Authors: Harold Robbins
“I’ll wait and go down to the airstrip with you.”
“But what about Eileen and Marissa?” she asked sweetly.
I knew a dig when I heard one but chose to ignore it. “The judge meeting you at the airport?” I asked.
She blushed.
I smiled. “It’s that serious?”
“Gareth,” she said, “we’re just very good friends, that’s all. I respect him for what he’s accomplished. There aren’t many Chicanos that have gone as far as he has.”
“Sure,” I teased. “And he respects you for your mind.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, give him a taste of that sweet pussy and he’ll fall in love with you,” I said.
“Is that all you ever think of, Gareth?”
I laughed. “Yes. After all, I’m in the business, aren’t I?”
***
We turned onto a dirt road about fifteen miles from the hotel. “The Retreat is about two miles from here,” Marissa said. “Just on the other side of the small forest.”
“Pretty isolated.” We had seen no signs of life for the past ten miles.
She looked at me from behind the wheel as she negotiated a tight turn. “They want it that way. In the rainy season you cannot even drive this road.”
I could believe that. The car bumped over the hard-packed ruts. I held on to the door and looked back at Eileen. She didn’t look too happy.
She saw my glance and grimaced. “This is no way to treat a hangover.”
I laughed. “You can’t win ’em all.”
The road cut through the forest and we came out on the other side into bright glaring sunlight. The Retreat spread out in front of us. The low American ranch-style buildings seemed familiar. Then I remembered. It was almost a duplicate of Reverend Sam’s farm in Fullerton. It had the same central building and, surrounding it, the wooden barracks that served as dormitories. There was a weathered split rail fence with a gate to the driveway that led to the main building of the compound.
We saw no sign of life as we pulled to a stop. I looked at my watch as I got out of the car. It was just after eleven o’clock. “I wonder where everybody is?”
“Everybody goes to work in the fields,” Marissa explained, coming around the car. “I think they take lunch there, too.”
Eileen got out of the car. She dabbed at her face with a Kleenex. “It’s hot.”
I went up the steps of the veranda and tried the door. It was open. We went inside. It was cooler there. And also familiar. It was very much the same layout as that of the Fullerton farm. I led the way to the office. That door, too, was unlocked. I opened it. The man sitting at the desk raised his head.
“Peace and love, Brother Jonathan,” I said.
“Peace and love,” he answered automatically. Then a look of recognition came over his face. He got to his feet. “Gareth!” He smiled.
I held out my hand. His grip was firm and warm.
“You manage to turn up in the strangest places,” he said.
“So do you.” I introduced the girls. He already knew Marissa.
“What brings you out here?” he asked.
I explained to him that I was down at the hotel and had come out here to check on Bobby’s photo session.
“Oh, yes. I saw them this morning. They’re shooting near the old Indian village.”
“I know where that is,” Marissa said.
“May I offer you a cool drink or a coffee?” Brother Jonathan asked.
“We don’t want to put you to any trouble. We’ll just run up to the village.”
“No trouble at all. We’ll just go over to the commissary.”
We followed him down the corridor to the dining room. We could hear sounds of people working in the kitchen. No sooner did we sit down than a bearded young man appeared. We all asked for coffee.
“You’re doing very well, I understand,” Brother Jonathan said. “I’m really pleased for you.”
“Thank you.” The young man came back with the coffee. “How long have you been out here?”
“Two years now. I helped build the place. Most of it was built with leftover material from the hotel construction.”
“Don’t you miss home?”
“No. My home is where my work takes me. If Reverend Sam feels I can serve him better here, then I am content.”
I tasted the coffee. One sip was enough. I put it down without saying anything. “This is a school?”
“Not really. It is more of a seminary. We bring members to the second plane, so that they can go forward and teach.”
“How long does that take?”
“It varies. Some have more problems disconnecting than others. Two years, three years, who knows? When they are ready, they move out. We have no formal time limit.”
“What about Denise?”
He hesitated a moment before answering. “Yes. She’s here.”
“Can we see her?”
“You can. But I would prefer that you do not. For her sake,” he added quickly. “As you know, she felt very strongly about you. It has been extremely difficult for her to disconnect and I am afraid that if she saw you, she would have a severe setback.”
“You make it sound as if I were a communicable disease.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that she has come a long way. I would not like to see her lose the ground she has gained. She is just beginning to achieve tranquility.”
“I understand. But when the time is right, could you tell her that we asked for her?”
I thought a look of relief crossed his face. “Of course, I will do that.”
“I think we’ll get on to the session. Thank you for the coffee.”
He rose. “My pleasure.”
“If there is anything I can do for you back home, just drop me a line and it will be done.”
“Thank you. But Reverend Sam provides us with all we need.”
He followed us out to the car. I waved to him through the open window. “Peace and love.”
He raised his hand in a kind of benediction. “Peace and love.”
He was still there as the car went out the gate and turned up the road toward the Indian village.
CHAPTER 42
The road wound through the fields that belonged to the Retreat. In each of the fields we could see four or five men and women at work tending the crops. They did not seem under any great pressure and moved almost languidly in the heat. They wore tan cotton khaki shirts and pants, and native wide-brimmed straw hats shielded their faces. They did not look up as we drove by, although they must have heard the sound of the car. We passed the last field about a mile and a half from the Retreat and entered a small forest glade.
“We are now on the property of Señor Carillo,” Marissa said. “You met him at the reception. He is the largest landowner in the area and a first cousin to the governor. His brother is the mayor.”
“What does he do?”
“Nothing,” Marissa said. “He is rich.”
“I mean, is he in farming? Cattle?”
“A little of both. But mostly it is his tenants that do those things. He collects rents. The Indian village is also on his property. He is from the oldest family in the state.” She continued in a faintly bitter tone. “They do not threaten him with expropriation of his lands as they did my cousin and he owns four times as much as they do.”
The village, just on the other side of the glade, consisted of a collection of timeworn adobe and wooden shacks. It seemed completely deserted.
“Where is everybody?” I asked.
“No one has lived here for twenty years,” Marissa answered. “The last of the Indians are supposed to have moved into the hills. But no one really knows for sure.”
“That doesn’t make sense. People just don’t vanish. They must have some contacts.”
“There are none.” She hesitated a moment. “It has been whispered that Carillo has done away with them. But they are only Indians. No one seems to care.”
We drove through the dusty street of the village, entered still another small forest on the far side and a moment later came into an open field, where the photo session was taking place.
The first thing I noticed were the uniformed armed guards standing about nonchalantly with M-1 rifles in the crooks of their arms. I saw them glance at our car and, just as quickly, glance away. There were at least thirty or forty of them.
“Policemen?” I asked Marissa.
“No. They are Carillo’s private guards.”
“What are they doing here?”
“They are protecting the visitors. There are many bandits in these parts. It is not wise to travel alone here.”
She stopped the car and we walked over to the group. Bobby looked up and saw us. He checked his watch and held up his hand. “Okay. Break for lunch.”
“How’s it coming?” I asked.
“Pretty good. I got four setups done already. If I can get five in this afternoon, we’ve got it made. We brought box lunches from the hotel if you’d like to join us.”
“You’re on,” I said. I turned in time to catch Eileen and Marissa staring at King Dong slipping into his pants. It wasn’t easy for him. It took some care to arrange the pants so that they fitted over his bulge. I laughed. “You girls want to join us for lunch?”
We sat in the shade under some trees, eating the box lunch of cold beer and wine, chicken, roast beef, fish in aspic, tortillas and French bread.
“We did three setups in the village,” Bobby said. “Great backgrounds. We have one more here. Then we go on to Carillo’s place. He’s given us special permission to photograph in his gardens. They told me he has acres and acres of flowers.”
“Sounds good,” I said, popping open another Carta Blanca. “Has Dieter been around?”
Bobby shook his head. “Haven’t seen him.”
“I heard he was coming up here.”
“Never showed.”
“How about Lonergan and Julio?”
“Nope.”
Bobby’s assistant came up to us. “We’re ready to go.”
Bobby got to his feet and looked down at me. “Back to work.”
I checked Marissa and Eileen. “You girls want to stay and watch?”
That was a stupid question. They followed Bobby down to the set. I watched for a few minutes while the models got set for the next shot. King Dong was nude again and lying spread-eagled on the ground with his hands and feet fastened to stakes. This frame supposedly represented his capture and the girls presumably teasing and torturing him while making up their minds what to do with him. From the way they were acting it looked as if it could turn into reality at any moment. They could not keep their hands off him and it was getting to be more than he could take. He was almost totally erect when Bobby began to yell at him.
“For Christ’s sake, be professional! You know goddamn well that we can’t print pictures showing full erections. Soften it up, you dumb bastard!”
“I cain’t help it, Mr. Bobby,” King Dong said in a plaintive voice. “Make them girls stop foolin’ with it. I’m only human.”
“All right, girls, quit horsin’ around!” Bobby said. “This is serious business.”
“You want me to throw some cold water on it?” Bobby’s assistant asked.
“We tried that the last time,” Bobby said disgustedly. “It didn’t work.”
“I don’t know what you’re all upset about, Bobby,” Samantha Jones said soothingly. “I can take care of it.”
“Oh, shit. We haven’t got time for that.”
“Really. I’m not goin’ to fuck him or anything. I used to be a nurse and there was a trick we used in the hospital. Works every time.”
“Okay,” Bobby said.
Samantha knelt on the ground beside him. Delicately she raised his phallus, holding it straight up in the air between three fingers. “How does that feel?” she asked, smiling sweetly.
King Dong’s grin was broad. “Real fine.”
Her other hand moved quickly and then there was a sound of a sharp slap. The phallus snapped against his hip.
“Ow!” he yelled.
Samantha got to her feet and looked down. The erection had gone. “Never fails,” she said smiling.
King Dong scowled at her. “Dyke cunt!”
“Okay,” Bobby shouted. “Let’s get back to work.”
I watched for a few minutes, then walked back toward the village. I didn’t mind seeing the pictures, but I had no interest in the taking of them. I noticed two of the armed guards fall in step about twenty yards behind me.
The windows in the little shacks were all gone and the doors hung on broken hinges. I stopped and looked in one of them. There was nothing inside except a few pieces of broken furniture and layers of dust and sand. When I glanced back, the guards were standing at the edge of the street.
The voice came from a building at the corner. “Gareth!”
I looked around but saw nothing.
“Up here!”
Denise was sitting on a windowsill, her legs dangling out of the building’s second story. “Catch me!” she cried.
Automatically I caught her as she jumped. “Are you nuts?” I asked angrily.
She grabbed my hand. “Quick. Follow me!”
We ran up the street, around another corner, then across the field into the forest. It took almost five minutes to reach the trees on the far side of a barbed-wire fence. We sat down at the base of a giant tree that concealed us from view.
“What’s this all about?” I asked, catching my breath.
“We’re not supposed to go on Carillo’s property,” she said.
“For Christ’s sake!”
“No,” she said seriously. “That’s why he has the guards.”
“All they can do is throw you out. They can’t shoot you.”
“They can do anything they want. It’s his property.”
“That’s crazy.”
“This is Mexico.” She looked up at me. “I didn’t want to leave you. You know that.”
I was silent for a moment. “Nobody pushed.”
“I had to. But I didn’t know it would be like this.”
“Is it bad?”
“I miss you so much. That’s what’s bad.”
“Then come back.”
“I can’t do that. If I do, I’ll never reach the second plane.”
“What the fuck is so important about that? It’s more important that you’re happy.”
“Brother Jonathan says that I will be happy when I can disconnect. He says it’s harder for some than others.”
“He didn’t want me to see you.”
“He was protecting me.”
“From whom? He knows I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“From myself. But he didn’t have to say anything. Nobody had to. I knew you were here.”
“How’d you know that?”
“I felt your aura,” she said.
“Keep that up and you’ll have me believing it.”