The Quirk (14 page)

When he began to revive he lifted his head and looked down at her. Their eyes met with the peaceful knowledge of having experienced everything their bodies could give each other. He probed deep into hers and found them inscrutable except for the light of unextinguished desire. A girl’s desire was the real thing, so rich in promise, stirring responses from the depths of him, particularly poignant in a girl who had seemed at moments all style and spirit. Was it the prelude to love? After this, what would they expect of each other?

“Say fuck,” he ordered softly with is mouth close to hers.

“Fuck?”

“Yes, I want to hear you say it. Otherwise, I may ask you to marry me.”

“If I say it, you won’t?”

“It may seem less necessary if I keep reminding myself that what we’ve been doing is having a fantastic fuck.”

“You won’t want to give your wife a fantastic fuck?”

He saw humor spring up in her eyes. “I hope I do, but people don’t necessarily get married for that.”

“I don’t know what they get married for. I love being fucked by you. More than anybody ever. I’m not sure why yet. You
feel
beautiful. This is very thrilling. Everything you do makes me feel you want me very much. You’re a big man, much bigger than my other two. Lovely and slim but so much of you fucking me.”

“Is that good?”

“I think it must be. If one likes to be fucked by a man, the more there is of him the better.” They burst out laughing together. “Have I said it enough?”

“Yes, but it’s not having the right effect. You make it sound so elegant.”

“I’d like to have a husband who fucks me so beautifully.”

Lethargy was passing. He felt none of the listless resentment he often experienced after the first time with a new girl, resentment at having surrendered something of himself for such fleeting pleasure. With this girl their bodies joined in a sort of witchcraft that promised an infinity of sensual rewards. That might turn into love if he let it. His voice hardened in an effort to be practical as he went on. “In another year or so, I might be able to think about getting married. In the meantime, I don’t even know how I can see you very often. My work, no place to take you, having no money. All of it.”

“I’m a French girl. We’re very sensible about such matters. Do you want me to be your mistress? You can’t live with me because that would cause a scandal, and scandals are usually more trouble than they’re worth. Besides, you would be too far from your work. Do you want me to set aside an evening every week when you can come have dinner with me and fuck me? Some men arrange it like that with their mistresses.”

He was briefly offended by her speaking of it so dispassionately. But second thoughts told him that she was offering him a great deal–a serious affair that wouldn’t take up too much of his time. It sounded a bit like keeping a regular doctor’s appointment–what if he didn’t feel like playing on the prescribed night?–but he was sure she would keep it exciting. There was the mystery about her, something elusive, something that intrigued him. He felt it again, and his curiosity was agreeably stirred. There didn’t seem to be another man, after all. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with physical reticence.

He slipped off to one side of her to make their bodies accessible to their increasingly purposeful caresses and studied her delicate features. Her eyes were averted, her expression intent. The area in him that had been holding back, questioning, sending out warnings, seemed suddenly silenced. This exquisite creature was his. Her hands were exploring all the secrets of his body. She was his. It was as simple as that. Lola had known it was going to happen, so something must have been there all along. Why hold back?

She lifted her eyes to his, and whatever she saw brought an inviting smile to her lips. He made a little murmuring sound of acknowledgment. “If I see you only once a week, I’ll worry all the time about somebody else fucking you,” he complained.

“Do you want me to promise that nobody else will?”

“Is it a promise you can keep?”

“I haven’t let anybody fuck me for almost a year. Before that, there was one man for about two years. He was married. And then, going backward, there was the first one. We were both very young, so it doesn’t really count.” She slurred over the last words in an odd way that caught his attention. Mystery?

“That seems to add up to only one man who did count. There
was
something sort of virginal about you when–well, until a little while ago.”

“I am very bold and wicked with you, but you see that I haven’t been promiscuous. And you–will you be fucking nobody else?”

He thought of Patrice, but that didn’t count. “I haven’t been much interested recently. Nor can I imagine wanting anybody but you. Besides, men are different.”

“So they like women to believe. Never mind. If you are satisfied, I will be. At least until we see.”

“See what? Do you think we really might get married?”

“You’re an American but a fine artist. You’re the only beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I’ll think about it when you ask me. Not now. In a year if you’re still interested. I must go soon.”

He moved his mouth to hers. They kissed deeply and at length until they were devouring each other. Their mouths broke apart, and she buried her head against his chest and ran her mouth over it and kissed his nipples.

“Oh, darling, beautiful Nicole.” He gently disentangled himself from her and sat upright. He drew her up and put an arm around her and held her close. She caressed the erection that lifted once more against his belly. “How marvelous. We’re so good together,” he murmured. “Thank you for saying fuck so often. It makes me realize there’s a lot more to it than that. Are we falling in love?”

“I think that means different things to different people. You’re fascinating, not like anybody I know. That’s why I want to be your mistress. I think you Americans are very sentimental. We say we’re in love when we find the only person we think we can spend the rest of our lives with. To know that takes time.

“Did you know this was going to happen?”

“I thought about it. I believe men and women think about it a great deal, don’t you? During lunch I knew you could have me if you wanted me.”

“I wish you’d told me,” he said with a chuckle. “I couldn’t think about anything else while I was showing you the pictures. I’ve been afraid of you–afraid of falling in love with you and your not falling in love with me. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I’ve got to think like that. I just don’t have time to run after a girl.”

“Ah, when it comes to time you can’t accuse me of wasting very much.”

“No. That’s what’s so marvelous about you. So many girls pretend they’re not interested in sex like men.”

“How strange. You must mean American girls. French girls are interested in little else.”

Their eyes met, and he saw tenderness mingled with the humor in hers, as well as desire. He marveled that in such a short time she could touch him on more levels than anybody he had ever known. Starting with the fire of passion that burned beneath her cool aristocratic surface, there was so much about her that satisfied him. Humor cut through her gravity. She was intelligent but with none of the superiority of the intellectual. She was beautiful, but unlike the beautiful girls he had known, she had yet to look at herself in a mirror. He tipped her over and lifted her legs onto his lap so that she was stretched out on her back, gloriously available.

“Isn’t it marvelous being naked together? Some girls are always covering up. Half the fun is being able to look at a beautiful body.”

“I’m beginning to find that out too.”

He pulled himself up onto his knees and held her legs at his sides and advanced between them. She reached for him and guided him into her. They were joined once more.

“There. Just like that,” he said with awe. “We become part of each other. Oh, God. Feel me inside you. Isn’t it marvelous?”

“Heavenly. I don’t think some ugly little old thing would feel quite the same.”

Eventually he became aware of time and Patrice. They managed to call a halt and took turns in the bathroom. When he returned to the living room, she was dressed, looking cool and stylish and unattainable. He wondered how he’d ever dared make the first move as he headed for his clothes.

“I’m not covering up,” she pointed out. “You said we must dress. That’s different.”

“I don’t like being naked when you’re not,” he said over his shoulder. “Are clothes going to make us strangers to each other?”

“After this afternoon? I think not.”

He tucked his shirt into his pants and turned to her. Their eyes met, and they burst out laughing. “Well, yes and no. Clothes make you look as if I ought to undress you. Can’t we go to your place and spend the evening with nothing on? He went to her and held her lightly with his hands on her elbows.

She looked up at him with an unguarded smile that turned her young and virginal again. “We’ll do that soon, my dearest. Tonight I have a dinner. A very dear friend just got married. Their first dinner. I would be unkind not to go.”

“Yes, I guess that’s the way it’s going to be. You lead your life, and I’ll lead mine. It’s the way it has to be, of course. I hope it doesn’t drive me crazy.”

She lifted a hand and traced the shape of his mouth with a fingertip. Her eyes followed it with absorption and then lifted to his. “It’s very confusing when there is so much desire. We mustn’t let it make us foolish. I must remember, for instance, that a fantastic fuck is not a reason for getting married. If we care for each other, it will do no harm to be apart a little. There is always the telephone.”

“Yes, we’ve got to talk a lot. I’d like to know when you decided you want to spend the rest of your life with me.”

“I doubt if it will be necessary to say it, but it might help us not to make unnecessary mistakes. There are always enough mistakes that are unavoidable.”

“You sound very wise for a girl who’s had only two men,” he teased her.

“Women are born knowing more about love than men,” she told him with mature serenity.

He had entered into his adult manhood in the nick of time. To deal with her shifts of personality, ranging from woman of the world to starry-eyed innocence, required adult confidence. He leaned down, and they exchanged a kiss that quickly became breathless. They broke apart, and he gathered up her coat.

He was prepared to escort her home, but she brushed aside the suggestion. He was delighted with her. Fifteen or 20 minutes in a taxi would contribute nothing to their intimacy; it was an irksome formality demanded by girls who were sticklers for the rules. He and Nicole had already reached a point beyond such petty rituals.

Getting her into her coat brought her into his arms again, and they clung to each other for another moment. Her hands on him were agreeable explicit. “I want to start all over again,” he muttered. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Yes, I must behave, but I love to feel it when it’s like this. I’m not very ladylike.”

“Thank heavens.” They laughed unsteadily and let go of each other, and he headed her for the door. He stayed with her until they found a taxi. They exchanged a final kiss that brought smiles to the faces of passersby, and she was gone. The wrench of parting was so great that his first instinct was to grab another taxi and follow her. There wasn’t one in sight. Standing irresolutely at the curb, he had time to remind himself that if he would get into a state every time they parted, he has headed for trouble. He turned back with dragging feet toward home.

It was all very well to get carried away by a sensational girl, even to think he might he in love with her, but his life was organized for work; she had understood and accepted it. She was not only sensational but also sensible. He could at least try to be the latter. Perhaps planning on marriage in the indefinite future would help him keep everything in perspective and provide the cement for what could become a nerve-racking, unsettling once-a-week passion.

Patrice was there when he let himself into the apartment. Rod fell on him and gave him a great hug of greeting and immediately felt better able to cope with whatever he was getting into with Nicole. His monkey would save him from pangs of longing and help him keep everything under control.

Patrice looked up at him with mischief in his eyes. “You look as if you’ve been having a good time.”

Rod chuckled. “I’ll say. She just left.”

“What did I tell you? She is not made of stone.”

“God, no. She’s amazing. I think this might be it, monkey.” He still had an arm abound him and felt a slight stiffening in his friend’s body. He gave him another hug and ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to change, nothing important, not for months. I’m going to need you more than ever. Let’s have a drink, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He watched his boy move about the room, brisk and jaunty, and was suddenly overwhelmed by a sensation so intense and unfamiliar that for a moment he thought it must be physical, some wonderfully beneficent seizure. His legs felt weak and his arms and torso buoyant and bursting with an electric energy of their own. Images of Nicole flashed through his mind, and he guessed this was what it was like to be in love, his whole being suffused with love, as if she had uncovered a great untapped reservoir of love in him. It overflowed and brought the whole world and all of life’s secrets flooding into him. He couldn’t put it into words, but it was there, in his fingertips, in his eyes, and he was sure it couldn’t have happened to him if he hadn’t cut himself off from his stifling upbringing. Love wasn’t struggle and torment. It was light and joy. It was–he could hardly believe it–happiness. That was the last thing he had expected. For a moment he almost didn’t care whether he ever painted another picture. A profound transformation had taken place in him, and he wondered how it would affect his work once he had adjusted to it. It was bound to change the way he looked at things.