The Good Life

by Gordon Merrick

  She wasn’t. She was wearing a sheer red negligee with nothing underneath. “I’m shocked but in a very pleasant way. What a stunning boy.” She moved toward him. “Absolutely stunning.”

  That was the last coherent thing he remembered her saying. She dropped down on her knees and ran her lips and tongue along his proud virility and then turned down to his balls.

  He was struck dumb with amazement. He didn’t know girls did such things. For that matter, he didn’t know anybody did such things. She did things that sent thrills racing through him. She wanted his cock. He felt an exultant new power in him. He could do anything he liked with her. She had surrendered herself to him.

  He dropped over her and pulled flimsy material away. She fell back onto the floor in a tangle of red cloth. She somehow freed her legs and lifted them around his hips and gripped him. She was seized by a frenzy of passion, her hands reaching for him, her body writhing.

  Perry surprised himself. He knew how to fuck. He apparently knew how to fuck very well. He had never felt so confident of himself. He drew his hips back until his cock almost disengaged and drove hard into her. He drew back again and entered her slowly, letting her feel him moving into her inch by inch while her body pitched about under him and she shouted and begged for it. He was finally fucking a woman the way he’d always imagined it, body to body, stark naked and not keeping anything back from each other.

  When he could contain himself no longer, he came in her tumultuously. It was the orgasm of his life.

  He listened to Mrs. Rosen’s cries of rapture, the quick little succession of grunts that accompanied the tremors that he felt sweeping through her body, saw her face transfigured by what he supposed was called ecstasy and wondered if it made her fall hard enough for him to allow him to quit his stupid job and devote himself to fucking her. If she liked it as much as she seemed to, she might figure out a way to send him to college so that she could keep him with her.

  She liked it well enough to get him established in her house. He had a little trouble convincing his mother of the practicality of the arrangement. He worked for his keep in the garden on weekends. He had a room attached to the garage. It was only until June when he graduated. Then he’d come to Seattle.

  “Mr. Kashman at the store knows the whole family. It’s all arranged. I met the lady this afternoon, Mom,” he said with a flutter of trepidation around his heart.

  Fresh from Mrs. Rosen, he was shocked to see that his mother was looking old. She was only thirty-eight, just a few years older than the woman he’d rolled around with on the bathroom floor, but his mother looked almost like a different generation. He remembered how pretty she had been when they were still on the farm and hated the years on the road that had worn away her youth. It was unfair. Was his youth going to be worn away too?

  “You mean you don’t want to go with us?”

  “No. It’s not that. You know that. It’s a chance to get school out of the way once and for all. You understand how much I want to graduate here. Then I can get a proper job and help out. Think what a lucky break it is for all of us, Mom.” There was a desperate pleading in his voice.

  “We’ve been through some pretty hard times together, but we’ve always stayed together. Your father prides himself on being able to take care of his family. We’ve got our pride. Never been on welfare.” She lifted her head proudly for a moment, then looked down at her roughened hands. Having never been on welfare was something they clung to as evidence of their integrity.

  She lifted her eyes and smiled at him with something like mischief. “But your father’s a reasonable man. I think I can work it.” She patted his hand. “I want the best for you, Perry.”

  He’d managed it. He was free. His gratitude was expressed with a whoop of delighted relief. He jumped up, banging his head on the metal ceiling in the process. He leaned over and hugged his mother, laughing with glee. “Oh, God, Mom, I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

  He felt the wrench of parting more sharply than he’d have imagined. His sister, Meg, hung on to his neck and cried.

  He’d almost cried himself. But to be finally leaving this despised trailer with its smell of kerosene from the cook stove that permeated everything, to be finally leaving the daily canned stew, the cramped quarters that made him shrink in his clothes every time he entered the place, the sounds they made sleeping virtually on top of each other, the complete lack of privacy — to be leaving all that was such joy that nothing else mattered.

  In the months leading up to graduation, he learned a lot from Mrs. Rosen. He learned not to use words like “classy” or “fancy.” He learned how to make martinis, open and pour wine, use a bidet (“Is it for washing your cock?” he asked; she laughed, “Yes, mine too”), order dinner at a good restaurant, seat a lady at table, and even properly lay a table — not to mention how to lay a lady to the greatest possible enjoyment for both parties.

  The most important lesson he learned was that nothing lasts. With school out he found a full-time job in a filling station where he hoped to save some money to enter college — with additional financial help from Mrs. Rosen, of course — and wrote to his parents to that effect when the ax fell.

  Mrs. Rosen was getting married. Her daughter’s school fees had become too much for her ex-husband; indeed, Mrs. Rosen’s alimony was being reduced. The Depression had finally caught up with her. Retrenchment was the order of the day. Everything had to be cut back, and the first cut was Perry.

  “I can’t bear to think of doing without you,” Mrs. Rosen said coolly, “but life goes on.”

  His world suddenly collapsed around him. “That’s fine for you. You can marry a rich guy and have nothing to worry about, but how about me? What am I supposed to do?”

  Rage gathered in him, a rage of loss and despair. He was never going to have anything of his own, never be able to keep anybody without being trapped by life. He felt used.

  “I’m only nineteen. You’re nearly twice my age. You went after a schoolboy with a big cock. That’s what you wanted. Don’t forget it. There’re probably laws against fooling around with minors, but you knew I wouldn’t make trouble. Where does that leave me? A dumb kid with a big cock who you wanted to have around for a while, then kick out when you felt like it.”

  “Oh, Perry, you know that’s not true.”

  It was true enough. He was out. It was all over. Nothing lasts; nothing is forever. The graduation watch she’d given him might well have been engraved FOR SERVICES RENDERED. He moved to a dingy hotel.

  He began to exert more charm with the single women that he saw at the filling station as possible replacements for Mrs. Rosen. He started thinking about men. Like the rich old guy who had helped Gatsby. He had the impression that queers were interested only in quick sex, but it stood to reason that some of them fell for each other and wanted something permanent. He just wanted a decent place to live.

  He’d heard guys talk about rolling queers who made passes at them. He hadn’t liked the sound of that, but there was no reason why he couldn’t make a queer happy. He was obviously a success with them. He had only to smile at them to have them falling out of their cars for him.

  One guy took him to his apartment in San Francisco. “How about giving me a couple of dollars?” Perry suggested as he was eased out the door.

  A nasty glint came into the guy’s eyes. “What for?”

  “Well, I let you…” Perry said uncomfortably.

  “Really? I had the impression I let you.”

  “Well, sure. That’s another reason.”

  The guy yanked the door fully open and stood back. “Okay, get going, you little shit. Beat it.”

  “Now, listen. I—”

  “Sure. I know. You have a big cock. I should consider it an honor to touch it. Jesus.”

  Perry thought he could handle the guy, but he didn’t want to fight. He just wanted to find out if guys expected to pay. His cheeks were burning with shame. “I’m sorry. I don’t want your m
oney,” he mumbled as he hurried out. The door slammed behind him. He’d give up and go join his family before he did anything like that again.

  The next man who paid particular attention to the handsome gas station attendant was a different sort altogether. Hubie Costigan was a sweet, shy, harmless guy who used every excuse to pull into the station to ogle Perry. Perry teased him about siphoning off the gas because he couldn’t imagine why the tank was always nearly empty. They made jokes about Hubie’s long trips and the gas-guzzling Cord sports car and became friendly.

  It wasn’t long before Perry realized that Hubie’s feelings were more than just friendly, and soon he moved into the large house in the Berkeley hills with Hubie and his mother.

  Hubie was hopelessly in love with Perry and wanted only to suck his cock, something he referred to as one of the evil urges that he spent every Sunday morning in church trying to expiate.

  He even gave Perry a job in his travel agency in San Francisco, and Perry settled in, happily making a good salary, saving money, and sending some to his family in Seattle.

  Perry had everything he thought he wanted: a future; a lively affair with Harriet, Hubie’s secretary in the office; and uproarious sex with the Costigans’ Negro maid every Sunday, when Hubie and his mother were at Mass. Hubie made practically no demands, even sleeping in his own room, wanting only to worship Perry’s body briefly every evening.

  Mrs. Costigan had been distant, even rude, from the moment Perry moved into the big house, but Perry felt he’d finally won her over by sharing her enthusiasm for Alexander Woollcott’s radio program and helping around the house. He kept the pool pristine and the garden impeccable. Hubie assured him he would soon be a partner in the business and, when his mother died, a principal beneficiary in his will.

  Perry never asked for anything — from Hubie or Mrs. Rosen. He thought of everything that happened to him as just a step toward what his life was really going to be, leading eventually to the big money, wherever that was. He’d gotten this far. His big break was coming. He was sure of it.

  But Mrs. Costigan wasn’t about to die. She was very much alive and intent on getting rid of Perry and seized the opportunity when Hubie was away for two weeks at a travel agents convention in Honolulu.

  Being alone with Mrs. Costigan for so long would give Perry a chance to finally reconcile her with his presence and win her over. If he could convince her that he was her son’s loyal and dependable friend, Hubie might feel free to make the substantial gestures he often hinted at. Even a thousand dollars of his own in his own account would make Perry feel that he was getting somewhere.

  Perry promised Harriet that they would have lots of evenings together while Hubie was gone. He would have the car.

  After Perry had taken Hubie down to the Embarcadero to board his boat, he drove home, determined that nothing Mrs. Costigan did would upset him. He knew it was going to be tough being with her without Hubie for two weeks, but he could manage. It was part of the bargain. He had shared the house with her for almost a year. She must have gotten used to him by now.

  She was waiting for him in the entrance hall when he opened the door. “You’ve brought the car back. I guess we can be thankful for that,” she said in greeting. “I can’t stop him from giving you food, but I’m not your servant. You can go fix it for yourself.”

  The shock took his breath away. “What are you talking about, Mrs. Costigan?”

  “You heard me. I know what you are. Scum. Nothing but a whore. Hubie’s a good son, but he’s weak. A pretty boy can wrap Hubie around his little finger. He’s always been like that. He’s had no father to teach him what’s what.”

  Her words slowly sank in. Tears of hurt and rage sprang to Perry’s eyes. He swallowed hard. He’d leaned over backward for months to humor her and be helpful and never do anything to cause trouble.

  He approached her, his hands twitching with an urge to hit her. “You’d better say you’re sorry, Mrs. Costigan, or you’ll regret it.”

  “You dare to threaten me, do you? Wait till Hubie hears about this. Apologize to you? I’m lowering myself to even speak to you. I know what’s going on. Carrying on with the colored help under my nose. It’s an insult to decent folk to allow you in this house. Trash.”

  He winced. Tears almost spilled from his eyes. His rage became murderous. He’d kill her if he thought he could get away with it. Why had he bothered to try so hard? He had even hoped at times that she almost liked him. He felt like telling her that her son was a cocksucker. We’ll see how she likes that, he thought.

  He stood in front of her, his fists clenched, his eyes registering her frailty, thinking how easy it would be to destroy her with one blow. He took a long breath while he found control. “All right, Mrs. Costigan. You don’t have to worry. I won’t insult you any longer.”

  Her mean little eyes flickered for a moment with alarm. “What are you going to do?”

  “Clear out, naturally. I don’t have to stay here after that.”

  “You can’t go. Hubie left you here to take care of me and the house. I should have told him he couldn’t depend on you.”

  “Yes, you should have. You can hire somebody to take care of you. I’m not a servant either.”

  “Don’t you take the car. I’ll have the police on you.”

  “Hubie left the car for me to use while he’s gone. It’s none of your business what I do with it.”

  “Have you got that in writing?”

  “I know how to reach him. Nothing you can do worries me.”

  “What are you going to tell him?” Her voice quavered as if she’d just grasped his intentions.

  “Nothing. I’ll leave that up to you. You can tell him the truth if you dare, but you’ll probably regret it. He might walk out too or throw you out, which is what he ought to do.”

  “I know my son. He’ll come to his senses when he discovers that you’ve left me high and dry.”

  “Remember what you said, Mrs. Costigan? Whores are for sex, aren’t they? Isn’t that what you suggested, that your son hired me for sex? Tell him I found somebody who’ll pay me more.”

  “That’s the kind of language I expect from your sort. Wait till I tell him you said that. He dragged you out of the gutter. He’ll drop you back in when he knows.”

  “I don’t need him. I can choose my own gutter. And I’ll make sure it’s not the one you’re in. I’m going to get something to eat, and then I’ll pack and leave first thing in the morning. It’d be stupid to go now. I guess we won’t kill each other during the night. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking I might, but you’re not worth the bother. Hubie’s been a good friend to me. I’m sorry about this for his sake.”

  He hurried to the kitchen, and the tears burst out of control. He was frightened. Could he really give all this up — the house, the good job, the comfortable life, and nice, silly Hubie?

  He had faced up to her. May be he could punish her more by staying. No. He had known this wasn’t the final answer for him. He should probably go quickly before he was too softened and seduced to fight for more.

  He opened a bottle of wine as his tears subsided and quickly gulped a couple of glasses. It gave him courage.

  He was going to hitchhike to New York and become a star of something or other. He could do it. He could make a good life. He had more money than he thought he’d ever see all at once. He didn’t think it would cost too much, especially if he stayed in cheap hotels along the way. If he waited for Hubie to take him, he would go as a sightseer and not really find out what New York was like.

  He made himself a giant sandwich and finished the whole bottle of wine before going up to pack. He started by separating his old clothes from everything Hubie had given him. He folded Hubie’s presents into a neat pile on Hubie’s bed and then dropped the new jewelry on top. It was as good a way as any of saying good-bye, and it would tell Hubie that he hadn’t rushed off without thinking. He hoped it would make Mrs. Costigan think twice about calling people wh
ores.

  He had one suit that he’d bought with his own money, cheaper than the one Hubie had given him, and he packed that with the sweaters and trousers that were stylish enough to take along with his good jacket (courtesy of Mrs. Rosen) and a couple of windbreakers. It made a reasonable weight to handle when he was waiting for rides. He reminded himself to write his parents to warn them that he wouldn’t be sending them any more money for a while, but that could wait until he got to New York. The wine put him to sleep quickly.

  He woke up with a flutter of excitement around his heart and wondered what was special about the day until he remembered what he was going to do. He dressed quickly and went down through the silent house and got a glass of milk from the icebox.

  He left the keys to the car on a table in the hall. He’d thought of taking it into the city where Hubie could pick it up, but he didn’t want to give Mrs. Costigan any ideas, and besides, the city was west. He was going in the other direction.

  He walked up the drive to the road and lifted his hand to the first car that came along. He was going to New York.

  NEW YORK CITY, 1938–1939

  The terrors of his first night in New York were dispelled by sleep. Perry woke up in the YMCA to the roar of the city, feeling full of beans and ready to conquer the world.

  Somebody was playing “Begin the Beguine” nearby. That was by Cole Porter, who lived only a few blocks away. He’d learned that from Matt last night.

  He dozed for a minute with the honk and rumble of the city in his ears. Things were happening out there. He was going to be a part of it all.

  He thought of Matt again, his new friend who’d shown him the ropes. He’d shown him his cock in the shower too, in full erection. Matt had gotten a big laugh in the communal shower room when he shouted, “It’s my cock and my soap, and I can wash it as fast as I want.” He was a nut.

  “You look just like young Franklin Roosevelt,” Matt said. “Hasn’t anybody told you that?”