Читать книгу Angel of Death - Christian Russell - Страница 15

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Friday, October 30

As the taxi was taking them to Greenwich Village, Mark realized he had been thinking of this evening almost continuously for the past ten days. He told the driver to stop the car somewhere on 13th Street. He was wearing a large cloak and a top hat. A vampire mask had also been offered to him but he thought it beyond his dignity to wear it. The day before he had contacted a friend who owned a flower shop in Chinatown so now he was holding three splendid orchids, nicely wrapped, in his hand. They were the most beautiful flowers he had ever seen. At the bottom of the small plastic bucket was a box of fine chocolates.

The villa was built in Tudor style, not nearly as big as the senator’s residence but the architect had proved excellent taste. Although the sun hadn’t set in yet a lot of children in costumes were all over the street holding pumpkin lanterns in their hands. They were cheering, shouting and fighting over the candy. Mark rang the doorbell. A few seconds later the door opened and Dorothy appeared looking more beautiful and glamorous than ever. The man noticed her evening gown, plain but extremely elegant.

“Trick or treat?” he asked holding the flowers behind his back.

“Treat, of course,” she said cheerfully. “Come on in and I’ll fill your little bucket.”

She took him by the hand and led him in. They crossed the long hallway and entered a large luxurious living-room. The agent was carefully treading on the Buhara rug in which his shoes were almost sinking. Dorothy pulled him to her. They had a long kiss.

“I’ve brought you flowers and candy,” he said.

She saw the orchids and said excitedly. “Mark, they’re absolutely surreal! They must have cost you a fortune!” She took and unwrapped them, then looked around for a vase. She took an Etruscan vase from the table and put the flowers in gently. “Thank you, Mark. They are incredibly beautiful.”

“I thought so too when I saw them in the window. But they’re just weeds when compared to you.”

The actress looked at him in surprise. “You never cease to amaze me. Every time I see you I find out something new about you. The first time I admired your courage and skill. The second time, at the reception, I learned you were a great hockey player and you have a good sense of humor. Now I see you’ve got a poetic side as well.”

“Oh, no. I really can’t recite any Longfellow poems.”

“You don’t need to,” Dorothy said and led him to the long table in the center of the room which was laid for celebration. The plates, the silverware, the napkins, and the candlesticks were in perfect order.

“I’ve given the maid the day off and decided to take care of everything myself,” she boasted. “Including the lasagna.”

Mark noticed a dusty bottle of wine in the middle of the table. He picked it up to read the label. “Château D’Yquem—1944,” he murmured admiringly. “It’s only heads of state that get to drink something like this.”

Dorothy slapped her forehead, upset. “Damn! I forgot all about it. Uncle Henry dropped by and left it for me. Give it to me! I’ll put it in a glass case, we’ll take care of it some other time, OK?”

“Sure.”

They sat down next to each other at the table which was filled with appetizers.

“The lasagna’s in the oven,” the young woman announced. “Until it’s ready we can talk some more. With you in that Halloween costume and me in this evening gown I feel so self-conscious.”

“I’m dressed like this because just before coming here I did a little trick-or-treat with my kid, Tommy.”

“You have a little boy? How old is he?”

“Six. And he’s a great kid, good and smart. The apple of my eye. The only reason why my marriage didn’t end years ago.”

“Still, it’s coming to an end now,” she reminded him. “What’s changed?”

“I realized the boy can’t be a permanent witness to our fights. Sharing his affection seems a better solution.”

“Is your wife such a bitch?” the actress asked distrustfully.

He heaved a deep sigh. “She is now. She wasn’t like that in the beginning. She was a reporter with The New Yorker and came to interview me at the hospital. A couple of months later we were married. And I must admit, everything went fine the first year. Then, step by step, she began to show her pragmatism, her cold, strict nature.”

“Maybe that was only your impression! A woman doesn’t change like that overnight.”

Mark realized that she was challenging him. She probably wanted to know as many details as possible about his marriage, to get to know him better. He faked giving in to her and went on, “Look, like any other teenager I had my good-luck charm, a kind of porte-bonheur. Mine was a poster I had found in an old Paris Match issue, a scene from the ’Nam War. On the platform of an armored car were five wounded, half-naked marines. They had defended the Khe Sanh base in January ’68. To me that picture had a special meaning. Three weeks later in the course of the same attack initiated by the Viet Cong guerillas during the Tet holidays Uncle Paul’s bomber was shot down. His body was never found. He rotted in the Nam jungle somewhere. I wanted to keep my spiritual link with Uncle Paul through those men. They might have met him. They might have been friends. Three of the marines were lying on the platform. Another guy with his head and chest bandaged was sitting, holding the head of the fifth one on his knees. The boy with the bandaged head, bleeding, incredibly pale, found the strength to hold the other guys’ IV bags up. The pale young man who was staring into space with his big black eyes became the hero of my youth. Whenever I went through a rough time or felt overwhelmed by something, I drew near that poster and looked at him. I said to myself: What is your trouble, Mark, as compared to the suffering of this John Doe? And immediately, as if by some empathic transfer, I felt a wave of energy and optimism growing in me. I carried that poster everywhere I went: to high school, college, even Quantico. When I built my own house, that was the first thing I brought into my study. One day, a year or so after we got married, I saw Cathy looking carefully at that poster. She then wrote something in her notebook. I guess she wrote down their dog tags. A week later, while I was working in my study, I got the feeling something had changed. I looked at the poster and saw something written on it. Under each soldier there were names, dates and crosses. Thus I learned that the three men on the platform died on the same day, January 21st, 1968, at the central hospital in Da Nang. The one with his head on the knees of the IV guy made it to the States but died three weeks later, in Seattle. Below the pale guy was a name and a scribbling saying he was a ‘tunnel rat.’ The only one who had survived. He was now in a Navy mental institution, in Casper. The diagnosis and the room number were also cynically mentioned there. As a reporter my wife had done an excellent job. Can you imagine what she had done to me, Dorothy? She had taken my teenage hero down from his pedestal and mercilessly thrown him into a mental institution. My brave John Doe had become a schizo by the name of Clark Hunde. That’s how I started to hate her. I hated her cold, frozen heart.”

“You see, Mark, I was right when I said I keep learning new things about you. I never suspected you had a sentimental side as well.” She looked at him affectionately and kissed him on the lips softly. “Now I realize you are a combination of Rhett Butler and Ashley that every woman dreams of.”

Mark had just started smelling something, though. “Tell me, Dorrie, what are you burning for dinner?”

“Jesus, I forgot about the lasagna!” she said dashing to the kitchen.

Mark followed her. The woman opened the oven and took out a griddle with something black in it.

“Oh, my God, what did you use there, a firethrower?” he teased her.

“Maybe letting the maid go wasn’t such a good idea after all. Thank God I’ve got some noodles left. We’ll add the cheese and the ketch-up and this time we’ll be careful.”

Together they prepared the contents and decided to put it into the microwave oven this time. Safer that way. They returned to the living-room table. Dorothy lit the candles and took a few soda cans from the refrigerator.

“Tell me more,” she asked him. Despite Mark’s intention to divorce his wife, she couldn’t help thinking of Cathy as a rival.

“What else can I tell you? Things went on pretty much the same. Worse, that is. With every day gone by I discovered we were drifting apart. Actually, the only thing we had in common was the fact that neither of us could stand her aunt. We’d been staying at her place for half a year until our house was finished and that relative had annoyed us both just as much. She’s a real hag. I guess if she bit her own tongue she would get poisoned. And she’s always tried to organize our lives during her many visits to our house.”

“OK, but you and Cathy have lived as man and wife all these years, haven’t you?” Dorothy said turning the conversation to her favorite subject.

“If you mean the more intimate aspects of our marriage, all I can say is yes and no. We made love more and more seldom and it all turned into routine. Actually, in the past two years we’ve only had one simultaneous orgasm. It happened one day at the Bergdorf Goodman when her aunt slipped and broke her leg just a few feet away from us.”

The young woman burst into laughter looking at him as if he were some precious object.

“Listen, how about you telling me something about yourself? I think you too were married once.”

“That’s true,” she said growing sad. “The nightmare lasted for eight months and ended two years ago. But please.... I don’t want to remember that terrible episode. I felt like Jody Foster when Ronald Reagan was shot.”

Mark would have liked to know a few details. His policeman’s flair told him that was where the danger lay. He didn’t press her, though.

“Have you had any serious relationships in the past two years?”

“I went out with a CNN reporter a couple of times. But it wasn’t something serious. As a matter of fact, I only went out with him because my father insisted on it.”

All of a sudden the alarm of the microwave oven went off. Dorothy disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a big tray on which this time was a very appetizing lasagna. He was about to taste it when he saw her bringing her palms together, saying her prayer. He did the same.

“You’re not a very religious person, are you?” she said. “With us it’s a family tradition. We pray before each meal. It’s been like that ever since I was a child.”

“I must admit I tend to forget that sometimes. Probably because we didn’t pray very often before meals when I was a child. Actually, we only did that when we had the mushrooms that Louise, my youngest sister, had picked up. Can I taste it now?”

Dorothy nodded.

“But this is great,” he exclaimed earnestly. “Let me congratulate you on your cooking skills.”

“You see,” she boasted, “it’s all in the spices. And especially in the amount of anchovy.”

When they finished eating they turned to face each other. The woman noticed that he had only taken off his raincoat, leaving his jacket on.

“Aren’t you hot?” she asked him. “Why don’t you take off your jacket?”

He complied and put it carefully on the back of his chair. Dorothy looked at the leather holster with the gun in it.

“Do you have to wear that all the time?”

“Not really, but after that incident at the Majestic I thought I should take it with me.”

“Take it off, will you? It gives me the creeps. And don’t tell me the gun is loaded.”

“Of course it is, I’ve just filled it with water,” he joked taking the holster off and putting it on a cabinet.

It was dark outside and the actress pulled down the blinders. Then she went up to him. Mark hugged her tight, touched her forehead with his, and searched for her lips. A long passionate kiss followed. She pulled him into the bedroom. Mark went along but was in two minds about what was going to happen. He recalled his father’s advice: “Son, don’t start anything you can’t finish!” And that woman was so tempting.... He knew the only way out was going right through it.

Now they were next to the bed. Dorothy started unbuttoning his shirt.

“I’m not sure this is the right thing to do,” he tried to resist temptation.

“The pleasures of life are so few, Mark. And they’re either illegal or immoral, fattening, or intoxicating. I’d rather we took the chance, though I’m not so sure I still know how to do it.”

They kissed hungrily, sniffing each other like in an esoteric ritual. They undressed each other without stopping kissing. Half-naked, they hugged each other again then started pulling the rest of their clothes off, almost tearing them, throwing them on the floor, treading on them. Their sighs were the signs of the painful desire which overwhelmed them, of their impatience to let their passion flow. They got out of their clothes almost at the same time and merged into one single burning body. They had forgotten all about time for time itself had dissolved into their passion. They had temporarily forgotten they belonged to the Homo sapiens species. They were two horny young animals bustling with energy. The frightened deer from two weeks before had turned into a fiery lioness, like an erupting volcano. Her ardor defied death that had been looming over her. Her orgasm cries and moans spelled out her joy of life. They came at the same time in perfect harmony, the way their entire coupling had been. Mark saw their steaming naked bodies reflected in a mirror on the wall. Sweat drops shone on their skin like a genuine concentrate of ecstasy and passion. He admired her perfect body, feeding once again on her beauty. He almost grew ashamed by this voyeuristic side of his and turned to face her.

Dorothy had opened her eyes and was looking at him curiously as if she had just met him. She had realized that tough appearance, his hard character, even his cool attitude...well, all that was just a shell. Her role was to protect this warm-hearted, passionate sentimental against loneliness and everyday dramas. She smiled.

“You’ve been here for almost three hours. What took you so long?”

“I didn’t want to look impatient.”

“You are an exception. Usually men want to have sex right away if not sooner. Anyway, your patience has paid off well. You were great, Mark! You’re very good at it!”

Mark blushed, his male ego flattered. “Do you really think so? It’s probably due to my long practice as a teenager. My folks were poor and I never had enough pocket money so the only entertainment I could afford was sex.”

She kissed him on the cheek and went to the bathroom. Mark heard the shower for some time then saw her crossing the room to the kitchen dressed in a bathrobe. He stayed in bed, musing. He felt like Adam after eating the apple from the Tree of Knowledge: half guilty, half enraptured by the flavor. He knew enough of religion to realize he had just broken the seventh commandment. And like Adam, he was afraid of being driven out of Paradise. But his fears vanished when Dorothy returned carrying a tray with two steaming cups.

“Fresh coffee,” she announced putting the tray on the bed.

While he was enjoying it, the woman started rubbing his shoulders skillfully. “Have you ever cheated on your wife before?” she asked him.

“Just once. While she was checking her makeup in the mirror I ate some of her ice cream.”

“No, really, Mark, did you have many love affairs?”

“I wasn’t exactly a saint, if that’s what you mean. I have extenuating circumstances for the time when I was drinking. They didn’t last too much, anyway.”

“Were there many of them?” Dorothy insisted.

He enjoyed neither the subject nor her insistence. “Do you want to know about those I can still remember or do I have to show you the DVDs I put them on?” he asked after a while.

The woman realized her mistake and kept massaging him silently. Mark was amazed to notice that her hands were so skillful and the effect so invigorating. “Hey, you’re really good at this!”

“Of course, massaging’s one of my hobbies. Listen, Mark, I can’t stand knowing you live in a hotel room. How about moving in with me? There’s plenty of space here for the both of us.”

“You seem to forget I haven’t solved my family problems yet.”

“My lawyer can help you with that. He’s got a lot of influence and can speed things up.”

Mark gave her an affectionate look. “Suppose I moved in. How could that change things for us?”

“We’d get used to each other. We’d get to know each other better and, why not, when the time is right, we could even make it official.”

All of a sudden his eyes grew sad. “You’re planning ahead, Dorrie. I wish that were possible. But there’re so many obstacles between us.... The Whellers came to America on the Mayflower. They’re politicians, actors, and bankers. They drive around in Rolls Royces. My family only came here a hundred years ago, fighting rats for air in the ship’s hold. Its members are farmers and salesmen and they drive twenty-year-old Fords. More than that, they still speak with that special Garrone r.”

“Bullshit, Mark, you’re suffering from the little-girl-with-the-matches syndrome,” she replied to something he had upset her with when they first met. “Let me tell you something: in love it’s the soul that matters and not the money or the social status. Do you really think money is everything?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had enough to know. Anyway, about my moving in, the answer is no. At least for now.”

The woman had scanned him with her eyes and was sure of what she had seen in him. This man, whom she could now call “her man,” was a kind-hearted giant with the innocence of someone who always stood up for the children, the lame and the old. The kind of man you’d like for a neighbor. Only his French ancestors had equally mixed in his genes honesty and stubbornness.

She didn’t press him any more but took his head in her hands and caressed his face, his hair. He abandoned himself to her. Unwillingly his mind compared his lashing Cathy to this warm, sensitive being. In his turn he ran his fingers through her beautiful hair. “Thank you, Dorrie, you made me feel wanted again.”

“I could make you feel a lot more,” she said with a promising smile, uncovering him.

“Jesus,” he shivered, “there should be laws against you!”

Then their bodies merged again and in his brain there was no more room for anything else.

A little later, while they were lying side by side, Dorothy lit herself a cigarette. “Tuesday and Wednesday are free for me,” she said. “Wouldn’t you like to get away from this asphalt jungle and go some place in the mountains?”

“Sure. I even know a cabin on Mount Mitchell, near Knoxville. I’m sure you’d like it there.”

“It’s all set then! On Tuesday we’re leaving for Knoxville!” She tried to fix his ruffled hair and discovered a scar. “What’s this: a token for good behavior?”

“More like a warning. I got this when I was eight. I was in the roller coaster with Grace, a little girl from the neighborhood. She got scared and hit me with a juice bottle. That was when I first learned women can be dangerous.”

They got up and Dorothy tried to make the sheets look a little bit as before. While putting the pillows away she asked him one more question. “And when did you last learn it?”

“I’ll probably last learn it...at dawn. I’m going to use some of that hot water now,” Mark decided, heading for the bathroom.

When he got out of the shower fifteen minutes later, with her bathrobe around his shoulders, he saw her lying in bed. The actress whistled admiringly. “I know this might come as a shock to you but I must tell you you’ve got a great butt there.”

“Does that mean your bathrobe looks good on me?”

“It looks good on me. On you it looks altogether sexy. Here’s what: I’ll give it to you if you move in with me.”

He took the cup of coffee from the night table and sat down next to her. “Thank you, but I’m not going to trade my latest freedom for a bathrobe: the freedom of getting out of bed on either side in the morning.”

The woman didn’t say anything. The man finished his coffee quietly. He looked at the actress. She was leaning against her pillow, thinking. Mark thought she looked sad. Had she resented his second refusal for that evening?

“Dorrie, did I upset you?” he asked.

“So much that I don’t want to see you any more,” she answered smiling languidly and turned off the light.