The Serpent's Bite

by Warren Adler

  Her father had been right about one thing. To disengage from the terrible reality of everyday life with all its frustrations and thwarted dreams and to immerse oneself in the embracing majesty of nature did, indeed, have a positive affect on one’s attitude. She found herself enjoying her father’s anecdotes of their early family experiences. His enthusiastic recounting and astonishing memory of their early days emphasized how much he enjoyed and cherished those past moments.

  It surprised her to note that she had deliberately locked away her most pleasant memories, as if focusing on them would render her too nostalgic and sentimental for the task ahead. Stay focused, she urged herself.

  “You were two of the cutest kids on the planet,” their father told them as they sat on a flat stone outcrop eating their lunch. “Do you remember when you were little and frightened by nightmares or some imaginary enemy, how you would crawl into bed with your mother and me?” He turned to Scott. “Both of you did that, sometimes at the same time. It could go on for weeks. At times, the four of us would share one king-size bed. Tell you the truth, kids, we both loved it, your mother and me. You were everything to us. Everything.”

  He grew silent again, undoubtedly savoring the old memories. When he spoke, it was to recall yet another memory of their childhood. Listening, Courtney found herself reflecting on what others might call a gap in her life, the lack of progeny. Was it really a gap? Children would inhibit the pursuit of her dream. For her father, their childhood had been the highlight of his life. Good, she thought, let him revel in the memories, prime himself.

  “And when you got sick,” Temple continued, “with the flu or measles or chicken pox—you had them all, both of you—your mother and I would go crazy with worry and sit by your bedside all night until you were out of danger. We were both worrywarts when it came to you guys. And you, Scott, you scared the daylights out of us. Remember how you fell and sliced your head just above the eye, and your mother and I rushed you to the emergency ward of Columbia Presbyterian? Hell, we thought you’d lost an eye.”

  She watched as her father searched Scott’s face for any sign of a scar. It had faded but was still visible, and he touched it with his finger.

  “Living memories,” he said, shaking his head. “Powerful stuff.”

  She hadn’t realized how overly sentimental he had become and was unable to reconcile it with his cutting off financial help. Okay, Daddy, she thought, cheering him on. He was moving in the right direction. A profound change was taking place. He was definitely softening.

  Finishing their lunch, her father took out his digital camera and shot more pictures of both her and her brother and the landscape. She felt a sudden wave of resentment grip her when it crossed her mind that the pictures would also be shown to Muriel the Wise, as she began to characterize her in her mind.

  Later, after Courtney and Scott had left their father to nap under a tree and had begun a hike along the lakeshore, they reflected on what appeared to be his changing attitude.

  “He wants to do the right thing, Scottie,” she told him. “He is in thaw mode.”

  “Would be nice,” Scott muttered. “He sure as hell got a bang out of bringing us up.”

  “Let’s hope the memories work their magic.” She paused and grew reflective. “Of course, we need him to come across now. But looking ahead worries me. Muriel won’t be idle. She’s sure to cut into our take when the old man checks out.”

  “Seems a crude way to put it.”

  “Never mind crude. I’m talking logic. She’ll water us down. That’s a given.”

  “Jesus, I hate this subject,” Scott said.

  “You may hate it, Scottie, but the implications are pretty clear.”

  “So what? So we’re watered down. Who cares?”

  “I care,” she snickered. “Maybe we can get him to gift us for heavy bread now. Why wait until D-day? It’s the perfect opportunity.”

  “Here we go again,” Scott sighed.

  “I’m serious. You heard him rave on about us little kiddies. It’s as good a time as we’ll ever have to…get us out of the Muriel loop.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  She thought for a long moment.

  “Maybe gift us now. Let the shysters figure out a way. Don’t tell me you’d object, big brother. It would buy him a lot of conscience, get rid of any residual guilt.” She laughed. “One way to get at it. I’d settle at this stage for a generous continuing stipend. And you, brother dear, a nice big investment in your deals.”

  “God, Courtney. Is that all you think about?”

  “Not all,” she winked.

  “Be nice thought. He gets back, makes the changes, and can move ahead to wedded bliss with a clear conscience.”

  She shook her head. Another thought had popped into her mind.

  “What the fuck does he want to marry her for? You don’t have to do that today. He’s nuts! Nobody gets married until it’s absolutely necessary,” she said, giggling. “Look at us.”

  “You know him. Wants to do the right thing. Man is probably in love.”

  “Ain’t love grand?” Courtney sighed, with obvious sarcasm.

  Scott grew thoughtful. His complexion seemed to have paled. “But it does change the landscape.” He spat on the ground. “Love! When it strikes, you lose control.” He resisted meeting her gaze.

  Not that again, she thought. It was a condition she acknowledged she had never really experienced.

  “Ring around the finger. That’s her game. Love shmove. Prenup or not, marriage is a binder. He has her down as the wisest lady in the land. And she gets all the brownie points for her marvelous advice. How sweet and noble! How thoughtful! Bringing the family together again.” She felt a wave of antagonism washing over her. “Believe me, I know her strategy. A woman knows. She thinks she’s found a patsy. I don’t trust her. I don’t trust her one bit.”

  “You don’t even know her, Courtney.”

  “Believe me. I know her. I know the type.”

  They had stopped walking and moved to a spot with an extraordinary view of the lake and mountains beyond. The sun hung high in the sky, and the temperature was comfortably warm. Her mind still swarmed with ideas regarding her financial future.

  “What we’ve got to do, Scottie, is stop hinting and start laying it on the line, talking in practical terms. He’s a shrewd negotiator as well as a father. What we want is a real commitment. Get close and personal. Have it out.”

  “What’s does that mean?”

  “Before he gets in deeper with Muriel, let’s try to hammer out a solution for us. Hell, we’re the first family. There’s a certain entitlement in being, well, being first in line. We’ve got to protect our turf.”

  “I hate talking about this, Courtney. It’s so…so calculating. Can’t we change the subject?”

  She snickered, then moved away from him into the tree line beyond the shore, and stretched out on a patch of grass, putting her hands behind her head.

  “Feels good,” she said, smiling, watching him, knowing her pose was seductive. He got the message and chuckled.

  “Why not?” she purred, swinging her hips from side to side.

  “It’s trouble,” he sighed.

  “Just fun, Scottie. Why not?”

  “It’s hard to live with, Courtney.”

  “Not for me, Scottie. Hell, take a peek at the Internet for chrissake. It’s a fucking orgy. Brothers and sisters. That’s only the tiny part of it. You’ll see mothers and sons, mothers and daughters, fathers and daughters, fathers and sons, girls and boys with sheep and dogs, fucking horses and mules, pissing, fisting, every fucking so-called aberration on the planet. And that’s just the Internet. It’s mainstream, buddy boy. Just don’t be so self-righteous and scared, brother mine. If it feels good, do it. So come on in and stop this guilt trip. It’ll drive you crazy. It has been driving you crazy.”

  “It’s still wrong.”

  “Screw wrong. Who says?” She started to open her blouse.
“Besides, I can’t help it, Scottie. Nobody ever made me horny like you. No one. Not ever.”

  She felt him watching her as she took off her blouse and began to open her jeans. “Come on in, baby, the water’s fine.”

  “You’re impossible,” Scott sighed, but he did not move away. She reached out, and he stepped away, but she saw his reactive bulge.

  “Come on. I know you want it.”

  “I guess I’m like Pavlov’s dog. Always have been.” He cleared his throat. “With you.”

  “Good. Let’s put that bullshit away. I’m your addiction, Scottie,” she said, pulling off her jeans. “And you’re mine.”

  “Wrong, you’re my substance abuse.”

  “I like that, baby. So abuse me.”

  She rolled down her panties, kicked them off, and spread her legs.

  “See what I got for you, Scottie.”

  He could not take his eyes off her. She remembered the look, the hunger, and lust. Her reaction was the same. She was being shameless and loved it. Besides, she was testing herself, proving her ability to control him. The sex had always been her most powerful persuader. She waved him forward.

  “Come on, Scottie. Fuck your big sister.”

  He moved a few steps closer.

  “It was always best with you, Scottie,” she said, reaching out and caressing his erection.

  “We’re playing with fire,” he shrugged. She struggled with his jeans, and soon he was exposed.

  “Yum, yum,” she whispered, moving closer, beginning to fellate him.

  “I always loved to do this,” she whispered, stopping abruptly. Then she pulled him down and into her.

  “Jesus, Scottie,” she cried out, unable to stop the sudden deep orgasm. “Oh God.” She felt the trembling pleasure run through her. Then she felt his spasm and heard his gasp.

  “As good as it gets, Scottie.”

  “Story of my life.”

  It took them both a while to calm down. She lay in the crook of his arm, and they looked upward through the branches at the sky.

  “When it’s this right, it can’t be wrong,” she whispered.

  “Let it go, Courtney. I can’t deal with serious reflection.”

  “Just plain old recreational sex.”

  She started to caress him, and again he was aroused.

  “It always saluted for you, Courtney,” Scott said, reaching for her.

  “And it was always ready for you, Scottie.”

  She insinuated herself under him, and he mounted her, and she rested her thighs on his shoulders.

  “Are you…you know?” Scott asked.

  “I’ve been on the pill for years, Scottie.”

  She felt him inside her, thrusting.

  “Deep, baby, as deep as it goes,” she called out.

  She felt a sense of surrender, of giving way, of letting go, a feeling that she could remember was part of that earlier time. She heard her voice calling out in the wilderness, the cry of a female animal in heat.

  “Fuck me hard, baby. Hard.” She started to shiver. “Come with me, Scottie darling. Now, now. Let it go.”

  She felt his spasm and the bottomless pleasure of her own orgasm, long lasting, infinite. They lay locked together, lost in an unknown time zone, cooling down.

  “Crazy,” she whispered. “Some kind of fever. The intensity …” Her voice trailed off.

  “Madness,” he said.

  “I’m addicted to brotherly love.”

  He put a finger on her lips.

  “Not the L word. Let’s not confront that ever again,” he said firmly. “Never. Don’t think. Don’t analyze. Don’t interpret.” He seemed to be talking himself into a mindset.

  “Go with the flow. Reject all the bullshit,” she said, giggling. “Surrender to the pleasure. Don’t put your head into it.”

  “Easier said than done,” he mumbled.

  “No man ever did this for me, baby brother. You want the truth? I never got off on anyone else. Not once. Only when I remember and think of you all alone.”

  “Ditto,” he said.

  They lay intertwined, embracing, attached, and after a while, she felt it happening again.

  “Can you believe this?” she said.

  She moved her torso in a circular motion.

  “Jesus. Again,” she cried, as she gripped him, and he responded, thrusting. She caressed his buttocks, gripped them, drew him in, felt explosive ecstatic spasms.

  Then, like a wave had washed over them, its energy spent, they found themselves becalmed. She disengaged and slipped into her clothes, and he did the same.

  “Call it the wilderness experience,” she said, reaching for humor, her refuge now. “The birds do it, the bees do it,” she trilled, briefly singing a fragment of the Cole Porter tune. He chuckled.

  “How I spent my summer vacation,” he mused.

  “Fucking your big sister,” she said laughing, excising any moral considerations.

  He shook his head in mock disapproval, reached for her hand, squeezed it affectionately then let it go again.

  “Better than chopped liver,” he chuckled, then grew serious. “As long as Dad doesn’t know. He hasn’t heard your lecture on the Internet. Different generation. Different moral code. He’ll think we’re pigs, and you can kiss his largesse goodbye.”

  “We’re also thieves, brother mine. He didn’t find that out and, if we use our brains, he won’t know about the other. Not unless you have the urge to confess.”

  “No way. I’d die first.”

  She opened her arms with her palms up in a gesture of “so be it.”

  “Not on my agenda either, Scottie.”

  “That Mexican better keep his mouth shut.”

  “Fuck him. He’s too stupid.”

  He shook his head in silent agreement, and they moved out of the tree line onto the path that ringed the lake. He was right, she decided, to keep what was happening at this mostly mute level, ignoring anything judgmental or reflective. Feeling was all. Pleasure, extreme pleasure was the only criteria of judgment. Fuck the whys and wherefores.

  In a few days it would be over, without complications. They would go their separate ways, pursue their separate dreams, perhaps employ the images for private lust, and leave it at that. If all went well, and they played their cards right, they might solve their economic problems at last.

  They walked farther around the lake for another hour, then turned back, and headed to where they had made camp. As they came closer, they saw their father sitting on a rise. He held a paperback in his hand, and shielding his eyes from the sun, he waved, and they waved back.

  “Is now a good time?” Courtney asked.

  “You mean for the big pitch, the closer?”

  “What else?”

  “Just be kind.”

  “Kind?”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant. Of course, she would be kind if that’s what it took to gain their objective. Sweetly aggressive was the way she might put it.

  “Just follow my lead, Scottie.”

  “Don’t I always?” he sighed.

  Chapter 15

  “How was it?” their father said, as they got close enough to hear him. He was sitting on a boulder, watching them come forward. She calculated that they had been gone nearly three hours.

  “Pretty, Dad. This is a beautiful place,” Courtney said. “What have you been doing?”

  “Taking pictures. Endless opportunities.” He brought out his camera, held it up so that they could see each photo clearly through the viewer.

  “Good stuff, Dad,” Courtney said.

  “Hard to make a mistake with these digitals.” He picked up the camera and reviewed for them the last few pictures he had taken. “Fantastic, isn’t it? You print the pick of the litter and download to your computer. I’ll send you both a set to jog your memory.”

  “Great, Dad,” Scott said.

  “Be fun to reminisce,” Courtney acknowledged.

  “Meaningful fun,” Temple s
aid. “I hope it gives you great pleasure.”

  “It will, Dad. It surely will,” Scott said.

  Courtney winked at her brother, who nodded. They sat down on either side of their father.

  “This was one helluvan idea, Dad,” Courtney said, a deliberate opening ploy. “It does bring back the old memories. You were right to get us together in this place.”

  “I agree, Dad,” Scott said. “It would have been great if Mom could be here. Like last time.”

  “I hope it brings us closer, Dad,” Courtney said. She shook her head. “The fact is I haven’t been a very good girl. I’ve been awful.” She thought it wise to make that point again, show contrition. He loved contrition, Courtney decided.

  “Please, Courtney, none of that. This is a new start for all of us. Right, Scott?”

  “I’ll buy that, Dad.”

  “It’s really hard to give up a dream, Dad,” she said. “It is too powerful, especially when you believe in yourself. I am a realist, Dad. I know I can’t make it as an ingénue anymore, but for an actress as she ages, character parts start coming up. I know I can do it. You once believed in me. Remember my Lady Macbeth, how proud you were. All I ask is your support, your loving support. Time is my enemy, Dad. Especially if I have to take all these grunt jobs just to survive. It’s exhausting, debilitating. I need your help, Dad. Really. You know what I mean? Permanent, steady financial help.”

  Their father nodded, obviously reflecting seriously on her request. It wasn’t like last time. No lectures. No tough love. Numbers, Dad, she begged him in her mind. Think numbers. Two, three hundred thou a year would do wonders, she thought, maybe a lump sum. She summoned the figure and said it aloud.

  “I understand, Courtney,” he said without protest. “I really do and, yes, I am reevaluating my decision. Perhaps I was wrong to take such a hard line.”

  She felt a sense of rising optimism bordering on elation. Was he really in the process of changing his mind?

  “I agree with Courtney, Dad,” Scott interjected, obviously following her suggestion.

  Good boy, brother, she thought as he continued.