by Amy Cross
"Of course, the thing that marked Bell from his contemporaries was that although he was a fine academic, he had the unfortunate distinction of believing some of the ideas he covered. He debunked ninety-nine per cent of the groups he encountered, but the ones he couldn't debunk, he tended to promote as being genuine. He was a man of extremes; everything was either true or false, with no shades of gray in-between. There are stories about him -"
"I've heard," I say. "I mean, I know a little about him".
"I guess I don't need to give you the whole lecture," he replies. "I just don't often meet anyone who shares my interest in Bell's work. I work in the English Lit department, so most of my colleagues wouldn't know the first thing about Bell, other than that he's a figure of fun". He reaches out and picks up the leaflet from St. Abraham's, which was poking out from my folder. "Interesting church," he says after a moment. "Do you have some kind of academic interest in the place?"
"I was just curious," I say quietly, grabbing the leaflet and tucking it back into my bag. This guy really doesn't seem to be picking up on the fact that I want to be alone. In fact, he's being so pushy, I almost feel justified in being a little rude to him. At the same time, the last thing I need is to draw attention to myself. As Violet reminded me, I have no business being at the university, and I could easily get kicked out if this guy realizes that I'm not a student.
"Well, you sure went to a lot of effort to satisfy your curiosity," he continues. "Bell's untitled books have fallen into almost total obscurity. There was even a campaign by certain members of the church to have as many copies burned as possible. The few people who've heard his name these days would probably try to excommunicate you from the academic world for even considering the possibility that his work's worth reading. Do you mind if I ask what motivated you to want to explore his writings? Apart from curiosity, obviously".
"I'm just doing some research," I reply, hoping to keep this conversation as vague as possible while trying not to sound too defensive. Whoever John Dagwood is, can't he tell that I really don't want to talk to anyone? Glancing at my watch, I pause for a moment. "I'm sorry," I continue, "but I'm kind of pressed for time. I just need to make some preliminary notes before I head off, so..."
"Right. Yes. I'm sorry, I've rambled on for long enough. I'll leave you alone". He turns to walk away, but then he looks back at me. "Actually, if I could ask one small favor... It's not much, really, but it's the reason I came to bother you. To be honest, I noticed that Bell's book had been ordered, and I was pretty curious about it myself. University policy means that when a book's ordered in like this, only the person who made the request is able to access the title. Without permission, anyway. So I was wondering if you'd allow me to take a look at it sometime. When you're not using it, of course".
I take a deep breath. I really don't feel like sharing the book, but at the same time I figure it can't do any harm and it might be an easy way to get this guy to leave me alone. "Sure," I say. "Do what you want".
"Thanks," he replies. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name".
I pause. "Kate," I say finally.
"Well, thank you, Kate," he says. "I'll not bother you again. Good luck with your work". With that, he heads back over to the counter, and I'm finally left in peace. Checking my watch again, I see that I've got barely half an hour before I have to set off for my appointment with Robert. I guess I'm really just going to have to get a general sense of the structure and contents of Amin Bell's book today, and then come back bright and early tomorrow in order to start my work properly. Why the hell do people think they can just come wandering over and start a conversation with someone they've never met before? This is a study area, after all. Conversations should be completely off limits.
For the next ten minutes, I try to examine the book in more detail. Bell wrote extensively on Satanic cults operating in New York in the first half of the twentieth century, and his research included some direct experience with gatherings across the city. Pages and pages of the book are filled with detailed accounts of various rituals that he witnessed, including the names of those who were involved. There are even murky, poorly reproduced photos of various items of regalia. The material in the book comes across as being almost unbelievable, and this was one of the qualities that led most of his contemporaries to dismiss his work. Still, I believe every word of it. Bell sounds like he was a lot of things, but a liar isn't one of them.
"There are groups within the city of New York that represent the very worst qualities of mankind," Bell writes at one point. "They are venal and self-serving, and they are happy to mock and attack others if they believe it will be to their own benefit. The more violently loud they become, however, the easier it becomes to ignore their stupidity. The truth is that those who actually have something to hide, and whose purpose is something other than a desire to gain notoriety, are more interested in keeping quiet and slipping between the shadows. As this book will show, those who are hardest to track are, at the same time, the ones who must be followed into the night".
As I keep reading, however, I find my attention starts to wander. Eventually I have to concede that John Dagwood's intervention has permanently derailed my train of thought for the day. Rather than get off to a bad start with the book, I carefully place it back in the protective case, before returning it to the desk. Today started off pretty well, but this trip to the library has been a bust. Still, at least I've held the book in my hands; at least I know it's here, and I can prepare for a full day of study when I return. I'm confident that Bell's book is going to give me at least some of the answers I need. I guess I'll be spending most of my waking hours in the library over the next week. For now, though, I need to take a break.
"I need to book a room for tomorrow," I say as I hand the book back to Violet. "A private room, from opening to closing. Is that possible?"
"It might be difficult," Violet replies. "You're not exactly a student here, Kate".
"Please?"
She sighs, before checking the computer. "I can book you in under my name, but you're gonna owe me big-time. At least one drink. And I can't promise that some professor won't come and boot you out if he needs the space. I'll enter it as a general reservation, but if anyone starts asking questions, I'll have to pretend I didn't know you were using it".
"Sure". I watch as she types the booking into the system. "Thanks," I add, keen to make sure that I don't appear ungrateful. "I really appreciate this".
"You know, Kate, this would be a lot easier if you just enrolled on a course here. Any course would do, even a night class. Don't you want to learn to cook or something? You'd have full access to -"
"No," I say, "thanks". Turning away, I hurry out the door and into the blaring sunlight, which momentarily dazzles me. After fishing a pair of sunglasses from my bag, I make my way along the sidewalk, anxiously checking my watch to make sure that - after all my comments about his tardiness - I don't end up being the one who's late for the appointment with Robert. I need to work some knots out of my head with him, and then I need to get on with my work. That photo's still waiting for me in the dark room, and by the time I get home this evening, the final part of the image should have developed and I'll know if I've found the face again.
Chapter Five
"Did you cum?" Robert asks breathlessly, still thrusting into me with the enthusiasm of someone who's forgotten our arrangement.
"Yeah," I say, suddenly overcome by a feeling of discomfort. "You can get off me now".
He keeps going for a moment.
"You can get off me now!" I say again, this time more firmly.
"You sure you don't want me to finish this time? I can -"
"No," I reply, gently pushing him away. Getting the message, he slips out of me and rolls onto the other side of the bed. Sitting up, I pause for a moment to get my breath back. I hate the way he always tries to keep going a little longer. Frankly, I think it's a little unprofessional. "You can do it when I've left".
He gently peels the cond
om from over his penis. "Sometimes I think you're the biggest tease I've ever met," he says, still panting a little.
"I'm not a tease".
"You're the only client who ever turns down the offer of a little free extra".
I shrug.
"Think about it," he continues. "Wouldn't it be kind of fun? All you -"
"I told you what I wanted," I reply, interrupting him, "and you gave it to me. Beyond that, I'm not interested in any extras". I look down at his crotch and see that he's still hard. Of course he is; he hasn't climaxed yet. "In future, I'd prefer it if you don't try to get me to do things that I haven't specifically asked for. You should know by now that I'm very careful to always tell you exactly what I want. The customer's always right, remember?"
"True," he replies, smiling. "Is it okay if I go into the bathroom and relieve myself?"
"Wait until I'm gone," I say, getting off the bed and walking over to the chair where my clothes are neatly folded. The last thing I want is to hear him grunting as he beats one off into the sink. I can tell from the silence that he's watching me, but I carefully avoid looking in the mirror, hoping instead that he'll just keep his mouth shut until I'm out of the room. I've always hated small-talk, but I've learned over the years that other people tend to have this compulsion to fill uncomfortable silences. Suddenly this hotel room feels far too small, and the last thing I want is to hear him grunting away in the next room. I prefer to keep that side of things very much separate. "I thought you were a professional," I add, as I step into my underwear. "Act like one. Don't they teach you these things at... whore school, or wherever you learn the tricks of the trade?"
"Sorry," he says quietly, although I can see from the smile on his lips that he's not sorry at all. Damn it, I came here to get laid, not because I wanted to act like someone's mother.
"And don't sit there watching me," I continue, feeling his eyes gazing at my semi-naked body. "It's disconcerting. It makes me want to hit you".
Sighing, he opens the drawer of the bedside table and takes out a little red book. "Bible," he says after a moment. "You think I should sit and read this all afternoon? You think I'd learn anything?"
"Don't you have any other clients?"
"Not 'til this evening".
"Well, the room's paid for until six. I guess you can do what you like". Once my bra is in place, I quickly put my shirt over my head before pulling my jeans up and stepping into my shoes. I just want to get out of here as quickly as possible. Every time I finish having sex with Robert, I'm consumed by feelings of guilt. It's been like this ever since Mark; for some reason, sex seems to affect me differently these days. As well as the guilt, there's the fact that my left leg always starts shaking when I'm about to get together with a new partner. That's one of the reasons why I tend to stick with Robert, at least for now. With him, I'm past the shaking phase.
"You want me the same time next week?" Robert asks, casually flicking through the book.
"No," I say, tying my hair back. "I'm not a robot. I'll let you know when I want to see you again. As long as you're available at shortish notice, that's good for me".
"I'm at your beck and call, huh?" he replies. "So, do you think it's a sin for a gigolo to read the Bible naked in front of his client? Is Satan gonna claim my soul now?"
I turn to him. "Don't joke about things like that," I say, before heading through to the bathroom, where I pause for a moment to check my hair. To be honest, I don't look like a woman who's just been fucked by a gigolo in a downtown hotel room. I doubt anyone would look at me and think that, at the age of thirty-seven, I'm going with guys in their early twenties. They'd probably just see a fairly bland, dull-looking middle-aged woman with dry hair and the beginnings of a few wrinkles, wearing a leather jacket and constantly carrying an old SLR camera around in her shoulder bag.
"Hey," says Robert, suddenly appearing in the doorway. Still naked, still hard, he stands and stares at me.
"Hey," I reply, focusing on my reflection. It's clear that he wants something, which means we're probably due for yet another of those tedious conversations in which he tries to persuade me to watch his play with himself.
"So are you really gonna walk out of here and leave this thing loaded?" he asks eventually, gesturing toward his penis.
Sighing, I straighten my jacket.
"I'm horny like the Devil," he continues. "Which of us is the sinner, anyway? You, for paying for sex? Me, for selling it? Or both of us? Maybe we're just this hot, sticky mess of sin and naughtiness. Doesn't that turn you on?"
I wash my hands, trying to ignore him. The second I'm fixed up, I'm out of here. He can blather on to himself. Frankly, I'm starting to think that maybe I'll try to find someone else for the next session. This is the fourth or fifth time that I've used Robert, and it'd probably be healthy to find a new guy. After all, I don't want Robert to start thinking we have some kind of connection.
"I don't want you to think that I'm being weird or clingy," he continues, "because I'm not, but I just want you to know that if you ever want to... get to the end of things properly... I'd be up for that. I mean, you don't have to jump up and leave as soon as we're finished every single time. I was just thinking that it might be nicer if you relaxed for a few minutes".
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a chap-stick and quickly moisten my lips. "You want me to cradle you in my arms and tell you I love you?" I ask. "You want me to fall asleep next to you and dream of us being a nice, happy couple some day?" I turn to him. "There are three reasons why I keep coming back to you, Robert. The first is that I know you and I'm used to you. The second is that I have your contact details, so it's not hard to get in touch and arrange a session. And the third is that you can go for more than five seconds without blowing your load everywhere. But please don't start getting attached, okay? Because if you do, I'll drop you like a hot fucking brick and go find someone else. You understand what I'm saying?"
"Perfectly," he says. "So how much longer are you gonna be in the bathroom? If you don't mind me being a little pushy, I have certain business to conclude".
"Knock yourself out," I reply, pushing past him and heading back through to the room. I pause by the dresser and reach into my pocket, pulling out some notes and counting out his fee for the hour's work. It's kind of pathetic to see how cheap he is; a hundred and fifty dollars is all it costs to get Robert naked and on top of me. Then again, you get what you paid for. Maybe I need to get someone slightly more expensive who'll at least keep his mouth shut once we're done.
"Why are you so scared?" he asks.
"Scared of what?"
"A little intimacy".
I stare at him. Is he serious? "There's nothing intimate about any of this," I tell him.
"But you're still scared".
I can't help but smile. The problem with younger guys is that in their desperation to find meaning, they often embrace shallow rhetoric and stupidity. "I'm not scared of intimacy," I say, with one hand on the door-handle. "I'm scared of boredom. Frankly, watching you jerk one out would be boring". With that I open the door.
"By the way," he calls through to me from the bathroom. "Your scars look a lot better this week".
Without saying anything, I step out into the corridor before pulling the door shut. Once I'm walking toward the elevators, I start to relax. I wish I didn't need these regular sessions with Robert, but I don't know how else to satisfy my needs. Still, Robert has become annoying, so I figure I should start looking for another guy; I want someone who can fuck me properly, the way Robert fucks me, but who won't insist on talking so much when we're done. Pleasuring myself doesn't have the same effect, and in a curious way I think I actually enjoy these brief trysts. I might not like hanging around with people very much, but on a purely physical level I'm not ready to cut myself off from the world entirely; not yet, anyway. As the elevator doors open and I step inside, the lights flicker for a moment. Robert's right about one thing. We are both sinners, at least in the eyes of peopl
e who give a damn about such things.
Chapter Six
"Kate?" asks a voice nearby, and I turn to see Dr. Martindale standing at the far end of the corridor. "Hi, Kate," he says as he sees me. "Do you want to come through to my office?"
As I get up from my seat, I briefly make eye-contact with the woman sitting on the other side of the waiting room. She has this look of absolute dread on her face, almost as if she's struck dumb with fear. I remember when I was like that, the first time; I sat in this very same waiting room, praying that the news would be good. It wasn't. Now, as I walk over to join Dr. Martindale in his office, I feel strangely relaxed. I've been through this before, and I've seen first-hand that even if the news is bad, there are options. The only thing that bothers me is the uncertainty, but as Dr. Martindale smiles and shuts the door behind us, I can already tell that something's wrong. There must have been bad news in the scan results.
"How are you doing?" he asks as he walks over to his desk. He's not looking directly at me, which makes me think that he's working out how to deliver the news. It's back. It must be. The cancer's back.
"I'm good," I say, accepting the need for a little small-talk. "Kind of wondering what's going on," I add.
"Of course. Sit down, please". He sits behind his desk, while I sit on the nearby sofa. "So how are you doing? Are you still suffering from nausea?"
I nod.
"And the pains in your chest? Are you still having those?"
"Right here," I say, putting a hand on my shirt, just below the ribcage.
"And would you characterize that pain as a dull ache, or as something more immediate?"
"I'm not sure," I say. "It's just feels like something's throbbing slightly. Do you know what's causing it?"
He opens a file and removes a copy of one of the scans from last week. "I've examined the results of your P.E.T. scan," he says, "and unfortunately I've found three small tumors on your liver. The largest is just over half an inch in diameter, and the other two are a little smaller. There's a possibility that there could be few smaller ones in the same area. The P.E.T. scan can't see everything, but for now we're going to work on the basis that we're just dealing with three of them".
