Dreams Die First (11 page)

Shit. I returned to the bedroom, kicked off my shoes and fell across the bed. I used to be an innocent. Used to be. Used to—be. I closed my eyes and dreamt.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Gareth! Gareth! Wake up!”

This was not a voice from a dream. I opened my eyes. Denise was shaking me. “What? What?” I mumbled.

“You were shouting and screaming.”

I shook my head groggily. “No.”

“You were having a bad dream.”

“I’m sorry.” I sat up and reached for a cigarette. My hands were shaking.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you find Bobby?”

“Yes.” The cigarette steadied me. “He was hurt. I took him to a hospital.” I saw the look of concern on her face. “He’ll be okay,” I said quickly.

“What did they do to him?”

“They drugged him, then beat and raped him.” I felt the tears in my eyes. I tried to hold them back but couldn’t. Suddenly I was crying.

She straightened up. “I’ll make you a cup of warm milk.”

I stopped her at the door. “I’m old enough for a whiskey.”

“We’ll put it in milk. Meanwhile, get out of your clothes and into bed.”

The bottle of scotch was on the tray next to the cup of warm milk. She looked disapprovingly at my shirt and pants, lying on the floor next to the bed. “You’re not neat,” she said as she put the tray down.

“I never said I was.”

She picked up my clothes and took them to the closet. I took a sip of the milk that I had laced with the scotch. It was awful. I put down the cup and took a swig of whiskey from the bottle.

“That’s cheating,” she said over her shoulder. “Drink the milk.”

I watched her crossing the room. The maid’s uniform was crumpled now. “You going to wear that stupid outfit the rest of your life?” I asked.

“Don’t change the subject. Drink the milk.”

I drained the cup. “Okay. Now get out of that uniform and come to bed.”

She hesitated a moment, then sat down in the chair near the foot of the bed. With her eyes fixed steadily on mine, she leaned forward, unbuckled the patent leather pumps and kicked them off, then slowly rolled down the black silk hose and hung them neatly over the back of the chair. She got to her feet and her hand went behind her back to the zipper. “Turn off the light,” she said. “I don’t want you to get excited. I want you to sleep.”

“Too late. If you’d taken off one more stocking, I would have come.”

“Turn out the light,” she said, not moving.

I turned it out. I heard the rustle of her dress, then felt the weight of her body on the bed and reached for her.

Her hands caught mine. “No,” she said firmly. “You’re too uptight. I want to make love to you, not just be something you pour your tensions into.”

“What’s wrong with that? You know a better way to unwind?”

“Yes. The fifth-plane exercise.”

“What the hell is that? Some kind of mumbo jumbo you learned at the workshop?”

“Do what I say,” she said, placing my hands at my sides. “Lie back flat and close your eyes. Let your body go loose and open your mind. I’m going to touch you in different places with both hands at the same time. My right hand will be the yin contact, the left hand, the yang. Your body currents will flow through me and be restored to their natural balance. Every time I touch you I will ask if you feel me; when you feel both hands, say yes. Understand?”

“Yes.”

She placed an open hand on my chest and gently pressed me back. When I was flat, she took the pillow from behind my head, pulled down the sheet and placed it under my feet. “Comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Close your eyes and we’ll begin.”

Her fingers were soft and light as a feather’s touch at my temples. “Feel me?”

“Yes.”

At my cheeks. At my ankles. At my knees. At my shoulders. At my nipples. At my arms. “Feel me?”

“Yes.”

At my ribs. At my hips. At my chin. At my calves. At my thighs. I giggled.

Her voice was patient. “What are you laughing at?”

“I’m waiting for you to touch my balls.”

She didn’t answer. I felt her hands at my temples again and then the warmth of her breasts on my face as she bent over me. “Feel me?”

“Yes.” I had an idea. “If your hands are yin and yang, wouldn’t your breasts be yin and yang also?”

She thought for a moment. “It’s possible.”

“Well?”

“You’re a difficult case,” she said. She slipped down on the bed beside me. Her arm circled my head and drew me to her breasts. “That better?”

“Yes.” They were warm, so warm. I buried my face between them.

“Try to sleep,” she said softly.

I closed my eyes. I had a feeling of total security. The knots in my stomach were untangling and my bones were turning soft. I pressed my lips to the side of her breast. I was so tired it was an effort for me to talk. “Do you know you have beautiful breasts?”

I thought I heard her whisper, “Thank you.” But I couldn’t be sure. I was fast asleep.

CHAPTER 16

There was a knock at the door. I struggled up through the darkness. “Come in.”

Sunlight flooded through the open door. I blinked. Denise came in with a tray of orange juice and coffee. Silently she put it on the bed. Verita followed.

“I am sorry to wake you, Gary,” Verita said, her faint accent more noticeable because of her excitement. “But Persky said it was very important.”

My eyes adjusted to the light. “What time is it?”

“Eleven o’clock.”

I got out of bed and padded to the bathroom in my bare feet. I flipped the seat back on the toilet. “What did he want?” I shouted.

“Mr. Ronzi is downstairs. He says he has to see you.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I stepped into the shower and turned it on full blast. When I went back into the bedroom, Verita had gone, but Denise was still there.

She picked up the glass of orange juice. “Drink it.”

I sipped at the juice. It was freshly squeezed and ice cold. “How long are you going to keep wearing that silly outfit?”

“Don’t you like it?”

“That’s got nothing to do with it. I like it fine. But it keeps turning me on. I’ve got a French maid fetish.”

She didn’t understand. “How do you get a thing like that?”

I laughed. “We had one when I was a kid. I used to stand at the foot of the stairs, trying to get a peek up her dress. Then I would go to my room and beat off.”

She didn’t smile. “That’s stupid.”

“Maybe. But it’s quite common.” I had an idea. “Remind me to use that for one of the future layouts.”

She exchanged the orange juice for coffee. “You’ve had some phone calls.” She held out some slips of paper.

I sat down on the bed, sipping the coffee. “Read them to me. I don’t think my eyes are up to it yet.”

She looked down. “Miss Sheridan wants to know if two o’clock is still okay for today. Mr. Lonergan will call you back. Your mother. Call her this evening.”

“Nothing from Reverend Sam?”

She shook her head.

I didn’t like it. “Try to get him for me.” I put down the coffee and began to dress while she dialed. I had my shoes and jeans on by the time she put down the phone.

“He’s not at home, at the church or at the workshop,” she said.

“Try the hospital.”

I had just finished buttoning my shirt when she held the phone toward me. “He’s coming to the phone.”

All the strength seemed to have gone from his voice. “Gareth?”

“Yes, sir. How’s Bobby?”

“He just went back into surgery.”

“I thought—”

He interrupted. “The bleeding wouldn’t stop. And they can’t find the source without going inside.”

“I’ll be right over.”

“No.” His voice was stronger. “There’s nothing you can do. He’ll be in there for a couple of hours. I’ll be here. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what he was going to do. If I had, I would have stopped him.”

His voice was gentle. “Don’t blame yourself. You did all you could do. In the end each person has to accept the responsibility for himself.”

I couldn’t entirely shake my feelings of guilt, but Reverend Sam had a point. I knew Bobby was submissive, and it wasn’t a long jump from his kind of passivity to heavy masochism. He was just naïve enough to think it would all be fun and games.

“How is he?” Denise asked.

“He just went back into surgery,” I said heavily. “They have to find what’s causing the bleeding before they can stop it.”

She reached for my hand. “I’ll pray for him.”

I looked into her earnest eyes. “Do that,” I said, starting for the door.

Her voice stopped me. “You don’t believe in God, do you?”

I thought of all the savagery, death and destruction I had seen in my life. “No,” I answered.

Her voice was soft. “I feel a great sorrow for you.”

I saw the tears in her eyes. Only the innocent can believe in God. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m not the one who was hurt.”

Her eyes seemed to look into my soul. “Don’t lie to me, Gareth. You hurt all the time. More than anyone I know.”

***

“Give me another ten thousand copies and I can move them out by Monday,” Ronzi said.

“No way.”

“Don’t be a schmuck. You got a hot issue. Ride it. How do you know the next one will be as good?”

“It will be better. If you’re smart, you’ll go to seventy-five thousand on your next order.”

“You’re crazy. There’s never been a paper that topped fifty thousand.”

“If I printed ten more, this issue would.”

He was silent.

I pressed. “This would have been sixty thousand. With what I’m laying on for next week, seventy-five will be a cake.”

“What are you doing?”

“Four-color cover and centerfold.”

“You’ll go broke. You can’t afford that at thirty-five cents.”

“Don’t shit me, you hiked the price to fifty cents already. That’s the new price.”

He turned to Persky. “This guy is crazy.”

Persky didn’t answer.

I signaled to Verita. “Bring me the eight-by-ten color prints of next week’s girl.”

A moment later she spread the photographs on my desk. It was an airport layout. A beautiful Eurasian girl with hair down to her ass. I pushed the pictures toward him in sequence from the time she came down the ramp of the plane until she lay naked on the bed in her room, hugging her knees to her chest.

“You won’t be able to print that,” Ronzi said. “You can see her slit.”

“It’s already on the presses.”

“You’ll get busted.”

“That’s my problem.”

“It’s my problem, too. I’m the distributor. And I got enough troubles without this.”

“You want out?”

“I didn’t say that,” he said quickly.

“I’m not pushing you. Take your time. Think about it. I’m sure I can get Ace or Curtis if you want out.”

He stared at me balefully. “Fuck you, I’ll take it.”

“Seventy-five thousand,” I said.

He nodded. “Seventy-five thousand.” He glanced at Persky, then back at me. “Is there someplace we can talk alone?”

“You can say anything you want to right here.”

“This ain’t business. It’s personal.”

He followed me up the stairs to the apartment. Denise let us in. The crazy uniform was gone and she was back in shirt and jeans. She looked better. I took him into the bedroom and closed the door behind us.

I waved him to the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. “Okay. What’s personal?”

“I was on the wire to my contacts back East. We think you got a big future in this business.”

“Thanks for the vote. What does that mean?”

“It means we want in. Lonergan’s small potatoes. We can take you national. That means real money. Big bucks.”

“No partners. I like being alone.”

“Come off it, Gareth. We know Lonergan’s in with you.”

“All I got with him is a space contract. Nothing else. Maybe I didn’t make that clear to you.”

“Okay then, that makes it easy. We’ll give you a hundred grand for fifty percent of your action. You still run the paper like before and we take it all over the country.”

“No.”

“You’re a fool. We’ll make you a millionaire.”

“Give me a million now for half the paper and you’ll convince me.”

He exploded. “You are crazy. What makes you think that stinking rag is worth a million?”

“You did.”

“Only if you go national.”

“I’ll go national.”

“Not without us, you won’t. We’re your exclusive distributor and if we don’t take you out, nobody does.”

“Our deal is only for one year.”

“By that time your paper will be ripped off all over the country. It won’t mean nothing nationally.”

I was silent. He was right. I couldn’t go anywhere without him. I was locked in. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“How much time do you want?”

“A month.”

“You got two weeks. That’s as long as I can hold them off.” He got out of the chair and went to the door. He looked back at me, his hand on the doorknob. “You’re a strange man, Gareth. Just a few weeks ago you were on the balls of your ass scrounging unemployment checks. Now I’m offering you a clean hundred grand and you want to think about it. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you want to be rich?”

“You’re forgetting one important thing, Ronzi.”

“What’s that?”

I smiled at him. “Money doesn’t mean that much to me. I was born rich.”

CHAPTER 17

“We’re in trouble,” Persky said. “The printer just told me we’re short four pages of copy.”

“How the hell did that happen? How much time do we have to do it?”

“One day. He needs it by Monday morning if he’s going to run seventy-five thousand copies.”

“Damn.” I stared down at the desk. The schedule for the next two issues had only about half the copy needed.

“He wants an answer now. It’s the only way he can get the issue out in time.”

“Tell him he’ll have his copy Monday morning.”

Persky went back to his desk. I looked over at Eileen, who’d come in a few minutes earlier and was sitting opposite me, a faint smile on her face. “You have this trouble at your paper, too?”

“No, we’re locked in by the school schedule.” She got to her feet. “Maybe I’d better go. You’re up to your head. We can talk some other time.”