Getting Off hcc-69

by Lawrence Block

  “Isn’t that the truth? That bowling ball trick—”

  “A guy did that to me once. Just one finger, plus the thumb. I thought two fingers would be better.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “The two fingers? No, it felt nice.”

  “The Brazilian, silly. What did they use, hot wax?

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t so bad. And I thought it would be worth it. Do you like me without any pubic hair? It’s not unnatural, is it? Or just plain dopey?”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Or all little-girly? All pedophilia-creepy?”

  “Daddy’s little soldier.”

  “I swear I never even thought of that. Is it like that?”

  “Kimmie, I love it. There’s no hair, everything’s all sweet and smooth and silky, I can just kiss and lick everything. I’m a whole forest down there. You must have been disgusted.”

  “Yeah, right. I had to force myself to get anywhere near you.”

  “But wouldn’t you want me to get it done?”

  “For your sake, Ree. Everything’s more intense.”

  “Really? I don’t know if I can stand that. But I have to get it done. God, yours is so smooth, I can’t keep my hands off it. Give me a kiss. You know what’s remarkable? Your mouth tastes like a pussy.”

  “Here’s a coincidence — so does yours.”

  “Kimmie, this is all so easy! I had no idea.”

  “Me neither.”

  “I think there’s some more wine left. You want some?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Some Poh-mahr. It was nice, but I had enough. The only thing I haven’t had enough of is you.”

  “Ah, baby. Let’s see what we can do about that.”

  And, a little later:

  “Kimmie? I guess we’re lesbians, huh?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “But we’re still us, right?”

  “Well, we don’t have to learn the secret handshake. Or deepen our voices.”

  “Do we have to wear those plaid shirts from L. L. Bean?”

  “No way. We don’t have to get a cat, either.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Or adopt a Chinese baby.”

  “Kimmie? You’ll move in, won’t you?”

  “If you can stand it.”

  “You can have your old room back. But we’ll sleep here. Unless we try your room occasionally as a change of pace.”

  “To ward off boredom.”

  “You think we’ll get bored?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither. I want us to do everything.”

  “We will. And Ree? There’s no reason you can’t have a guy anytime you want.”

  “Really? You wouldn’t be jealous?”

  “Why should I? I’m not jealous of the ones you’ve been with. You’re not jealous of my lovers, are you?”

  “Kimmie, they’re all dead.”

  “That’s a point.”

  “But if they weren’t? No, I wouldn’t be jealous.”

  “Because it doesn’t subtract from what we’ve got.”

  “No, it adds to it. Right now I don’t want anything but you and me in bed, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want us to tell each other stories. And sooner or later we might want to have new stories to tell each other.”

  “Right.”

  “And I’ve always liked fucking guys, Kimmie.”

  “Me too.”

  “And now I’m thinking about doing some new guy and then telling you about it, and I don’t know what’s getting me hotter, the idea of doing him or the idea of telling you.”

  “Over the phone?”

  “Silly. Lying in bed, and feeling your breasts against mine, and looking into your eyes—”

  “Like you’re doing right now.”

  “Like I’m doing right now. And telling you all about it.”

  “I suppose you realize that you’re sopping wet.”

  “Like I’m the only one? And I am definitely getting a Brazilian.”

  “But not right this minute.”

  “No. Right this minute I’m busy.”

  She spent the next several days settling in, and by Friday she had a working set of ID in the name of Kimberly Austin. She liked Austin for a last name, but she wasn’t crazy about the Kimberly part. Names had never mattered much to her when she’d used each one for such a short time, but maybe that was going to change, maybe she’d take a shot at being the same person with the same name for, well, as long as she could.

  No problem. Kimberly could turn into Kim, and she’d pump up her new identity with a library card and some generic student ID cards as Kim Austin, and by the time she picked up a Washington State driver’s license, she’d be able to shrink Kimberly to Kim once and for all. And then maybe get a lawyer to have her name changed by court order? If she did that, she’d be able to get a passport. Not that she had any urge to leave the country, but suppose Ree wanted to see Paris?

  Omigod, Kimmie, here we are in the country where they invented eating pussy.

  Had to keep your options open, didn’t you?

  It was all so easy.

  Because she was usually the first one up, and because Ree always prepared the evening meal, she took over the role of making the morning coffee and putting breakfast on the table. Her first omelet was a failure, but all that cost her was a couple of eggs, and it didn’t take her long to get the hang of it.

  “We’re getting so domestic,” Ree said. “I think we’re definitely lesbians. I think there’s no question about it.”

  “I can see how upset that makes you.”

  “Plaid flannel shirts and cats,” Ree said, “are just around the corner.”

  “We’re lipstick lesbians.”

  “No plaid shirts, huh?”

  “Not even to sleep in. And no cats, either.”

  “And no Chinese babies?”

  “They’re cuter than cats,” she said, “and way cuter than plaid shirts, but not just yet, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  So easy.

  Later that day she was sitting on the couch reading, and Ree was doing a crossword puzzle, and their eyes met. That was all it took, really, and half an hour later they were lying side by side in Ree’s bed in the shared afterglow.

  And Ree said, “I guess I’m safe, huh?”

  “Safe?”

  “Well, nobody’s ever safe. Like earthquakes and tornadoes and, I don’t know, tsunamis? Not that I spend a lot of time worrying about tsunamis, but you never know, do you?”

  Where was this going? “And there’s always sinkholes,” she said.

  “That’s right! No warning, nothing, and the ground just opens up underneath you. Gone, no forwarding. Just like that.”

  “But you guess you’re safe.”

  Ree was looking off to the side. “What I figure,” she said, “is if you were going to kill me, you’d have done it by now.”

  “Ree!”

  “Well, you killed everybody else you ever slept with. Kimmie, I knew you weren’t planning to do it, but suppose you couldn’t help it? Suppose it got under your skin, and you couldn’t rest as long as I was alive?”

  “That only happened with men.”

  “You’ve killed women.”

  “My mother, and I explained that to you. And I never had sex with her, anyway. It was just—”

  “And what about Angela?”

  “Angela.”

  “She picked you up in the dyke bar, and her husband was hiding in the closet—”

  “Oh, Angelica.”

  “I was close.”

  “And his name was Brady. He wasn’t in the closet, he was hiding behind a Japanese screen.”

  “Thanks for clearing that up, Kimmie. The point is you slept with her and you killed her.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Strangled her with a scarf or something.”

  “A silk scarf.”

  “Herpes, I think
you said.”

  “Hermés.”

  “I know, silly. Ehr-mehz. Poh-mahr.”

  “Ree, they were going to murder me. He wanted to do me just for the thrill of it, and she loved the idea.”

  “I know, you told me.”

  “She was one vicious cunt. She brought me home so her husband could rape me, and when I turned out to be eager and willing, they decided the only way to keep it interesting was to kill me. She had it coming.”

  “I know.”

  “And how could I let her live once I’d killed him?” She frowned. “Okay, I have to admit I enjoyed it. Doing her with the scarf, feeling her squirming underneath me. But it’s the way I’m hard-wired, Ree. Killing gets me off. I can’t help it.”

  “Kimmie, it’s one of the things about you that gets me hot.”

  “I would never, ever, hurt you. Not for anything.”

  “But how could you know you wouldn’t feel the need? The only woman you ever went to bed with wound up with a scarf around her neck and her eyes bulging.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It’s not?”

  “Boise.”

  “Huh?”

  She took a breath. “After Provo,” she said, “I went to Boise. That’s in Idaho.”

  “And?”

  “All I wanted,” she said, “was to come here. To you. But I couldn’t do that if it meant putting you in danger. So I had to find out.”

  “How could you do that? What would — oh, you slept with a woman! In Boise? They have girl — girl bars in Boise?”

  “Well, they had at least one of them. They made it hard to find, I’ll give them that. But I went there and I found a woman to go home with.”

  “And you had sex.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And she’s still got a pulse?”

  “Unless she stepped in front of a bus.”

  “You didn’t mention it.”

  “No. I thought you might be jealous.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Well, yeah. Or that it might trivialize what we’ve got, or something. Stupid, huh?”

  “So how was it?”

  “A successful experiment, because I had absolutely no desire to hurt her. Not at the time and not afterward. I didn’t want to see her again, either, but I had, like, warm feelings toward her.”

  “What was she like?”

  “I don’t know. Late thirties, dark hair. A little dykey, I suppose.”

  “Was she better than me?”

  “Absolutely. That’s why I spent the rest of my life in Boise and never gave you another thought.”

  “What was the sex like with her?”

  “Sort of vanilla. Kissing, touching. You really want to hear this?”

  “Of course.”

  “Let’s see. She went down on me and I came. Then I went down on her, and she couldn’t come.”

  “With that magic mouth of yours? That’s hard to believe.”

  “She said she’s pretty much non-orgasmic. Her big thing is getting her partner off. Which she managed twice, because I came again while I was eating her.”

  “Just from doing it?”

  “I was touching myself at the same time. And beside that—”

  “What?”

  “Well, I was thinking about you. That’s what I did while she was doing me, too. Thought about you, made believe it was you I was with. Jesus, Ree, you honestly thought I was going to kill you?”

  A shrug. “I thought there was a chance. But I figured it was worth the risk.”

  She reached out, took Ree’s hand in hers. She was at a loss for words, but that was all right. She didn’t need to say anything.

  THIRTY-THREE

  “So I’m Luke,” the fellow said, “and this is my buddy, Gordo. His folks named him Gordon, and he had the nickname for years before he found out it means fat in Spanish.”

  “By then it was too late,” Gordo said. “So I’m at the gym five days a week, making sure the name never fits.”

  “So why don’t the four of us take a booth? It’s hard to hear in the crush at the bar. Like, I didn’t manage to catch your names.”

  “You guys get the table,” she said, “and we’ll join you in a minute. Right now, nature calls.”

  “The only thing men can do and women can’t,” Gordo said, “is go to the bathroom alone.”

  “It’s true,” Ree admitted. “We need company.”

  And in the bathroom she said, “What do you think, Kimmie?”

  “I think they’re morons.”

  “But are they morons we want to fuck?”

  “I don’t know. Which one would you want?”

  “No, you pick.”

  “I can’t. I don’t want either of them.”

  “Then let’s get out of here, Kimmie. I know another place.”

  Two nights before, after dinner at the Thai place and an hour of HBO, they’d gone to bed. And after an hour or so she’d said, “The strap-on’s nice.”

  “I know! It doesn’t matter which of us is using it. It’s nice.”

  “But so is a real cock.”

  “You know, I tried to buy one online, but—”

  “What I mean is we may be lesbians, but that doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy fucking guys.”

  “I know. We talked about that. Do you want me to go out and get a guy? And then tell you about it?”

  “I was thinking we could go out together.”

  “And bring some guy home?”

  “Or two guys.”

  “Oh, wow. I’m just thinking of the possibilities.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But Kimmie? What about afterward?”

  “Afterward,” she said, “you and I’ll go home together, and talk about all the fun we just had. Incidentally, I don’t think we should bring them here. We’ll go to their place, so we can leave when we want to.”

  “And so that this place is just for you and me.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But Kimmie, what I meant about afterward. If you’re with a guy—”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, won’t he be on your list?”

  She considered this. “I can’t be positive,” she said, “but I have the feeling I’m done with that list. I crossed off the last name, remember.”

  “With the proxy marriage in Provo.”

  “Right. Something changed that day, Ree. Something shifted. You know it was all about my daddy.”

  “I know.”

  “I kept fucking him and killing him, over and over. Not consciously, but let’s face it, that’s what I was doing. And I think he’s finally dead, you know? And I’m finally at peace with it. You know what else I think?”

  “That you had to be done with all that in order for us to be together.”

  “Yes! And we are, and I am.” She frowned. “At least that’s what I think. Ree? What do you think?”

  Ree was silent for a moment. Then she said, “What I think is I’m picturing you on your back with your legs spread, and this guy’s on top of you, and while he’s pumping away at you, I’m doing him in the ass with a strap-on.”

  “That’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And if it’s two guys?”

  “Oh, I didn’t even think of that. Where would the second guy fit in?”

  “I suppose I could always blow him.”

  “Sure,” Ree said. “That’d work.”

  The Cascadilla Lounge was in downtown Seattle, tucked in between a pair of four-star hotels. The lighting was indirect and subdued, and a piano trio supplied soft jazz. The clientele ran to men in suits.

  “Business travelers,” Ree said. “Some of them are here for the drinks and the music, but most of them are looking to get laid.”

  “Just like us,” she said.

  They found room at the bar, and got a thoughtful look from the barman who filled their order for two glasses of white wine. “He’s trying to figure out if we’re hookers,” Ree
told her. “Like the redhead at the end of the bar. I’ve only been here two or three times, but she’s always here, and always on the same stool.”

  “She’s cute.”

  “You don’t want to—”

  She shook her head. “The Blue-Plate Special tonight is dick,” she said. “Besides, you’re the only woman in my life.”

  “I wonder if anybody’s gonna hit on us. Those guys before, Luke and Gordo—”

  “They were assholes, Ree.”

  “Yeah, I know. But they were ready to go, Kimmie.”

  “Hot to trot.”

  “You bet. By now we’d be switching partners for a second goround, and in another hour we’d be back home doing each other and talking about what jerks they were.”

  “Instead of drinking wine we paid for ourselves and waiting for someone to make a move. Unless we’re the ones who make the first move. You see anybody you like?”

  “There was a guy who was sort of cute. I don’t know where he went.”

  “Those two have been giving us the eye. At the table to the right of the piano player.”

  “We could give them the eye right back. Except — Kimmie, you know who they remind me of?”

  “Luke and Gordo.”

  “Uh-huh. Luke and Gordo, plus twenty pounds and fifteen or twenty years.”

  “So let’s not give them the eye.”

  “No, let’s not.”

  “Ree, are we being too fussy? We’re not gonna marry these guys. We’re just gonna fuck their brains out.”

  “If we could even find their brains.”

  “We could go home.”

  “I was just about to say that. But, you know, we just got here.”

  “I know.”

  “Not that we couldn’t have a perfectly good time by ourselves, but—”

  “I know.”

  She picked up her glass, held it to her lips without sipping from it. The pianist was playing something she liked, something she’d heard a million times, but she couldn’t identify it. She frowned, concentrating.

  “Gloria!”

  The male voice boomed in her ear. She turned and saw its source, a tall man in his early forties, wearing a dark suit with a chalk stripe. Whoever Gloria might be, her name had triggered something in her own memory. “Laura,” she told the man. “Thanks, I was going mad trying to name that tune.”

  “Ah, Laura. But she’s only a dream, right? But you’re Gloria, aren’t you? You’ve got to be, ’Cause I never forget a face.”