Burn

by Michael Perkins

  When he got to his feet she was still coming. She grabbed her breasts and twisted them, dropping her head so she could chew on her own nipples. He stuck three fingers inside her and fucked her that way until she stopped him. “Show me your big fat dick!”

  Licking his lips, he unzipped and pulled his penis free. It was so painfully rigid it was throbbing. He pulled at it frenziedly. His nose ran with her secretions. The power in her eyes was that of an insatiable goddess, a pitiless queen of lust.

  “Oooh,” she gurgled. “It’s so big! I think it’s too big for my baby pussy.” She teased him with whore talk. “It’s too big for my asshole—it might split me in two. Maybe you want to put it in my mouth? I’ll bet you want to do something dirty like that—choke me with that horse cock.”

  She used her teeth to scrape him, but it wasn’t hard enough. Her mouth was smaller than Rose’s. She bobbed her head expertly, taking half the length of his shaft in and chewing on it, then using her fingernails to scratch his testicles, fingers squeezing with increasing pressure.

  She might bite his penis off, and he didn’t care, he was so lost in his submission to the passion she aroused. It was as if she knew exactly how far gone he was. She spat on the purple head of his penis, and with a smooth motion, took him into her throat for a minute of intense pleasure before pulling him out and putting him between her breasts. Enveloped by those firm pillows, he ejaculated up onto her chin and into her open mouth.

  “You taste bitter,” she told him, sticking her tongue out. It was milky with his semen. “We’re going to have to sweeten you up.”

  33

  THE GAMES ARTISTS PLAY

  WE WERE A most improbable couple, but in the next few days we crawled into each other’s skins. When she dyed her hair, she became Rose for me. She seemed happy enough to play the part as I wanted it played, and grateful for the refuge my studio provided. I paid her at the end of each day, and she hid the money. She was sexually omnivorous, but I kept up with her. She liked a “good, hard screwing” twice a day, ice cream (to sweeten me), and television.

  While I painted her, she watched television, and we engaged in a running dialogue about art and love. I turned up the heat, she took off the dress I’d bought her, and I painted her as Rose, while she watched Oprah and the other shows that provided her with all she needed to know about her emotional life.

  After one particularly apposite show about May-December relationships, our discussion reassured me that she truly didn’t mind my age.

  “I like these old guys,” she told me. “A young stud, you’re just another notch on his belt. He’s got more energy, maybe, but he’s selfish and he squirts quick. An old guy like you, Nick, you’ve had enough experience, you know you have to give to a girl if you’re gonna get the best fucking from her.”

  “I hope I do that for you.”

  “Boy, do you ever. Sometimes you even make my pussy sore—but I love it.” She squeezed her breasts for me.

  When I talked to her about art, she couldn’t believe the games that had to be played. Openings, reviews, collectors, museums—she saw through it, in her untutored, street-smart way.

  “So I’ve got an art, too. I can make your dick feel really good for a few minutes. But I gotta get out there and hustle my ass in places where people are always throwing me out or dissing me ‘cause I’m an artist. Then, when they get some pussy or a nice b.j., sometimes they think they own me, Jewel. I don’t think so. I put my ass out there, you can buy it, but you can’t buy me.”

  “Do you think I’m trying to buy you?”

  “No. You’re nice.”

  I painted her as I’d painted Rose in the portrait she destroyed. We talked, and I painted, and after awhile I began to see what I was creating. There Rose was on canvas one morning. I saw the light around her and felt so gratified by my achievement that I wanted to show it to Jewel. I called her over.

  She studied it critically, arms crossed over her breasts.

  “Well, it’s not me yet. You got a ways to go, I think.” She said this with great sympathy, as if she was afraid of discouraging me.

  “Suppose you tell me what I should do?” I said sarcastically.

  “Oh, no. I’m not an art critic. I know what you think about them.”

  “Just tell me what you think is missing.”

  She stepped up to the easel again, hands on her hips.

  “The dick is missing.”

  “The what?”

  “You know, the penis. There should be one in my hand, or maybe up my tush. A big one, you know? A really big one. And then you could try to paint the look I get on my face when you jam that big daddy cock in my little pussy. It feels like you’re trying to stick your finger through the eye of a needle.”

  She liked to tease me, and then follow it up with more of the hard screwing she needed. She had boundless energy, an eagerness to please, and zero inhibitions.

  After awhile, having her around became more important than finishing the portrait. She went out occasionally, but she always came back, and I began to think she wanted to stay.

  She seemed to grow more beautiful as I painted her, and worked to make her appearance match my idealized image of Rose. Usually she went along with it—she was by nature good-hearted if suspicious—but sometimes she rebelled. She cursed Rose then.

  “Goddamn that little bitch! She’s dead—why can’t you just let her go?”

  “I told you. That’s why I’m painting this portrait of her. If I can get her on canvas again, the way I did before, maybe then I can get her out of my head.”

  But I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes I slipped and called her Rose, they looked so much alike. The first time it happened, she slapped me.

  “Why can’t you just love me for me?”

  34

  THE ULTIMATE ACT OF CREATION

  WHEN MY TRANSFORMATION of Jewel was complete, I wanted to hide her away, as I hid the completed portrait of her. But having reluctantly accepted her new persona, Jewel had ideas of her own. So when Midge called to badger me into coming to the opening of her show of Boz Skeffington’s drawings, Jewel insisted that I take her along. I couldn’t say no.

  “I want to see what you’re always talking about.”

  “You won’t like it.”

  “Please, Nick. I’ll be good.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  She was good—if by good, you mean beautiful and sexy in the role I had cast her in. She was good, if by good you mean she had the effect of turning the heads of people who thought they were seeing a ghost. As Rose had, she wore a silk dress that showed her nipples. Unlike Rose, she clung to my arm as we moved through the crowd looking for Midge. We found her with Boz Skeffington, surrounded by his entourage. Boz had the pleased look of someone who loves being the center of attention. Midge was busy introducing him to her artists and regulars—collectors, critics, and hangers-on.

  The shock on their faces when they saw Jewel was satisfying—although I wondered if I had gone too far. “This is Jewel,” I told them, with the same pride I felt showing off a painting.

  “Jewel? I don’t understand, Nicky.” Midge had turned pale.

  Boz recovered more quickly. “You are a very resourceful man, Nick. As an artist, I salute you for the ultimate act of creation: bringing the dead to life.”

  “Hi,” Jewel said to them. Boz bowed and kissed her hand.

  “You are the spitting image of someone I used to know,” he said. “I hope to become equally good friends with you.”

  I half expected her to reply with the offer of a quickie for twenty bucks, but she stayed in character. “Maybe.”

  “Back in the nursery, Nicky?” Midge whispered to me. “Or do you just turn them out in your workshop? Does she have a wind-up key in her navel?”

  “I told you Rose was alive,” I replied calmly, in a low, even voice so Jewel wouldn’t hear.

  “Jesus Christ, Nicky boy—are you crazy?”

  “I’ve got her
back—and that’s all that matters.”

  She sputtered feebly in my ear, but I ignored her and turned to Boz, fearing that his enormous charm would enable him to pocket Jewel. He was talking and she was looking star-struck.

  “These are the problems an artist has,” he was saying to her. “They’re problems of beauty—which, of course, as a beautiful woman, you understand.” He went on like that for awhile.

  “You’re so full of crap it’s coming out of your ears,” my Jewel/Rose replied sweetly. My jealousy disappeared, momentarily. But I had to hand it to Boz, he did a practiced double take and flashed a smile that would have made a crocodile envious.

  “I’ve been accused of that before, but never by one so charming.”

  I saw in the swiftness of his recovery why he was Boz and I was Nick. He’d find a pony in any shit pile you took him in.

  Midge was pulling at me furiously. I stepped away from them and surrendered to Midge’s fury. “Goddamn it, Nicholas Wilde! You’re not going to screw up this show for me!”

  “You asked me—no, you insisted—that I come, Midge. I brought along a friend.” I shrugged blandly. “What is the problem?”

  She wasn’t to be mollified. “Rose Selavy is the problem, you fucker.” She kicked me in the shin to emphasize her point.

  “Ouch. I don’t get you.”

  She leaned in, face like a hatchet ready to split me in half.

  “Leland Abbott is here, you asshole! And Gavin Kirk wants him to buy the whole show for his fucking museum! That’s what’s at stake. So you bringing this tart who looks like a ghost is sabotage!”

  Much as I hated to hurt Midge (although that’s what marriage is for, isn’t it?) I answered her anger with a laugh I summoned up from the depths. It was sulphurous. I roared. It was side-splitting.

  “Wait till that prick sees Jewel.”

  I think she might have hit me, but at that point Manfred and Lola joined us. I was glad to see my performance artist, and after we exchanged promissory spittle, I introduced her to Jewel. I waved at Manfred. Midge fell into his brawny arms.

  After some initial circling, Lola and Jewel recognized kindred souls and stood there basking in Boz’s attention. I looked around for Leland, but the crowd was so thick I couldn’t track every face that popped up to give Midge or Boz a dutiful greeting.

  He sneaked up on our little group. Midge saw him first.

  “Leland! What a nice surprise!” she lied. “And here’s Gavin!”

  The two men—the duke and his henchman—stood glowering at me while Midge dusted their hard asses with happy talk. Jewel had her back to them, talking with Boz. Leland was giving me a missiles-ready-to-launch look when she turned and smiled at him.

  “Oh, Rose!” he cried out in amazement. Tears came to his cold eyes, like ice dripping down a dark ravine. He’d loved her too.

  35

  MARIONETTES IN A DREAM

  IT WAS A tense situation. Midge took charge. She whispered in Boz’s ear, and he smiled that crocodile-anticipating-a-feast smile and motioned to an assistant who was video taping the opening. I turned my back on Leland and put my arms around Jewel, as if to hide her from him.

  “Who’s that?” she asked, peering around me at Leland.

  “The Prince of Darkness,” I told her. “An enemy.”

  “What about Boz?”

  “He’s a friend.”

  “I like him, too. He’s got my juices running down my legs.”

  I saw what had to be done to get her away from Leland.

  “Do you want him?”

  “Oh yeah, baby. Can I?”

  Midge came up to us with Lola at her side. It looked like Lola also wanted to play with Boz. I knew that carnivorous look she got around the mouth.

  Midge arranged for them to accompany Boz to her office. When she returned she went up to Leland and Gavin and spoke to them. Then she told me what was happening. It wiped the defiant smile off my face.

  “Boz is going to videotape having sex with the two girls. Leland wants to watch. So does Gavin. They’re both interested in your tart.”

  “Is there anything you’ll stop at, Midge?”

  “Climb off your high horse, Nicky. This is too important for me to blow it. Boz is a star, and I’m going to give him what he wants. If he wants to get laid in the middle of his opening, I’ll play procuress. Happily.”

  That was how I ended up in a small store room off Midge’s office with Midge and her clients, Leland and Gavin. I went, drawn like a willing victim to disaster.

  Midge sat on a sofa between her collectors, and I sat apart from them on a chair. We watched a small monitor come to life. There was Boz Skeffington removing his jacket and tie as he prepared to get to work on Jewel and Lola. They undressed quickly, like kids rushing to jump in the ocean. Lola kept on her garter belt and stockings. Jewel tugged at his zipper while he kissed her neck. What she pulled out of his trousers was a boa constrictor.

  I shot Midge a look. She knew firsthand that Boz was hung, but she’d never mentioned it.

  There was no sound. The dirty movie unwound silently, the four of us watching with different levels of interest. I felt distanced from what I saw because I knew Boz would market it one day. It was a commodity in the making. Midge watched because she wanted the sale. My enemies watched Jewel, who was already on her knees struggling gamely to fit her lips around the enormous head of Boz Skeffington’s wonder of nature. Meanwhile Lola was kissing him and allowing her breasts to be tortured by his big hands.

  Leland’s baritone broke the silence. “That’s not Rose.”

  “How do you know?” It was a mistake, I knew as soon as I said it. Never ask a question unless you’re prepared for an answer you don’t want.

  He snorted in response. “Because Rose Selavy was a better cocksucker than that ringer.”

  Sensing my reaction, Midge shot me a look that was paralyzing in its effect. It said, You move, and you and I are finished.

  On the monitor Boz was eating Jewel while Lola gave him deep throat. Jewel’s mouth was open, screaming, but we couldn’t hear her.

  “The whore is good, isn’t she, Gavin?” Leland commented. “What’s her name?”

  “That’s Lola. She is a performance artist,” Midge said.

  “Well, she does perform her little heart out. I’ve got a bone on, as a matter of fact.” He looked meaningfully at Midge, as if she might have the answer to his problem.

  Midge looked at me helplessly. I shrugged. It was her predicament. She’d gotten herself into it. I wondered how far she would go to make her deal with them.

  She shook her head. “That’s more information than I need, Leland.” I was proud of her. She had some scruples after all.

  “We’re talking about a six figure check, aren’t we, Gavin?”

  “The whole show,” Gavin agreed. “Why, your commission on that would be—well, you figure it, Midge.”

  I turned back to the monitor. Boz was plowing Jewel’s ass and she had the triumphant look on her face of lust conquering pain. Lola’s face was in his ass as he gave Jewel the good hard screwing she lived for. I felt distant from them. They were marionettes in a dream.

  I looked at Midge. She had Leland’s cock in one hand and Gavin’s in the other, jerking them off in unison. Were those tears in her eyes?

  “Everybody has their price, right, Leland?”

  “I’ve yet to meet anyone in the art world who doesn’t, Nick.”

  “What about Rose? What was her price to go with you?”

  “It was big. I bought up her father’s gambling debts, and took control of her grandfather’s estate. Two hundred paintings. She thought she could convince me to give them back. But I wouldn’t give them to her. Do you know why?”

  I didn’t want to know the answer, so I didn’t respond. I looked at the screen and saw Boz plunging indefatigably into Lola, while he lapped between Jewel’s widely spread thighs. I looked at Midge, whose hands pumped her collectors, and saw tears running
down her face.

  “I’m going to tell you why I wouldn’t give back those paintings. Hell, I don’t even like the old buzzard’s work! I wouldn’t give them to her because I knew one thing.”

  I had no choice but to ask. “What?”

  “Rose loved you, and not me.”

  36

  LOVE IS LOSS

  I PULLED THE shades in my mind, placed my heart in a match box, and crawled under the bed. When Jewel tried to put me back on my feet I just stood there staring slack-jawed at her.

  I felt old for the first time in my life. I did not shave or bathe. When I walked I shuffled. Jewel watched television and waited for me to come back, but Leland’s revelation about Rose had cut off any hope I had about life. Love is loss. Lesson after lesson unlearned: love is loss.

  Midge called. Max called. I listened to their messages and didn’t return the calls. I stopped eating. I was numb. At last Jewel confronted me.

  “You are pathetic, Nick.”

  “I don’t need pity.”

  “What you need is a bath. You really are a dirty old man now. I mean, how long has it been? You stink, baby. My snatch smells better after a gang bang. How long are you going to feel sorry for yourself?”

  “I did something I’m damned for, Jewel.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I thought Rose didn’t love me. That I was too old for her, and that’s why she went to Leland.”

  “The bitch was just taking care of business, like we all have to do.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Fuck you I don’t!”

  There were tears in her eyes. Then I got it. She thought she loved me. That I might love her. It was ridiculous. I laughed in her face. She looked stricken and began to cry.

  She threw herself down on the couch where I’d made love to Rose and painted her cunt. I sat down next to her and tried to explain while she sobbed.

  “Look, Jewel, I’m one of those people who might as well be from another planet for all the good I am to others. I was put here to make pictures, that’s all. That means I don’t have room for love in my life. Hell, I don’t even know what it is, except loss. The fact is, most of my life, if I thought it at all, I thought I expressed it in my work, or in sex.”