Incubus

by L. J. Greene

  “Make me hop.”

  “Alright. On your side, Cottontail.”

  “Flopsy, more like,” I said under my breath.

  He helped me roll over. “Oh, I know your cure,” he said, before spitting on his fingers and pressing them into me.

  By God, he was right, too. He knew exactly what I needed, the panacea for my ills. I needed it brutal. I needed to feel that edge, the torment and the struggle. I needed it to sting, to ache, to stab me through. I knew him, yes—but he knew me, too.

  The pain when he pushed inside made me convulse, but he didn’t stop. He just held me tighter, wrapped me up in straitjacket arms, immobile and powerless against him. He bit me on the curve of my neck, worrying my flesh like a dog going at a wild rabbit. When I yelped he stopped, and I had to urge him on. I couldn’t look away from our coupling, reflected in the mirror. I felt whole again, somehow.

  “Don’t quit now,” I panted. “I want you to leave your mark on me.” I was hard as iron.

  He breathed hot on my neck, “He’ll know.”

  “Let him know.”

  “They’ll all know. They’ll all know I’ve had you.”

  “Let them know, I want them to know, I want ’em to see, all of them—” I wasn’t even sure myself who I meant. Cresswickham, to show him the extent of Leo’s desire? Michael, to really give him something to sulk about? Alice, to make her regret turning me down when she had the chance? “—all of them, the whole wide world—”

  He whispered, “Yes, sweetheart, the whole wide world—” before he sank his teeth in again and squeezed his fingers around my throat for good measure. He pushed me face down and savaged me like that, rutting deeper into me with every thrust and pressing his teeth, his nails, his fingers into me wherever he could reach. He got his other hand underneath me and jerked me into a torturous climax, then rode me through the tremors until I begged him to end it and fill me up.

  Afterwards, a smoldering Gauloise balanced on his lip, he rummaged in the bedside drawer. He emerged with a silk handkerchief bearing the familiar RC insignia.

  “What’s that for?” I asked, my mood turning sour.

  “Why, to clean you off a little,” he answered with a smile. “Roll over?”

  “Roll over for you, play dead?” I snapped. “Is that it?”

  He drew back from me at once, his mouth tight and thin. “You turn on a dime, lover,” he said coolly. “What is it that sets you off? Let me know, and I’ll avoid it in future. If you’d rather lie there and ooze, by all means, do so.”

  My ire drained. “I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I didn’t mean it. But I’m jumpy all the time in this house. I never know which face you’ll show me.”

  He looked away. “When one must lie as a matter of survival, it becomes rather a habit.”

  “I wish you’d break it.”

  “So do I,” he said, and finished his cigarette.

  I rolled over in the bed, just as he’d asked. “Come on then, clean me off.” It was my way of making up for what I’d said. I knew it stung to hear me make him out to be a dog, a beast, throw it in his face just like Cresswickham did. So if it made him feel better to foul up his Lordship’s handkerchief, it was no skin off my nose.

  “Does he tell you his plans?” I asked as he worked.

  His fingers never stopped. “What do you mean?”

  “I believe he means to marry off Alice.”

  “Unlikely.”

  “No, I really think he does. Hasn’t he said anything?”

  “He’s mentioned no suitors. To whom, exactly, do you think he plans to marry her? There,” he patted my buttock, “good as new.”

  I turned over, and reached out for him. I wanted to embrace him, keep him close, quell the flutter of panic that started up when he moved an inch away. He went readily enough into my arms, his nose pressed up against my cheek. “To me,” I whispered. “I think he plans to marry her to me.”

  There was a long pause, and then Leo said, “Sweetheart, are you quite right in the head?”

  “No, listen,” I insisted. “It makes sense.” And I laid out my deductions for him.

  He said nothing while he traced circles on my chest, deep in thought, and then tweaked my nipple. “I’m beginning to think you’re sweet on her.”

  “I’m not,” I replied at once. “Not like that. She beautiful, of course, but I’m entirely yours, to my own—” I broke off then. To my own misfortune, I’d been meaning to say, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing a man likes to hear from his lover. “Besides,” I said instead, “isn’t that what you meant in that conversation I overheard? You don’t want Alice pulled into the mud like the rest of us?”

  For a few moments, there was nothing but the sound of his breath, slow and considered. “You know, it would make things simpler if you and Alice…But I thought you wanted to escape? Get out of here, and drag us all into your American ideal of impoverished freedom?”

  “Of course I want my freedom,” I said, stung. “Of course. I’m not suggesting that I approve of the idea. And I don’t appreciate your choice of words, either, you sound downright un-American.”

  “Oh, Rabbit,” he chuckled, and pulled me close to kiss.

  “Let me stay with you tonight,” I said afterwards. “Sleep here. He’ll never know, and even if he did, I doubt he’d care.”

  He hesitated. “He would care, Cole.”

  “He brought me here for you. He doesn’t care that we’re lovers.”

  “He doesn’t care that I fuck you.”

  “That’s a lousy way to put it,” I muttered, and he smoothed a hand over my cheek.

  “You’re right, but it’s the way he thinks of it. That’s all I meant. If he knew it was more than that…well, I don’t know what he’d do. But he won’t stand for me loving others if I don’t care for him. So you see, you can’t sleep here. I can’t risk us being found curled up and happy together by one of the Angels in the morning. If Michael or Gabriel should mention it—”

  “They wouldn’t,” I said. “They’ll keep their mouths shut if you ask them to.”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But still—” He got out of the bed. “—I don’t want to make them feel the need to cover for me. He pays their wages, after all. I won’t ask them to decide between their pocket and their sense of honor.”

  “Listen,” I started, but he merely held out my robe. There was no point begging, so I got out of the bed and changed tack. “Was it all true, that story you told me tonight?”

  “It was.” He gave a relieved smile; it was a genuine one that I’d never seen him wear before. “You know, I’ve never told anyone the whole thing like that? I feel quite unburdened. Perhaps there’s something to be said for truth-telling. Now tell me, are we friends again? Or should I expect a cold shoulder tomorrow?”

  Friends? It wasn't friendship I wanted from him. I pulled on my robe and balled up my pajamas to carry. I needed the bathroom, badly. “If you want to be friends, don’t lie to me. You hear? Don’t tell half-truths, don’t cover things up. Not anymore.”

  “I shan’t,” he said, and leaned in to kiss me.

  I let him, but then I said, “And don’t use that accent with me, either.”

  “I can’t help the way I speak.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He didn’t reply to that, and we walked together to the door. He put a hand on my arm to stop me. “Goodnight, then. Won’t you say goodnight? I don’t like to go to bed with you angry, not tonight. Not after everything.”

  “I’m not angry.” I was angry, alright. Even out cold, Cresswickham was still controlling the scene, calling his dog home.

  “Well, then?” he asked patiently.

  “Goodnight,” I mumbled. He kissed my cheek, then pushed me gently out with a hand in the small of my back, and shut the door behind me so softly I had to turn back just to check he’d actually closed it.

  He had. The key turning in the lock confirmed his resolve.

  I set o
ff back to my room, scratching comfortably at my belly, and smiled, thinking of something Ma used to say when she didn’t want me playing with the rough Irish boys two doors down.

  If you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.

  Part VI

  Night and the City

  Chapter 27

  The following Saturday we went out as a group—Cresswickham, Leo, Alice and I—to the Birdhouse nightclub. Betts did not accompany us. I was never sure what Betts’ status was with things like that. Was he high up enough on the ladder to be counted as a guest, or could he have been ordered to come as part of his hazily-defined work, should Alice—or more likely, Cresswickham—have desired? I didn’t find out where the line lay that night.

  He had some time off, “For good behavior,” he’d told me cheerfully, and so it was just the four of us. I sat in the back of the car next to Alice, and spent the ride twitching and tugging at my shirt collar to keep it over the bruising Leo had left me with. So much for let them all know, I thought wryly. Cresswickham made a silent, black silhouette in the front next to Leo, who drove. It was a half hour drive, but Alice was so excited she chattered the whole way and made things less awkward than I’d expected.

  The Birdhouse was the place to be seen right then. Chet Baker, Miles Davis, and all the West Coast jazz players had taken turns on its stage. Sinatra’d been trying to kick up his singing career again, and I figured that was why he was playing with the cool cats. He was a big name, and we expected a crowd. We’d booked a table in advance. Cresswickham’s money guaranteed it would be a good one. It was: center front, in spitting distance of the stage.

  There was a warm up jazz trio, and then a quartet, and we sank a couple of bottles of champagne among the four of us and passed the time in safe chit chat. Sinatra wasn’t due until after midnight, so we had a wait, but I was enjoying myself. Leo was excellent company when he chose to be, and even Cresswickham seemed mellower than usual. Alice was electric that night, dressed in pale pink with her hair coiled on top of her head. She was excited and charming and almost impossible to look away from. Every man in the place took a peek, even the ones I’d pegged as light in their loafers. She was a knockout, no denying.

  The quartet left, and the stage lights dimmed. The Master of Ceremonies’ voice came out over the loudspeaker: “The Birdhouse welcomes: the White Orchid.”

  A spotlight picked out a tall, reed-thin figure on stage: a woman dressed in a gown so white it seemed to shine pale blue like the moon. The skirt swirled around her ankles like sea foam. A headdress of spindly white feathers covered her hair and face. I thought I was seeing things for a moment—a ghost, maybe, or a wish?—but no, she lifted up her face and it matched the one in my mind: the Magnolia Girl.

  I sucked in a breath, but it was covered by Cresswickham’s oath. The three of us glanced at him, but he remained fixated on the stage. On my Magnolia Girl. She began to sing, and my attention was hooked. She had a marvelous voice, rich and warm, though her song choice struck me as strange.

  “What is this?” Cresswickham croaked. “What is this song?” He drank down his scotch, spilling some of it down his front. Alice looked startled.

  Leo, on the other hand, was resting his chin in his hand and giving a dreamy smile at the stage. “It’s Lady Day,” he said.

  I said, “Yes, Billie Holliday used to sing it: Gloomy Sunday. Dour sort of song, but it’s been popular from time to time. Got banned for a while. People take exception to the subject.”

  She sang it less like a suicide note and more like a threat; like she was going to finish her tune and knife death itself through the heart. She sang it clear and proud and the whole joint hung on every note from her lips. Her headpiece and the lighting made it difficult to see her face and Cresswickham was peering at her, trying to make out her features.

  Leo leaned close and murmured something to him, but Cresswickham made an impatient gesture and moved away. Leo seemed irritated. The Englishman was grey in the face, and I wondered if he were going to keel over right here. That’d make a story for the press, alright, I thought: Sodomite Peer Expires in Sordid Songclub.

  “What on earth’s the matter, Reggie?” Alice asked, echoing my thoughts. “You look quite unwell.”

  “Who is that woman?” he demanded of her, but it was like he didn’t recognize to whom he spoke.

  “I’ve no idea,” she replied, startled.

  He turned to me next. “You! This was your idea.”

  My first reaction was defensive and ugly. “It damned well wasn’t my idea to invite you.”

  “What’s got into you, Reggie?” Leo asked, his voice like treacle. “She’s just a torch singer. She’s very good, I grant you. Shall I invite her to our table?”

  Cresswickham shoved back his chair and walked off without the usual niceties. Leo rose as well.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I’ll…” He made a vague gesture, and sauntered away.

  Alice and I were left together. She looked thoughtful. Leo had left his cigarette case on the table and she plucked out a Gauloise to set in her holder. I gave her a light, and she fixed me with her cool gray eyes. Beyond us, the Magnolia Girl had gone after her one soul-opening song, and a quintet took center stage instead, starting up a trumpet-heavy Miles Davis cover.

  “Do you know that woman?” Alice asked me.

  It put me on the spot. “I do, as it happens.”

  “I thought you might, from your face when she came on. Introduce me.”

  “What?”

  “Send backstage and ask her to join us here at the table. I’ll get another bottle of champagne. Does she drink champagne?”

  “She—I—don’t know,” I said hesitantly. “She drinks bourbon, though she doesn’t like it. I guess she’d drink champagne. Who doesn’t?”

  “Who doesn’t?” she echoed, and rewarded me with a smile. “Go on, then. I’d like to meet her. Find her out and bring her back.”

  Feeling rather like a hunting dog sent to bring back a pellet-riddled duck, I set off to find someone to let me backstage. I found something better: the door. It didn’t take me long to locate my prey. She was pacing up and down one of the corridors, and when she saw me she gave a triumphant smile.

  “Take me to him,” she said at once.

  I leant against the wall and pulled out a cigarette, toying with it before I lit it. “Now that’s interesting,” I said. “You seem to think you’ve got a handle on the haps.”

  She turned angry. “Don’t try to put me off. I know he sent you to find me.”

  “The Lady Alice Cresswickham,” I said blandly, “requests the pleasure of your company.”

  “The who, now?” she replied. “That blonde bit he brought with him?”

  That got me riled. “That blonde bit is his sister, and she’s a lady by name and by nature, so you watch your tongue.” I didn’t like the look she gave me then, sly and knowing. “And don’t gawp at me like that, either. What the hell are you doing playing canary, anyway?”

  “My friend caught a sore throat, so I stepped in. Where’ve you been lately?”

  “Around.”

  “I was just about ready to hire a private dick to track you down.”

  I coughed on my cigarette. “What? Why?”

  “Because you disappeared, you ninny. I heard you hollering at your boy one night, and then I never saw you after that. I started to think maybe you’d gone toes-up.”

  “I moved, that’s all. I moved.”

  “Sure you did. I’ll bet he’s got you right where he wants you now, wherever that might be.” She took in my expression, and shook her head. “And you still don’t know it.”

  “It wasn’t his doing,” was all I could say. I was still brooding over her words. I was curiously unsurprised by her leap to murder. I’d felt it too, that sucking whirlpool of suspicion and doubt, like something somewhere was lurking, waiting. Maybe it was something in the water at the Chateau, made us all paranoid.

  “What’s her name
, again?” she asked. “Lady what’s-it?”

  “Cresswickham,” I said automatically. “Lady Alice Cresswickham.” I dropped my cigarette and ground it out with my toe.

  She darted through a nearby doorway. Over her shoulder I could see inside; it was a tiny dressing room, not much bigger than a cupboard. She grabbed up a fur wrap, thrust it at me, and turned her back on me.

  I looked at it, and then at her.

  “You could at least pretend to be a gentleman,” she said caustically over her shoulder, and I hurried to wrap her with the mink.

  “Where’d you get a piece like this?” I asked, stroking it when she turned around.

  “Where’d you get a two-dollar haircut and squeaky patent shoes?” she retorted.

  I flushed. I’d been seeing Leo’s barber for a while now, and he did cost a fortune, but it was worth it, I thought. The shoes were a new addition to my wardrobe from last week. I’d fallen in love with the way I could see my face reflected in them, and Leo had approved of them, too. They did tend to squeak when I walked, though.

  “Come on, then,” she said. “Introduce me to your fine lady friend.”

  “Now, just wait a minute. I don’t know if I like this. Why are you so anxious to meet my crowd? Why is Alice so anxious to meet you?” I didn’t add, though I could have, And why is Lord Cresswickham so anxious to avoid you?

  “Sorry, Little Boy Blue. Can’t keep me all to yourself any longer,” she told me, and started walking.

  “Hey!” I caught her arm and pulled her back. “I don’t want you getting caught up in…in anything. Not like I have. You don’t know what you’re up against.”

  She actually laughed. “Oh, honey. You’re pretty, but dumb.” She arranged a smile on her lips with the same artifice she used to arrange her wrap, and snaked an arm through mine. “Girls like me, we know exactly what we’re up against. Now let’s go.”

  Well, I’m a slave for a looker.

  Chapter 28

  I let the Magnolia Girl push me back out to the club. Cresswickham was nowhere to be seen, but Leo was at the bar, talking to the barman. I dragged my feet when I saw the way the kid was stuck on him. Leo was looking at him from under the sweep of his eyelashes, and I knew the power of that look all too well.