The Need

by Andrew Neiderman

  “It might be,” I confessed. “But Richard forgets that men are also at a disadvantage when confronting beautiful women. Sex blinds them, makes them incapable of seeing reality.”

  “So from what you’re saying, I should conclude that no one, male or female, sees the truth and understands who or what this person really is?”

  “When it comes to an attractive member of the opposite sex, no. Unless of course, he or she wants to be forthcoming.”

  He smiled as if I were now confirming something he had believed and tried to convince me of all along. I turned back to the diary.

  “‘How come we haven’t seen you before?’ Ophelia asked me, stepping forward to dislodge herself from her admirers. They remained behind as if they understood that’s where they were supposed to be. I must say I was amused by the hold she had over them.

  “‘It’s not easy for me to get away,’ I replied. She turned a smile on me the way someone would turn a flashlight on a dark corner and searched my face for sincerity.

  “‘Get away from what? Are you a convict?’ she asked and checked to see if her disciples were still fastened to her every gesture, every word. Of course, they were and they laughed in chorus along with her.

  “‘I am a prisoner of sorts,’ I replied. ‘A prisoner of the theater.’ I said it as if I were under some burden since birth, weighted down by the responsibilities and pressures.

  “‘Oh?’ Her ridicule ended abruptly, as if I had uttered the magic words. I saw the sardonic expression in her face dwindle and then change to a more serious and even-tempered one. ‘What do you mean by that?’ she asked, stepping farther away from her tribe of admirers. I could see the disappointment in their faces as we moved beyond their hearing.

  “‘I’m an actor,’ I declared in a tone of conclusion as if I expected she would understand what that meant, the burdens it implied. Her face brightened.

  “‘Really? So am I.’

  “‘Then you understand,’ I said. By now we were fencing with our eyes—her gaze moving down my body in a single swipe, I countering with a slow slash across her breasts and then cutting to her hips. We both brought our eyes up so our visual duel would come to an end. Our gazes locked. I smiled and she made an obscene little gesture with the tip of her tongue that I must confess titillated me.”

  “It sounds like he really appreciated her,” my detective remarked.

  “I never said she wasn’t a very attractive girl. Richard’s always been a connoisseur when it comes to women. That’s only to be expected,” I snapped.

  “And you? Is it to be expected that you are a connoisseur of men?”

  “Of course.”

  “Should I be flattered then?” He smiled with such smugness.

  “Didn’t you hear what Richard said at the start of this section: Flattery is the poison with which assassins weaken their victims and get them to become careless and unprotected.”

  “Ooooo,” he said with mock fear. He embraced his naked torso. “Am I unprotected?”

  “Of course you are … when it comes to the Androgyne,” I replied, my eyes as cold and dead as glass eyes on a mannequin. His smirk weakened. I returned to the diary.

  “‘Where are you an actor?’ she asked.

  “‘I’m with a road company. That’s why I haven’t been around before,’ I told her. Her eyes widened with appreciation. ‘We call ourselves the Traveling Thespians of Stratford, even though no one is from Stratford,’ I added with a smile. ‘We perform Shakespeare obviously.’

  “‘Obviously,’ she said.

  “‘Right now, we are preparing a new version of Romeo and Juliet. I play Romeo. I had a few days off and thought I would come to see Clea, a surprise visit. I guess I should have phoned first to be sure she was here, but I wanted to surprise her. Have you seen her?’

  “‘Not in the last few hours. Actually,’ she said giving it real thought, ‘I haven’t seen her since yesterday.’

  “‘You say you are an actress? Are you active in the college theater?’

  “‘Yes. Of course,’ she added and brushed her hair back over her shoulder with a graceful sweep of her hand, exposing more of her soft white neck, which I must admit was as tempting to me as it would have been had I been a vampire. I quickly envisioned my lips pressed to that silky surface, luxuriating in the sweet scent of her body and the delicious taste I expected to find on her awaiting lips.

  “I think Clea sensed how much I was stirred because I felt an ache deep within me, a rumbling that manifested itself in a feline growl or catlike hiss that reverberated down the corridors of my heart and echoed maddeningly in my ears. I actually grimaced.

  “‘Are you all right?’ Ophelia asked.

  “‘Yes, I was just feeling disappointed. I had hoped to find Clea so she could help me with my part, you see. I wanted her to read some Juliet to my Romeo. She’s a very fine, perceptive young actress and when you rehearse with someone who has definite talent, it brings out the best in you. Being an actress yourself, I’m sure you would understand.’

  “‘Of course I do,’ she said looking annoyed that there was even the slightest doubt.

  “I smiled warmly and took her arm to lead her farther away from our small audience.

  “‘My name is Thomas,’ I said.

  “‘I’m Ophelia Dell,’ she replied, not without that arrogance Clea despised.

  “‘What a wonderful name,’ I declared. ‘Ophelia, have you ever worked with professional actors before?’ I asked quickly, as if the idea had just occurred.

  “‘Yes. Often. My parents are professional actors.’

  “‘I should have known,’ I said setting my trap of flattery. ‘You’ve obviously inherited some of their talent, and you have a certain presence, a statuesque demeanor that suggests professional training. When I first walked into this lobby, I was immediately drawn to you. You’re like a diamond surrounded by pieces of ordinary glass.’

  “Her eyes brightened. I sensed her lowering herself into my warm pool of adulation, submerging herself in my praise.

  “‘People who have real talent stand out. Their talent gives them a certain glow, a light ordinary people don’t have, don’t you think?’

  “‘Of course.’

  “‘Have you ever been in a production of Romeo and Juliet?’ I inquired.

  “‘In high school, but the director was an English teacher who had little or no background in theater.’

  “‘He didn’t cast you as Juliet?’ I asked, wide-eyed with amazement.

  “‘No, and the one he did cast as Juliet was terrible. It took her ages to memorize her part. I was always feeding her lines in rehearsal and showing her how to recite them, but do you think the director noticed the differences between us, my superiority? No.’

  “‘It takes people who have been around talented people to recognize them sometimes. When you are surrounded by mediocrity, you become mediocre.’

  “‘Exactly,’ she said.

  “‘I know this is rather presumptuous of me to ask, but since you are tantamount to a professional actress and you are so familiar with Romeo and Juliet, do you think I could convince you to rehearse some of it with me? I’d be more than happy to take you out to dinner as a token of my appreciation.

  “‘I don’t mean to tear you away from anything important here,’ I added quickly.

  “‘There is nothing important going on here,’ she replied with a disdainful glance at the girls watching television. ‘Where would we rehearse?’

  “‘Well, I’ve taken a room at the Courtyard, a pleasant little motel just outside of town and…’

  “‘Yes, I know where it is.’ She looked back at her girlfriends who were still looking our way with interest. Then she turned to me and smiled. ‘Just give me a moment to change out of this.’

  “She was wearing a plain gray sweatshirt and a pair of jeans with a pair of pink tennis sneakers and no socks.

  “‘Oh, but you look perfect. It’s the ideal outfit for rehearsal.
I can bring you back to change for dinner. Maybe Clea will have returned by then and I can say hello before we go out.’

  “I saw that the prospect of that pleased her. After all, she had stolen Clea’s boyfriend away and she would bask in the pleasure that brought.

  “‘Aren’t you afraid she will be upset about you taking out another girl?’

  “I shrugged. ‘We go out but we are not obligated to each other. Children of the theater can’t afford to tie themselves down like ordinary people do,’ I added. ‘Don’t you agree?’

  “I turned my most charming smile on her, making my eyes a bit impish.

  “‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do agree.’

  “‘Then you will go?’

  “She thought for a moment, looked back at her envious and curious girlfriends and nodded.

  “‘Okay,’ she said and we left.

  “She didn’t tell anyone where she was going. I asked her if she had to. She replied it was no one’s business: a perfect example of arrogance.

  “I drove her to the Courtyard, asking a stream of questions about her so our conversation would be concentrated solely on her. She told me about herself and Mark Bini. Of course, her version of the story was quite different and centered around her. Egotistical people like nothing better than talking about themselves. At the end of an evening’s conversation, they will always tell you how much they enjoyed being with you, when in fact they haven’t been with you—they’ve been only with themselves through you. It’s as if they have gone out with a mirror and an echo.

  “I had chosen the Courtyard Motel because of its secluded location on a rustic road branching off the main highway. The proprietors, an elderly couple, lived behind the office. I had checked in late the evening before, dressed in a jacket and tie. Today I wore a plaid flannel shirt, tight jeans and sneakers.

  “The Courtyard consisted of rooms in a semicircular configuration with the exterior a freshly painted light blue. All the rooms had milk-white shutters and were clean, quaint and comfortable. Behind the motel was a thick wooded area. It was indeed a motel that offered a weary traveler a quiet, restful spot. My room was about midway between the office and the last unit. Only two other rooms were being rented at the time, but when we drove up, only one party was present, their car parked in front of their room.

  “It was already late in the afternoon, the sun sinking behind some mountains and thin shadows beginning to emerge from corners and out from under overhangs. Even the trees began to take on ominous shapes, but if Ophelia felt any nervousness coming to a motel with a relative stranger, she didn’t show it. I think she harbored some romantic belief that actors and actresses, anyone connected with the theater, were part of one great family … sort of like circus people. We couldn’t be strangers and certainly had nothing to fear from each other.

  “Smiling, I opened the door to my room and showed her in. The room had two twin beds, a television set, two dressers with a wall mirror above one, and a small table and two chairs. Awaiting on the table like cheese in a mousetrap was an opened copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ophelia was drawn directly to it once her eyes had set on it. She read a few lines and closed her eyes and drew back her head as if she were savoring the sounds and digesting the poetry.

  “What a ham, I thought. I could almost feel Clea cringe within me. But suddenly, she turned to me, her eyes fixed on me strangely. She sighed deeply and recited, projecting her voice as if she were on a stage.

  “‘…O gentle Romeo, if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: or if thou think’st I am too quickly won, I’ll frown and be perverse and say thee nay so thou wilt woo; but else not for the world.’

  “‘That is very, very good,’ I said. ‘To walk in cold like that and pick up those words as though you had been rehearsing for hours and hours, as if you were on the stage and right in the middle of a performance … simply wonderful.’ I shook my head in admiration. I held my smile tightly because underneath it was Clea’s disdainful smirk trying to emerge, but it was my words and smile that were needed.

  “Ophelia’s face glowed. I had fed her ego as one would feed a fire, and she had quickly consumed my words and become bright, hot, burning with excitement.

  “Fortunately, I had memorized a piece and she had read from that opened page. I fell into Romeo’s posture and demeanor and reached out for her hands.

  “‘Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear that tips with silver all the fruit-tree tops—’

  “‘Oh swear not by the moon,’ she cried, ‘the inconstant moon…’

  “Clea slipped a laugh past me, nearly ruining everything.

  “‘What’s so funny?’ Ophelia demanded, pulling herself up haughtily.

  “‘I can’t believe how lucky I am to have stumbled on you in that dorm.’

  “‘Oh.’ She smiled. ‘Am I better than Clea?’

  “I felt a tightening in my stomach, but I was here to seduce this girl, was I not?

  “‘Far better. Clea is good, yes, but you … you are that one in a million. They are very lucky to have you back at that college.’

  “‘And yet Clea won the part of Desdemona over me,’ she complained.

  “‘Who’s the fool who cast it?’

  “‘The director, but how do you think she got the part?’ she said.

  “‘Oh?’

  “‘Your girlfriend is not very faithful. In fact, she’s a slut.’

  “‘I was afraid of that. It’s one of the reasons I came here,’ I said.

  “‘Well now you know not to waste any more time on her,’ she said gleefully.

  “‘That’s for certain.’

  “I approached her and reached down to turn the pages of the play script to arrive at that moment early in the play when Romeo and Juliet first meet and kiss.

  “‘I’d like to try this with you,’ I said. She gazed at the pages.

  “‘Fine.’ She turned to me, willing, ready, eager to prove how good she was.

  “‘If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.’ I’m not half bad, I thought.

  “She glanced at the book and then turned into me. We were so close the tips of her perky breasts grazed my chest.

  “‘Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.’

  “I skipped right to it, but she didn’t mind or really didn’t know the difference.

  “‘…thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.’

  “I kissed her, drawing her to me so tightly, she was nearly off her feet. Never had I pressed my lips so firmly and demanded more from a single kiss than this. My tongue latched to hers the way it would had I pressed it up against a freezing windowpane. She gasped and began to push against my shoulders, but she was already losing her balance. I saw the way her eyes went back. She was dizzy, overwhelmed. When I pulled my lips from hers, she gasped.

  “I brought my lips to her neck and sucked softly as I lifted her in my arms and placed her gently on the bed. She looked up at me startled by her own apparent paralysis. My kiss had reached deeply into her, drawing energy from her spine and stunning her as if I had shot a tranquilizer into her or sent a jolt of electricity through her body. She couldn’t lift a finger; she could barely blink an eye. She stared up at me, helpless, confused, but oh, how sweet and beautiful she looked. I nearly lingered too long, giving her time to recuperate. It was Clea, however, deep inside me, chastising me and demanding action that made me move on.

  “‘Oh, Juliet,’ I said, now mocking her, ‘let’s skip all the bullshit and get right to it, shall we not?’

  “Despite her paralysis, she expressed shock and surprise. I saw the struggle in her eyes, the great effort to move her limbs, so she could get up and run out, but all she could do was look up at me, terrified.

  “Her expression of te
rror did more to excite me. Her fear made my heart beat faster. I felt a rush. I was zooming down the steepest decline of a roller coaster, finding it hard to catch my breath myself. I closed my eyes and savored the sweet moment and then I lifted the sweatshirt off her. Her arms were like two disconnected limbs, just wobbling about as I pulled the shirt up and over her head. No longer supported by the effort, those arms fell beside her on the bed.

  “She wasn’t wearing a bra, but her full, milky white breasts were so firm, they barely spilled over the sides of her chest, and each nipple, a dark carrot shade, was turned sharply upward. On her left breast, she had a small birthmark just below the aureole. I touched it with the tip of my finger. She tried to look down to see what I was doing, but she couldn’t see below her bosom.

  “Her effort to scream and protest caused a slight quiver in her lips. There was a rippling effect down the sides of her jaw. I leaned over and kissed her softly on the mouth to lift that trembling from her. It was exquisite. How I relished the tiny, electric flutter as it traveled through my own lips and down the lines of my own jaw. Her eyes were as wide as they could be, her pupils bright. I brought my tongue to those eyes, forcing her to close her lids as I traced the eyeballs with the tip of my tongue. As I did so, I closed my own eyes and on the insides of my lids I saw what she saw.

  “I expected to see a look of ecstasy in my face, but instead, I saw Clea gazing down at her with an expression of sadistic joy, and I realized that she was participating in this more than she had ever participated in anything I had done before. It was Clea who was driving me to toy with Ophelia; it was Clea who had turned my fingers and my lips into tiny knives, making my caresses painful and my kisses agonizing.

  “I opened my eyes and sat back. For a moment Ophelia looked hopeful, but I shattered that optimism instantly when I unfastened her jeans and pulled them down her legs. I stopped at her ankles and ran my forefingers down the center of her stomach and over her bikini panties, hooking them at the crotch and tugging them off by lifting her lower body. Then I untied her sneakers and stripped her completely.