by Pierre Rey
"You’ll find out when he gets there."
"What’s that?’
"Don Ettore’ll be in Zurich tomorrow."
What should she wear to bury her bachelor life? Renata ran her fingers over the dresses and outfits that filled her closets. Some had never been worn. Just owning them was enough. If she felt low, she would go in to a shop and pick up some little thing by Dior or Cardin the way other women stuff themselves with pastries. Ac tually, Renata was confident enough of her affluence to have worn virtually nothing but the same pair of jeans for the past three years.
She finally selected a sky-blue man's-cut flannel suit. She got into it looked at herself in the mirror, and made a face. The idea of a last fling suddenly struck her as silly. Why should she go and lay some unknown guy a few hours before getting married?
She tried to analyze what it was that had moved her to this last challenge of single fife. Would it make up for the absolute faithfulness she had sworn she would observe as long as she was married to Kurt?
Frau Heinz—Renata Heinz. . . . She shrugged, lit a cigarette, put an old Beatles record on the stereo, and sat on the floor with her back to the wall, to think.
Manuella came in and whistled admiringly. "That blue is very becoming, miss. Is it new?"
"Old as my worries."
"Mr. Kurt win like you m it,"
"I didn't put it on f or him."
"Oh? Who for, then?"
"I don't know yet. The first guy I can latch on to."
Manuella glanced at her. With her mistress, she never knew how to take things. In order not to make any mis takes, she was shrewd enough to give indirect answers to all questions that didn't directly concern her job.
"Will you tell me about it?"
"Certainly not! It'll be my last girlhood secret. Is my gown pressed?"
"Not quite finished. I’ll go back to it."
Renata put her butt out in the ashtray. She burst out laughing at the scene that popped into her head. In her fantasy of her last "bachelor fling," she would walk down the street and accost (or be accosted by) the first guy who was not too unappealing. In her most charming way she would ask him point-blank, Will you sleep with me? So far, so good. But suppose the guy were to turn her down? After all, there are heels everywhere, even in Zurich.
Laughing aloud, she picked up her handbag and head ed out into Bellerivestrasse, on the lookout for her last unmarried affair.
She didn't have long to look. There he was, and he was the first one she saw. He was tall, slim, definitely Lat in-looking, and impeccably dressed in a wonderfully tail ored blazer. He wore a blue woolen tie on a pinstriped white shirt and was leaning against a sparkling gunmetal-gray Beauty Ghost P9 convertible, watching her come at him as if he had been waiting for her since the dawn of time, as if he had known about their date, which up to now had existed only in Renata's mind. She took a few steps toward him, her heart pounding, still wondering whether she was going to have the guts to go through with her planned escapade.
When she was within his reach, she stopped. Close up, he was handsome, with a bony but even-featured face, slightly pale, his eyes somewhat strained. She looked espe cially at his fine, strong, well-groomed hands, now slightly tensed on the car body.
"What's your name?" she. said.
His hard mouth opened slightly in a smile. "Orlan do," he said.
"Mine's Renata. I'd love to make love with you."
"And I with you," he replied, and he opened the door of the car for her.
17
"No!" Renata begged. "Please—no!"
"Shove it!" Lando commanded.
She went up another step. No one had ever handled her this way. From the start, Lando had given her silent, brutal treatment, to which she responded with a bewilder ing mixture of pain and pleasure. They had not spoken on the way to his apartment, and once through the door, Lando didn't waste a minute with drinks or music Shov ing the door shut with his foot, he backed Renata up against the door and, without so much as a caress, pushed her flimsy panties down her thighs and rammed into her.
'Take me to bed." she had moaned.
He didn't bother to answer but went on with his pistoning, alternating quick jabs with long slow drives, at times remaining motionless when he felt- she was about to come. For an hour he brought her closer and closer to climax, backing off each time just as she was about to let go. He knew exactly how to bring her to that point of no return. He saw himself as a tool provoking her to a debauch of sensuality; he couldn't share in it himself. He was carrying out Volpone's instructions to the best of his ability, that was all.
"Lando!—Lando, I beg of you!"
Once again he stopped short as she was about to go over the brink, but he was a fraction of a second too late; Renata had gotten away from his control. Despite himself, he moved as one with her, his pubis riveted to her as they shook together in a series of heady convulsions. Renata became like a rag doll in his arms.
She had always considered herself the expert in love, but now she realized that she had known nothing. She gazed at Lando with faraway eyes and mumbled, 'Thank you."
But the lesson was just beginning. Lando fell to his knees, holding her body with his two arms around her but tocks. Very gently he began to lick the insides of her thighs, soft and warm as the underside of a dove's wing. He held her solidly against him, burying his head in Renata's fleece. As his tongue lingered between her legs, his hands explored her body, and when the muscles of his mouth began to hurt, he let her come a second time.
As she slid down into his arms, he pulled her up and whispered into her ear, "Let's go to bed. That’s what you wanted. Now you're going to get it" She tottered toward the stepladder that led to his loft-bed. When he brutally penetrated her once more, her exhaustion gave way to a wave of desire that swept-through her body, wetting her thighs, pushing out the nipples on her breasts. He held her there until she reached orgasm, her body ravaged by the onslaught. Every inch of her skin, every fiber of her body exulted in the violation and she came again.
"You're going to kill me," she moaned.
But all he could think of was that Volpone would kill him if he didn't follow orders. He held her there until she reared with the strength of a wild mare, screaming in an agony of delight.
Then, without giving her time to come back to her senses, he forced her up the ladder and entered her from behind.
"Christ!" she protested. "Not that!"
Cruelly he bit her on the nape of the neck as he hissed into her ear, 'You'll have your bed, little girl. All you have to do is make it up five more steps!"
"It’s me," Volpone said, trying to keep his voice under control. .
'Italo, oh, Italo!" Angela said.
He was glad she couldn't see how overcome he was.,
He clamped his jaws, gritting his teeth in an effort to hold back the tears.
"Angela, darling, tell me what happened. Did they hurt you?"
Angela had been instructed at length by Moshe Yu delman, who, until then, had never said more than a plea sant hello to her.
"Angela," he had said, "we're playing for heavy stakes. I can't give you all the details, but I have to warn you: if you complain to Italo, everything will fall through."
"What will fall through?" she had wanted to know.
"Your husband's nerves are on edge. His brother's death has saddled him with enormous responsibilities. He now has to carry through a deal that was set up by Genco, and it's a very tough deal. You know Italo loves you more than anything in life, but he's half a world away from us. He might misunderstand why Gabelotti invited us over. Italo doesn't have much use for Gabelotti. But he's wrong. Gabelotti was only acting in your own best inter ests, to protect you..."
"From what?" she persisted in surprise.
"Don't ask me any questions, Angela. I’m your friend. Don't make things harder for me man they have to be."
So she decided she would make it all sound like noth ing.
"No,
my love, nobody hurt me. The only thing that hurts is how much I miss you."
"I miss you, too, Angela. If only you knew."
"Do you want me to come to you?"
"No, no! I’ll only be here another day or two."
"Can't I help your
"Yes. By telling me you love me."
"Ti amo, Italo..."
"As soon as this is over, I’m taking you to Sicily." 'You promise?"
"You'll see! After that, we'll go and visit your folks. But tell me. Did that Gabelotti say anything to you?"
'Yes, of course," Angela lied. "He was very nice and polite."
"Why didn't you tell me you were going to his place?" "It all happened so fast. When you and I were talking on the phone, remember? I had to go and open the door for Fiorentina. When I picked it up again, we had been cut off."
"Were you treated all right?"
"Of course, Italo."
"Okay, okay. Only, -I was worried, y'understand. Knowing you was alone with those—those—Say, are my friends at the apartment now?"
"Yes."
"How many of them?"
"Four."
"Good."
"Italo..."
"What?"
"I'm not being nosy, Italo. But you are my hus band. Maybe one day you'll feel like telling me about— You know what I mean?
"Sure. Don't worry your little head about a thing. Did you see Francesca?"
"It was awful."
She almost blurted out what Genco's widow had said to her—"They'll kill your Italo, too!"—but she held back the words, trying not to spread more oil on what she knew was already a fire. She trusted Moshe. She knew he had been Genco Volpone's counselor for many years, and she had guessed by now, by and large, the kind of affairs he counseled him on. And in case she had any illusions, the four armed men outside her door—she had seen the gun under the armpit of one of them when he bent over to pick up some matches—dissipated them.
"Angela..."
"Yes; darling?’
"You need anything?"
"Just you."
"Me too, amore mio. Did Moshe come to see you?" "He was here an hour ago. He left to go and pack."
Volpone knitted his brow, but controlled himself. "To pack? What for?"
"Well, you know, Italo ..." "No, I don't," he forced out
A breath of fury swept-through him as he thought of that consigliere who did whatever he pleased, made up his own mind, and then challenged his orders.
"He's off to join you in Zurich on the first available plane," Angela happily informed him.
Kurt Heinz sneaked a look at his parents. They were standing on the sidelines, looking frightened among all the guests. Clustered in noisy, happy groups, people were ex claiming about the originality of the decor.
Uncomfortable in his black velvet suit and frilled shirt, Kurt kept a sharp eye on each arrival, expecting at any moment to see his fiancee's magnificent salmon gown.
Kloppe, more tense than usual, made an all-too-visible effort to force a smile as he exchanged two or three words with Kurt, and Chimene affected a smile that did not conceal her nervousness. (It was a little past midnight; Renata had not yet arrived.)
"How mad these young people are! Just look what they've done to my apartment!" Chimene crowed to her friends.
Kurt was sick at heart at the thought of undergoing another three hours of this circus. The pastor, who hadn't arrived yet either, was to tie the knot immediately after the meal was served. The helicopter was not due on the roof pad until 3:00 a.m. they were to be transported to the airport, and then Renata would fly him away in her own plane to Portofino, Italy. There, a yacht with a crew of eight was waiting to take the two of them on a week-long Mediterranean cruise.
Big laugh: a German industrialist in a magnificent tuxedo was standing on his head, doing his best to see the Leonardo masterpiece right side up. His wife was dis creetly tugging at his leg.
Kurt's eyes met his mother's. Utte didn't have time to hide her expression. Stiff as a board in her hideous ap ple-green dress, taller than her husband, she looked like a sad tower dressed for company. Kurt turned his eyes away, both to be free of hers and to avoid his father's gaze.
There was a commotion near the door, with loud cries and people calling to one another. Kurt thought it was Renata coming in, and, at the relief he felt, he real ized how upset he was over her not being there.
But it was just some of his old schoolmates rushing over to congratulate him.
"Where's your fiancée? Walked out on you already?"
"Just think what it'll be like after you're hitched!"
"Hey, Kurt! Where you hiding your Renata?"
Kurt wondered the same thing. She should have been here an hour ago. Ill at ease, he parried more jokes on the subject. A onetime girl friend got up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, "If she doesn't show, remember me. Always ready to fill in."
Chimene worked her way through the dense crowd. As they moved among the chandeliers of the floor-turned-ceiling, people were grabbing the first glasses of cham pagne served by white-jacketed butlers.
"Do you have any idea where Renata is?" Chimene asked Kurt in a voice that was supposed to hide her anx iety.
Kurt smiled serenely back at her. "No, I don’t. But I’m sure she's just taking her time getting ready. Have you seen her?"
"She went out about three or four this afternoon. She was supposed to go to the hairdresser's," her mother volunteered.
"And you haven't seen her since?"
"No. And I am rather concerned."
"Where's the bride?" called a guest as he raised his glass.
"On her way! On her way!" answered Chimene, who always felt she had to justify the actions of others as well as her own. And she added, "Good Lord, here's the rev erend. Kurt, please do something."
She rushed over to greet the pastor, an old family friend who had agreed, much as he disliked the idea, to officiate at this unseemly wedding. Chimene had overcome his scruples by the size of her donation for "the poor in the parish." Which, in Zurich, was just a figure of speech. For the poor in the city were not Swiss, but Italians and Portuguese.
Kurt furtively consulted his watch. It was well past twelve-thirty. Dinner would be served at one o'clock sharp. Feeling drearier and drearier, his throat constricted, he decided to duck out for a few minutes and see whether he could find Renata.
Renata lit a cigarette, exhaled a long puff of smoke, and traced Lando's profile with her index finger. This slight effort made her realize the enormity of her exhaustion. She had no more body, yet at the same time her body weighed tons. From this moment on, her life would not be long enough to think back over the fantastic sensations that, in a few hours, had destroyed her with delight. She had once and for all crossed over a frontier, climbed into the dimension of climax. Or, you might say, the dimension of death. But surely death could never have such intensity.
Yet all she knew about this man was his first name: Lando. And all he knew about her were the six letters of hers: Renata. He was God; no one in the world could be as good as he. And now she had to leave him.
"Lando? What time is it?"
He ran his hand over her breast. "No idea. Midnight One o'clock. What does it matter?" She smiled slightly. "I've got to go." "Now?"
"I'm giving a party.’' "In the middle of the night?"
'Yes ... A wedding party. My own. I'm getting mar ried at three."
Lando, worn to a frazzle, still had the courage to pre tend amazement: "You're getting married at three in the morning?"
"Yes," she said, inserting her cigarette between his lips.
He took a long drag on it. "You putting me on?" "No. It's true."
He had hoped to make her forget the time, but ap parently all he did to her hadn't been enough. Galvanized by his fear of Volpone, he gathered his remaining strength to stage another round that would keep her with him. His tongue pained him, heavy and dry like a hunk of cot ton waste. No use to him now! As for the ot
her, well...
Italo Volpone had minced no words about what he wanted: "I want to fuck up the whole Kloppe shindig. Turn this town upside down. Don't rough up the girl, but get her so fuck-happy that she'll forget her own wedding. I don't care where you shove your cock, or how, but make her want it until she screams!"
Lando turned toward Renata and nibbled at her ear-lobe. She tensed at the memory of his teeth biting into the nape of her neck when she was screaming in climax and pain.