Angelica's Grotto (7 page)

NEXT was a message:
DO YOU WANT TO TALK WITH ANGELICA ABOUT ‘MONICA’S MONDAY NIGHT’?
YES/NO

Klein clicked on YES.

HI,
said the screen.
WHAT’S YOUR NAME?

Klein paused for a moment, then typed RUGGIERO.

WOW. THAT’S A HEROIC-SOUNDING NAME. ARE YOU A HERO?

NOT SO FAR.

YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT THE FUTURE MIGHT BRING YOU, RUGGIERO.

He imagined her standing close to him, lightly touching his arm, her sweet body smelling good. I’LL KEEP THAT IN MIND, he typed. HAVE YOU READ *ORLANDO FURIOSO*?

I WANT TO TALK ABOUT ‘MONICA’S MONDAY NIGHT. DID YOU LIKE THE STORY?

YES.

DID THE PICTURES EXCITE YOU?

THIS CONVERSATION – IS IT ON PUBLIC VIEW?

NO, IT’S JUST BETWEEN YOU AND ME ALTHOUGH IT’S NOT SECURE. NOTHING IS.

HOW DID YOU PICK ME?

BASED ON NUMBER OF HITS AND TIME SPENT AT WEBSITE.

HAVE YOU DONE THIS WITH OTHERS?

NO, YOU’RE MY FIRST.

WHY ARE YOU GATHERING THIS INFORMATION? ARE YOU DOING A DISSERTATION, WRITING A BOOK, CONDUCTING A SURVEY?

THERE ARE THINGS I WANT TO KNOW. I’M NOT READY TO SAY MORE THAN THAT JUST NOW. CAN WE CONTINUE?

YES.

DID ANY WORDS PARTICULARLY EXCITE YOU?

YES.

WHICH ONES?

I LIKED IT WHEN SHE CALLED HIM HER ‘HARD MASTER’. I LIKED IT WHEN SHE KISSED HIS HAND AND THANKED HIM.

WHAT ABOUT THE PICTURES?

I LIKED THE SHOT OF MONICA FROM BEHIND, BEFORE HE PULLS HER INTO THE VAN. I LIKED THE EXPRESSION ON HER FACE WHEN HE’S MOUNTING HER AND SHE’S LOOKING BACK AT HIM. I LIKED THE WAY HE’S PULLING HER TO HIM AS HE PUSHES INTO HER.

HOW WOULD YOU RATE THIS STORY? MARKS OUT OF TEN.

EIGHT.

CRITICAL COMMENTS?

YOU COULD HAVE SPUN IT OUT A BIT LONGER: MORE DETAIL; MORE DIALOGUE; MORE PICTURES.

DID YOU LIKE IT THAT IT HAPPENED AT NIGHT?

YES.

WHY?

THE NIGHT IS DARK AND SECRET. THERE
IS FEAR IN IT. THERE ARE THINGS HIDDEN IN THE DARKNESS. ONE FEELS THE BEATING OF THE HEART, SEES LESS, SENSES MORE. PERCEPTIONS AND RESPONSES ARE HEIGHTENED.

PERCEPTIONS OF WHAT? RESPONSES TO WHAT?

THE UNKNOWN THAT LURKS AHEAD, THE STRANGE THAT IS BEYOND ONE’S CONTROL. WHAT IS FEARED IS ALSO SOMETIMES HOPED FOR.

DID YOU LIKE IT THAT MONICA WAS AFRAID?

YES.

DID IT EXCITE YOU?

YES.

WHY?

MONICA’S NAKEDNESS UNDER HER CLOTHES, HER SILKY RED BUSH RUBBING AGAINST HER SILK KNICKERS, HER WHITE THIGHS, HER RIPE AND BOUNCY BOTTOM, HER NIPPLES STIFFENING WITH HER THOUGHTS – ALL OF HER SWEET FLESH WAS VULNERABLE TO THE STRANGER WHO WAS STALKING HER. WHY THE IDEA OF A WOMAN AS PREY IS A TURN-ON FOR ME I CAN’T SAY, BUT JUDGING BY THE NUMBER OF FILMS IN WHICH A SEXY WOMAN IS AT THE MERCY OF A MAN OR MONSTER, IT’S A TURN-ON FOR A GREAT MANY: A WOMAN POWERLESS AND FORCED TO SUBMIT.

DID YOU PARTICULARLY ENJOY HER SUBMISSION?

YES. DID YOU?

I’M NOT SAYING. YOU SAID THAT WHAT IS FEARED IS SOMETIMES HOPED FOR. DO YOU THINK MONICA WAS HOPING TO BE RAPED?

WHEN SHE THOUGHT ABOUT IT SHE FOUND ‘STRANGE PICTURES IN HER MIND, STRANGE STIRRINGS IN HER BODY’, SO IT WOULD SEEM THAT THE IDEA EXCITED HER.

WHY WOULD THE IDEA EXCITE HER?

WELL, SHE HADN’T BEEN GETTING SATISFACTION WITH GERALD, AND THE STORY SEEMED TO HINT THAT SHE WAS READY FOR A BIT OF ROUGH; SHE WANTED A STRANGER TO TAKE CONTROL OF HER, TO BE HER HARD MASTER.

DO YOU
THINK SOME WOMEN ACTUALLY FEEL THIS WAY?

I THINK ANYONE CAN FEEL ALL KINDS OF WAYS AND THIS IS ONE OF THEM.

YOU
THINK SOME WOMEN WANT TO BE RAPED?

NOT ALL OF THE TIME BUT I BELIEVE THAT ANYONE WILL CONSIDER ANYTHING SOME OF THE TIME.

HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED RAPING A WOMAN?

NOT VIOLENTLY – I’VE NEVER HAD THAT MUCH CONFIDENCE.

HOW THEN?

IN FANTASY ONLY, WITH THE WOMAN MADE HELPLESS IN SOME WAY.

THE WOMAN AS A HELPLESS VICTIM.

AS I SAID, FANTASY.

WHAT ABOUT THE BLACKNESS OF THE RAPIST IN THIS STORY?

THAT DEFINITELY HEIGHTENED THE STORY. THE FACT OF HIS BEING
THE OTHER
ADDS TO THE EXCITEMENT. ONE CAN’T HELP THINKING OF BLACK MEN AS BEING MORE POWERFUL SEXUALLY THAN WHITE MEN.

WHAT ABOUT THE ANAL INTERCOURSE? DID THAT ADD TO OR DETRACT FROM YOUR PLEASURE?

WHAT DO YOU THINK?

YOU TELL ME.

‘This woman that I’m talking to isn’t the one in the photographs,’ Klein said to himself. ‘In my mind she doesn’t look like her or smell like her and she’s not naked or in her underwear.’ The woman he imaged now was short and stocky, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and horn-rimmed spectacles; her hair had grown shorter and her smell was not quite as seductive as before.

WE WERE TALKING ABOUT ANAL INTERCOURSE,
said the screen.

WELL, THE ANUS IS NOT QUITE THE APPROVED ORIFICE FOR INTERCOURSE, IS IT. SO PENETRATION THERE HAS THE APPEAL OF THE FORBIDDEN AND IT’S MORE INTIMATE, MORE EXCITING TO THINK ABOUT, ESPECIALLY IF THE WOMAN IS UNWILLING. MONICA DIDN’T SEEM ALL THAT UNWILLING, ACTUALLY. BY THE WAY, WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?

THIS ISN’T THAT KIND OF CHAT. THIS PORNOGRAPHIC FANTASY THAT YOU’VE JUST WATCHED, WOULD YOU SAY IT WAS EVIL?

I’VE HAD FANTASIES LIKE THAT OFTEN ENOUGH – I’M SURE OTHER MEN DO AS WELL. I’D NEVER WANT TO ACT THEM OUT EVEN IF I WERE ABLE TO. BUT WHEN YOU PUT SUCH WORDS AND PICTURES ONSCREEN FOR THE GENERAL PUBLIC THERE’S NO KNOWING WHOM YOU’RE REACHING. AND IT COULD WELL BE THAT NAMING AND SHOWING A FORBIDDEN ACT IS LIKE CALLING UP A DEMON BY SPEAKING ITS NAME. SOMEONE JUST ON THE EDGE OF ACTING OUT HIS FANTASIES MIGHT LET HIMSELF GO ALL THE WAY AFTER SEEING IT. SO I’D HAVE TO CALL IT AN EVIL THING.

THEN BY VISITING THIS WEBSITE ARE YOU SUPPORTING EVIL?

WHAT ABOUT YOU? IN OFFERING THIS MATERIAL WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?

CONTRIBUTING TO THE EVIL IN THE WORLD THE SAME AS YOU BUT I’M DOING IT IN AN EFFORT TO UNDERSTAND PORNOGRAPHY AND THE ENORMOUS DEMAND FOR IT
, OK? I
HAVE MORE QUESTIONS.

SO ASK THEM.

DID MONICA’S MONDAY NIGHT AROUSE YOU SEXUALLY?

IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING.

WHAT WILL YOU DO ABOUT IT?

TAKE MYSELF IN HAND.

HOW OLD ARE YOU, RUGGIERO?

SEVENTY-TWO. HOW OLD ARE YOU?

TWENTY-EIGHT. ARE YOU STILL A PLAYER?

ONLY WITH MYSELF. IF I HAD AN INNER VOICE I WOULDN’T BE TELLING YOU ALL THIS.

EXPLAIN PLEASE.

THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD THAT CENSORS WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO SAY, I HAVEN’T GOT ONE ANY MORE.

THAT COULD GET YOU INTO ALL KINDS OF TROUBLE.

IT HAS. NOW I’M TRYING TO MEET UP WITH MY IT. (He didn’t want to bring Oannes into the conversation.)

AREN’T WE ALL? I FEEL FOR YOU, RUGGIERO. MAYBE I CAN BE YOUR INNER VOICE FOR A WHILE. YOUR WORDS LOOK LONELY. HAVE YOU GOT A PARTNER?

NOT ANY MORE.

WHY NOT?

MY WIFE DIED TWENTY YEARS AGO.

HOW?

SUICIDE.

WHY?

TIRED OF LIVING, I GUESS.

WHAT MADE HER TIRED OF LIVING?

CAN WE TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE? ARE YOU MARRIED?

GOD FORBID.

WHY DO YOU SAY THAT?

MARRIAGE IS FOR PEOPLE WILLING TO GIVE UP THEIR FREEDOM FOR SOMETHING THAT IN MY OPINION IS NOT WORTH HAVING.

WHAT MY WIFE AND I HAD WAS WORTH HAVING. ‘What exactly
did
we have?’ he asked himself.

WE MUST COME BACK TO THAT SOMETIME. ANYBODY SINCE HER?

NOTHING THAT LASTED VERY LONG, AND THERE’S BEEN NO ONE FOR A LONG TIME. The Angelica in his imagination, though no longer the beauty in the homepage photograph, was not unattractive, he decided, mumbling his thoughts. ‘Good ass, heavy thighs and a lot of coarse pubic hair. Her smell is strong and funky; I like it. She probably tastes a little acidic.’

DO YOU MISS HAVING A WOMAN?
she was asking.

YES, AND THERE’S THE DISMAL FACT THAT A MAN WHO CAN NO LONGER GET IT UP IS NOT IN A STRONG BARGAINING POSITION WHEN LOOKING FOR A NEW WOMAN.

MAYBE IT’S TIME FOR YOU TO HANG UP YOUR TACKLE AND PUT ALL THAT BEHIND YOU.

ALL THE SAME, I’D STILL LIKE TO HAVE SOME OF IT IN FRONT OF ME.

THERE ARE MANY WAYS OF GIVING PLEASURE.

INDEED. MAYBE ONE DAY I’LL ADVERTISE IN THE LONELY-HEARTS COLUMNS: LITTLE OLD AQUARIUS, SINGLE MALE, NON-SMOKER, SENSE OF HUMOUR, LIKES MUSIC, ART, LITERATURE, CAN’T GET IT UP BUT WOULD LIKE TO GO DOWN ON LIKE-MINDED FEMALE. EXPERIENCE UNNECESSARY.

HOW OLD WOULD YOU LIKE THE FEMALE TO BE?

ANYWHERE BETWEEN TWENTY AND FIFTY. DEFINITELY NOT AS DRIED-UP AS I AM. IF I RING UP THE NUMBER ON YOUR HOMEPAGE, WILL YOURS BE THE VOICE I HEAR?

YES, BUT WE CAN TALK ABOUT THAT LATER. NOW COMES THE BIG QUESTION: WOULD YOU SAY, RUGGIERO, THAT YOU LIKE WOMEN?

ARE YOU ASKING THIS BECAUSE I ENJOYED THE ANAL RAPE STORY?

I’M ASKING, THAT’S ALL.

I’VE ALWAYS THOUGHT I LIKED WOMEN. I’VE ALWAYS NEEDED A WOMAN; I’VE ALWAYS WANTED WOMEN. AFTER MY WIFE DIED THERE WERE WOMEN I LOVED. BUT NOTHING BETWEEN MEN AND WOMEN IS SIMPLE. IT’S POSSIBLE TO LOVE WITHOUT LIKING. DO YOU LIKE MEN?

I’M NOT SAYING.

IS THAT YOU IN THE PHOTO GALLERIES?

YES.

HOW CAN YOU DO ALL THOSE THINGS?

I WORK OUT.

YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN – CAN YOU POSSIBLY LIKE DOING WHAT YOU DO IN THOSE PICTURES?

I DON’T DO ANYTHING I DON’T LIKE TO DO.

IT SEEMS TO ME YOU MUST BE CHAINED TO SOME KIND OF ROCK.

LIKE EVERYONE ELSE I’M CHAINED TO THE ROCK OF REALITY.

I CAN’T BELIEVE THE WOMAN I’M TALKING TO IS THE ONE IN THE PHOTOS.

BELIEVE WHAT YOU LIKE.

BY THE WAY, WHO WROTE THE MONICA STORY?

I DID. WHY DO YOU ASK?

THE POINT OF VIEW SEEMS MASCULINE.

WHAT YOU CALL THE MASCULINE POINT OF VIEW IS NOT A DIFFICULT THING TO IMITATE. MEN DO IT ALL THE TIME.

I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT YOU.

I DON’T NEED YOU TO KNOW MORE. NOT YET.

WHEN? THIS YEAR, NEXT YEAR, SOMETIME, NEVER?

MAYBE SOMETIME. THE PHONE NUMBER ON THE HOMEPAGE IS USUALLY ENGAGED. USE THIS ONE IF YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME. GOODBYE FOR NOW. X

IS THAT A KISS I SEE BEFOREME?

FROM MY LABIA MINORA. TILL NEXT TIME, RUGGI.

Klein wrote down the telephone number, disconnected from the Internet, and switched off the modem, visualising her kiss as he did so. His fantasy partner that evening was the imagined Angelica in the horn-rimmed glasses. When he went to sleep he dreamt that he was hurrying down a rainy street at three o’clock in the morning, seeing her ahead of him and hearing her heels on the pavement. He walked faster and faster, then began to run, but he never caught up with her.

HOP-ON HOP-OFF AT 100 STOPS ON 7 ROUTES, said the London Pride Sightseeing Bus parked in Southampton Row by Russell Square. Its redness was of a piece with the hard sunshine of the end-of-October day. The driver sat at the wheel; there was no one else on the bus.

‘They’ve all hopped off,’ said Klein to himself, ‘speaking French, German, Spanish, Greek, Russian, Polish, Urdu, Hindi, Arabic and goodness knows what else. They’re speaking those languages out loud and they’re speaking them to themselves in their heads, even the children.’

He was meeting his friend Seamus Flannery for lunch at II Fornello, an Italian restaurant with Spanish waiters. Seamus wrote radio, screen, and stage plays and taught History of Film at the National Film School. The waiters Paco and Juliano called the two of them ‘Dottore’ or ‘Professore’ interchangeably. Flannery was already there in their usual booth.

‘Professore!’ said Juliano. ‘Nice to see you. Are you having something to drink?’

‘Half lager, please. Same for you?’ he said to Seamus. Over their half-pints they brought each other up to date.

‘That’s really awful,’ said Seamus when Klein told him about the loss of his inner voice. ‘Some of my best conversations happen inside my head.’ He was as bald as an observatory dome; Klein imagined echoes.

‘Different voices?’ he said.

‘No, just mine. Did you have an inner voice that was different from yours?’

‘No, but I suppose one might.’

‘Where would it be coming from?’

‘From a different part of oneself, I should think.’

‘How different?’

‘Well, mostly I’m Harold, right? But maybe I’ve got a Jim part as well.’

‘Chelsea supporter, hangs out with the lads at the pub, owns a Rottweiler, has a tattoo?’

‘Maybe not that different.’

‘Jekyll and Hyde spring to mind, or maybe
The Case of Charles Dexter Ward.
“Doe not call upp Any that you cannot put downe.” Flannery and Klein were both well-grounded in H. P. Lovecraft.

‘Nothing like that,’ said Klein.

‘Has Jim said anything interesting lately?’

‘Not yet.’

They talked of Klimt, Kieslovski, and Egberto Gismonti over their tortellini and lasagne. ‘Do you use the Internet?’ said Klein.

‘I haven’t got round to that yet, I’m afraid I’d become addicted to it. You?’

‘From time to time; it’s useful for research.’

After lunch they walked down to Great Russell Street, then over to Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street and the Virgin Megastore, where they headed for the video department. Klein bought, among others,
Bring
Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia.
Flannery included
Point Blank
in his purchases. They both possessed recordings from TV of these all-time favourites but they liked the pretty boxes.

Klein ignored holidays and celebrations as much as possible. On Hallowe’en, his neighbourhood being ever more gentrified, little groups of middle-class trick-or-treaters rang his bell but he didn’t answer the door. On Guy Fawkes night the gunpowder-smelling streets were hung with smoke as fireworks near and far lit up the sky but he stayed indoors.