The Royal Family (65 page)

That’s giving in, Chocolate mumbled. You can’t give in to extortion.

Whatever, Domino said. Well, it’s not you giving in; it’s me. This all happened because of you. I can’t find the Queen. Won’t you help me?

No, said Chocolate, opening her eyes. You know why?
Because you kept that money, bitch. What the fuck did you do with my money?

Then Ada was upon her, shouting: Guilty, guilty! and Domino was so afraid that she fell on her hands and knees literally pissing in her panties, and she felt the first blow on the back of her head, a hard bloody blow that cracked her skull, and she felt the second blow, and she heard Chocolate’s snoring and she heard her own screaming and then, thank God, the tall man was there, and it was Ada who was screaming. Domino never saw Ada again. She never talked to the tall man about what had happened, and the Queen when she heard made everyone, I mean
everyone,
promise never to speak of that night when Domino had lost the management of herself and become a dirty submissive little child. (
Soumis,
you know, that means submissive, said Dan Smooth mildly, looking up at Tyler from his French dictionary. A
fille soumise
is a prostitute under police control.)

That night almost killed Domino. It did something to her soul. It sealed her in a protective prison of rage.

Later the Queen sent for Chocolate and said: Why didn’t you help her? Domino’s your sister.

Oh, Maj, Chocolate whined, I know I fucked up, but she
stole
that twenty dollars from me. She never—

You givin’ me static, you evil little bitch? said the Queen. You go to Domino right now an’ say you’re sorry.

Please, Maj. I’m afraid of Domino now . . .

Don’t think Queenie can’t understand you. Don’t think you’re out of trouble, either. Now, what exactly do you propose to do for Domino? She got
hurt.
She got
scared.
She could have
died.

I know, Maj. I said I’m sorry.

Go an’ say it to her. She suffers. She’s got a lot to suffer. She’s not like Sunflower was. She does it to
herself.
But this time you did it to her, too. You got to bear your cross now, baby. You know what your cross is gonna be? Domino’s always gonna
hate
you.

No, I—

That’s right. She’ll
hate
you. An’ you got to love her back, even though one day she gonna try an’
get
you. Because it’s your fault. Okay?

Maj, I—

Did you hear me?

Okay, the whore whispered.

Then go an’ tell her. Now.

Chocolate did. And, as always, the Queen was correct. Domino never forgave her. After all, she never forgave anyone. And relations between those two must have been much
worse, were it not for the fact that Domino, whose hair was gradually becoming as grey as Tyler’s face, could not bear to think of that night when she had been so helpless and so afraid of another human being . . .

Like most aggressors, Chocolate took revenge on the one she’d wronged. Several of the other prostitutes having overheard portions of her conversation with Domino about the metaphysics of feticide, Chocolate afterward claimed to have received the blonde’s confession that one of her babies had not been aborted before birth, which was why Domino, inexorably desperate, had strangled it, thrown it on a pile of newspapers and set it on fire. Of course this was a malicious lie. At worst, if Domino had ever engaged in any such acts, it would have been because she had miscarried, and her baby wasn’t breathing anyway.

Crossing the yellow-lit shop-fronts of Van Ness to the Tenderloin where leopardskin-assed girls were bending and leaning into pink Chevvys, black Dodges, silver Hyundais, Tyler found that so many were wearing white that night! They wore white, and they wore lipsticked smiles. They chewed gum. They put to shame the unrentable tongues of icecream-licking girls in the bright window of Rory’s Twisted Scoop on Fillmore Street, where the most prevalent form of prostitution was called “marriage” or “the relationship,” and the trick pad might be any one of the ugly houses of Ocean Beach. (This comparison, of course, was never meant to denigrate John and Celia, who often drove up to Saint Helena to look at houses. Those two weren’t really “in the market” yet, not having declared themselves to be in the market for each other, but John felt that one could never go too far when researching real estate, especially because the research gave them both such pleasure. In the window of the broker’s office he learned about a $750,000 estate on Palmer Drive, a “magificent stone castle” for $1.3 million, a “panorama” for $425,000.) And so Chocolate said to the man in the pickup truck: Darlin’, I’m much more expensive than gold. —The man said: That reminds me of a song I heard somewhere. —Well, sing it to someone else! laughed Chocolate. You fat-assed cheapskate sonofabitch! —Cunt! yelled the man, speeding off. —That was a good one, Choc! Domino said a little gloomily, wondering if her nose-hairs were showing. She had just smoked some bad crack, cut probably with speed, and she knew that after the good feeling (which presently tingled from her toes to her teeth) had gone away, she’d feel nauseous and headachey for a good three days—unless of course she smoked more crack. Chocolate started dancing and shoutingly recited a rap poem she’d conceived whose subject was crack. Sapphire laughed and clapped her feeble little hands.

A black-and-white pulled up. The passenger-side cop slowly rolled down his window. The whores waited.

Well, well, said the cop. I smell a little illegal activity going on here.

He smiled and got out of the squad car.

Peddling that AIDS-infected ass of yours again, Domino? he said.

The little Queen strode forward and said: Listen, officer, these girls are my
kids.
They
love
me. If you gotta say something to me, please be nice, ’cause they be my
kids.
How
they supposed to feel when you start bad mouthin’ me? How I be feelin’ when you take one of my kids down?

All right, all right, said the officer soothingly.

Just say what you need to say and be nice, said the Queen. Otherwise, if you’re not nice, I won’t be nice, and then my tongue would be my sword, and you’d have to take me away.

All right, Maj, the cop said. Just keep ’em in line. I’ve had complaints, especially about Domino.

Why, what’s she done? said the Queen, stroking the girl’s long blonde hair.

Ripped off a few people, gaffled ’em I guess you’d call it. Next time I’m taking her in.

He got back into the squad car and slammed the door. The Queen waved.

Never mind, Domino, she said.

Domino said nothing.

All rightie now, said the Queen. Me an’ Henry, we want a little time alone now. We’re gonna fade right now. Domino, you gonna be okay?

Where you be? said the tall man.

Wonderbar.

Why you want to give a silver nickel to that racist piece of shit Heavyset? You losin’ it, Maj.

Imagine that, said the Queen.

Inside the Wonderbar, sweaty Nikolai, who stared at every kissing couple because he himself hadn’t kissed anyone in years, was asking: Will you be open on Christmas?

We’re always open except when we’re closed, Loreena the barmaid replied wearily.

What time will you be open?

Look, Loreena said. You know we’re always open unless we aren’t. I just said so. And we always have variable hours, so why do you even ask me?

But, Loreena, you just make it so nice for all of us regulars that—

Oh, dry up, asshole.

Nikolai’s mouth opened and he turned red and then his mouth closed again.

Tut-tut, Loreena, said the Queen. How you expect to make good money talkin’ like that?

Oh, hello, Maj. Hi, Henry. This is the shift from hell. And I can’t ever imagine any tips coming from that gentleman, unless he tipped over from being drunk—hah!

She went to the other end of the counter and started washing glasses.

Henry, said the Queen, I’m worried about Domino.

Tyler nodded sadly. —She’s a bad one, he said. I’m worried about what she might
do.

Oh, Henry, how can you say that? She just
want
to be bad.

Maybe that kind’s more dangerous.

But who she gonna be dangerous to? She just make me so sad. I want to hold that little girl in my arms, an’ I know she want to come to me, but she can’t come to me no more.

And you don’t know why?

Oh, I know. I know her like I know my own child. That girl fixin’ to betray me. She want to betray her own Queen! And she might do it. But I’d love her even if she cut me up. ’Cause she’s my little
baby,
the Queen concluded, gazing at Tyler almost challengingly.

If this were a book I wouldn’t even read the rest of it, Tyler said. Christ and Judas is what it is.

She want to give herself, but she don’t know how. She want to love, but how can she love?

Tyler stared into his glass, hardly listening.

It’s up to her, the Queen was saying.

Yeah, he said listlessly, unable to think of anyone except the Queen and himself.

And I’m worried about you, too, Henry, she said.

Africa, I want to prove myself to you, he said.

Her fingers curled tightly around his hand.

He cleared his throat and said: Africa, I’m begging you to let me give myself to you tomorrow. Completely, I mean. I want to sacrifice myself to you. I—I’ve been so unhappy but also so excited . . .

Hush, said the Queen.

Africa, last night again I didn’t sleep more than an hour or two. I don’t understand my own feelings. I’m afraid but I want so much to be yours and submit to you and make you love me.

I already love you, she said.

I know that, but . . .

But what?

I just feel desperate. I don’t know why. I can’t imagine what the future will be. But I’ll be your good boy or your pretty little bitch or whatever you want me to be. You can even hurt me if I can just drink your spit or your piss or rub your menstrual blood all over my face or something . . . I need to please you, Africa. Africa, I need to give you a long orgasm and make you proud of me. Please help me.

No such thing as another Irene, huh? said the Queen.

Her armpits had the dry earth smell of catacombs. Her flesh was dark and soft like smoked leather.

Don’t ever hurt me, the Queen said. Are you gonna hurt me?

The Queen, a little uncertain, stood, slowly raised her arms, but her elbows were still against her sides in some reflex of shyness or self-protectiveness. She leaned back against the sink. He kissed her cunt for the first time. Now her arms went back, long and dark and shiny against the sink’s steel lip. He danced around her and his shoulders swayed. Her little breasts were free now. He was gently slapping them with his left hand as she had told him to do. She stood upright, let go of the sink, and brought her scarred hands toward him with the same sweet uncertainty.

His face slowly sank between her legs, and she placed her hands upon the crown of his head in a benediction.

He heard a crackling sound between her legs.

Right now her face is so beautiful up close, said Smooth through the suddenly open door. Tell you what. Get up close to her.

Tyler froze.

Go on now, Danny boy, the Queen said. Don’t be disrespecting us or Queen’ll have to get mad. Queen’ll get little bit pissed off. Now beat it, Danny.

The doorway contracted.

Never mind, sighed the Queen, her knees drawn up, her swaying dark knees . . .

Her breasts began slowly rising, then bouncing.

All night there were squeakings of busy feet in the hall outside, feet which every now and then would pause outside his door; rising from her and going to the peephole he’d see three or four desperate faces waiting and hoping; but they didn’t dare to disturb the Queen; or maybe they were simply too honorable even in their need to do so.

Finally she took his hand and they went out together into the hallway where all the whores were waiting; they raised torches to their Queen’s new happiness, clanking shards of metal and glass; then the tall man smashed a cracked mirror on the concrete floor, while they all shouted.

The crazy whore congratulated him with a squeak, saying: And sometimes in our lives we’re gonna have our moments, our intimate time, like a ferris wheel up on top of the world.

As soon as his tongue had touched her clitoris, his mouth and throat began to throb with a burning salty reek, her slippery juices etching themselves upon his palate like lye, salty and fishy and rank almost like that very healthy seafood soup which Korean women drink during pregnancy; if he could have convinced himself that it was health instead of death he was drinking, he might have been happier. Later he would swish and swill and gargle mouthwash; he’d put spicy hot sauce on his catfish dinner; but once his tastebuds had cleansed themselves, her taste came back. It was even on his fingers now, although he’d never touched her cunt except with his tongue. When he sucked her, he breathed only through his mouth. His tongue quickly found itself swimming in that rank, salty stuff. Suddenly he realized that he was drinking other men’s semen.