by Judith Gould
Tiffani watched him, taking delight in his long, lean torso and his well-defined musculature. He was so unlike most of the men she knew. Teddy was so clean and blond and hard, in shape but not a steroid freak either. Most of the men she'd been with in the last few years—and there'd been too many to count—had been former football players gone to fat; hairy, dirty bikers with big beer bellies; or rangy, raw, or clumsy farm boys or tradesmen who didn't really give her much pleasure. There'd been more than a few of the local bodybuilders, and she liked their bodies, for sure. But they seemed more pleased with themselves than anything she could offer them. With most all the men, Tiffani often reflected, it had been the old in and out, slam, bam, thank you, ma'am. Except most of them had omitted the thank-you. She could count the real good lovers—the ones who wanted to give her pleasure as well as get it—on one hand.
Teddy was so different. She watched, entranced, when he started to take off his jockey shorts, but quickly stopped him with a hand and a knowing look and went down on her knees in front of him. She slowly began pulling his shorts down with her long, pink-lacquered fingernails, looking up at him reverentially for a moment, then straight ahead at the prize between his legs.
As it sprang free, her tongue darted out and began licking his cock slowly, delicately, and lovingly, all the while gradually easing his jockey shorts down to the floor. He stepped out of them and put his hands on her head, guiding it onto his engorged phallus. Tiffani took it, going down as far as she possibly could, then began to suck on it furiously.
"Ahhhh," Teddy groaned, thrusting himself at her, "Tiff, you're going to make me come."
She eased her mouth away and stood up facing him. Teddy reached over and took a breast in each of his hands and began stroking them, thrumming her nipples with his thumbs. Tiffani gasped and pushed up against him, reaching down for his cock. He slid one hand down between her thighs and began stroking her soft shaved mound, excited by its nakedness, then slowly put a finger in her, feeling her wetness.
Tiffani trembled and whimpered. "Oh, please, Teddy," she begged. "Please."
Unable to wait any longer, he pushed her onto the bed and mounted her, her legs spread wide to welcome him. They were both in a frenzy of desire, and Teddy began thrusting away like a man possessed, Tiffani grinding against him with all her might. It was over almost as quickly as it had begun, Teddy bellowing as he heaved against her in release, and Tiffani squirming wildly against him, squealing ecstatically, kicking her legs as she contracted with one climax after another.
He collapsed on top of her, then rolled off onto his back, the two of them gasping for breath. When she could speak, Tiffani rolled to her side and kissed his cheek. "Can you stay a while?" she asked.
"An hour or so," he said. Then he looked at her. "Why?" he asked. "You got something special in mind?"
Tiffani giggled. "Maybe," she said. She sat up in bed and threw her legs over the side, her back to him. She reached over to the bedside cabinet and opened a drawer, rummaging around inside it. When she turned back around, she held up a small glass vial of white powder. A tiny metal spoon was attached to the top of it.
"Lookee what I've got," she said, wiggling her hand.
Teddy's eyes were riveted to the vial of white powder. "Wow, baby," he said, sitting up. "You won the lottery or what?"
Tiffani's brown eyes gleamed with mischief. "Something like that."
"Come on," he said. "Where'd you get it? I know that's not any of my stuff."
She spread out on the bed, and he stared down at her. "A little birdie," she said teasingly.
"Aw, Tiff," he cajoled. "Where?"
"You know that bar where I used to work?" she said.
He nodded. It was a local joint that catered to a crowd of hard partyers, mostly in their twenties to forties, a lot of them divorced and on the make, most all of them hourly workers.
"Well, I was in there the other night, just having a drink. You know. Anyway, this guy I used to know—he was a regular customer when I worked there—he gave it to me."
"You mean he just gave it to you?" he asked incredulously.
She stared at him a moment. "Why not?" she asked.
"We're friends, sort of. You're not jealous, are you, Teddy?"
"No," he said, dropping onto the bed beside her. "That's stupid. Why would I be jealous?"
"Oh, I don't know," she said coyly. "You just don't look very happy suddenly."
"You're crazy, Tiff," he said. "But it doesn't make sense, does it. This guy just gives you a couple of hundred bucks worth of coke? Don't tell me he doesn't want something for it."
"If that's what you're thinking," she said, "you're wrong. He's just being nice to me 'cause I used to fix him up with girls. Besides, he's always got lots of coke 'cause he's a dealer."
Teddy's eyes sparkled with glee, then he laughed. "You know some interesting characters, Tiff."
"I guess so," she said. She sat up and unscrewed the bottle cap, then spooned out some coke, carefully holding it steady. "Want some?"
Teddy sat up on one elbow and, when she had the spoon under his nose, took a deep snort, a finger closing one nostril while he sucked the precious powder up the other. The taste was terrible, medicinal, but he knew the effect would be highly pleasant.
He lay back and watched as Tiffani snorted some, then replaced the cap on the bottle. She slid out of bed and turned to him. "I'll be right back," she said.
He watched her walk toward the bathroom. Amazing body, he thought. Straight from heaven. She never ceased to arouse him, even though she wasn't exactly the brightest woman he knew. She was pretty dense actually. But what the hell?
Tiffani was great for sex. Loved a little kink, too. She was like forbidden fruit, now that he thought about it: from the wrong side of the tracks, too much makeup, too much hair, cheap sexy clothes. Completely unsuitable for somebody like him and just his cup of tea. A lot like Lydia must have been forty years ago, except Lydia was smart. Beyond that. . . well, she was only amusing in bed, but that's all he wanted her for.
Tiffani came back into the bedroom, her large breasts bobbing against her rib cage. She slid onto the bed and put an arm across his chest. "You're so quiet," she said. "You tired, baby?"
"Had a rough weekend."
"Ah," she said. "Did that horse doctor fuck your brains out?"
"No," he said, irritated that she would bring Valerie into the conversation. "She had an early night yesterday because she was up nearly all night Saturday. At your boss's place, as a matter of fact."
She lifted her head and looked down at him. "You're kidding, really?"
"Really," he said.
"What did she say about him?"
"Nothing," he replied. "She didn't even see him. Just that muscle freak who works for him."
"God," she said, shivering involuntarily, "that guy's so weird. He scares me half to death. But the whole place scares me."
"Why?" Teddy asked without any real curiosity. "That sounds pretty stupid to me."
"It's not stupid!" Tiffani replied. "I've been working there part-time ever since they bought that place.
Conrad bought it three years ago, and he's lived there for a year. And you know what? I still haven't seen him, the owner, except maybe if you count one time when I think I saw him at the window, staring outside."
"What did he look like?" Teddy asked idly. He could feel the cocaine begin to work its magic.
"Who knows?" Tiffani said. "All I saw was a man standing there. Not Santo 'cause I could tell if it'd been him." She lay back on the pillow again and slowly ran a finger down Teddy's chest.
"And you know what else?"
"What?" he asked, indulging her.
"I've never even been in that house. I've never been anywhere but the office in the stable," she said. "That creepy Santo runs the place like some kind of Nazi. I never see anybody but him and that awful old man Helmut. Sometimes his wife."
"Who's that?" Teddy asked.
"Helmut Reinha
rdt," she said. "He and his spooky wife, Gerda, live in a little house on the estate. They moved in when Conrad bought the place. At least I guess they did."
She ran her fingers through Teddy's hair. "Helmut, he's like a handyman, and his old lady's the cook and housekeeper. They're both real quiet, like the walking dead or something. Real zombies."
"Yeah," Teddy said, "but so what?"
"Think about it, Teddy," she said passionately. "You've got Santo, who's like some kind of weirdo giant freak with his shaved head and earrings and muscles and tattoos. You've got Conrad, who might as well be a ghost. Then you've got the old zombie couple, Gerda and Helmut. You're not there, so you don't see how creepy it is."
She paused and looked at him with a pouty expression. "But you know what the worst thing is? They don't give me the time of day. Any of them. It's like I'm garbage or something as far as they're concerned."
"You shouldn't pay any attention to them, Tiff," he said, taking her hand and moving it down to his crotch. "Conrad probably has them under his thumb. Probably doesn't like for the help to get to know each other too well. He's just another paranoid rich jerk," Teddy went on, easing a hand between her thighs.
"Everybody says you're rich, too, Teddy," she said.
"Huh? I do all right." He frowned. "I'm sure not rich like that creep. But then I'm not into drugs or the Mafia or whatever his game is."
"I just don't understand why he's so secretive," she countered, now stroking Teddy's cock firmly.
"Probably doesn't want you to see all those hot chicks he's got tied up down in the cellar," he said, grinning at her. "All of them just waiting to fulfill his every command."
Tiffani laughed. "God, I wouldn't doubt it," she said. "But I think that's what you'd like." She squeezed his penis.
"Hey," he said, "watch it! That's not replaceable, you know."
Tiffani laughed again. "But seriously, Teddy, it gives me the heebie-jeebies just to think about it. All that money. I've never seen so much come in and go out of a place in my life. It's hard to imagine being that rich.
And the horses! Some of them worth a fortune. But you know what?"
"What?" Teddy rasped, completely losing interest in the conversation as she aroused him.
"I've never even seen him ride one," she said. "I've never seen anybody ride one."
"Probably can't," Teddy said, working a finger inside her. "They're just a hobby or something. Anyway, who needs him and his horses?" he said. "Look what we've got here."
She looked down between his legs and giggled. "Boy, are you so right, Teddy."
"I think we can make you forget all about Conrad and the freaks out there, Tiff," he said in a whisper. He pulled her to him and began kissing her ardently, his hand working between her thighs. "I love that shave job, babe," he whispered. "Really turns me on."
"I'm so glad you did it," she said. "It's turning me on, too."
"It's a beginning."
"Oh, yeah?" she said, pushing harder against him, totally immersed in the moment, thoughts of Stonelair already out of her mind. "Oh, Teddy," she cooed, "you make me feel so good. You excite me so much."
"That's what it's all about, babe," he said, shoving himself up inside her.
"Oh, God," she moaned, "I'm so lucky. How'd I ever get so lucky?"
Chapter Six
The summer sun was still bright when Valerie drove up the long, twisting gravel lane that led to her mother's house, a rambling Italianate Victorian. The house was perfectly sited in a heavily wooded copse atop a hill that sloped gently down to lush meadows and a meandering stream. The Berkshires, clothed in their summer greenery, were visible from its eastern windows, and the Catskills, on the far side of the Hudson River, rose regally to meet the eye from the west.
This evening, its majesty seemed more depressing to Valerie than usual. Maybe it's just that I'm not in a very good mood, she thought, dreading the dinner she was about to have with her mother and Teddy.
She drove around to the parking area in back of the house and pulled in next to Teddy's silvery Jaguar. So, she thought, he's already here, no doubt enjoying himself immensely, telling Mother every detail of last weekend that she doesn't already know. Valerie wasn't surprised, although she couldn't help being miffed, because Teddy and her mother had long since formed a mutual admiration society. They seemed to genuinely enjoy one another's company.
Valerie quickly checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, patting down her unruly hair. It was pulled back into its customary long braid, the end of which fell across one shoulder onto her breast, but the top and sides had managed to create a frizzy halo about her face as usual.
"Ah, well," she said to her reflection, "you'll just have to do. Even if Teddy and Mother would like to see you coiffed to perfection with a real ladylike 'do."
She swung out of the Jeep and began brushing dog hair off the black linen pants and blouse she'd changed into. It had been her hope that the outfit would match, and thus conceal, Elvis's hair, which invariably managed to attach itself to everything she owned. No such luck, she noted. Elvis, whom she'd left at home in deference to her mother's wishes, was decidedly blacker and shinier than the black linen she wore.
Oh, well, she thought. This too will have to do. Love me or leave me!
She heard familiar voices in the garden and walked over to the iron gate that led into it and peered inside. Teddy, dapper as usual in a dark blue blazer, crisp white linen trousers, and a light blue shirt with a daring apricot-colored tie, and Marguerite, a vision of loveliness in a cream suit with emerald trim and an emerald blouse, were strolling toward her, arm in arm, their voices animated in conversation. Teddy's hair, she noticed, was sunny blond perfection, and Marguerite's, a stunning silvery white, was fixed in an elegant French twist. Neither of them had a hair out of place.
Of course, she thought with wry amusement.
Suddenly Teddy looked up. Seeing her, he began waving and calling to her. She waved back.
"We'll be in shortly," she heard her mother call. "Get yourself a drink."
"Okay," Valerie called back, nodding. She turned and walked to the big screened-in back porch and on through it into the kitchen.
"Well, look who's finally here," Effie said, wiping her hands on a towel. She tapped a dark cheek with a finger. "Right here," the tiny, white-haired woman said.
Valerie leaned over and kissed her on the cheek where she'd indicated. "You look great, Effie," she said, straightening up. "And whatever you're cooking up in here smells terrific."
"It's a surprise," Effie said, "so don't ask. I'm just glad you and Teddy came to dinner. It gives me a chance to do some real cooking. Your mother eats like a bird, so I hardly get to do much."
"I guess she's on one of her diets," Valerie said.
"She's always on a diet," Effie said grumpily. "One more disgusting than the next. It's a wonder she doesn't make herself sick, she's so skinny."
"Some things never change," Valerie said, and, she reflected, they really didn't. Effie had complained for as long as she could remember about Marguerite's eating habits, among many other things, but had remained devoted to her nevertheless. "I'm going to get a drink, Effie. Do you want me to mix something up for you?"
Effie grinned. "Thanks, Val," she replied, "but I already had a little nip of gin."
"Aha!" Valerie said. "I should've known, but I won't tell." Effie's nips of gin were a deeply guarded secret between Valerie and the old woman, a secret that everyone knew about.
"You better not," Effie replied, "or I'll tell Teddy some of your secrets."
"Blackmail!" Valerie cried with a laugh. "I'll see you in a bit," she said, heading out the kitchen door to the butler's pantry.
Scanning the bottles there, she quickly decided on a vodka and tonic, with lots of vodka. She didn't often drink anything other than wine, but tonight, she thought, a little fortifying medication was in order. My mother by herself is excuse enough, she told herself, but Mother and Teddy conspiring toge
ther ought to make drinking straight out of the bottle permissible.
Taking her drink, she began to roam the big quiet house, going from room to room, sipping as she went. Her eyes swept over the antiques with their beautiful silk, velvet, and leather upholstery. She scanned the walls, hung with luxurious silks from Lyons or the finest hand-blocked papers from Zuber in Rixheim. She glimpsed the elegant chandeliers of crystal and ormolu that hung suspended from the ceilings of nearly every room, and eyed the paintings that decorated the walls. Family portraits from France, Denmark, England, and America were rivaled by fine landscapes from all over Europe; plus drawings and watercolors, some of them nearly five hundred years old, hung chockablock in virtually every room.
Like the art, bibelots and treasures of all kinds covered almost every surface. Chinese and Japanese porcelains, Meissen and Sevres, ormolu mounted vases, flower arrangements made of semiprecious stones and gold, photographs in fantastically carved silver or gilt frames.
The house was an Aladdin's den that would make an auctioneer's pulse race, she'd often thought. Many of the treasures had come from the big apartment in New York City that they'd sold after her father died. Memories of her childhood—both in the formal city apartment and here in the more casual atmosphere of the country—always swept over her when she came here. It was almost as if her entire past were contained in this one house.
Perhaps, she thought, that's why I stay away from here as much as possible.
A familiar sadness began to pervade her usually bright spirits, infusing her with a sense that all of this material beauty was part of a world gone by, a lifestyle that had all but ceased to exist, and a way of life that she had once been part of but never really belonged to. Even the familiarity with every object her eye rested upon did not dispel the feeling that she was an interloper.
In one of the drawing rooms she lingered over a favorite drawing, a Berthe Morisot of a field. Then she picked up an old black-and-white photograph of her father on horseback. He looked so handsome in his riding habit, she thought as she replaced it on the table. She meandered on into the music room and lightly stroked the ivory keys on the antique Bosendorfer, the same piano on which she'd learned to play. She climbed the curving stairs and went down the hallway to her old bedroom, where she sat on the lacy canopied bed that had once been hers. Looking at the antique dressing table, its surface still cluttered with crystal bottles of different scents and a monogrammed silver dressing set, she remembered the countless times she'd sat before its mirror, trying to make herself into the woman that her mother wanted her to be. To no avail.