by L. J. Greene
A gust of wind blew through the back yard, lifting up dead leaves in a whirligig. The sun was giving up the ghost for the day, sending a last brash red glow through the windows. Leo fished his cigarette case out of an inner pocket and placed a Gauloise between his lips. He patted himself down, but couldn’t seem to find a light. There were several Marmont matchbooks fanned neatly by the ashtray, but he didn’t seem to notice. After a moment, he put the cigarette back in the case.
Cresswickham said: “Coleridge, I have a suggestion. I thought, since we all get on so well together, that you could come and stay as a house guest.”
I just about inhaled my mouthful of icy bourbon. “What?” I croaked, when I’d cleared my airpipes. “What did you say?”
“I thought,” Cresswickham repeated, “that you could come home with us and stay as a house guest.”
I wiped at my mouth. “For how long?”
“The invitation is open-ended.”
Under the coffee table, Leo put the toe of his shoe on my foot and pressed down. Cresswickham sat back in the lounge and peered at us through half-closed lids.
“I don’t think so,” I said at last.
“You make a lovely couple,” Cresswickham said, as though I hadn’t spoken at all. “Aesthetically, you’re very pleasing. I enjoy looking at you both.”
Leo let out a long sigh, and his hand descended on my knee. I jumped, and looked at him. With his other hand, he took my drink from me and set it down on the coffee table. His fingers crept higher up my thigh, and he met my eyes. I couldn’t move. I felt like the smallest gesture would set off a bomb. Leo palmed my face and drew me in to kiss. It must have been like kissing a corpse; I was unmoving and my lips were cold. He gave my lower lip a nibble, which got my mouth moving at least.
“Please,” he whispered, and I thought about him being whipped, and about me getting roughed up in a back alley. I thought about Cresswickham paying off my debt as cool as a cucumber, and now he owned me as surely as he owned Freddie and Leo and God knew who else.
I thought about the fact that he was on speaking terms with Pete Walker and his boys. For now, at least, it seemed the safer bet to go along with the farce. Like Freddie, I was fond of my neck.
“Yeah, alright,” I muttered.
Leo pulled back and gave me a sweet smile, sweeter than seemed appropriate for the situation. He flicked his eyes to the side. “Reggie?”
“Oh, in the bedroom, I think. I’d rather not have that hideous couch distracting me.”
Leo pressed his lips together, but said nothing. He stood and offered a hand to help me up as well. Cresswickham sprang up, and stalked ahead of us into the bedroom. “Go on, now,” Leo said to me, and gave me a little push. “I’ll be right there.”
Cresswickham had seated himself in the chair opposite the bed, his legs crossed and his fingers steepled in front of his mouth. He watched me as I tugged at my necktie and picked at my shirt buttons. I avoided his gaze. From the lounge I heard the opening drum-sizzle of the Miles Davis album. It was the song that had scored my fight with Leo last night, and I’d never wanted to hear it again. But from the corner of my eye I saw Cresswickham grimace at the first searing trumpet note, and decided I could stand to hear it another time after all.
When Leo came in he grabbed my hands to stop me undressing. He wanted to do it himself, it turned out, and the first thing he did after he got me to my undershirt was bind my eyes with my tie so I couldn’t see a damn thing. But I was grateful to him, because it made it easier for me while he kept stripping me. I could pretend we didn’t have an audience. I could pretend it was just the two of us when he laid me down on my back, with my head at the foot of the bed, and hiked my knees up; just us when he kissed his way down my inner thigh; just us when I felt his warm breath against my balls and then his lips on my cockhead.
“No.”
Leo went immobile at the word. I was hard—harder than I’d been for some time—and I wanted his mouth; I wanted, too, to demand from Cresswickham just who’d made him choreographer. But I kept quiet.
“Move along,” Cresswickham said, and I felt Leo sit up, twisting across the bed for something. A smear of Vaseline on my hole made me jump, followed by a drizzle of the oil he favored. He gave me a swift fingering and I tried not to bite my lip too much, worried it would split open again. When I concentrated in the break between songs, I could hear breathing. It wasn’t coming from Leo. I could smell scotch whisky now and then, wafting across like a zephyr.
Cresswickham said again: “Move. Along.”
The only warning I got from Leo was the way he gripped my hips to yank me onto him, and I gave a bark of pain. I went soft again, and balled the bedcovers in my hands with frustration. Leo stalled, let me adjust, but it only prompted another command.
“Continue.”
“Just a minute.” It was the first time I’d heard Leo sound so sharp. Apparently it was the first time the Marquess of Holford had heard it, too.
“I beg your pardon?”
I shivered.
“Just give me a minute, goddamn it,” Leo muttered. “He’s tight. Real tight.”
I heard Cresswickham stand up.
“Okay, alright,” Leo said, and I didn’t like the hurried way he said it. “Don’t do that. Look, I’m…” He pushed in deeper, and I yelped. The pain was too much. I felt like I was on fire, a cold fire. “I told you, he’s too tight yet. He’ll get loud.”
“I don’t care if he howls his lungs out.”
“Maybe you don’t, but the neighbors do. They’ll complain, and then—”
“Very well,” Cresswickham snapped, and I heard him leave the room.
“Damn it,” Leo said quietly, and batted away my hands as I reached up to take off my blindfold. “No, leave it. He’ll be back.” He reached between us to rub my belly, massaging like it’d help me accommodate my gutful of cock. His hand brushed my prick, which started to recover. “Just do what he wants. It’ll be over soon. And sweetheart—it really wasn’t my idea. I want you to know that.”
“Oh, yeah? I guess you didn’t tell him all about bungalow number four at Chateau Marmont, either, huh? He just followed his nose right to the door?”
He leaned down and kissed me, his mouth brushing soft as velvet over my split lip, and then said in my ear, “I didn’t tell him, dear heart.”
I ignored that and said instead, “It’s sick, him watching like this.”
“Just one last…” His voice died, and I felt a current of air as Cresswickham came back to the bed.
“Here. We can use this. Hold him.”
“He won’t take it, Reggie.” But even as Leo said it I could feel his prick swelling inside me, and he grabbed my wrists hard when instructed. Whatever it was, the idea excited him. I bit the inside of my cheek hard, trying to distract from the pain with more pain.
“Of course he’ll take it,” Cresswickham said. Something ran along my lips and I flinched. For a horrible moment I thought it was—but no, it was only a finger. Not Leo’s. It was drenched in scotch. “You’ll take whatever we give you, won’t you Coleridge?”
It felt like we were all stuck in time until I did what I had to do, and obediently suckled at his finger.
“You see?” Cresswickham said. I didn’t have to be able to see to know what kind of cold smile he was wearing. The finger withdrew. “Why, I could ask him to service me with his mouth while you fucked him, and he would. Wouldn’t you, Coleridge?”
What else could I do? I nodded.
“But that would never happen, would it?” Leo said, his voice so soft I barely heard it. I heard the crack that followed, a sudden collision of hand with cheekbone if I wasn’t mistaken. The next thing I knew, something soft was being shoved in my mouth, wadded in until my jaw was wide around it and my tongue completely depressed.
All I could taste and smell was expensive, cloying cologne. Cresswickham’s scent. I tried desperately to spit out whatever it was, but it was already soaked and heavy and
it wouldn’t budge. Fear coursed through me and I started to struggle, writhing around and clamping down on Leo as I did. It made me hurt worse, but Leo grunted in pleasure, before panting, “He can’t breathe, Reggie, he’s going to—”
“No, he’s not,” Cresswickham said, and he grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking until I stretched my chin back, extending my neck. “Stop panicking,” he told me. “Stop panicking and breathe through your nose.”
I couldn’t move without hurting, so I did as I was told, and I found I could breathe okay after all, if I concentrated on it. Leo let go my wrists and instead threaded his fingers through mine.
“You see?” Cresswickham said. “Now, if you’re quite ready, perhaps we can get on with this. I’m sure he’s accommodated you by now, so there’s no need to show any restraint.”
Leo squeezed my hands, and I squeezed back. It was the last tender gesture I had from him. He pushed my hands down on to the bed and began to pound into me, and there was something in what Cresswickham had said; I’d adjusted enough so it didn’t feel like I was being split in two. But that was small comfort. Leo was going at me with frenzied dedication, trying to complete as soon as he could. I could hear his breathing in concert with Cresswickham’s harsh pants, and I wondered if the Englishman was working himself as he watched. I was so full, holes stuffed to the brim with the both of them. And I was helpless, sightless, voiceless, anchored to the bed.
It’d been about fifty-fifty whether I’d got it up the last few weeks I’d been with Leo, and I’d done better on his tongue than getting rammed like I was now. Wouldn’t you know it, though, I was rock solid and dripping steadily under Leo’s onslaught. Each thrust was moving me further down the bed, further towards Cresswickham in his chair, further towards my own release. I was moaning in the back of my throat, and Leo was grinding in a familiar rhythm, pressing down so hard on my hands that my fingers felt numb. Sparks turned to flares, and then a wave ran right through me, and I keened so loud despite my mouth being blocked, I was sure the Magnolia Girl must have heard me from her bungalow.
“Reggie,” Leo gasped, “oh, Reggie, look. Do you see that? Look at him, he’s blasting without a single finger touching him. God, look at him go—”
My senses were dimmed, but I couldn’t miss the tremendous clatter of the chair falling over. I flinched, expecting some touch or other, or maybe Cresswickham was going to blow his load on me—the thought thrilled me, made me clench on Leo again through a last quiver of my climax, and that finished him off too. He cried out, and at the same time I heard the screeching of a record needle from the other room, the abrupt cessation of the jubilant trumpet crescendo, and then a sharp snapping, splintering sound.
Chapter 18
Leo pulled out of me roughly, before he even finished unloading, and scrambled off the bed. I raised shaky, non-cooperative fingers to pull out the gag, coughing and retching. When I pushed up my blindfold I saw it was Cresswickham’s polka-dotted cravat in my hand, ruined and chewed and soaked.
I was alone in the bedroom.
“I couldn’t stand that cacophony any longer,” Cresswickham said, coming back through the doorway, and he plucked his sodden scarf from my hands. “Thank you, Coleridge. That was most agreeable. Make sure you pack everything you’ll need for an extended stay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I managed to sit up after he swept out, and heard him say, “Are you coming, Leo? No? Suit yourself. I shall order a cab.”
I dragged on my robe and made my way to the lounge. Leo was on his knees, naked and shining with perspiration in the electric light. In his hand was a shard of the vinyl record. The rest of the pieces were scattered over the carpet next to the turntable.
I crouched next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He stank of sweat and sex; I must have stunk worse, but he looked like he was beyond such mortal concerns. His face was expressionless but lit up from inside with some kind of mania. I’d never seen him look like this before, and it scared me.
“You can buy another,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.
He laughed, high-pitched and just this side of hysteria. “Oh, sure. That’s always the solution, isn’t it? Just buy another. Buy whatever I need. The Cresswickham fortune grants my every wish and whim. It protects me from the hoi polloi.”
There was a red mark across his cheekbone where he’d been slapped around. It made me feel motherly all of a sudden, and I took him by the chin to turn his face. I pressed my fingers gently to his cheek, testing the hurt. He winced.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I said. “Come and get cleaned up, will you? You’re scaring me.”
“I’ll kill him,” he whispered harshly. “I’ll kill him with my own two hands.”
“Over a record? Talk sense. He only broke it ’cause he was sore at you. He didn’t like getting left out of the action as much as he thought.”
“Is that how you figure it?”
“Sure, that’s how I figure it. It’s not natural, what he wants. It’s not natural to watch your lover with someone else. Only a knucklehead would want to see that. It’s humiliating for him. Guess he finally realized that tonight.”
He pulled his chin out of my hand, irritated. “He was punishing me.”
“Well, so what if he was? Don’t let him get under your skin.”
He shook his head. “You’re a damned fool, Coleridge Fox.” Leo stood up and I stood with him, stung.
“Hey, now. There’s no call for that. I’m not the one who did you wrong tonight, and you’re the one who got us both into this mess.”
He went to shower without saying another word, and I had to wait out the unpleasant dribbling down my inside thigh as best I could. I’d have to send my robe for laundering, I thought. And I’d have to do it quick, if I wanted to take it with me tomorrow. The idea filled me with dread, but sorrow too; the Chateau was the homiest place I’d ever had in LA though I’d lived in the city my whole life. Tomorrow I’d be stepping over the border into a different country altogether.
Of course it crossed my mind briefly to run, but the Walker Boys had contacts beyond Hollywood and rumored ties to the mob, even though Leo apparently hadn’t. I wasn’t looking to cross any more crooks than I already had, that was for sure. Besides, I figured Mancini’s master would tire of me soon enough. As for what would happen then, I would cross that bridge when I floated under it.
I slept poorly that night, and Leo didn’t sleep at all. I found him in the morning sitting on the Kagan sofa in the same position he’d been in when I finally went to bed the night before. The skin around his left eye had a yellow sheen to it, and the mark on his cheekbone had darkened.
“You look like hell,” I said.
“You’re no oil painting yourself.” He was right about that; despite the Walker Boys’ restrained enthusiasm, my lip was swollen and scabbed with dry blood.
At least Leo’s sardonic reply sounded like he was back to normal. I packed up my possessions without fanfare. There was more of it this time than there had been for the move to the Chateau, but it still all fit tight in one suitcase, except the books and the typewriter. Leo said he’d ask Monsieur Antoine to send them on.
“Damn it,” I said, holding up my robe. “Forgot to send it for cleaning. You get a laundry service at the mansion, right?”
He gave me an odd look. “Laundry service?”
“You mentioned it once. Or were you lying about every single little thing?”
“No,” he said, still cautious. “There’s a laundry service.”
“Well, can they clean my robe or can’t they?” I snapped.
He lit a cigarette. I wanted to throttle him, for a change. Why did he insist on making every small thing into such a big deal?
“You may as well leave it here,” he said at last. “There are any number of robes at the house; you may have one of those. A new one daily, if you like.”
I threw it aside. “Golly gee whiz,” I said, “won’t I just feel like the lu
ckiest man alive living in all that luxury.”
“I didn’t want it to be this way,” he said quietly, and the break in his voice made me swallow down on my sarcasm. I folded shirts and laid them in my suitcase. “Do you believe me?” he asked.
“What does it matter?”
“It matters to me. I can’t abide feeling like you mistrust me. I want to be your ally, not your enemy. You’ll need a friend, where we’re going. I need a friend. And you—” He paused, and I glanced up at him. “You said you loved me.”
He sure seemed honest, blinking on tears and his lips trembling. “A friend and a lover,” I said, for something to say. “I never know what to think about you, Mancini. Are you my friend? My lover? I don’t know.”
“I’m your slave,” he said. “Whether you know it or not.”
Pretty words. I snorted, and then said, “Well, why not? I guess I don’t have much choice in the matter. Sure, we’ll be friends, the very best of friends.”
“When you’re done packing we can sign out,” he said, like he wanted to change the subject. “Unless…” I looked up. “Unless you want to keep it open. We could keep the bungalow open for us. For you.”
I shrugged.
“It’s your home,” he said softly, and I ground my teeth together.
I still couldn’t help myself, fool that I am. I couldn’t give up the fantasy I had in mind of me and him, happy and domestic, living the high life and loving rough as we pleased with no one standing over us. “Alright. If you like. Maybe it won’t take long for the hound to tire of the fox. And when he does, I can scurry back to my den.”
“Perhaps. But once Reggie’s made a new acquisition, he likes to keep it close. Get use out of it.”
“Don’t talk like that,” I snapped, and slammed shut my suitcase. I locked the buckles. “He might think he’s collected me, but I have no intention of sitting around being aesthetically pleasing to him, or whatever it is he wants.”
Leo didn’t bother replying. I guess he knew better than me what it was Lord Cresswickham wanted from me.
