage,” Nicholas said.

  “Of course it’s an advantage. Also, and this is the thing, the payback should be pretty quick.”

  “Good.”

  Laurel eased a finger into his anus. Nicholas gasped. Quickly, he cupped his hand over the telephone speaker. Laurel’s finger moved around and around, in and out, slowly.

  “…but that’s if it goes,” Crowley was saying.

  “Good,” Nicholas managed to say.

  “Sounds pretty good to me too, Nick. That’s why I kept calling. I figured you’d want to be in on it.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  Each time Laurel sucked, she sucked a little harder.

  “They’re being sold in minimum units of a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  Nicholas reached in back of him and grabbed her wrist, forcing her finger higher inside him. She took his cue, thrusting her finger in a faster rhythm. Her mouth took up the same beat. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He couldn’t take any more.

  “Do you want me to put you down, Nick?”

  “Please.”

  “How many units?…Hello, Nick? You there?”

  “Just thinking.”

  “Bad habit.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  It was happening too fast. He w
as ready. The top of his head felt as if it were coming off. He began to ejaculate and clamped his hand over the phone again. His breath came in fast, deep pants until, with a final jolting spurt, it was over.

  “Some people are saying oil is to the seventies what real estate was to the sixties. Let’s hope so. Right, Nick?”

  Laurel withdrew her finger. Nicholas opened his eyes and looked down at her. She was spitting out his semen; she’d told him it was two hundred calories a shot and she’d rather use it up on white wine. She wiped her chin on his stomach.

  “I think two units should do it, Jack. But do me a favor. Check with my father, and if he thinks I should take three, that will be fine.”

  “Sure. By the way, I saw your two girls yesterday.”

  “My daughters?”

  Laurel lay down on the rug. She grabbed his foot so unexpectedly he nearly fell over. He braced himself against the wall. She brought it between her legs and put his big toe against her clitoris.

  “Yes. They came down to New York to spend the day with your father. There he was, Grandfather of the Year. He gave them each a legal pad and a bunch of pencils and they sat there in his office while he made his calls. Cute as buttons.”

  Nicholas pulled his foot away and stood straight. “Thank you.”

  “There he was, Grandpa Jim. Putty in their hands. Can you beat that? I think he said he was going to take them to lunch and then to some magic show. Two swell girls, Nick.”

  After he hung up the phone, Nicholas felt chilled. He looked toward the ceiling, to see if he was under an air-conditioning duct. Gooseflesh rose on his upper arms and thighs. His teeth were almost chattering. Laurel grabbed for his ankle. He rushed for the bedroom. He was so cold.

  He didn’t even shower. “I really have to hurry,” he told her. “I have to get back.” He put on underwear. Laurel grabbed one of his socks and drew it slowly between her legs. He pulled it away from her, then threw it aside and put on another pair. Then he opened the door of his closet. Laurel sidled in between his suits. “Come on, Laurel,” he said.

  “You’re not really going. I know it.” She pushed the suits on either side of her to the ends of the closet. “Come on in here. Come on. Close the door. I want to do you in the dark.” He took out a dark gray suit. “Standing up,” she said softly. “In the pitch dark.”

  “I told you, something’s come up. I have to get back to the States.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” he said. He selected a tie. Ernie would pack for him, then take a later plane. He’d buy two seats, so no one could sit beside him. Murray would arrange for someone to meet him in New York and take him through Customs.

  Laurel stepped out of the closet. When he glanced at her, he was stunned. Her face was dark with anger. “Just goodbye, fuck off, Laurel?” Her pleasant voice had turned raw. He stepped back. She had never displayed any emotion before; now, her forehead was so dark he thought she might have a stroke.

  “I’m sorry,” he offered.

  “No warning. Just eat it, sweetie, I’m going back to the wife and kids.”

  “Laurel, come on. You knew all along—”

  She stuck her hands on her hips. The bright red tips of her breasts stared like angry eyes. “You going to stick me with the hotel bill?”

  “Of course not. Come on, now. We’ve had a good time—”

  “You had a good time, big stud, shooting your wad two, three times a day.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t, Laurel.”

  “Big stud. Had yourself one big party, didn’t you? Did you ever ask me if I was having fun? Did you? No. You were too busy fucking your brains out, having a good time.”

  “Listen to me—”

  “Maybe I’ll call little Janie up and tell her what a good time you had. You had. Not me. Let me tell you, I can name a hundred who can do it better than you, big stud. Your stomach’s harder than your prick. It’s true. You’re starting to get old, you’re—”

  He knew what he had to say. He forced himself to. “What do you want, Laurel?”

  “What do you mean? Do you think you can buy me off, just because you’re hot shit? Big star. Big society man. Do you think I’m some cheap trick you can just throw over? I’m an actress.”

  “Of course you are.” He had never been so terrified in his life. He willed himself to smile at her. A small smile. Sincere, a little hurt. “You know, I feel like a heel, Laurel, but I have to get back fast.” He was trembling inside and was afraid it would break out and he’d begin shaking. He contracted every muscle he could, trying to get control. “You know I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t urgent.” His voice needed more warmth; he added some. “Please, you stay on. Stay through next week. You know I’ll take care of everything.”

  “What am I supposed to do in Paris by myself?” Her hands were still planted on her hips. “Go to restaurants alone while you’re home sticking it up little Janie?”

  “You must know people from your modeling days,” he said. “Maybe—”

  She did not hear him. “Finger-fuck myself? You’re lapping her cunt and I’m here playing diddly with myself?”

  He breathed in deeply and stepped closer to her. Gently, taking pains to make sure his grip wasn’t too tight, he took her by her wrists and put her arms around him. “Do some more shopping,” he said softly. He pulled her even closer. “You know you didn’t get everything you want. Laurel, honey, I want you to buy yourself a present from me. Something nice. I wish I had the time to do it myself. I was planning to surprise you with something nice, and now I have to rush off like this.” He rubbed his cheek against hers. For an instant he imagined putting his hands around her throat, his thumbs on her larynx, squeezing, squeezing, listening to the crunch of the bones breaking in her neck, watching her tongue hang out and turn black. “You know how special you are, Laurel. You know my reputation. I don’t go with just anybody. You’re Laurel Blake. You’re going to be a big star.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “You know it’s true. You’re special. You can make history. You know it, don’t you? I know you do. Now listen, honey, I want you to buy yourself a very special present. Something you’ll have to remember our special times.”

  She didn’t say a word, but she stayed, leaning against him. “How much should I spend?” she finally asked.

  “I think,” he said slowly, “I think you should be able to find something you’d like for about ten thousand.”

  “Ten?”

  “Twenty-five,” he said quickly. “I think that should do it, don’t you?”

  “Oh, honey,” she said and gave him three tiny pecks on his cheek. “That’s nice.” She gave him two more. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  22

  The hospital’s administrator has given over his office to Cobleigh, so he is further isolated from the press. However, reporters who spotted him leaving the Intensive Care Unit said he was pale and appeared angry at them when they…

  —WPIX Action News, New York

  Nicholas had come home the night before with two more Oscars, one for Best Actor, the other for Best Director. He put them on top of his chest of drawers beside his others, casually, along with his hairbrush and the leather box where he kept his cufflinks and shirt studs. He dropped the shirt he was wearing—his old Alpha Delta Phi sweatshirt—onto the floor and scratched his stomach. Jane watched him from bed. He brought his arms together high above his head, stretched and yawned, then took off his Jeans and undershorts, tossing them beside the sweatshirt.

  He could afford to be casual. He was thirty-six and a half years old and—after the world’s heavyweight boxing champion—had the most famous face in the world. He was recognized by more people than the pope and the President of the United States.

  He was rich. Fifteen minutes earlier, Jane had signed their joint tax return. “Do you know what?” she called out.

  He mumbled something from the bathroom, his words obsc
ured by toothpaste. A few seconds later he appeared in the frame of the door to the bathroom. “What?” He wiped his mouth with a hand towel, then tossed the towel overhand back into the bathroom, as if he were passing a basketball.

  “You’re the richest person I know.”

  “You’re rich too.” He sauntered back into the bedroom. “You co-own most of the real estate, and there’s a lot of stuff in your name. If I kick off, you’ll be a very merry widow.” The new curtains she had ordered were to be delivered the next day. The windows were bare, and the cold light from the outdoor mercury vapor lamps that had been installed with the security system shone on him, deathly blue-white.

  “Nick, don’t say things like that. It’s bad luck.”

  “It is?”

  “Well, if it isn’t it should be.”

  He pulled down the covers. “Even if you decided to run off with someone tonight, you’d be in solid financial shape.”

  “If I ran off with someone, the farthest I could get would be the kitchen, and I don’t think I could carry on a passionate affair with the girls sitting around the table making snide remarks about my performance.” She smiled, he chuckled. She had not left the house in more than six years.

  “You could have someone sent in. Have the deliverymen bring him right up to the bedroom,” he said, and climbed into bed. “You have everything else delivered. Just pick the kind of man you want. Six, eight, ten inches. Check the appropriate box. High school, college, graduate school.”

  “You’re not funny.”

  “I didn’t say I was funny.” He left the covers bunched at the foot of the bed. “Maybe Bergdorf’s has some kind of shop-at-home service. Think about it. I’ll be away for two months. It might pay to look into it.” Jane turned onto her side so her back was toward Nicholas. He tapped her shoulder. “Listen, you spend enough money there. I’m sure they’d accommodate you.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Speaking of Bergdorf’s, it’s interesting. For someone who doesn’t go anywhere, you have one hell of a wardrobe. All those little cubbyholes you had built just for your shoes.”