Authors: The Demon
sense at all. Whats happening to me? Mother of krist, whats going on? Goddamn it! GOD DAMN IT! ! ! !
Then
the morning and the goddamn feelings of guilt and remorse that churn your swearing body and dull your mind without ever really identifying themselves, the feelings being pushed and shoved desperately down into the cesspool of the gut so they can become confused and absorbed by something else, anything else, so they do not have to be looked at and recognized and accepted for what they really are. Mother of God, please, dont let that happen. Dont let me come face to face with the truth. What in Gods name will I do with it???? About it???? No, let those feelings churn and twist and rip, but let them remain nameless, so the reason for them does not need to be investigated. Let it just be called pain. That is good enough. Let us not hold them up to the light and seek the truth. Please. I dont know what to do with it. I just dont know. . . .
And an-
otherstaring-at-the-plate breakfast—the previous one suddenly vivid in the mind, the memory alive with the little tricks and techniques used the previous time—and the torturous, and time endless, ride to work and the interminable ride in the elevator and walk to the office before the door is safely closed, and a grabbing of the head with the hands and then the sudden clenching of teeth and hands and the conscious effort to abandon oneself to work and then the blessed relief of the work filling all the areas, including the dark corners of consciousness, and the day eventually proceeding at its normal pace.
And then the awareness of the fact that the office is almost empty, the quietness forcing the head up from the desk. Time to go, but then mercifully finding something that can be done right now. Must stay a little while longer. No real need to call to say so. Just work for a while. Call later. Work. Work! Work!!!! And eventually the quick call, and then no more games can be played with time and the papers are neatly piled on the desk and the reluctant leaving of the office.
Jesus,
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did I check my clothes? Must have. Of course. I did. I know I did. A teething baby—O thank God—and some sort of dumb show on television, and eventually two tired people sitting and talking about something for a while—what is unimportant as long as the time passes ... passes ...
and then the mercy of sleep. And forgetfulness. More ancient history . . .
Harry Jr. was about six months old when Linda was away from him for the first time. It was a special occasion and she took the baby to Grandma Whites (and Grandpa too, of course), and he spent the night with them. She took him to their house in the afternoon, and coming home, alone, to an empty apartment was strange for her. And though she was alone only for a few hours, she fidgeted and called the Whites a couple of times, both times laughing at herself, but calling anyway. She certainly was not worried about the little guy, and was very surprised at her reaction to his being away for what she thought of, in the beginning, as a few hours, but which evolved into being away from home for the entire night —and actually when you take into consideration the time traveling, he will have been gone for one whole day!
Linda laughed out loud when she realized that she was nothing but a worrywart. She had never thought of it before, and actually there was no reason for her to have given it a moment of her time. But she knew even now, so aware was she of his being gone and having just called the Whites for the second time, that as soon as Harry got home and they were alone together and then went out that she would relax and enjoy the evening, just as Harry Jr. and his grandparents were enjoying the evening.
And it was a special occasion. A very special occasion. There was to be a dinner at the Bankers Club for the Board of Directors, a few of the top executives, and their wives. Even Harry did not know all the details, and told her everything he knew about it—that the new operation was going well, exceeding all
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expectations, and that the primary function of the dinner seemed to be to pat each other on the back for doing such a tremendous job. Harry had also been told that he was going to be given another promotion, which would be part of the congratulatory speechmaking.
Linda was ready when Harry got home, and he had to stop and just look at her, his inner excitement warming his smile and putting a gleam in his eye. God, she was beautiful. Everything about her sparkled—her eyes, hair, skin—and the simple lines of her dress clung gently to her curves. You know something, Mrs. White, youre a lie. Youre unreal. A myth.
I know I should feel complimented, smiling and tilting her head, but Im too confused.
Well, laughing and walking toward her, its just that I have always heard that a woman tends to get a little doughy, or at least a little flabby, and run-down at the heels after shes been married awhile and has had a baby, but you get lovelier and more exciting every day.
You know something, Mr. White, her hands clasped behind his neck, you make me feel lovely. Im just a mirror.
They laughed and got ready to leave.
Although Linda was the youngest person at the dinner, being many years younger than everyone else with the exception of Harry, she felt completely at ease. There seemed to be less than two dozen couples and the introductions were leisurely. Linda blended in perfectly, doing much more listening than talking, and was instantly liked by everyone. More than one of the women, who were old enough to be her mother, whispered in her ear that they were jealous of her, she was so young and pretty, and she chuckled along with them.
And, of course, Harry was told by almost everyone that he was a lucky man to have such a lovely wife. Harry smiled, laughed, and readily agreed that she was vivacious and charming, and gave Linda a little extra hug or squeeze.
One of the many things Harry loved about Linda was her
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poise, and she really delighted him this evening. She was so extremely graceful as she was introduced to people and maintained a charming stream of conversation during dinner, listening carefully to what others said and asking the appropriate questions and paying the appropriate compliments.
What made him conscious of this was the fact that he himself felt ill at ease with the people at dinner. He said and did all the right things, but it was a strain because his insides were in conflict with his actions.
It seemed strange to him that he should feel as he did; he had met these men before—and even a few of the wives—and never had had a moments discomfort sitting around a conference table with them, but tonight he felt extremely self-conscious and nervous, these feelings being magnified by his trying to find a reason for them, and becoming more and more confused the more he searched. And so it became a vicious circle—the worse he felt the more he searched, and the more he searched the worse he felt. So he just endured, with the proper smile on his face and the appropriate words coming from his mouth.
The surprise that numbed all of his feelings came suddenly when the Chairman of the Board asked for everyones attention and started talking about the expansion of the firm, how it had grown and what the prospects were for continued growth and expansion—especially in the foreign market—and he started thanking various people, with an anecdote or two regarding each followed by the appropriate chuckling, and then Harry heard his name and the appropriate smile spread on his face, but then shock instantly set in as he heard that he was the newest executive vice-president, the youngest executive vice-president the firm has ever had.
Linda clutched his arm and he could feel her bouncing in her seat, O, honey, thats wonderful, just wonderful, and she kissed him; and he found himself standing to light applause and saying a few appropriate words. He thanked everyone for their kindness and the honor they had bestowed upon him; and he told them how much he believed in the firm and his
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own personal dreams of what the future could hold for them, and he reaffirmed his dedication to the firm; and then he thanked Wentworth for everything he had done for him ever since he had joined the firm—Harry kept noticing the nods and smiles of agreement—and last, but certainly not least, he wanted to thank his beautiful and loving wife, who had always been by his side and been a constant inspiration to him (Jesus, didnt that jerk Davis say that? How you doing, junior veepee, hahahaha), not that I always asked for it or wanted it —Harry smiled broadly at his Linda, and the others laughed appropriately—and once more thanked everyone and sat down as the others applauded enthusiastically and Linda hugged and kissed him. Harry laughed and kissed his wife.
The congratulations and handshaking and backslapping and hugging and kissing seemed endless to Mr. and Mrs. White, but they thoroughly enjoyed it, and when it had finished, it seemed to have lasted a matter of seconds. But the joy and excitement continued to thrill them as they said their goodbyes and held hands on the ride home.
Harry sat on the couch and Linda stood in front of him, smiling warmly and looking at him with obvious pride. She almost shivered with joy and pride. O, Harry, I am so excited, just so excited.
Harry smiled and took her hand, It is a little hard to believe, isnt it? I guess it will take a little while to fully sink in.
Well, in the meantime, sitting beside him, I am going to give my husband a kiss. They sat on the couch chatting, chuckling, holding hands and kissing, and luxuriating in the excitement of the evening.
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1O
O God, how in the name of krist can this be true? It must be a dream. Please, let it be a dream. Let the alarm ring and I/ll get up and go to work. And Harry tried to wake himself, as he looked into the closed eyes of the woman under him, and felt her moving in response to his movements, and her excitement. Krist, he could hear her moan. You dont hear people moan in dreams, do you? And he felt her warm flesh under his and he moved and rolled and thrust and felt the roundness of her ass against the palms of his hands and she moaned louder and louder and he wanted to just get up and run but he could not and he seemed to be a spectator as he fucked the broad and the brightness of the light coming through the shades shoved the idea of a dream out the window and he could no longer attempt to deny the truth and he moved along with himself as he fucked her and suddenly there were spasms through both their bodies and then the sudden silence and immobility and he closed his eyes and shook his
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head and felt a warm nausea roiling around inside him, and he rolled off her and quickly closed himself up in the shower stall, and jerked the faucets on and stood immobile as the water pelted him. At least he wasnt going to vomit. He knew that. But he also knew that he felt like he was going to any minute. What was he going to do? Who was she? O, krist, how did it happen? He/d have to hurry and get dressed while she was in the shower. He had to get back to the office. O, shit!
He left the shower and dried himself and wrapped a towel around him and went back into the room. She was still in the bed with the sheet under her neck. He was afraid to look at her—he knew he would not recognize her—but faced her with his eyes moving in other directions. She smiled, Turn your back so I can get up. O krist, would he. Gladly. Gladly. He turned and as soon as he heard the water running, he dressed and quietly left the room and the hotel. He trotted across the street and went through a department store in case she was watching somehow and wanted to know where he worked. He walked as rapidly as possible through the store and out the other side, seeking the sanctuary of his office.
How could it have
happened? He was not thinking of picking up a broad. It was crazy. Nuts. Nothing made sense. He had left the office early so he could have lunch alone, for some reason not wanting to be with Walt and the others. And then he was screwing some broad in the hotel. It did not make any sense. What the hell happened? He just went down in the elevator and went out into the street and turned a corner and brushed someone and reached out to grab them so they would not fall, and then apologized and smiled, and she smiled, and then hes grinding on top of her as she moans. It cant happen again. It just cant. I have to control it. Control! Thats the answer. I just have to control myself.
The control lasted a week, the resolve even less. For a couple of days he ate lunch in his office, telling Walt and the others that he was in the middle of something and did not want to
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stop, but with the passing of each day the desire to leave the office increased, growing to the point where it was interfering with his work. He had to exert a strong effort to concentrate, and then he would suddenly get up from his desk and go to the window and look out, feeling imprisoned. After a couple of days he went out to lunch with Walt and Simmons. He could not find any reason to fight the urge. But he was careful and stayed close to the others and after lunch went directly back to the office with them.
But then he found himself thinking about women; or standing in the doorway of his office looking around and suddenly becoming very aware of the womens legs and the length of their skirts. He could not remember ever having done this before. It seemed like he had never thought about them. Even before he was married. The action seemed always to have preceded the thought. He had walked with them, talked with them, danced with them, been in bed with them, but he could never remember thinking about them. He went back into his office and tried to dismiss the whole stupid mess from his mind, and for a while his work was the only thing he was conscious of, but soon he would become aware of the fact that he was thinking of some unidentifiable broad. He tried to replace the thoughts with thoughts of Linda, but somehow that repulsed him and he went back to his work and the conflict.