Incubus

by L. J. Greene

  “You must have known the interview was still on,” I said.

  “I had no idea. Reggie doesn’t divulge his plans to me, and we live quite separate lives. Like you say, I’m a dirty American mutt to him. My privilege only extends so far. And as you heard from his own lips, I’d told him you weren’t coming.”

  My eyes dropped to his tie, to its embroidered crest. “Old school tie? What school is that?” I asked.

  “What does it matter?”

  “What school is that?” I repeated doggedly. I was starting to punch through now.

  He snapped, “It’s Harrow, if you must know.”

  I flicked at his tie with derision. “Harrow, you say? That school’s not this side of the sea, is it?” The look he sent me was cold enough to give frostbite, but I kept on. “Tell me, Mancini: is this his tie?” I gave it a little tug and he yanked it out of my fingers.

  “What the devil does it matter?” he said again.

  I pressed my advantage. “Dressing up in his clothes, carting around his cigarette case like it’s your own. I’d say you have your share of privileges from dear old Reggie.” He said nothing, only smoothed down his tie where I’d disheveled it. “So let’s hear it, Mancini. Your master wants me for something.”

  He took that jab square on the chin. “Yes. He does.”

  “He wants to collect me.”

  “He wants you…” He took out another cigarette and tapped it on the case before finishing: “…for me.” I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I didn’t ask. He waited expectantly, but then lit up, sighed out a plume of smoke and went on. “It’s not as though I’m happy about it either. But he thinks you’d be good to have around as—as protection.”

  “Protection? If he wants protection, I’ll introduce him to the Walker Boys.”

  “You don’t understand. Not that kind of protection.”

  “Then what?”

  He made an irritated sweep through his hair and glared at me. “From temptation, I suppose.”

  Things suddenly seemed very clear to me. Cresswickham was not as dumb as I’d made him out to be. He knew all about me. More to the point, he knew he couldn’t stop Leo pulling at his leash, seeing how far away he could get from his owner before being dragged back and whipped. So why not control what could be controlled?

  “I see,” I said. “It’s an approved place for you to put your pecker. That’s what he’s been looking for.”

  Leo shot me a petulant look.

  “Does he allow you one in every city? Does he have an audition for all of them, test them out like he’s been testing me? But then maybe you don’t want me, if I’ve been given the nod by his Lordship. Maybe you only wanted me when I was your dirty little secret.” I couldn’t help goading him, though I could see he was simmering.

  “Don’t say that. I adore you, and that won’t change just because Reggie suspects something. You have my heart. You know that.”

  “I don’t know that.”

  As for my heart, it was breaking.

  I thought about Alice again, and her warning to me. I thought about the way Mancini had lied to me, and used me ill. And I thought about the fact that I loved him, because I still did, and I couldn’t see an end to it. I didn’t trust him, but oh, how I loved him. Not in some sweet fairytale way, and certainly not in any wholesome, Christian sense. No patience, no kindness, no self-control. I wanted him, this man who had willingly imprisoned himself. I wanted to unlock the cage for him and see what might happen to the lion tamer standing nearby with his whip.

  But I still wanted my own freedom more.

  “You might be rattling the bars of the jailhouse, Mancini, but you’re still in it. I’m not, and I’m not getting into the cell with you,” I said. “Whatever he’s thinking of, whatever you’re thinking of, I won’t do it.”

  “He’ll punish me.”

  “Then leave him.”

  “I can’t leave him.”

  “Then he’ll punish you,” I said simply. “I can’t do this for you.” My stomach was cramping, and I needed another bourbon. I wanted to be soaked. I wanted a world drenched in amber, a world on the edge of oblivion. But I couldn’t get sloppy, not ’til we’d had this out.

  He spread his arms out and gave me an imperious glare. “I have done all of this for you. I’ve given you a place to live, a place to work. To write. To be great, and you will be great, just like Fitzgerald—”

  “Quit it,” I said, annoyed. “You’ve drawn from that well too many times, buddy, and it’s run dry. Listen, I know exactly what you’ve done for me: you’ve made me your whore. The whole time, since you met me, you’ve been prodding me along that path, and last night showed me exactly where it leads. No deal.” I stood up; I had to get away from him. I was drawn inevitably to the bar.

  He followed me, swapping his angle. “Don’t you think I’d leave him if I could? There are—there are circumstances that bind me to him. If I could leave, I would. Don’t you know, sweetheart? It’s you, only you. Always you. We’re so wonderful together—”

  “Are we?” I gave a dark chuckle and eyed the bourbon. “Half the time you’re trying to kill me when we fuck, and the other half I can’t get it up. What’s so wonderful about that?”

  “Please. Cole, please.”

  He sounded so heartbroken I nearly relented. I knew if I looked at him I’d fold smooth as one of his silk handkerchiefs, so I busied myself making a drink. I shook my head. “It was always going to end with a bang,” I told him over my shoulder, dropping ice into the tumbler. “That bang last night seems big enough, and I sure don’t plan to whimper for you anymore. So let’s shake hands and exit the field like gentlemen. Isn’t that what you like to think you are?” I turned to grin at him, drink in my hand.

  He stared at me for a long moment, and then drew himself up to height and tightened the knot of his tie. “You’re quite right,” he said, using that affected half-and-half accent I hated so much. “Might as well quit while we’re ahead.”

  It was the exact thing the Magnolia Girl had advised, and it made me narrow my eyes to hear his echo. Maybe he’d been listening. It didn’t matter, though, did it? We were done. The jazz record finished and began to crackle and spit, but we both ignored it.

  “I’ll move out pronto,” I said.

  “Please take your time. I won’t bother you again while you’re here.”

  He took it awful well for someone who’d been declaring his heart just a few moments ago, and I almost made a snide comment about it. But he couldn’t look me in the eye anymore, and his hands shook as he reached for his coat. He pulled it on and took up his hat, clutching it in front of him like a shield as he turned at the front door.

  “Goodbye,” he said, stilted and lofty, looking past my shoulder. “It’s been a pleasure.”

  I don’t know what came over me. “Later, ’gator,” I drawled. He left, but not before I saw him flinch.

  In the ashtray, his forgotten Gauloise smoldered on. I watched until it burned itself away and collapsed to ash.

  Part IV

  No Way Out

  Chapter 16

  I needed to find a new place to live. Perhaps the nearby Chateau Élysée would put me up for a month, if I could scrape together the dough. The money from Mancini seemed to have trickled through my fingers like sand. So late next afternoon I took myself off to Jimmy Wu’s, hoping I could encourage his good nature and get a tip on a horse.

  Before I reached the tailor, though, I caught sight of the Walker Boys huddled around a streetlight like a murder of crows. They weren’t often in this neighborhood, not for business anyway. Jimmy took bets from them same as anyone, and worked with them on the QT, but he didn’t put up with them hanging about and scaring off his customers.

  They were the last mob I wanted to see. It seemed to me it was about time to make another donation towards reducing my mountain of debt to Walker, but the only cash I had on me was what I hoped to multiply on the horses. I slowed down, hoping to change dire
ction unnoticed, but the gang must’ve caught the scent of fear because they looked around. They grinned when they saw me.

  I rabbited; no point waiting around for trouble. They were fast, though, and the chase ended with me cornered in a dead-end alley.

  “Come on, fellas,” I pleaded, gulping for air. “Gimme a break. I’m good for it. How much is he asking?”

  “No dice,” the head goon said, and cracked his knuckles. “Sorry, but we got our orders.”

  There were five of them, and one of me. I’d been on the receiving end of a beating from these boys a couple of times, and I knew what would happen if I resisted. I held up my hands. “Aw, just get it over with.”

  The first guy socked me square in the gut and I doubled over, gasping. I saw one of them take aim at my nose next, and dodged too slow. He got me in the jaw, but seemed to have a light touch that day since my lip split, but I kept my teeth.

  “Hey, watch the puss, remember?” one of them muttered, and the next fist landed in the small of my back. It felt like my kidney had exploded. I heard someone screaming like a newborn and figured it was me. Hands grabbed my shirt and I was slammed into a brick wall.

  “Gentlemen,” said a stentorian, chilly voice, and all at once the pummeling stopped. I slid down the bricks until I met the ground, and looked up. “These are dangerous streets indeed.”

  It was Cresswickham, with Mancini skulking behind him like an infernal shadow.

  “Beat it, pal,” the head bruiser spat. “He owes big and it’s been coming for some time. Ain’t it?” He glared at me, and I blinked up at him.

  “It sure has,” I agreed. There was no doubt in my mind that I was safer in a back alley with these five thugs than I was anywhere near Lord Reginald Cresswickham. “So let’s get on with it.” I struggled up, and Leo gave a little cry of distress at the sight of me. I ignored him.

  “From my understanding, these issues usually come down to money,” Cresswickham said.

  “Sorry, bud, money won’t fix this one. We got specific orders. This ain’t your business, anyways. Get outta here, or we’ll bury you east of the city.”

  “Let Mr. Walker know that Lord Reginald Cresswickham has honored the debt. I’m sure he will indulge me.” All at once, like his name was a password, the hoods were interested in what he had to say.

  I knew then that I’d been set up once again: I was being collected. I laughed a helpless, mirthless laugh. What a fool, thinking I could outrun fate.

  Cresswickham looked me over before turning back to the gang leader. “How much?” He reached out his hand to the side, and Leo put a roll of bills into it, the thickest wad of green I’d ever laid eyes on. I didn’t even recognize the President on the notes.

  “Well, now. I’d say maybe a grand to make a dent in it,” the goon said, his eyes fixed on the cash.

  “You misunderstand,” Cresswickham said impatiently. “How much does he owe in total?”

  The bozo couldn’t seem to speak past his surprise, so I said the round figure, hoping Cresswickham would see it was out of the question. Even some of the thugs seemed surprised at the amount, but Cresswickham didn’t twitch an eyelid. He peeled off bill after bill, the crackle of the notes the only sound in the alleyway apart from the hiss of steam coming from an overhead vent, and then he slowly added five more on top. “For you and your associates,” he told the goon in charge. “As thanks for your understanding.”

  All I saw in that wedge of cash was my freedom sliding out of my grasp. “No,” I said. “I don’t want your money.”

  “I am not giving it to you,” Cresswickham said, without even glancing my way, “but to these gentlemen.” The goon grabbed it and looked at it like he couldn’t quite believe it. I thought for a second he’d give it a sniff, see if it was real.

  “Don’t take it,” I said to him. “Tell Walker I’ll pay him back, I will, and you can rough me over, just don’t take that money.”

  They ignored me after a chuckle, of course, and left the alley, tickled pink with their cut. Leo hurried to help me up. He gave me a beseeching look as he brushed me off.

  “Don’t give me those cow eyes,” I growled.

  “Is that American for thank you?” Cresswickham asked. “If so, it was my pleasure. Now, I suggest you come with us before those lads decide they’d like a little more than was offered.”

  Leo helped me down the alley as though I were really injured and as though he were really worried about me. I tried to push his hands off, but he came back insistently until it seemed less trouble just to let him. Cresswickham strode ahead of us and waited by the town car with an irritable air.

  “I never wanted this for you,” Leo murmured in my ear. His clothes, as he pulled me along, were redolent with tobacco. “Believe me, sweetheart, it wasn’t my idea. I told him I’d stopped seeing you when I got home but—”

  “Shut your mouth,” I snarled back. “You think I’d ever let you fool me again?”

  He tugged me closer. “I didn’t want it to be this way.”

  “Do hurry up,” Cresswickham called at us.

  The car was parked carelessly, blocking a fire hydrant and up on the curve of the corner. Leo opened the back door for us.

  “In,” Cresswickham said, and shoved me so I sprawled across the backseat, gasping a little at the pain in my side. He barely waited for me to right myself before sliding in after me. Leo got behind the wheel, and away we drove.

  The silence became oppressive, so I cleared my throat and said, “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  I got a warning glance from Leo in the rearview mirror, but no response from Cresswickham, who was staring out the window, one finger stroking his mustache thoughtfully.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I tried again. “And—”

  “No,” Cresswickham said. “I didn’t.” He turned to me and smiled, that cold smile that make my bowels quiver.

  We came to a halt at a traffic light. I asked, “Where are we going?”

  “For a drink.” Cresswickham was still smiling that smile. “At Chateau Marmont. Isn’t that where you like to drink, Coleridge?”

  My body couldn’t seem to decide whether it was more desperate for a drink or to get away from the man beside me. My choice had been made for me, anyway. A little ways down the street I could see the Chateau Marmont sign glowing in the dusk.

  “We may as well go around to your bungalow,” Cresswickham suggested. “For privacy.”

  My heart was crashing about in my chest, thumping so hard my tongue throbbed with it. Leo drove on past the main entrance and turned up the road behind the hotel, then right again, slowing as he made his way down the tight lane. He pulled up and parked. I could hear a sigh from the engine as it cooled, and an agitated honk from down on Sunset.

  “Leo?”

  All it took was one word from Cresswickham and Leo jumped to attention, sliding out of the car and opening his door so the Englishman could climb out. I opened my own door on the other side, and tried to read Leo’s expression over the car roof while Cresswickham’s back was still turned. Nothing doing; Leo kept his eyes down and wouldn’t look at me.

  “It’s in here, I believe?” Cresswickham indicated the gate, the familiar number 4 on the post, and looked at me for confirmation.

  I nodded at the ground. We traipsed in a sad little cavalcade after Cresswickham, and Leo unlocked the door of the bungalow. He stood back to let Cresswickham in first, which made me mad as hell. Like the Englishman owned the joint as much as he owned the town car in the street, or his mansion in Bel-Air, or the fine clothes Leo liked to dress up in. Like he owned Leo himself.

  And now me.

  Chapter 17

  “Won’t you sit down?” Cresswickham suggested, after arranging his jacket and polka-dotted cravat carefully on a dining chair. He looked around, his eyebrows raised. “What an appallingly tawdry little shack. I’ll fix us a drink. No, not there—” He frowned at Leo as he made towards the single chair. “—yes, you and Coleri
dge sit on that couch together. God, but what a ghastly piece of furniture it is.”

  “Vladimir Kagan,” Leo said, unexpectedly, as he settled beside me.

  “Pardon?” The Englishman paused, ice tongs in hand, and frowned at Leo.

  “It’s a Kagan sofa. He’s a designer from New York City.”

  “I will never understand your fascination with vulgar modernism, Leo,” Cresswickham sighed, and handed me a bourbon stuffed full of ice. “Really, you have every luxury at the house, yet this is where you choose to spend your time. For Christ’s sake, you could at least put your whores up in something with a little elegance. Although I suppose nowhere in this godforsaken city could possibly qualify as elegant, could it?” He gave Leo a scotch and clinked their glasses together, still standing over us. “Could it?”

  “No,” Leo said quietly. “No, I suppose not.”

  Cresswickham sat opposite us in the single chair, sipping at his drink and watching us like zoo animals. Leo set his down untouched on the coffee table, and I nursed mine.

  “Well, now,” Cresswickham said at last. “Isn’t this pleasant?” When neither of us replied, he tried again. “Leo. Isn’t this pleasant?”

  “Very pleasant, Reggie.”

  “Did you want more ice in your bourbon, Cole?”

  “It’s fine. Thanks.”

  “You haven’t even wet your lips.”

  I took a swallow of it as best I could past the ice.

  “Cheers,” Cresswickham said, and leaned forward to clink his crystal tumbler against mine this time. “And now that we’ve drunk together, I can make my proposal.” He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to respond, but I just took another sip of my too-cold drink. “My, you’re both very quiet today. It will be up to me to carry the conversation.”