Feelings of Fear

by Graham Masterton

  They clanged shut, and Jeff found himself standing alone in the roadway with his gun, unsure of what he had done.

  He didn’t sleep all night. He sat in his armchair drinking 7-Star Metaxa Brandy with the gun on the coffee table in front of him, and the television flickering with the sound turned down. He watched High Noon and – ironically – Cloud Riders, with Jack Amberson.

  He was beginning to doze by the time the six a.m. news came on. He saw the picture of Jack Amberson even before he had time to turn up the volume.

  “… seriously hurt in a shooting incident outside of his three-million-dollar home in Bel-Air … but surgeons said that his injuries were not life-threatening … police meanwhile are looking for a masked gunman who attacked Mr Amberson with no apparent motive.”

  Jeff let his head fall slowly back. The sun was shining and the quail were warbling on the roof. Against the pale calico blinds, the shadow of a rose nodded and nodded, like a miniature death’s-head on a stick. He hadn’t been able to satisfy Susan. He hadn’t been able to keep her. He hadn’t even been able to avenge her.

  He lifted the gun from the table, cocked the hammer, and pressed the muzzle against his forehead. It was surprisingly cold. There’s only one way out of this, he thought. I have to die. Somebody else will have to punish Jack Amberson for Susan’s death.

  Jack Amberson walked into the Café del Rey and sat down at his favorite table. His four bodyguards sat next to him, much closer than they used to sit in the days before he was shot. He still looked the same, except that he was twitchier and nervier, and the left side of his face was indented. He had been lucky that Jeff’s third bullet had passed through the skull of his blond-haired bodyguard before it had hit him in the cheek. All the same, it had penetrated his mouth and knocked away most of his upper teeth. Over two years later, he was still convalescing, and nobody knew if he would ever act again. Wes Craven had asked him if he would consider appearing in a new horror picture, but he had furiously refused. “What are you trying to say to me, Wes? I’m some kind of fucking freak?”

  The young blonde waitress brought him a vodka martini with a twist and smiled at him, but ever since the shooting he regarded any woman’s smiles with suspicion. He could never be sure if they really found him attractive or whether they pitied him. The way he felt at the moment, he would have been quite capable of killing any woman who showed him pity.

  “Hey, how about her?” his bodyguard asked him. “Great gazongas, or what?”

  Jack said, “You kidding me?”

  “Of course not. She’s a babe.”

  “About four feet tall, and an ass like Yogi Bear?”

  “OK, I’m sorry. I forgot you like ’em tall.”

  Jack looked along the bar. There were two brunettes in clashing red suits, both of them as big as Xena the warrior goddess. There was a skinny ginger-headed girl in green. There was a blonde with huge thighs and a mole on her cheek, furiously smoking. And then – at the very end of the bar – there was a tall, quiet blonde in an ocean-blue silk dress, with half a glass of champagne in front of her.

  Jack stared at her with his eyes narrowed. He couldn’t make out if she was waiting for somebody of if she was just killing time. Her hair was curled into soft, loose waves that just reached her shoulders. Her profile was classic, with a fine straight nose and a well-defined chin, and lips that looked as if they had just been licked.

  Her figure was sensational. Her breasts were enormous – high and firm – and the outline of her nipples was visible through the fine shiny silk, her stomach was flat, her hips were narrow, and her legs went on and on and on, like a love song.

  “Tell her I want to buy her a drink,” said Jack.

  “Who, the redhead?”

  “The blonde, you asshole. The cunt in the blue.”

  The bodyguard went over and talked in the woman’s ear, his hands folded over his crotch and his head tilted slightly to one side. The woman looked over his shoulder toward Jack, frowned for a moment, and then shook her head. The bodyguard said something else. She shook her head again.

  Jack lifted his drink and mouthed the words, “C’mon, darling. Come and join me.” But the blonde shook her head again and picked up her pocketbook.

  Jack did something that he had never done before. He got out of his seat and walked across to the bar and confronted the blonde himself. He smiled that old devilish smile and said, “I don’t even know you, and already you’ve hurt my feelings.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” the blonde told him, in a soft, husky voice. “I just don’t want your company, that’s all.”

  “Well, don’t you see how hurtful that is? Here I am, a famous Hollywood movie star, and you don’t want my company? You know how small that makes me feel?” He held up his finger and thumb, only a half-inch apart. “That makes me feel this small.”

  The blonde stared at him with perfect blue eyes. “You can have almost any woman you want. How can I make you feel small?”

  “Because I want you, sweetcakes, and the difference is that you don’t want me.”

  “I didn’t say that. I just told this goon of yours that I don’t make a habit of going out with men I don’t know. A very close friend of mine was killed once, dating a man she didn’t know.”

  Jack’s smile slipped slightly on one side. He hoped she wasn’t making any kind of innuendo. If there was one thing he couldn’t tolerate, it was people reminding him of what had happened with Susan. His pictures were still boycotted by some women’s groups, and he had been dropped from several celebrity party lists. The last time he had seen Demi Moore, she had turned her back on him.

  “Did you ever see Painted Sun?” he asked her. “Did you ever see No Place Like Tomorrow?”

  “Tell me who hasn’t.”

  “In that case, how can you say you don’t know me? The Jack Amberson you’ve seen on the screen is the same man who’s standing here talking to you now.”

  “You mean the way you act on the screen – that’s not really acting?”

  He shook his head. “That’s right. And I’m not acting now when I tell you that you’re the sweetest thing on two long legs that I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  The blonde couldn’t help smiling. Jack popped his fingers at the bartender and said, “Pour this lady’s drink away, will you, and bring a bottle of Dom Perignon over to my table. Only the best is good enough for you, my darling.”

  The bartender said, “That all right with you, lady?”

  Jack gave him a look that would have killed a Galapagos turtle at twenty paces. Then he offered his arm to the blonde on the barstool and led her across the restaurant. She was certainly tall – almost three inches taller than he was, and that gave him a shiver of sexual excitement. There was nothing he enjoyed more than having a tall, strong-looking woman kneeling in front of him and doing whatever he wanted.

  “So, what’s your name?” he asked her, sitting close to her and immediately scooping his hand into the dish of Parmesan nibbles. “And what’s a betty like you doing all alone on a night like this?”

  “My name’s Lolicia. I work for a little independent company called Reel Life Video. You know, ‘reel’ like in movie reel. I’m a personal assistant.”

  “Oh yes?” he said, with his mouth full. “And whose person do you assist?”

  “Nobody famous, I’m afraid.”

  “I could do with some assistance myself. How do you like boats?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anybody who has one.”

  “You do now. I was planning on sailing to Baja this weekend. Little sunbathing. Little fishing. Little bit of this and a little bit of that.”

  “It sounds wonderful.”

  “Well, it would be if you came along.”

  “You really want me to? You don’t even know me.”

  He crammed more nibbles into his mouth and smacked the cheese off the palms of his hands. “Let me guess. You were brought up someplace small. Someplace in Iowa, judging by your accent
. Cedar Rapids, maybe.”

  “Marshalltown, as a matter of fact.”

  “There you are. That’s pretty close. You were always the prettiest girl in school. Cheerleader, prom queen, all that kind of stuff. At seventeen you were engaged to be married to your childhood sweetheart Chuck,”

  “Wayne, actually,” Lolicia smiled at him.

  “Ah, yes, Wayne. I should have guessed. Wayne had perfect teeth but Wayne had no brain. You wanted more. You wanted fame and acclaim. You wrote off to Playboy to be a centerfold but got turned down. So – still believing in your talent and your beauty – you packed your bags and came to LA looking for the big time.”

  “You’re so right,” Lolicia told him. “Even down to the Playboy bit.”

  Jack looked down at her swelling breasts. “Their loss, in my opinion.”

  They finished the bottle of Dom Perignon between them and then Jack steered Lolicia out of the restaurant and into his new white Mercedes with the blacked-out windows.

  “Bulletproof,” he said, tapping on the glass with his knuckles.

  “Yes, I heard about that.” She was sitting very close to him and her dress was riding up very high.

  “Did they ever catch the guy that did it?”

  “The LAPD couldn’t catch the clap.”

  Lolicia put her arm through his and pressed her breasts against him. She was wearing a very strong, musky perfume that made him feel distinctly aroused.

  “You know something,” she said. “Your movies don’t do you justice. You’re so much more handsome in real life. You have so much more charisma.”

  Jack shrugged. “Sure. But a movie is like a team effort, you know? I deliberately soft-pedal my charisma so that I don’t steal the picture from anybody else.”

  She licked and nibbled his ear.

  “You shouldn’t do that,” he said. “It has a very instantaneous effect.”

  “Let’s see, shall we?” Lolicia coaxed him. Before he could protest, she had tugged down his zipper and reached inside his off-white Armani pants. “Ooh, no shorts. You do have charisma.”

  She pried out his stiffening penis and slowly rubbed it up and down. Jack said, “Phew,” and laid his head back against the headrest. Lolicia bent her head over his lap and took him into her mouth, licking him around and around.

  “Jesus, Lolicia, you’re something else. Nobody ever made me feel like this before. I mean nobody.”

  She sat up and kissed him. “That’s because nobody ever knew what you really needed. But I do. I read all about what happened with that girl. I understand all about tying-up, and plastic bags, and a whole lot of other things that you never even dreamed about. Let me tell you something, Mr Famous Movie Star, you’ve never been the whole way before, have you?”

  He looked at her with hooded eyes. “Depends what you mean by the whole way.”

  “Exactly that. Every deep-down desire you ever had. Every filthy fantasy. All that, and a whole lot more.”

  She dug her fingernails into his erect penis so that he winced. He looked into her eyes and for the first time in his life he was just a little bit frightened.

  “You’re something,” he said. “Do you know that? You’re something.”

  * * *

  He was standing in front of his dressing-table mirror turning his face to the left and then to the right to see if his cheek was really as distorted as he thought it was. Lolicia walked softly up behind him and ran her hand into his red silk robe, taking hold of his penis as naturally as if she owned it. She gently masturbated him, circling her finger around and around the opening at the end of his penis until it was slippery with juice.

  “What do you think?” he asked her.

  She kissed the back of his neck. “What do I think about what?”

  “My face, of course. I took a .40 caliber bullet right there. Right there, see it? Took half of my fucking teeth out.”

  “You look perfect to me.”

  He angled his head to the left. “You think so? You really don’t think it makes me look like something out of a horror picture?”

  “You look perfect.”

  He turned around. She was wearing nothing but a black lace bra and a tiny black thong.

  “You’re some woman, Lolicia,” he breathed. He slid his hand into the front of her thong and slipped his index finger up inside her. “What do you say that you start taking me on that journey that goes all the way?”

  “Lock the doors first,” she told him.

  “I’ve got two guys outside. Nobody’s going to get in.”

  She kissed him. “Lock the doors. They might hear one of us screaming and get the wrong idea.”

  “Okay … whatever you say.”

  He went over and locked the doors. When he came back, Lolicia was standing by the bed, bare-breasted. Her nipples were stiffening and she had an expression on her face that gave Jack a strange watery feeling in his stomach. She almost looked as if she could eat him alive.

  “You have some cord?” she asked him.

  “Sure.” He opened his closet door and produced two four-feet lengths of black nylon rope. “How about a plastic bag?”

  “Sure. That too. I always make sure that I’m stocked up on household essentials, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, Jack. I know what you mean.”

  He approached her with the cord and the bag. He dropped his bathrobe so that he was naked, his penis pulsing with every heartbeat. “Face down on the bed,” he told her. “Come on, face down.”

  “No, Jack. It’s your turn first.”

  “My turn?”

  She held him close so that her breasts were squashed against his hairy chest. She reached around and pulled the cord out of his hand. “You’re amazing,” he said, and his breath smelled strongly of Parmesan cheese.

  She tied one of his wrists and then turned him around and tied the other. The knots were too tight, but they didn’t restrict his circulation too severely and he found the tightness exciting. He was starting to pant and his chest was flushing crimson under his fan of black hair.

  “Now then,” said Lolicia. She took the black plastic bag away from him and lifted it over his head.

  “We should have a signal,” he said. “Just in case I feel like I’m suffocating.”

  She kissed him, very slowly and lasciviously. Her tongue probed around his reconstructed teeth. “If you feel you’re in trouble,” she said, “why don’t you call out my name?”

  “Your name? OK. I’ll call out your name.”

  Lolicia drew the bag right over his head and twisted it so that it was bound tight around his neck. He took a deep breath in, and the bag crinkled and clung to his face.

  She guided him to the edge of the bed and gently pushed him so that he was lying on his back. Then she lashed his ankles tightly together. She climbed on to the white silk bedcover beside him. The bag ballooned, shrank, ballooned, shrank, as Jack breathed in and out. Lolicia caressed his face through the wrinkled plastic. Then she ran her fingernails down his chest, and around his stomach. His penis was so hard that it was curving upward, like a red tusk. Lolicia took it in her hand and slowly stroked it, and inside the plastic bag Jack groaned with pleasure.

  “I wonder if Susan enjoyed this so much,” said Lolicia.

  Jack said something muffled.

  “Didn’t you hear me? I wonder if Susan thought this was so exciting. I mean, it was something that she’d never done before.”

  Jack panted, “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I can’t hear you very well, Jack, with that bag over your head.” She kept on rubbing his penis but it was beginning to lose its rigidity. “I just wonder if she enjoyed being suffocated, like you’re being suffocated. I just wonder if she enjoyed being hurt.”

  With that, she dug her fingernails deep into his testicles. He let out a stifled scream, and tried to twist himself free, but oddly enough his penis suddenly swelled harder, too.

  “For Christ’s sake!” he s
houted. “I can’t breathe! Take this fucking bag off my head!”

  Lolicia smiled and kept on rubbing him.

  “I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe! I’m dying in here!”

  Lolicia tugged down her thong until it was halfway down her thighs, and climbed on top of him. She took hold of his penis and guided it into her. She rode up and down on him for a while, her back straight, her eyes closed, an extraordinary smile on her face.

  “—breathe! Can’t—!” Jack begged.

  Lolicia leaned forward and kissed his mouth through the plastic.

  “We agreed on a signal, Jack, don’t you remember? For all I know you’re cheating.”

  Jack wheezed for breath, and then he managed to choke out, “Lolicia!”

  “You’re supposed to say my name, Jack,” she said, very close to his ear.

  “Lolicia!” he repeated. His chest was heaving now and he was beginning to shudder.

  “Wrong name, Jack. My name’s not Lolicia at all.”

  “—breathe! Please—!”

  “No, Jack. Two years ago I was somebody quite different. But two years ago I discovered that there was no way that I was ever going to be able to get really close to you unless I changed my name. Oh, and changed my looks a little, too.”

  “—please! I’ll—”

  “I took a course of hormones, Jack, and you’d be amazed what a difference that makes. Then I went to a cosmetic surgeon, and you’d be even more amazed what they can do with silicone these days. I had my hair highlighted and I bought some nice blue contact lenses. Then last Labour Day I was ready to go to the urologist and leave the last reminder of my old life behind.

  “It was worth it, Jack, believe me. It was worth the pain and it was worth the waiting and it was worth every dollar it cost me. I needed to watch you die in the same way that you watched Susan die.”

  Jack gave a last terrible rattle in his throat – and then he suddenly ejaculated. Lolicia remained on top of him for a while, to make sure that he had completely stopped breathing, and then she climbed off him.