The Quirk (28 page)

“It’s so thrilling to meet Patrice at last,” he said in a breathless rush. “We hear so much about you. Everything we do has to be just like Patrice or we never hear the end of it.”

“That must get rather boring. Your name’s Georges? Thanks for not hating me, Georges.”

“I know you’re the greatest lover in the world. Everybody says so. Now that I’ve seen you, I’m going to dream of finding out for myself.’

Patrice glanced at Gérard. He was watching impassively, a faint trace of amusement in his face, as fascinating to Patrice as ever. Had he turned Georges loose to seduce him? He acknowledged the boy’s efforts by taking his hand and exerting slight pressure. “We should’ve met sooner. You wouldn’t have had to dream.”

The boy took Patrice’s hand in both of his and held it lightly on the front of his gray flannel slacks and moved almost imperceptibly against it. “You have an American lover. Have you sworn vows of fidelity?”

Patrice felt flesh hardening under the expensive fabric. He was sinking involuntarily into the sex-ridden atmosphere of his old school days. He started to remove his hand but didn’t want to start out by making too much of a point of having rejected Gérard’s training. He left his hand where it was and shifted in his seat to ease the slight stir of excitement in himself. “What makes you think he’s my lover?” He looked back at Gérard. “He’s a good friend. As a matter of fact, he’s in love with a girl.”

“How strange. Gérard says he’s your lover. Wait till you see Christian. He’s fantastic. He’s older than I am, but I’m quite grown up in ways that matter.”

“You are indeed.” He looked up at the boy and winked. His hand was being held against imposing manhood. Perhaps not one of Gérard’s major discoveries, but something he would ordinarily want to have a look at. He rejected the temptation but allowed his hand to be moved along it slowly and felt it lifting against confinement. He dropped his eyes to it. Its outlines were visible and its size obviously exaggerated by the bulk of cloth. He looked determinedly back at Gérard. “I haven’t a great deal of time,” he said, hearing a plea in his voice despite his resolution to take control of the situation. “I have to talk with you in private.”

“Of course. Later. Christian will be here in a moment. He’s going to show us his new dressing gown. I have allowed the boys to skip school this afternoon in your honor. They’re so anxious to please the famous Patrice. I hope that you’re not going to disappoint them.”

Patrice’s heart sank. Conditions were being imposed. He was to be the quid pro quo for Gérard’s declaring a truce concerning Rod. His hand closed on stiffened flannel. “Georges knows he pleases me very much.” The realization of how completely Gérard retained control made his voice falter. He looked up at the boy without seeing him. “Don’t you, Georges?”

“I hope so.” He darted his head down close to Patrice’s and whispered. “It’s going to happen if we don’t watch out.”

“I’m glad to see that you can at least still enjoy a quiet grope,” Gérard said. “Let’s abandon ourselves to pleasure for an hour or two, and then we can have a private talk if we must.”

The way Gérard spoke of abandoning himself made it sound like work. “There’s really no need for privacy,” Patrice said, determined to force Gérard to make an explicit offer in return for what was expected of him. “You’ve met Rod now.”

“Yes, that was quite a coincidence. Who would have guessed that little Nicole de la Vendraye’s fiancée was your lover? He’s a very handsome young man. Very intriguing. Does Nicole know about him?”

“Know what? Why should somebody who’s in love with her be my lover? He’s an extraordinary painter. I persuaded him to move in with me to save him money. He didn’t tell her because–well, I warned him that a lot of people know about me. But now that you know the whole setup, he’s going to. If you think you can make trouble by telling her, go ahead. He doesn’t care.”

“I see. There seems to have been a rather peculiar misunderstanding. If he’s nothing but a friend, why have you exiled yourself from the scene of your erstwhile passions? We’ve missed you.”

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me. He means a great deal to me. I don’t deny that. I’ve wanted to be free to do everything I could for him.” His heart was beating rapidly, but all trace of his fear was gone. He had been bullied and fascinated over the years into thinking of Gérard as an omnipotent spirit of evil. Now with all his thoughts fixed on Rod, he saw him only as a rather commonplace, rather despicable, and entirely contemptible man. His final liberation had been accomplished in an instant. All that mattered was to remove any lingering suspicions he might have of Rod. “Are you going to give him an exhibition?”

“We shall see. I was afraid you were going to make a speech about the sanctity of love. Still, I don’t find you quite convincing. If you have no lover, what’s become of your sex life?

“That too,” Patrice said. “I promised him when he moved in that there wouldn’t be any boys.” His heart was beating more and more rapidly with the effort of being untruthful about something more precious to him than life. He assured himself that nothing that happened here could touch him. He’d said he would do anything for Rod. Now, if necessary, he would prove it. “If you give him a show so that he can get married, that’ll be the end of that,” he said, praying that it wouldn’t be.

“Then do I take it you’re ready to return to the fold?” Gérard asked.

Patrice kept his eyes on his adversary while he lifted a reluctant hand and deftly unbuttoned the flannel slacks at his side. The boy made little yelping sounds, and his body jerked in an odd little dance of participation. Patrice pushed shirttails aside and an eager organ leaped out and filled his hand. He held it an instant while his eyes struck a bargain with Gérard, and then he turned and looked at it. As he expected it wasn’t as big as it had appeared under wraps, but it was gratifyingly substantial. He leaned forward and offered it his expert attentions. He heard the boy gasp. In another few seconds his mouth was filled with the ejaculation. He swallowed and felt flesh begin to go slack and released it. He looked up at the boy and winked again. Georges sank down on the arm of the chair beside him looking dazed.

“Oh, Patrice,” he whispered.

Patrice turned back to Gérard. He was sitting with a tight little smile of satisfaction on his lips. “Have I passed the test?”

“I’m delighted to see that you haven’t changed after all. You always do that with such panache. I’m more than ever anxious for you to meet Christian. It should prove quite fascinating.”

“I told you, I can’t stay now. I have a job, remember.” The aftertaste in his mouth made him want to cry with wounded pride, but the act was nothing; whatever fleeting excitement it had given him was only a sort of reflex action, a hangover from his old obsession with any big male part. The only body that could thrill him was Rod’s, no matter how incomplete his experience of it was.

“The afternoon has begun so promisingly,” Gérard said. “I’m sure you’re valuable enough to your new employers to allow yourself a little time off. Perhaps you should have your old job back. In any case we still haven’t really fully discussed your friend’s exhibition.”

“Then let’s. When you see his work, you’ll want to do it. You know now you can’t have any personal objections to it.”

“You remember how easily you always managed to have your way with me. If Germaine Powers is ready to put up the money and–ah, here’s our laggard beauty.”

Patrice’s first impression was of a blaze of color lighting up the austere room as he turned and saw a young man entering. He was wearing a rich robe of heavy brocade that swept the ground, turquoise and jade and azure, shot with gold. He had a mane of thick blond hair artfully coifed in waves that swirled over his brow and ears and around the back of his neck. His enormous eyes were blue, his ornately sculptured mouth was crimson. He moved with a lordly tread.

“Christian! Angel!” Georges exclaimed. “Look. Here’s Patrice.”

The spectacular youth ignored the yelps of his puppy friend; he had eyes only for Gérard. He preened and paraded in front of his patron while the latter made appropriate comments about the robe. It was shaped and tailored to enhance the contours of what appeared to be a splendid body, and yet there was something fragile and feminine about the model despite his considerable height, his big bejeweled hands, and his big feet encased in burgundy needlepoint slippers. His nose and chin were strong and nicely formed, but his face gave the impression of being all eyes and mouth, a corrupt face despite its youth. Patrice guessed he must be at the outer limit of Gérard’s age range, 18, even 19.

Gérard’s spate of praise was more fulsome than Patrice had ever heard from him, but he checked it abruptly like a light being switched off. “We’re being rude, my child. I haven’t introduced you to our guest of honor. This is Patrice.”

“Isn’t it thrilling, angel?” Georges exclaimed from somewhere behind the chair. “We’re finally meeting Patrice. You won’t believe what just happened. He’s thrilling.”

Patrice saw huge mindless eyes turned on him, and then the startling youth drifted in his lordly fashion toward him. He rose to meet him. As long as he was here, he might as well live up to Gérard’s expectations. Georges could be taught subtlety to offer himself less exuberantly, but he wondered if anything could jolt Christian out of his lethargic self-absorption. The youth stopped in front of him in a cloud of heady scent and leaned down to him. Patrice was ready for a perfunctory brush of lips against his. He gripped robed arms and opened his mouth and treated the boy to the fruits of his considerable experience. The effect was satisfactory. The body came alive against him. Soft lips worked with increasing abandon. When Patrice pulled back, the great empty eyes were wide, not with intelligence but with a startled lust.

“You’re
exciting
,” Christian breathed, the first words Patrice had heard him utter.

The embrace had somehow made the gorgeous robe look disreputable. It was open down to the waist, exposing a smooth chest. Glancing down, Patrice saw that the rich brocade was lifted slightly in the middle, suggesting that the body beneath it was entirely naked. As Christian started to move away, Patrice saw what looked like the heavy swing of a club giving the robe a more pronounced lift. He still knew what to do with a willing boy; the embrace had left him coldly detached.

“He’s extraordinary, don’t you think?” Gérard asked, immovable on the sofa.

“Yes, but I’m already quite fond of this baby,” Patrice said, turning to Georges. The boy rushed forward from behind the chair and stood expectantly beside him. Patrice resumed his seat. Georges mirrored his move, dropping onto the arm of the chair and cuddling close with an arm around his new champion’s shoulder. Patrice put a hand on his thigh and patted him.

Christian was arranging himself elaborately beside Gérard in a semi-lotus position with one leg crooked up under him, foot tucked against knee. He had shed his slippers. Under the triangle of draped brocade formed by his spread thighs, the swing of the club was still discernible as he settled himself. He put his hands on it and lingeringly arranged the draperies to display it to its best conspicuous advantage. This was surely one of Gérard’s major acquisitions. Patrice determined not to let himself be mesmerized by it. He could feel enormous eyes fixed on him.

“I’m very pleased with both of them,” Gérard said. “I suppose they arrived just after we last saw you. I’m expecting two more charmers in a week or two. We’ll need your invaluable guidance. Or should I say–inspiration? I can’t tell you how delighted I am to see you here again.”

“Thanks. It was silly to get out of touch. I’ll make sure Rod calls you tomorrow at the latest.”

“You’re not going to say you have to go again. I must admit, I’ll feel much less favorably disposed toward a friend of yours if you treat us in such an unfriendly fashion.”

Delivered in Gérard’s oddly cold and penetrating tones, it was the crack of the whip. It had always struck terror into his depths. He wasn’t frightened for himself any longer, but he still feared for Rod. “I honestly
have
to go. You can’t think I want to leave these two without getting to know them better.” He tried to cover an attack of nerves by filling his voice with all the regret he could muster.

“You hear, my children? I’m counting on your attractions to keep him. Really, my dear old companion. You don’t want to hurt all our feelings, do you? You always bring out the best in our young friends. I’m looking forward to seeing you with these two.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of Christian stirring again, rearranging his draperies. “I’m looking forward to it too. We’ll try to–” Georges ran his hand possessively over his shoulder and ducked down and kissed his hair.

“Don’t go,” he begged.

Patrice looked up at him distractedly and patted his leg again. When he turned back his eyes flew uncontrollably to the other youth. He had flung open the robe and let it drop back over his shoulders so that he was as naked as he could get without removing it altogether. Only a flap remained as precarious covering for the club that stood up now against one thigh, a gaudily wrapped package. The body was a figure in alabaster, fragile and extraordinarily smooth, with no strong muscular definition, a body created out of erotic fantasies. Patrice wanted to make a dash for the door. “Magnificent, isn’t he?” Gérard asked softly.

“Yes. I–” His eyes were trying to bore through the remaining covering, and he couldn’t think of anything to say.