She returned, bringing the animosity with her, and lolled before him, wearing a loose dressing gown. “Still sulking? Oh, well, don’t let me interrupt you. You’re too drunk to be worth much as a fuck.”
“Am I? We’ll see about that.” He heaved himself out the chair and staggered slightly and began pulling off his clothes. “God knows, a fuck is all you’re good for.” He grappled with his shoes and peeled off his socks and brushed past her as he dropped his trousers. He careened into the bathroom and began to fling her cosmetics about as he searched for the lubricant. He hadn’t used it with her a second time, but he had to have it now. He’d make her grovel. He wanted to see her writhing beneath him, grunting and panting like a little beast. He felt his sex stiffen and lift with a lust for hurting her. He found the tube and lunged out of the bathroom. She was naked in bed. He stood swaying over her.
“All right. Turn over,” he ordered.
She looked up at him with a mocking smile. Her eyes dropped to his sex. “The great Mr. Mills. When all else fails, he always has that to wave around.” She lifted herself into a kneeling position and sat back on her heels. “If this is going to be one of our fun nights, why don’t we try something new? A blow job, I believe it’s called.”
“Sure. Go ahead. I thought you’d get around to it sooner or later.”
“Yes, we mustn’t let Peter have all the fun.”
“I just hope you do it half as well.”
She glanced up at him, and her eyes went blank and steely. She leaned forward and took the sex in one hand and opened her mouth and clamped her teeth into it.
He roared with rage and pain. “Stop,” he shouted.
She ground her teeth into him. He felt as if he were being ripped to shreds. The pain became a ravaging instant of hate. His fists doubled. He tried to pull away but he was gripped in a vice of pain. He seized her hair and yanked. Her teeth tore him. A sob of pain caught in his throat. “Oh Christ—” He lifted his fist and smashed it into the side of her face. Instinct tempered the force of the first blow, but as her teeth continued to tear into him he struck again and yet again, his muscles driving with all his strength. It became a frenzied intoxication of destruction. Destroy her. Destroy their life together. Recapture the happiness she had destroyed. For an instant, Peter flashed into his mind like a beacon lighting the way out of black horror.
He went on hitting her after her teeth had lost their grip. He was on the bed, straddling her, beating her with both fists. His chest heaved. His breath came in wheezing gasps. When the veil of rage lifted from his eyes, he saw blood everywhere. There was blood on her face and breasts, blood on his sex and thighs. His hands were bloody. He remained poised over her for a stunned instant and then scrambled out of the bed. He backed away from it. She lay inert and motionless. The room was filled with a thin muted scream. He realized that the noise was coming from his own throat. He turned and ran into the bathroom and turned on water. He couldn’t look at his torn and throbbing sex. He swabbed at himself with a washcloth and wrapped himself in a small towel. He stumbled back into the living room, without looking toward the bed, and gathered up clothes from where he had thrown them. He pulled them on, looking only at his hands as they performed their necessary chores.
The trousers chafed his sex. Every move hurt. He adopted a slight crouch and sidled to the door with a hand in his pocket to hold his sex immobile. He opened the door with care and slipped out and closed it gently behind him, as if he were afraid of waking her. Walking as fast and straight as he could, he went up Lexington Avenue till he found a drugstore and entered the telephone booth. He had to see C. B. She would take charge of everything. But he couldn’t see her or call her in the state he was in now. He called Tommy Whitethorne.
“Tommy? Listen, do you know where Peter is?” He spoke in a mumbled undertone as if he might be overheard.
“What’s the matter? Speak up. Did you say Peter? What’s going on?”
“Please. I can’t talk now. Do you know where he is? It’s important.”
“Sure. I’ve got his number here. Just a second. I might as well warn you he’s shacked up in fairly ornate style.”
Charlie waited only to get the number and hung up. His hands were shaking as he dialed again. In a moment, he heard the familiar voice.
“Oh, Jesus, thank God,” he almost sobbed into the phone. “Listen, I’ve got to see you. Can I come right away?”
There was a pause and then Peter’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “Charlie?”
“Yes. I’ve got to see you right away.”
“You sound funny. Is something the matter?”
“Yes. Everything. Listen, don’t make me talk now. Just give me your address.”
“Sure, but—well, it just isn’t convenient now. Can’t we make it tomorrow?”
“No. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Oh, God, baby, you’ve got to help me.”
“Well, in that case. Can’t I come meet you some place?”
“No, it’s got to be there. You’ll see why. This is serious. You’ve got to believe me.”
“I see. Just give me a little time to think. No. All right. Of course you can come. Only, I couldn’t do this for anybody but you. Understand? You really mean it’s serious? It’d be a hell of a lot better for me to meet you out some place.”
“It just isn’t possible. Please, baby. Please believe me.”
“Sure. I do. OK.” He gave him the address and hung up slowly. He had been taking off his jacket when the telephone rang, and he had it with him on his lap. He put it on again as he went back to the bedroom where Tim was just hanging up his. Tim turned and glanced at him questioningly. Peter went to him and stood looking up into his deep-set eyes. “Damn. Oh, damn. This is rotten. I can’t stand it. I’m going to have to ask you to leave, big boy.”
“Leave? Now?”
Peter nodded. “It was Charlie. He sounded awful. He has to see me right away.”
“Can’t you go meet him somewhere?”
“That’s what I wanted to do. He said it had to be here. I can’t imagine what it is. He really scared me.”
Tim laid his hand on Peter’s cheek and looked at him. “Don’t you think maybe I should stay?”
“I thought of that. I certainly don’t want any secrets. But from the way he sounded, I think it may be something pretty bad. It wouldn’t be fair to him until I’ve found out what it’s all about.”
“I see.” He turned back to the closet and took the jacket off the hanger and put it on. He put both hands on Peter’s shoulders and grinned. “I’ll go quietly.” The grin faded, and his eyes looked gravely into Peter’s. “There’s just one thing I want you to tell me. Is there any chance of this leading to bed?”
“With Charlie? Good lord, no. No. I’m yours, big boy. You know that.”
The big hands gripped Peter’s shoulders hard. “You’re mine, all right. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. I love you, squirt.”
“I love you. So damn much.”
Tim leaned over and kissed his mouth. He straightened and looked down at him with smiling eyes. “You never say you’re in love with me, do you? I’m on to your tricks, but I don’t mind. I’m sure as hell in love with you. If you only knew how much I wanted to lock you in and not let you see him. I’ve never felt anything like it.”
Peter moved in close to him and dropped his forehead against his shoulder. “I have to see him. He asked me to help him. You do understand, don’t you?”
“Sure. I trust you, Skeezix. I know anything you feel you have to do is right. You’re so damned straight.” He put his arms around Peter and held him close.
“It’s lousy. This is the first time I’ve ever done anything that’s kept us apart for a night. Or even five minutes, as far as that goes. It really bothers me.”
“And I do it all the time, don’t I? I’m going to have to do it again tomorrow. That damned Chrysler thing. How about a quickie if I can get away from the office early? We’v
e never done that.”
Peter lifted his head, and they looked at each other and laughed. “That’d be pretty racey. I’ll be lying around in something sexy waiting for you.”
“OK. We’ll talk first thing in the morning. I hope it isn’t anything too bad.”
“I hope so too. I’ll call you in a little while if it’s anything I think you’d want to know. Thanks, big boy. Big lover boy.”
They held each other and exchanged a long kiss and Tim gave Peter’s nose a little tweak and was gone. Peter looked at his watch. Five minutes. Charlie would be here any moment now. He searched his mind for some explanation for the strange call. The only reason he could think of for Charlie turning to him was that it must have something to do with his special world. Had he got into trouble in a bar? It frightened him. If it had anything to do with the police, his coming here would risk involving Walter and even Tim. He warned himself not to be snowed under by Charlie, the way he always had been. Keep cool. Try to think straight. There was too much at stake. The doorbell rang, a jangling intrusion on the silence. Peter started and then hurried to the door and opened it. Charlie lurched in and sagged against the wall. Peter’s heart turned over.
“Good God Almighty,” he gasped. “What’s the matter?”
Charlie passed a hand over his eyes and shook his head. “Thank God you’re here. Is there anyone else? If I can just get out of these clothes, I’ll be better.”
Peter looked at the slack face, the sagging body. Obviously dead drunk. He saw the dark stain at the crotch, and his blood froze. “Come on,” he said. He kept a careful distance even though he longed to help him when he saw the difficulty with which he walked. He led the way into the bedroom and turned away as Charlie began to drop his trousers. He went to the closet and took out a dressing gown, moving slowly to fill up time. He dreaded seeing Charlie naked; he held the dressing gown up so that he would be ready to cover him as quickly as possible, and turned back. Charlie was cautiously removing a blood-soaked towel from his sex. Peter stood transfixed. His stomach heaved, there was a prickling all through his arms and legs. “Oh, Christ,” he murmured. He sprang forward and threw the dressing gown over Charlie’s shoulders. “For God’s sake, go into the bathroom and take care of it. There’s stuff there if it’s still bleeding. I’ll call a doctor.” Charlie started to move away. “Have you—Did some guy—”
“Hattie.”
“Hattie! Oh, Jesus.” He turned and sprinted for the telephone. She had ripped his cock to pieces. He would kill her. Of course, it could be fixed. It had to be. Even though it would never be his again, the thought that Charlie’s body might be permanently damaged filled him with a desolation like death. He dialed a number.
“Hello, Phil? It’s Peter. I’m sorry to call so late, but you’ve got to get over here … No, I mean right now … You know I wouldn’t ask you to if it wasn’t serious … Well, somebody’s cock is all torn up … Yeah, thanks, honey.” He hung up and returned to the bedroom. He heard water running. In a few moments, Charlie came out, moving more naturally now, wearing the dressing gown. Peter’s breath caught at the glory of the beloved body beneath the loosely flowing silk. He couldn’t help it; all the last months were obliterated by this form, this flesh, this longed-for presence. He wanted to hold him and care for him. There was something very wrong with his face. Pain? He turned his eyes from him with an effort.
“The doctor’s coming. Come on out, and I’ll give you a drink.” He moved quickly ahead into the living room. Charlie followed and slumped into a chair. Peter brought a drink and held it out to him. He shook his head without looking up.
“Oh, God, I’m in such a mess. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been here.”
Peter put the drink beside him. “You better tell me.”
“She did this with her teeth.” His shoulders contracted, and he covered his face with his hands. He uttered a groan that became a whimper. His shoulders heaved with a deep difficult breath. He dropped his hands and looked at Peter with staring eyes that were filled with terror. “I beat her.” His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. He looked down at the hands resting on his knees and doubled them convulsively into fists. “I beat her as hard as I could. I may’ve—I don’t know. I may’ve killed her.”
Peter’s scalp crawled. “What do you mean, you may have killed her? God, you must’ve been drunk. What are you talking about? Where is she?”
“She’s there. I ran. I had to get away. I had to find you.”
“Oh, darling.” It was said as a protest, yet his heart filled with gratitude at this declaration of a need. They stared into each other’s eyes. Charlie’s face was distorted by a grimace, and his fingers tore at his hair as he swayed and choked in an agonizing effort to suppress the terror within him. Peter clenched his jaw. His whole body began to tremble. “No. No. Don’t. We’ve got to do something. She may need help. She may be dying while we’re sitting here. You must be out of your mind.” He sprang at the telephone and dialed their number with violently shaking hands. He let it ring as long as he could stand it and then flung the instrument down. “I’ve got to get over there. Have you got the keys? I’ll take care of everything. You just stay here and wait for the doctor. Don’t answer the phone if it rings. Where’re the keys?”
Charlie was sitting doubled over, his head on his arms. He lifted a ravaged face and looked at Peter sightlessly. His throat worked. “I’ll get them,” he said, without moving.
“No, don’t bother. Just tell me where they are. Are they in your jacket?”
Charlie nodded. Peter rushed back to the bedroom and found the jacket and fumbled through the pockets. He retrieved the keys. His scalp crawled as he thought of entering the apartment. He moved jerkily as he went and stood in the entrance to the living room. Charlie sat all gathered in on himself, staring at the floor.
“OK, I’ll go now.” His voice was shaky. “Don’t do anything. The doctor’ll be here soon. Don’t answer the phone. Have you thought what you’ll tell the police if they get into it?”
Charlie looked up. “She did this to me. She had her teeth in me and wouldn’t let go. What else could I do? That’s self-defense, isn’t it? Oh, God, baby. I’m so scared. I knew you’d help. Don’t tell her where I am. There was so much blood everywhere.”
“Don’t worry about anything. It’s got to be all right.” He hesitated a moment, fighting down fear, and then turned and left. He grabbed a taxi and had himself dropped on the corner within sight of El Morocco’s lights. He was already thinking about being an accessory after the fact or whatever it was called. Tim would know. What would he do if he found a corpse? No, it just couldn’t happen. Charlie was in a state of shock. He’d been too drunk to know what he was doing. He’d probably just hit her a couple of times, maybe knocked her out, and then panicked. His hands were trembling as he paid the driver. He clung to shadows as he made for the truss shop. As he reached it, there was the sound of car doors slamming next door and a burst of laughter. His heart was beating fast as he entered the dingy building. He remembered about fingerprints. At the end of the hall, he stood at the door, listening. He heard nothing. He made a supreme effort to get a grip on his nerves and muscles and inserted the key noiselessly. Then, covering the knob with the flap of his jacket, he turned it and gently pushed the door open. It made a small sighing sound. He stood just inside it, his heart pounding against the side of his chest, his knees trembling, listening. Silence. Then a dragging sound that made his breath catch, and a thump, and he heard Hattie cursing in a tearful voice. Relief made his head swim. Should he go to her? It would probably only make matters worse. If she could move and curse, she was able to go to the phone and call for help. He prayed for her to do it now so that he could be sure. There were other, unidentifiable sounds. She was there, a few feet from him, moving around. At any moment, she might come out to go to the bathroom or kitchen. No, she mustn’t find him here. He took two infinitely careful steps back into the hall and pulled the door
to behind him. It made a faint click. He heard her muffled voice call, “Charlie.” He scuttled down the hall and let himself out. He stood among the garbage pails and took a long breath. His heart was still pounding, his knees trembled beneath him, but he was filled with a wild elation. She was all right. She wouldn’t have called out, she couldn’t have heard the door click, if she weren’t in full possession of her senses. She could take care of herself. He sprang forward and hailed a taxi that had discharged passengers in front of the nightclub.
He burst into his apartment and was confronted by Phil emerging from the bedroom.
“Hi, honey. Kiss.” The doctor gave him a peck. He was a cheerful-looking young man. He jerked his head toward the bedroom. “Nasty. Like everything, it could’ve been worse. It is true about its being his wife?”
Peter nodded. “Just a minute.” He went to the bedroom door. Charlie was getting up from the bed. They looked at each other, and Peter nodded. “She’s all right.” Charlie sank back onto the bed. Peter turned again to the doctor. “It isn’t serious?”
“Serious enough to call me. You were right about that, snooks. The bleeding’s just about stopped. She really got her teeth into him. God. Women are queerer than anybody. It’ll be in working order again in a week or two. I wouldn’t mind having another look at it when it’s healed.” He winked at Peter. “I’ve got to run.”
“You don’t want a drink? Listen, thanks a hell of a lot. I’m sorry about its being so late, honey.”
“For you, any time. Love to Tim and Walter.” He gave Peter a pat on the behind as he went out. Peter returned to the bedroom.
Charlie looked up at him. “You saw her?”
“No, but it’s all right. I need a drink now. Come on, I’ll tell you.” It made him uncomfortable for Charlie to be in the bedroom; he didn’t think Tim would like it. He waited for him to rise and preceded him to the other room. Charlie’s untouched drink was still on the table where he had left it. He put some more ice in it and fixed himself one. Charlie stood watching him.
The Peter & Charlie Trilogy Page 27