The Royal Family (107 page)

Domino smirked for a moment. Then she slapped his face until his ears rang.

I’m the
Queen,
she said. Say it.

You’re the Queen.

That’s right, you dumb fuck. Say it again.

You’re the Queen.

Again.

You’re the Queen.

That’ll work. Am I the Queen?

Yeah . . .

That’s right. And you know something? If I don’t fuck you better than anyone else, how can I be your Queen? said Domino very reasonably. Now put me to the test.

Pulling her urine-stinking panties down around her left ankle, she rolled the condom onto John’s penis most expertly, opened her legs, and lay there looking at her watch.

Hurry up, she said. I told you I don’t have all night.

Eagerly John entered her. She kept slapping his face as he thrust. He climaxed almost instantly.

All right, lover boy, she said, resigned to not snagging his wallet this time. You came, so get out.

John studied his mirror image carefully to make sure that Domino had left no marks. All the very long narrow dark doorways now seemed to him to take on the shapes of slinking women.

About a week after these events, Celia presented him with a gift, although it was not his birthday or any holiday. —I just wanted to, she said with an unreadable smile. John was silent. But when he opened the box and saw within it the octagonal silvery pen with its knurling just above the tapering cone from which the point grew, and the counterpoint knurling on the other side of the pen just above the clip; when he saw how the light shone on its uppermost facet so that the metal became a warm white mirror; when, above all, he closed his hand about the instrument and lifted it out of its long black box, enjoying the feel and weight of solid stainless steel, he felt a sensation of pleasure so powerful as almost to convert the expression of his face into dreaminess. He kept turning the pen round and round in his fingers, watching the band of mirror-brightness altering against the darker smoothness of the pen’s seven other faces; and his joy in the
ownership, that is, of the lifelong, unlimited control, of this beautiful thing, compelled him to draw a long slow spiral on the sheet of paper, with the ink-track unrolling beneath his hand, miraculously even and dark. This was his own power which he’d brought forth from the box. Rotating the pen between his fingers once again, he perceived that where the cap was fitted against the body, the corner of each facet-edge had been cut away in V-shaped notches which lined up just so between the two pieces to form diamond shapes.

What Celia did not know was that the affair with Domino was likewise something to be removed from a box of secret ownership to be admired, treasured.

She walked by herself through the glowing green jewel of Union Square. Then she let herself be drawn to the long glowing rows of jewel-pews at the Shreve Company, whose marble-pillared interior enhanced the ambiance of a church. She closed her eyes, pretending that John had bought her an emerald ring. She wanted a Hawaiian honeymoon. How were the beaches there? she’d asked her friend Heidi, who went often with her rich lesbian lover. Heidi said that the big island was much, much nicer than Maui. Heidi said that the eastern coast of the island was almost unbelievable. Celia already had three brochures hidden away—no need to show them to John just yet. In fact, when she imagined her ring and her honeymoon, it did not seem to matter very much whether John were even there. That was how she protected herself against any foreseeable disappointment. She did not feel restless anymore. When she thought of Irene, it was with utter indifference; that woman couldn’t hurt her anymore. And John with his difficulties and failures seemed so safely immune from any harm that Celia
or
Irene could do, like one of those immense stone figures in front of the Pacific Stock Exchange, that she almost felt that she could treat him any way she liked.

On Geary and Mason, a businessman in radiantly blue sunglasses wheeled two suitcases behind him; maybe he’d just come from the airport. Celia wandered on. Her lunch hour had almost ended.

Gracie’s American Brasserie was serving roasted lavender chicken with garlic mashed potatoes. The grilled portabella mushroom
au poivre
was adequate, John had said. Last time he’d taken her there, she’d tried it, but couldn’t remember how it tasted. He had ordered the ginger-glazed baby back ribs with the two-cabbage cole slaw.

The tall man was standing outside the Wonderbar when John approached, because Sapphire had not yet been insulted and so the debacle with Heavyset had not yet occurred. —Got any questions? he said.

Nope, said John, a little intimidated, a little soft from office life as he fully admitted, but determined not to show it.

Nice shoes you got, said the tall man.

Thanks, said John, pushing past him.

’Scuse me, said the tall man, but you lookin’ for someone or just lookin’?

Some people don’t have time to just look, John told him scornfully. Some people don’t have time to answer a lot of nosy questions.

Then you lookin’ for somebody, huh?

Shrugging, John entered the bar. Domino wasn’t there yet. He sat on a scarred old barstool and ordered a gin and tonic.

I
know
who you’re looking for, Loreena said archly.

Congratulations, John said.

Last night she and I got a little drunk. In this business it happens.

John had not yet formulated a reply when the tall man came in and sat beside him. Loreena said: Heavyset won’t like your being in here. He’s due any minute. You’d better get out.

Fuck Heavyset, said the tall man. He’s the only guy I know got eighty-sixed from his own bar.

You know what? said Loreena.

What, bitch?

You got eighty-sixed from this bar, too, Justin, and you just called me a bitch, and if you care to feast your eyes you’ll see I’m holding this baseball bat and I’m going to bring it down on your head if you don’t
git.

Gimme a drink, the tall man whined. John looked away.

I’m going to call the police, said Loreena.

Someday somebody gonna take you down, bitch, said the tall man. —He turned to John. —You gonna buy me a drink?

Don’t feel obligated, honey, Loreena said. He’s not dangerous. I’ve got him under control. Justin, get out and stop bothering my customers.

Had Loreena not implied that the tall man might be making John nervous, John would have let him be eighty-sixed. But he was very sensitive to issues of courage. Indeed, his willingness to face up to and sometimes to escalate unpleasant situations had contributed to his effectiveness as a lawyer. Whenever he and Celia went to the Mission for lunch on those sunny weekends, they worried a little that the meter maid might punish John’s daringly illegal parking jobs on Lexington or another such alley, in front of some slate-blue or white old Victorian house, John parallel parking perfectly on the first try, then opening the door for Celia, ready to protect her from the Chicano gangsters with crossed-dagger or teardrop tattoos who lounged on the sidewalk; and for much the same reasons the tall man hawked drugs in hotel hallways instead of on the street; yet both of them took their chances if they thought that would get them somewhere fast. And so adventurous John said to the tall man: If I buy you a beer, will you apologize to Loreena and go sit over there so I can think?

Sure, boss, said the tall man with a white grin. Us plantation darkies like nothin’ better than ’pologizin’. Hey, bitch, sorry I called you a bitch.

Oh, fuck off, said Loreena. Why do I even bother.

I’m sorry, the tall man whined with sarcastic obsequiousness. I really need a drink. If I be good, will y’all let me be a house slave?

Shut up, John said.

If I shut up will you buy me a drink?

I’ll call the police, said Loreena. Both men saw she didn’t mean it.

The tall man moved two stools down and said: Loreena, I’ll have me a tequila sunrise.

Fine, said John.

Thank you, said the tall man while Loreena mixed and poured. Now lemme tell you something.

I thought the deal was that you wouldn’t tell me anything, said John. Just for once, can’t you shut your fat mouth? I don’t give a damn about you. Period. Okay?

You lookin’ for pussy, mister?

Oh, please, said Loreena, amused in spite of herself.

The tall man leaned back in his stool with a lordly air and said: Me, I’d rather jerk off than scratch the open sore between some bitch’s legs. If I can’t bring her somewhere, go out with her, show her off, it’s not worth it. Say, why don’t you take me out to lunch?

I’ve got some private business with a friend, said John as curtly as he could.

That’ll be four-fifty, sweetie, said Loreena. John gave her a five.

What kind of business? said the tall man.

Private business.

Say, white boy—

Hey! shrilled Loreena. You say one word to my customers and you’re
out
of here! They’re good people.

Right on! Right on, right on! an old drunk shouted.

Say, I’d sure like to know what your private business is. You gonna deliver him a couple of keys?
*

Something like that. Now shut up or I’ll throw this drink in your face.

The tall man rose, opened his mouth wide, and uttered a cawing, sneering laugh which showed his epiglottis and all his teeth. Then he advanced on John, who leaped to his feet.

Gentlemen,
gentlemen!
cried Loreena, rushing between them with the baseball bat upraised. The tall man stalked back to his seat.

You know what? said John. This man is threatening me. Either you get him out of here or I’m going out. This is no way to run a business.

Loreena picked up the phone. —This time I mean it, Justin. Get out.

Cursing, the tall man swilled his drink. He spat one ice cube on the floor and went out crunching another between his teeth.

The sights you see when you don’t have a gun! laughed Loreena. John refused to look at her.

He sat there waiting for Domino for ten more minutes. Then he left also.

Back again, said Loreena.

Yeah, said John, clearing his throat.

She just went out on a date. She’ll be back in fifteen minutes, I’d say, or an hour at the absolute latest.

Fine.

I hope you mean to take good care of her. She’s a keeper.

John said nothing.

Oh, we love her, Loreena went on. We take care of her. We leave her alone. She’s still beautiful.

Hey, Domino loves me! shouted the drunk two barstools away.

What the fuck, another man sneered. Domino kicks your ass.

Another round, Bentley? Loreena asked the sneerer. That whitehaired gentleman nodded and leaned back with a happy smile on his face because now that Louis Armstrong was singing on the jukebox and Loreena would serve him, he was momentarily King.

A black woman whom John did not know was Bernadette vomited on the floor. —Sorry, Loreena, she said. ’Cause I drank that Tom Collins on top of my pills I’m almost ready to pass out . . .

John drank two beers. Then through the swinging double doors came Domino.

Domino raised the candle (dark crimson because dark wax burns hotter) and told the john to be quiet. Looking him up and down, she smiled, then abruptly tilted the candle so that a molten ball of wax fell glowingly out. The john screamed.

Oh, do shut up, said Domino. It’s not that bad.

The man shut up.

Roll over on your stomach, said Domino. Head to the right. Close your eyes.

The box opened. Then she lovingly stroked the john’s back and bottom. She placed her palm on his buttock, then patted it, then spanked it. Then suddenly he felt a stinging blow. —What was it? A hairbrush, a paddle, a cord? —Another thud—harder, then harder. Another. One on his back which made him grunt. He knew that Domino was happy then, although he couldn’t see her (he wasn’t allowed to).

She said: How are you feeling?

Okay.

Do you want more?

Up to you.

Ask me for more.

Please give me more.

Thud, thud, slap in the flesh.

Do you want more?

Up to you, John repeated. The more tightly he closed his eyes, the more vividly he saw Celia’s face.

Ask me for more.

Please give me more, he groaned out.

Thud, thud, slap in the flesh. The pain pooled all over him like the merging streams of hot wax on his belly, like a trail of crimson blood. The john looked into her happy exalted face as the wax came down, and he looked again later when she peeled the congealed wax off his pubic hair. After a while he began to feel the sting all over. Timidly, he squeezed her naked thigh to share the pain with her. She told him to leave her alone.