One True Sentence: A Hector Lassiter novel (Hector Lassiter series Book 1)

by Craig McDonald

  Brinke, sounding quite drunk: “Later…when he comes out of this.”

  Then, a voice, he wasn’t sure whose: “Then come over here now.”

  ***

  Voices again…more giggles.

  “This is crazy…. We can’t.”

  Then sounds of kisses and low moans.

  “Ordinary morals are for ordinary people.”

  It sounded like Brinke speaking, but it sounded more like something that Crowley, the diabolist, might say.

  Again: “B, this is crazy, isn’t it?” Then, “Oh…oh.”

  More whispers…the voices blending to a jumble. He picked out:

  “But delicious fun, yes?”

  The sound of more kisses.

  Motion on the bed. Low moans and coos. Fabric, hitting the floor.

  The bed was gently rocking, then Hector felt himself being undressed. He felt warm soft skin pressing against his skin. Breasts pressed against his naked body; breasts were touching him, brushing against him, seemingly everywhere, all at once.

  Lips and tongues on his mouth, neck and chest….

  A thigh sliding across his thigh…warm and wet. This thrusting against him, over and over.

  Another thigh was moving above him — brushing against his cheek. He kissed the inside of the thigh, felt a flutter, then turned his head to kiss the other thigh.

  His tongue was there, then, nuzzling against that which was moving — rocking — gently against his mouth. The scent of musk and lilacs was strong in his nose.

  Voices between kisses: “This is so….”

  “…Delicious.”

  “Delicious, yes…and wicked.”

  “Wicked, yes…and wonderful.”

  Another giggle: “I hope we don’t kill him.”

  Hector felt himself coming, then later, coming again, and still later, perhaps even a third time.

  Hands all over him…thighs…hair tickling his neck. The weight of heads settled on either of his arms. He felt lips brushing his chest, either side.

  A voice, not Brinke’s: “I’m destroyed.”

  Brinke: “You don’t looked destroyed to me. You look ecstatic.”

  The other voice: “I may start loving Mondays.”

  Hector felt himself drifting away again.

  Sweet oblivion.

  23

  A long warm body was spooned up against him. His hand was cupping a heavy, moist breast. Short hair tickled his nose. He was still inside her and he realized that he was hard again.

  He began to move slowly; heard a low groan and felt hips pushing back against him. Hector kept moving, his eyes closed, savoring the sensation that almost hurt a little from all that had come before. He sensed he might even have some kind of friction burns down there.

  He nuzzled the back of a long neck, brushing his nose in her close-cropped hair. Her moans deepened, and she rolled a little over onto her belly. Before he could slip out, he rolled with her, spreading her legs wider with his own legs so he could thrust more deeply inside her. He moved more quickly, sensing she was close to peaking, then he came again. He came with a hollow, piercing sensation because there was so little left in him.

  Hector collapsed across her damp back, his lips grazing the back of her neck. He opened his eyes, saw blond hair. Startled, he raised himself up on his elbow and she half-turned under him…smiled at Hector.

  Molly said, “That was passing wonderful.”

  “Yes,” Hector said slowly. He gently eased out of her body. She shuddered a little as he slipped free. She rolled onto her back and pulled the sheets up over them.

  Remembering the damage to his leg — still bewildered and unsettled — Hector rolled onto his back. Brinke was sitting on the window ledge, close by the fire. She was wearing a long silk robe that had fallen mostly open so he could see that she was naked underneath. Her eyes were sleepy behind her reading glasses. She was smoking a cigarillo, and some manuscript pages were clutched in her other hand. He could see that Brinke’s exposed nipple was erect. She tossed the manuscript pages on his desk and said, “He has risen. How was that, Hector?”

  Brinke ground out her cigarette, then stood and stretched. Her robe fell open. She shrugged it off and stretched out alongside Hector. She put her reading glasses on the stand by the bed.

  “At least you can’t run away,” Brinke said, stroking his chest. “Not for another day anyway.”

  “Holy Jesus,” Hector said. “What time is it?”

  Molly, red-faced now, said, “A little after seven. Seven at night, I mean.”

  Hector looked back and forth between them. He had a tremendous headache and felt badly hung-over. He said, “Everything that I’m now remembering and think happened, it really happened?”

  “Probably much more than you’re remembering,” Brinke said. “You’re weren’t in much condition to resist. And you seemed strangely compliant.”

  “Morphine and wine are a killer combination,” Hector said. “Sometimes literally.”

  “Doctor’s orders,” Brinke said. “But if it’ll ease your bourgeois Texas conscience, there was another, unexpected potion in the mix, I think. Something else breaking down our self-control.”

  Hector rubbed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “Alice’s baked goods,” Brinke said, fingers tracing his lips. “Just a bit ago, having tasted another of Alice’s cakes and soon enough feeling the effects from it, well, I figured it out. I’ve heard about Alice’s recipe, but never sampled it before. Alice calls them ‘Hashish Fudge,’ though they’re actually made with cannabis. Cannabis, and some spices…fruits and nuts.”

  Hector was furious. “That little crone made us drugged desserts?”

  Molly, sounding more than a little nervous now, sounding a good bit self-conscious, said, “Maybe she thought it would help with the pain of your ankle.”

  Hector looked at her again. Molly had pulled the sheet almost up to her neck. Her lips were swollen, from what Hector guessed to be hard kisses — his own, or Brinke’s, or perhaps both. And Molly’s thick blond hair was cut exactly like Brinke’s now…some of the natural wave had even been straightened or cut out of her hair.

  Molly’s violet eyes were smoky and unfocused…dark-ringed. But she was still lovely. Hector smiled uncertainly at her and stroked the hair from over her right eye. Molly started to say something, then hesitated…averted her eyes. She pulled the sheet up a bit higher around her neck.

  Brinke was stretched naked on top of the sheets. There was the dark red trace of a too hard kiss — an actual hickey — high up on Brinke’s right thigh. Hector wondered which of them had given Brinke that.

  Brinke looked at Hector, her eyebrows raised expectantly…waiting to see what he might say. He finally fell back on the pillow between them. He urged his arms under their heads and gathered them close against himself. He felt Molly’s hand stray across his belly and close over Brinke’s hand. He felt Molly squeezing Brinke’s hand.

  Molly said, “This is so awkward. I’m sorry, Hector. Sorry to presume…and with you drugged up like that…?”

  “Shut up, Molly,” he said. He leaned his head her way, and then bumped foreheads with her. “I’m sorry for that. Jesus, how could I hate this?”

  He sensed Brinke wasn’t buying it. Brinke threw him one of his own Lassiter-style change-ups. “Isn’t Molly’s hair wonderful? My barber did the deed. I mean, your barber. Couldn’t have her ending up butchered like Estelle, could we?”

  “God forbid.” Hector smiled at Molly. “You look beautiful, Molly. Very desirable.”

  “You proved that a few minutes ago, Hector,” Brinke said. “As well as in several other ways earlier this afternoon.” Another change-up. “How’s that foot?”

  “Okay. I think I could even walk a little.”

  Brinke shook her head. “Not yet. Don’t push it. Besides, you’ve got your two nurses. Your two wet nurses.”

  Molly said, “Do you need another pain pill, Hector?”

  �
��No, but wine would be wonderful. And soon we should eat. But not more of those damn cakes. Jesus…drugs…”

  Molly started to pull the sheet with her, to wrap herself up in it, realized it was wrapped around Hector, too, then blushing, slipped naked from the bed. She padded to the sideboard to pour Hector some wine. Molly poured herself a glass, and said to the wall, not looking back at them, “And for you, Brinke?”

  “We’ll share,” Brinke said.

  Hector didn’t know if Brinke meant she’d share his wine, Molly’s wine, or both.

  Walking back to bed, a wineglass in either hand, Molly finally met Hector’s gaze again. Molly’s body was rounder and a bit more womanly than Brinke’s. Molly had wider hips but she was smaller-breasted than Brinke. The hair between Molly’s legs was thick and chestnut-colored. Hector took the glass from Molly and said, “Jesus, but you’re lovely.”

  Molly smiled uncertainly, then sat down on the bed. She crouched a bit to kiss Hector. It was a tentative kiss, then it became deep and slow. She used her tongue.

  Hector felt Brinke stroking his lower back.

  Brinke leaned in and kissed the back of Hector’s neck. He felt her teeth. Seemingly apropos of nothing, Brinke said, “I was looking out the window a bit ago. The church across the street has a new sign posted. It reads, ‘Don’t Let Worries Kill You…Let the Church Help.’ They meant to phrase that differently, don’t you think?”

  Hector said, “We can’t all be writers.”

  ***

  It was eight o’clock and Molly had elected herself to be the one to go and bring them back some proper food. Brinke had insisted Molly dress in some of her clothes that she’d sent ’round in her bag on the off chance Germaine might be at the front desk. “Pull your fedora low and just wave if you pass by her,” Brinke instructed Molly.

  They were alone now, and Brinke was still naked in bed with Hector. She said, “Wipe the goofy smile off your face. How do you really feel about this?”

  Hector raked his fingers through his dark hair. “My own selfish hedonism aside?”

  Brinke winked. “Sure, if you can actually get around that. I know I can’t get round my own most times.”

  “Disaster.”

  She nodded. “For whom?”

  “Molly. Maybe us. Probably for me.”

  “Hector, you can’t be hating this. And I told you, I’m not good with exclusivity. And I did find myself attracted to her…I can’t deny that.”

  He shook his head, lit a cigarette. “You did?”

  “She’s not my first, Hector. Have no reason to think that she’ll be my last. I’ve had several female lovers. Here and back home. And I’m not Molly’s first, either. I read some of her poetry the other day. I knew Molly had been with other women as soon as I read her poems, ‘Other’ and ‘Perfumed Sighs.’ It was all right there. Her bisexuality, I mean.”

  Hector remembered those poems…but he had not detected any Sapphic undertones. He promised himself another visit to Sylvia’s to read them again.

  Brinke said, “It was fun in the moment. Good, dirty and harmless fun, Hector. And I have to admit that Molly seems engaged again. Overwhelmed, sure. Divided, I suppose. But alive. Molly is feeling again. Moored to life. And she’s had you now. She’s seen that while you’re a wonderful enough guy, you’re still just another man. She’s seen you have feet of clay.” Brinke’s hand there. “And she sees you can be led around by this. All that may get you out of her system, so to speak. And you enjoyed yourself, lots…even if you don’t remember it. I could tell.”

  “And you?”

  “Had myself a time, like I said.” Brinke shrugged. “Helped a new friend, maybe. Certainly have some sexy memories for my dotage.”

  “And you changed the conditions of you and me. You did that unilaterally.”

  “I didn’t exactly act alone.”

  “I was pumped full of morphine, wine, and cannabis, Brinke.”

  “You’re fond of betting, Hector. A wager — I’ll bet it could have been made to happen with you stone cold sober.”

  “But I wasn’t. Jesus, Brinke, seduction via drugs?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t know what was in those damn cakes of Alice’s, Hector. Let alone how potent they are. Besides, are you changing your way of living? You drink, Hector. A lot.”

  “Different,” Hector said. “I can handle liquor. I can ration and control it. Drugs? I fucking hate what they do to me. I don’t like losing control like that.” He hesitated. He shook his finger at her. “You’ve used them before. Drugs, I mean…haven’t you?”

  Brinke shrugged again. “Cocaine, now and again. Smoked some opium. Not much more than that.” She smiled. “But I wouldn’t say no to another of those brownies. I’m going to have to ask Alice for her recipe.”

  Hector leaned his head back against the wall. “What’s going to happen to us?”

  “Us, in the sense of you and I? Or us, as in Molly, too?”

  “Any of us. All of us.”

  “We go along as we have, Molly in or out of the picture, as far as I’m concerned,” Brinke said. “I’ll say it again…I haven’t had much success with long-term exclusivity.”

  “Brinke, I tried to tell you something this morning, before you left to meet Molly for lunch,” Hector said. “But those pills of Williams’s had knocked me flat.”

  Brinke propped her head up on her hand, her breasts close to his unshaven cheek. “What did you mean to tell me, Hector?”

  “Blake’s mistress — she told me things I didn’t share with you and Hem.”

  Brinke leaned in close. “I knew it. I knew you were holding back today. What did Blake’s lover say?”

  Hector sipped his wine. He said, “According to Kitty Pike, the American who purportedly wanted Blake’s little magazine was a woman whose last name begins with a ‘W.’”

  Brinke nodded. “That’s all? A ‘W’? No more than that?”

  “No more of the surname,” Hector said. “But the woman’s first name was ‘Margaret.’”

  Brinke hung her head, sighing heavily. She looked up and at Molly’s pillow. The pillow was still dented where Molly’s head had rested. The room smelled of sex, but through all of the musky scent from their three bodies together, Hector could smell the faint odor of lilacs on the pillow where Molly had rested her head.

  “Søren Kierkegaard said that life can only be understood backwards, but unfortunately it must be lived forwards,” Brinke said. “Makes for a pretty treacherous split, doesn’t it? Particularly in times like these. So what do we do, Hector?”

  “We don’t confront Molly, not now. Not after…” Hector gestured at the empty portion of his bed. “Or, at least not yet. We watch her, I suppose. See how all this crazy stuff with the three of us that’s been set in motion plays out alongside the other, I guess.”

  Brinke searched his face. “‘Crazy stuff.’ You hate the prospect of having us both, maybe for some time, that much, Hector? Truly?”

  “No. I don’t hate it at all, darling. But I guess I maybe fear that it’s its own kind of problem. It’s like running the risk of heightening, and eventually, jading the palate.”

  “That could be, Hector. But, playing devil’s advocate, do you know how many successful ménages à trois there are both sides of the river? Dozens, maybe hundreds. Some happy trios contend it’s the ideal male-female compact.”

  Hector remembered something then. He repeated, “‘Ordinary morals are for ordinary people.’ Where did you get that, anyway, Brinke? That doesn’t sound like any axiom you’d truly subscribe to. You’re not that effete. Not the jaded libertine.”

  “It comes from Crowley,” Brinke said. “I read a little of one of his books at Sylvia’s today. Pretty selfish and self-centered stuff. But I thought it might help me reach Molly.”

  Sourly, Hector said, “Seems to have worked.”

  There was a small stack of books on the table by what Hector had already come to regard as Molly’s side of the bed. He reached
over and picked up the three, haphazardly stacked volumes. “Yours?”

  “We picked them up at Sylvia’s,” Brinke said, looking at them. “Novels that Molly had reserved.”

  Hector sorted them: The Assassination Bureau, Ltd, by Jack London; The Island of Dr. Moreau, and Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons. “Eclectic,” he said.

  “I was trying to figure out that mix myself,” Brinke said. “Sylvia and I had a moment alone when Molly excused herself to the restroom. Sylvia said all three of those novels are regarded by those who incline that way as seminal nihilist texts.”

  Hector checked the loan cards in each of the books…saw Hem’s name in the Turgenev. Hem had rented it some time ago — the first weeks he’d lived in Paris.

  “Fucking wonderful,” Hector said. “I hate to see Molly enveloped by this vile, misanthropic boondoggle that Leek is promulgating.”

  “Seems we’re working on fixing that,” Brinke said. “Seems to me that we’ve awakened her to sensation, to pleasure. If not to love, at least loving affection. Passion. I told you — I can already see a change in her. Thanks to you and this wonderful tool. What’s it like, having one of these?” Hector felt Brinke’s hand there again, stroking. He winced, twisting away a little. Her smile dimmed. “What, it hurts?”

  She raised the sheet and looked at his penis. “Yikes…that looks like it could hurt. You’re raw in several spots. We’ll need to go easy on him for a while. Damn.”

  24

  Hector poured the wine. He’d managed to hop over to the dinner table on his good leg, leaning on his sword cane.

  Brinke had put some Satie on the phonograph. The two women had dressed for their dinner in.

  It’s all so civilized, Hector thought as the three of them sat down for their late meal.

  As they ate, despite his earlier cautions to Brinke, Hector began to press Molly, just a bit at first: “Other night, Hem said he saw you with this group, Molly. These people tied to some offshoot of Aleister Crowley’s…for lack of a better term, we’ll call it church.”