This Body (19 page)

Katharine shyly ran her hands down Thisby's breasts and felt the beginnings of a shape, nodules presaging a second puberty.
She followed the curve of her waist to the spread of her hips, discovering the twin dimples at each side. They had been hollows
two weeks before, she realized. She rubbed down her thighs, coming up between them, skimming across the material of her underpants.

She imagined Max kissing her, and her breasts tingled as if milk were coming in. Her hand planed her belly button and then
slipped into her underpants. Her fingers ran through the pubic hair, curlier than her own had been. They flitted by the clitoris,
and her body pulsed as the nerve endings sprang to the surface like escaping bubbles.

She jerked her hand away.

This isn't me. These feelings aren't mine. I didn't have to do things like this. God, I wasn't even fantasizing about Philip.

Her hand strayed over a breast, and the nipple pecked at it.

Someone was kissing her, his face too close to see clearly. She imagined his lips against hers, gentle at first but then harder,
more insistent, his tongue exploring the depths of her mouth. She lost all shyness and stroked Thisby's body. It seemed to
rise off the bed, her nerve endings afire, sparking and spitting, her breasts straining against her T-shirt, even the soft
cotton stimulating the nipples to hardness. She rubbed her fingers back and forth over her pubic bone and across the hard
knot of Thisby's clitoris, her other hand encircling one breast and then the other in an ever tightening circumference ending
at the nipple. She could feel this body heat up — the pores, the veins widening to accommodate the surging blood. The focus
narrowed under her fingers, gathered pressure, and consolidated. Her muscles clenched almost to cramping, and then her clitoris
seemed to recede into that fearful place before orgasm. In this body, the agony was a trench, so low and deep that Katharine
feared she would die again. Then the ascent toward ecstasy came, so fast and swift that Katharine lost her breath, and the
spasms of coming arched her back. Noises came from Thisby's mouth that didn't seem to come from Katharine. She had broken
out in a sweat, and she panted shallowly. Reconnecting with the bed, she slowly dissolved into it. Something had been released.
Something once locked, now unlocked.

My God, what would it be like with a man?

Act 2, Scene 8

I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know what I remember and what I've been told I remember.

— I
NGRID
B
ERGMAN
,
Anastasia
(1956)

Puck's apartment was at the back of a rather modest quadplex. There was a small patch of deep green lawn outside his door, flanked on all sides by flowers in planter boxes.
It seems that Goodfellow was the one who took after Anne
. On a cement patio was an umbrella table and aluminum washtubs filled with bottles and cans of beer, wine, soft drinks, and water. The door was open, and Katharine could hear music coming from inside.

It was seven-thirty Saturday night. Puck had called her earlier in the week and invited her over to meet some of his friends,
including his girlfriend, Vivian. “There'll be alcohol, but a lot of my friends don't drink, so there'll be water and juice
and Coke as well.” She had assured him it would be okay and then offered to come a little early to help. He was surprised,
but he agreed.

She placed her hands on the door frame, leaned her torso into the entry, and called loudly, “Goodfellow, it's Thisby.”

His voice floated to her from a couple of rooms away. “Come on in, Thiz. I'll be out in a second.”

The apartment was neat and utilitarian, the carpet a cream-colored shag that horrified her.
How could anyone keep that clean
? She went into the kitchen to see what needed to be done and started to chop the vegetables that were draining in a colander.
Puck came in, buttoning his shirt. Katharine noticed that his chest was tanned and defined, but not in that muscle-bound way
she detested.

He gestured to the vegetables. “Looks like you've found yourself a job. So,” he said as he opened the refrigerator to take
out some dips in plastic containers, “I hear Mom and Dad not only got their daughter back but a canine companion thrown in
as well.”

“Did you talk to them today? How's it going?”

“Good, I think. Dad's resigned, and Mom's learned to feed the thing since Quince wants to go somewhere tonight. God, you'd
think, though, that she'd pick another name. Oh, well. Mom's already taken with him. Dad's having a bit of a hard time, but
I don't think he's going to be able to pull off with this dog what he did with Snout. Mom won't let him. Actually, I think
Mom would have let us bring home all kinds of things if Dad hadn't been scared to death something would hurt his precious
couches.”

“His couches?” It was out of her mouth before she could flick it back with her tongue.

Puck looked at her askance. “Jesus, Thiz. Don't you remember how he lectured us about proper furniture behavior?”

Robert's the interior decorator
? She had assumed it was Anne. But when she thought of Anne's kitchen, she realized that it was workable and livable, whereas
the other rooms were too beautiful to be comfortable.
They were Robert Bennet's creations
.

She had to get Puck onto a different subject. When he had invited her over, she had already visited the Ziegfeld-Zelig Gallerie,
but she didn't tell him of her intentions. “Goodfellow, I wanted to tell you in person, so I saved the news. I'm going to
have an exhibit. In late fall, if we can get it set up that fast.”

A voice came from behind them. “Set what up, RB?”

Katharine turned to see a rather petite woman with long, wavy dark hair, still damp, in high heels and silk stockings.

“It's Thisby. She's going to exhibit her photographs.” Puck bobbed his head in contemplation. “And it's about goddamned bloody
time.”

The woman smiled but seemed a little unsure.

Puck stepped forward between the two women. “Thisby, this is Vivian. Vivian, my sister, Thisby.”

“Nice to meet you,” Katharine said, holding out her hand. “Goodfellow has told me great things about you.” She had a vision
of Quince standing behind Vivian, sticking her finger down her throat.

“I've heard a lot about you too.” She had a soft handshake that would have made Marion cringe. Katharine had expected something
completely different from a female lawyer who was “a hard-ass in the courtroom.” Vivian stepped back and added, “I'm a great
admirer of Ansel Adams.”

Puck laughed. “Thisby's photographs are a bit different from Adams. Maybe Adams on LSD.” Immediately he looked liked he wanted
to take that back.

Vivian turned sideways and nodded toward the bedroom. “I've got to finish drying my hair, but I'll be right out to help finish
up.”

Puck turned back to Katharine. “So, who's setting it up?”

“Max von Mayerling at the Ziegfeld-Zelig Gallerie. We worked on it yesterday.”

“I hear he's good. The Zweimal's got a great reputation. I'm really glad you've decided to do this, Thiz. It's like real recovery
now. I always felt that would be the sign. I don't know why, but I always did. It turns out I'm right or close to it. If you
need my help, just ask. Though you'd do better asking Quince. She's much better …” He stopped and looked at her closely. “Was
that what you two were doing last weekend?”

Katharine nodded.

He grinned. “This is great. This is really great.” He seemed to go off into his head for a few moments, the grin still on
his face.

Katharine stared at him and felt good.

He focused back on Katharine and noisily blew air out of his nostrils. “Quince worships you, you know.”

“She worships you,” Katharine retorted.

“Yeah, but in a different way.”

The good way
.

There was a halloo from the front door, and others began to arrive. Vivian reappeared with her hair piled up on her head and
with small, square diamonds in her earlobes. She and Katharine finished the dips and put them out on the dining-room table
while Puck offered drinks from outside. After a while Katharine had to admit that Vivian, though extremely overdressed, wasn't
as bad as she first appeared. She spoke well of Puck or RB, as she called him, though she thought he could do better than
studio law work. Katharine realized that Vivian was just very reserved and,
well, a bit cold. Funny, when I first met Goodfellow, I would have thought they would be perfect together. But he isn't cold
at all. They're a bit of an odd couple now. Nothing in common
.

Puck introduced her to most of his guests — the women appearing magically at his side, their real intentions only thinly veiled.
Vivian doesn't even see it, or maybe she doesn't care
.

…
All the girls love Puck. They show up at my house supposedly to say hi to me but I know better. They come to see him. They
say, “Oh, is your brother home? I'm supposed to give him a message from my brother. Is he in his room
?”

And then I never see them until they have to leave. Ta-ta. Puck says he doesn't want them hanging around either, but I know
better
.

He's so good-looking and nice. I can see why they all love him. I just wish he'd stop playing father knows best
…

Puck seemed to take less care in introducing Katharine to the male guests. One was so handsome, Katharine could hardly stop
herself from staring, since such good looks had always simultaneously repulsed and captivated her. His opening line, after
Puck grudgingly introduced him as Benjamin Caine, was “First off, we shoot all the lawyers.” He seemed to wait for the punchline,
but Puck barely laughed. It must have been a very old exchange between them. Katharine wanted to correct this Benjamin Caine,
as she had just read that quote from
Henry VI, Part II
, “The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers,” but she could sense from Goodfellow that it would be too much trouble.

“RB says you've taken some time off from UCLA but will probably be going back in the fall,” Benjamin said, as if they were
old friends, after Puck had left them to greet some new guests. “RB and I were in SAE together, though he was older. Now I'm
in law school too. Soon to be another one of the legal eagles. But, shit, we were the original animal house. Pledge night
was killer. Did you ever go to our Paddy Murphies? Now there was a lost weekend.”

…
Puck is graduating. Or RB, as he wants to be called now. Yeah, right. He'll be off to UCLA next fall. He's even talking about
rushing the SAE frat. I hope he doesn't mind me coming to the Paddy Murphy party. A whole weekend of partying. I'm sure as
hell not gonna miss that
…

“What a killer party. Not that all of them weren't. We used to have these luge run parties. Remember them?”

Katharine shook her head.

“You know the luge. Like the bobsled but without the sides. Well, we'd get this big block of ice, put it on a table at a slant
and chisel out a twisty, turny course. Then one person would pour a shot of whiskey or whatever at the top of the run and
another person would be waiting at the end on his back with his mouth open. You'd get this awesome iced shot. We sure'd get
pissed on that easy. Cocktail?” he pointed to her empty glass.

She wanted him to go away. “Thanks. Orange juice.”

“Just orange juice? No tequila?”

“No.”

“I'll be back,” he said without much conviction, and took her glass.

I sure as hell hope not
. Katharine was about to disappear into the bathroom when a voice paralyzed her. “I was named after one of the most famous
pitchers in baseball. My dad's a real baseball nut. He even gave himself his own nickname. Hank, after Hank Aaron … Me? No,
I hate baseball. Can't stand the sport. But it's a great name for a lawyer, don't you think?”

Katharine turned around to visually confirm what her ears already knew. It was him, all right — True Young Denton, son of
Henry Denton and wife Emily, née Emily Ashley, sister to Philip Burton Ashley of northern California. This was her nephew.

Puck appeared at her side with some orange juice. “Benjamin asked me to bring this to you. I never did like him, but he's
here with a good friend of mine. Benjamin's the kind of guy who thinks that with a flawless profile, a perfect body, the right
clothes, and a great car, he'll get to the top. And in this city, who's to say he's wrong?”

Katharine took the glass from him absently, hardly taking her eyes off her nephew. She had forgotten how much he looked like
Philip, the compact body, the thick, coarse, techni-colored hair, the smile that transformed the quiet-looking face into something
bordering on luminous.

Puck followed her gaze. “Haven't you ever met True?”

Katharine shook herself. “No,” she croaked, and took a sip of orange juice.

“Come on. I'll introduce you. You'll like him. We were in the house together and then law school. He talks a lot, but he's
a good guy.” He turned, and Katharine was too stunned to do anything but follow.