Carrion

by Gary Brandner

  “Good shit,” he agreed.

  “I told you.”

  They drank some wine and smoked the rest of the joint. Ivy asked some more questions, and Fain gave whatever wild answer popped into his head. They got hungry, and he brought out some gouda cheese and Ritz crackers and more wine. He put on a Randy Newman album, and they both marveled at the insights of the ragged lyrics.

  After a while Ivy said, “Are we going to go to bed or what?”

  “Right,” he said. “Bed. Good idea.” He rose from the couch, swaying slightly, and led her by the hand into the bedroom. They undressed each other, and Fain marveled at the way the girl was constructed of a series of globes varying in size but all with a nice resilient texture.

  In bed, flesh on flesh, he thought briefly about Jillian. She was firm and supple and lean. Ivy’s body was very different — rounder, bouncier, more generous. In a few years she would probably be fat, but right now all the globes stayed nicely in place. So much for Jillian Pappas. She could go ahead and spend the evening reading her fag playwright’s latest piece of crap. Other people had things to do, too.

  “Tell me what you like,” Ivy said. She was looking down at him, her arms braced on either side of his head. The Minnesota Twins hovered above him, bobbling like gelatinous moons. “What do you want me to do?”

  He licked at one big pink nipple.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said, and damn near smothered him with the things.

  • • •

  Fain awoke Monday morning alone in the bed. He vaguely remembered Ivy getting up and leaving sometime during the night. The sheets were gummy from their lovemaking, and his mouth was dry from the Thai stick, but overall he felt great. It was time, he decided, to call Elliot Kruger and talk about collecting his fee.

  Chapter 10

  Elliot Kruger was genuinely surprised when McAllister Fain did not try to raise the price they had agreed upon. Considering the results, Kruger was prepared to pay several times the agreed-upon thirty thousand dollars. But as a businessman he was not about to argue when Fain seemed satisfied with the original terms. The Kruger fortune was not built by giving money away.

  It was not, he reminded himself, that he was in any way cheating the young man. Thirty thousand dollars was nobody’s pocket change. And to a man in McAllister Fain’s position it probably looked like a good deal of money. These things were all relative.

  And Fain would never have to know that Kruger had been prepared to pay, if necessary, up to a million dollars. Hell, make that two million. No price could be put on what Fain had accomplished. It was not Kruger’s fault if the young man did not know his true value.

  Richard was already stalling, looking for loopholes in the final payment of ten thousand dollars, but Kruger would not stand for that. He had told his son not to fool around with the figures, but he could not expect Richard to change the habits of a lifetime. Richard was not Gil — dashing, handsome … and dead at twenty-three — but he was damn good at what he did. He could be a pain in the ass, but he guarded the Kruger money with the zeal of a pit bull protecting its supper. Richard had taken a dislike to Fain, and hated to see any of the Kruger money go to him, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  Of greater concern to Elliot Kruger was his son’s continuing hostility toward Leanne. It had been a sore point between them ever since Kruger announced his intention to marry the young woman. Richard sulked at the time, but Kruger was sure he would get over it. However, in the last few days, since Leanne’s — return was the only word Kruger was comfortable with — Richard had turned grim and silent. An irritating crack in the surface of Kruger’s newfound happiness.

  Kruger had spent little time pondering the how of his wife’s return. She had been restored to him whole and alive, and that was all that mattered. Magic, a miracle, suspended animation — he did not care and refused to think about it.

  Now, after three full days of having her back, he was still a little afraid to believe it. He paced nervously in the billiard room, bouncing the balls idly off the green felt cushions, and waited for Leanne to come out of the adjoining bathroom. He hated to allow her out of his sight even for a minute. He had a nagging, irrational fear that the miracle that had given her back to him might be somehow reversed by a higher authority and she would be snatched away again.

  He heard the bathroom door open, and in a moment Leanne came in. Kruger felt the tension ease as he rose and crossed the room to meet her.

  Leanne was wearing a flowered-print jumpsuit with a skimpy halter top. The roundness of her breasts bulged nicely at the sides of the halter. She smiled as she walked toward him.

  Kruger took her into his arms and held her tightly.

  “Boy,” she said, “what a welcome.”

  He said, “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let you walk into a room again without holding you.”

  She said, “Can I have that in writing?”

  “In blood if you want.”

  “How gallant.”

  With his arms still holding her, Kruger leaned back and looked down at his wife. The pink tip of her tongue ran over her lips. He drank in the look of her, the smell of her. Scented soap, shampoo, minty mouthwash, a touch of musky perfume. Leanne had always been fastidious about her person, but even more so since her return. It was as though she were trying to wash away the months she spent sealed in the icy cylinder.

  “Ready for lunch?” he said. “Wendell has whipped up something special. A soufflé of some kind.”

  Her eyes clouded for a moment. “I’m sorry, darling. I’m still not very hungry.”

  “Well, that’s all right. Soufflés are really not his best dish. Is there something else you’d like?”

  “I really don’t feel like eating,” she said. “But I do hate to disappoint Wendell.”

  “Don’t worry about him. You just decide what you want when you feel up to it.”

  She leaned against him, letting him feel her body. “You spoil me, Elliot.”

  “That’s my pleasure,” he said.

  His hands slid down over the dip of her back to the firm rounds of her buttocks. Leanne moved under his hands. She slipped a long leg in between his and worked it against his groin.

  Kruger felt his erection growing. Leanne’s restored sexuality had come as a bonus. He had been prepared to wait as long as it took for her to feel like having sex again. Just having her back was reward enough.

  Then, to his surprise, she was immediately eager and hungry for his body. The first night, when all the others had finally gone, she had insisted he come into bed with her. When he had held back, trying to be gentle, she had dug her nails into his flesh and pulled him forcefully into her. Her passion made him forget all about restraint, and their reunion was a thing of violence and explosive orgasm.

  When he was thoroughly drained, Leanne lay curled beside him. Her body was damp and feverish, her breath shallow. Alarmed, Kruger had tried to get up and call for the doctor, but Leanne had held him there with her.

  “Honestly, darling,” she said, “I never felt better in my life.”

  Reluctantly, he stayed beside her. In time, her temperature returned to normal, and she slept.

  Over the next three days, while she had little interest in food, Leanne’s sexual appetite had shown no signs of abating. Always a vigorous man, proud of his virility, Kruger found it difficult to keep up with her. This, too, he assumed, was somehow connected to her months of deprivation. It was certainly not something he was going to worry about.

  Someone in the doorway of the billiard room coughed politely, and Kruger stepped away from his wife, feeling foolishly embarrassed.

  “E’scuse me,” Rosalia said. She held out a silk jacket toward Leanne. “You better wear this. You don’t want to catch cold.”

  “Really,” Leanne said, “you people have got to stop treating me like an invalid. I don’t feel a bit different than I did before.”

  Rosalia gave her a reproving look. Lean
ne smiled and took the jacket from her. “But I must admit it is nice to be fussed over. Thank you, Rosalia. If you think I ought to wear the jacket, I’ll wear it.”

  The maid nodded, satisfied. To Kruger she said, “Wendell, he want to know if you will eat lunch here or in the dining room.”

  Kruger glanced at his wife. “Tell him we won’t — ”

  Leanne took his hand. “I think maybe I could eat something, after all, darling.”

  “Wonderful,” he said. “Do you have a preference as to where it’s served?”

  “Could we have it out on the patio? It looks like such a nice day.”

  “Of course. Please see to it, Rosalia.”

  “Yes, sir,” the maid said, and hurried off.

  Kruger said, “I’m so glad you’re going to eat something. I know you say you’re feeling fine, and you look marvelous, but you do need to eat.”

  “You’ll fatten me up yet, won’t you.”

  “That will be the day,” he said.

  The weather, even in early March, was perfect for lunching on the patio. The temperature was in the mid-seventies, and a soft breeze from the ocean was nudging cotton-ball clouds across the sky. Elliot Kruger and Leanne sat in white metal chairs at the round table while Rosalia served them.

  The soufflé was a feathery-light concoction of eggs, cream, and fresh bay shrimp delicately flavored with herbs from the garden. Kruger began to eat heartily, but his gusto waned when he saw that Leanne merely moved the food around on her plate, taking only a few tiny bites.

  Feeling his eyes on her, Leanne looked up and smiled. “It’s really delicious,” she said. “I must remember to tell Wendell myself.”

  Kruger tried to keep his tone casual as he answered. “You know, I’ve been thinking. It wouldn’t hurt for you to have a checkup. No big thing, just a general once-over.”

  “But I feel marvelous,” she said.

  “I know, darling, and you look even better,” said Kruger. “All the same, you have been through a unique experience, and we have no way of knowing what the effects might be.”

  Leanne looked away. “I’ve never liked doctors much.”

  “I can’t blame you for that,” he said, “but it would make me feel easier.”

  “Not Dr. Auerbach,” she said.

  “Don’t worry. Auerbach’s through as far as I’m concerned.”

  “I’m glad. I heard him say some things the other night that were really cruel,” Leanne said. “Called me ‘unnatural.’”

  “He’s an old fool. No, I’d like Dr. Maylon to do the exam. Is he all right with you?”

  “The cute one with a round face who smokes the pipe?”

  “I don’t know as I’d call him ‘cute.’ He’s the young man who came Friday night after I ran Auerbach off.”

  “I guess he’ll do,” Leanne said, “if we have to have a doctor.”

  “He’s young, but he comes well recommended,” Kruger said. “And I liked the way he handled himself the other night. Did what he was supposed to and asked no questions.”

  “All right, darling, if it’s really important to you.”

  Kruger watched her push the food around on her plate some more and fake a bite. He said, “It would make me happy.”

  Leanne leaned toward him across the table, and Kruger kissed her on the mouth. She tasted of minty mouthwash and only faintly of shrimp.

  A sudden sharp barking came to them from somewhere beyond a laurel hedge that enclosed the patio. Rosalia, who had been hovering within call of her mistress, started at the sound. Kruger shot her a stern look.

  “What’s that?” Leanne said.

  Kruger answered awkwardly. “We, uh, felt that until things were more stable around here and we all got used to one another again, it might be better to keep Pepe away from the house. So I, uh, had a pen built for him over by the tennis court.”

  “Oh.” Leanne sipped at her wine and gave him a distracted smile. She looked down at the plate on which the food was barely touched. “I’ve made a pig of myself. I’d better stop before I burst.”

  Kruger studied his wife curiously. The little poodle had been her one indulgence. She treated it like a child. Since the unfortunate bedside scene with the dog Friday night, Leanne had not mentioned it. Kruger had expected an unpleasant scene when she learned that the little dog had been banished from the house. Her apparent indifference puzzled him. Did it mean, he wondered, that she had her emotions under control, or was it something else?

  “It’s getting a little cold out here,” she said. “Shall we go in?”

  “Yes, of course.” Kruger rose quickly and offered his hand.

  Leanne shook her head. “Please, dear, stop treating me like a sick person. I can get out of a chair without help.”

  He moved back then and waited for her to join him.

  “See?” she said, and linked her arm through his. They walked together into the house.

  Richard was waiting for them inside, holding a briefcase stuffed with papers. He gave Leanne a chilly look and spoke to his father.

  “Will you be able to get to some of these documents today? Contracts, proposals, urgent reports. They’ve been piling up.”

  “Can’t you handle them?” Kruger said, massaging his wife’s arm.

  “There are things that need your signature. And some questions that only you can answer.”

  Leanne patted his hand. “Darling, go do your work. I’ll be all right left alone for a few hours. Really, I’m not going to disappear.”

  Kruger hesitated, then said, “I’ll make it as quick as I can. If you need me for anything, we’ll be in the upstairs office.”

  “Fine. And stop worrying.”

  “I’m going to call Dr. Maylon. Get him over here today.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Kruger turned to his son. “Just give me a minute on the phone and I’ll meet you upstairs.”

  He kissed Leanne lightly on the cheek and left them alone. As Richard turned and started toward the stairs, Leanne touched his arm. He turned and looked at her curiously.

  “How’s your wife, Richard. Sara, isn’t it?”

  “Sara’s … fine,” he said hesitantly.

  “She doesn’t come around.”

  “Well, she’s busy with her own things. Charities, volunteer work at Mt. Sinai.”

  “I thought maybe it was that she didn’t like me. You don’t like me, do you, Richard?”

  “I try not to make judgments.”

  “I wish we could be better friends,” she said, her voice growing husky.

  “You do?”

  “Why not? We have to spend a good deal of time in the same house, and I just think it would be so much nicer if you liked me a little bit.”

  Richard swallowed, making the tight little knot of his necktie bob. “I don’t dislike you, Leanne.”

  “But you don’t approve of me.”

  He started to speak, and she placed a fingertip on his lips, silencing him.

  “If we got to know each other better, I think you might learn to like me. Maybe a lot.”

  Richard’s eyes narrowed behind the lenses of his unfashionable plastic glasses. Leanne traced the line of his mouth with her fingertip, then trailed it down his chin and over the soft flesh at his jawline.

  “Tell Sara hello for me.”

  While Richard stared, she turned and walked unhurriedly away.

  • • •

  Dr. Peter Maylon arrived at the Holmby Hills estate promptly at five o’clock. He was an earnest man in his early thirties who had been taken in by a prestigious Beverly Hills medical group. A combination of boyish bedside manner and scalpel-sharp medical knowledge had made him immediately popular with the upscale clientele. He had arrived recently enough from Eugene, Oregon, to retain a sort of humorous country-boy charm and to still be impressed by the immense wealth of some of his patients.

  As Rosalia led the doctor to the big second-floor bedroom, Elliot Kruger stepped out of his office and c
alled him aside.

  “You do understand that this is to be completely confidential,” he said.

  “Naturally. That’s the way it works in any doctor-patient relationship.”

  “I know, but I’m asking for even more than your usual discretion in this case,” Kruger said. “As you can imagine, if the details of my wife’s … illness and recovery got out, this place would be crawling with the morbidly curious. I’ve already had some disturbing calls and been forced to increase security here.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me, Mr. Kruger. I’m good at keeping my mouth shut.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. You did come highly recommended.”

  “Thank you. Now, is there anything in particular you wanted me to check Mrs. Kruger for?”

  “Nothing really unusual. She looks wonderful, and she says she feels fine. Her appetite hasn’t been what it should be.”

  “Mm-hmm. Anything else?”

  “It’s probably nothing, but she seems to have a cleanliness mania. She takes half a dozen showers a day and must brush her teeth every hour.”

  “Have you asked her about that?”

  “I mentioned it, but she laughs it off. Says she wants to feel fresh.”

  “That’s not unusual for people who have recovered from a long illness. Of course, your wife’s case is different, but I doubt that it’s anything to worry about.”

  “Still, I’d like you to look her over, without alarming her,”

  “I’ll do what I can. You do understand I could be more thorough if I had her at the office.”

  “No,” Kruger said immediately. “I don’t want her to leave the grounds. Not until I’m convinced she’s … herself again.”

  “So be it,” said Dr. Maylon. They walked up the stairs together.

  • • •

  When at last he cleared the bedroom of everyone except the patient, Dr. Maylon took a seat at the side of the huge bed. Leanne Kruger reclined there with a mound of pillows at her back. She wore high-necked black lounging pajamas and a loose robe of Japanese silk.