Eighty Days Blue (21 page)

Dominik exchanged glances with Lauralynn as Miranda downed the rest of her glass of red wine, the first Beaujolais nouveau of the year.

Lauralynn's eyes sparkled with undiluted mischief.

She shifted in her seat until she was leaning against Miranda. ‘Miranda?'

‘Yes?' Miranda turned her head towards Lauralynn.

Lauralynn brought her hand to Miranda's chin, held it there briefly and then languidly approached her lips to Miranda's and kissed her. The American woman blushed but didn't steer away from the unexpected and intimate
contact
. Her eyes darted around and fell on Dominik, then moved on, checking out who else might be watching, waiters or other café customers. Her hand on Dominik's thigh firmed its grip. The kiss continued. Just inches away from the two young women, Dominik could see from the tremors coursing through their cheeks that tongues had now met and were recklessly mingling. The knot in his stomach tightened, a familiar vibration riding along his crotch and slowly moving upwards.

The world froze.

Finally, the spell was broken and Lauralynn and Miranda's lips parted reluctantly as they both came up for air. Dominik noticed that Lauralynn's right hand was digging deep into the folds of Miranda's white skirt, touching her, orchestrating her desire almost.

The three remained silent for a while. Picking up their glasses on automatic pilot, even though two of them were already empty.

Lauralynn smiled, her theory now confirmed and a mild triumphant look spreading across her luminous face.

‘Shall we?' she said.

‘Why not?' Dominik confirmed.

Miranda just nodded.

‘Where?'

Miranda wriggled out of her squashed position between the two of them and rose. ‘Why not go to mine?' she suggested.

The yellow cab they found waiting just outside Balthazar took Park Avenue going north and then crossed East through Central Park. For once the traffic was light and they found themselves at Miranda's Upper East Side apartment in under twenty minutes.

It was a small and elegantly furnished studio, with a thin Japanese-like screen separating the study from Miranda's bedroom.

As Miranda turned back towards her front door to both lock it and fix the metal latch, Lauralynn backed herself up against the American woman and, slipping her fingers behind the elastic that held up her voluminous white skirt, pulled it down.

She was wearing a red lacy thong.

Moving back towards the two women, Dominik distractedly caressed the soft skin of Miranda's voluptuous arse with one hand while slipping out of his beige linen jacket. She had tan lines circling her waist, the bikini bottoms she had recently worn out in the sun having evidently covered a larger area of flesh than the minuscule undergarment now covering her mid-section.

Miranda raised her arms and, Lauralynn having undone the top two buttons of the black silk blouse, pulled it over her head, parting the brown curtain of flowing hair as she did so. Her lacy bra was also black and for a moment Dominik was surprised to observe the clash of colour in her underwear. Most of the women he had known had always been careful to match their colours.

The two women pressed against each other and kissed again.

Standing beside them, Dominik was at something of a loss. What should he do now?

Being with two women, or even just watching two women having sex, was allegedly a major male fantasy and was well documented in the annals of pornography, but it had never somehow attracted Dominik in a serious way. It
wasn't
something he had ever actively sought out, and as a result it had never happened to him. Until now.

He moved nearer and kissed Miranda's neck, close to her pulsing artery. Then he shifted slightly and began chewing on the lobe of one ear. Dominik was uncertain as to how he should approach Lauralynn now, knowing as he did that she was not primarily into men.

Noting his hesitation, Lauralynn, still fully dressed, separated herself from Miranda, took his hand in hers and placed it against Miranda's bare back, intimating he should undo the clasp of her brassiere. Dominik suppressed a gentle laugh in his throat, remembering the very first time, ages ago, when he had found himself undressing a woman, or rather a girl, who had been seventeen to his childish sixteen years old, and how long it had taken him to master the art of undoing a bra. A painful memory, if a humorous one in retrospect.

Either the engineering of women's undergarments had grown more efficient over time or his IQ had mysteriously been raised to new levels, but all it needed now was the gentle pressure of a single finger and the straps separated and Dominik was able to liberate Miranda's heavy breasts from the dark, lacy material of her bra.

With a nod of her head Lauralynn indicated he should undress as the trio took a few stumbling steps towards the bedroom. There were teddy bears galore spread across its pink cover. Lauralynn leaned over, impatiently brushed her arm against the cuddly toys and pushed them over the side onto the varnished wooden floor.

They fell onto the bed, all three of them.

And Lauralynn took charge.

Dominik's first threesome.

He would later reflect on the curious nature of the encounter and its manifold frustrations, the fact he had at no stage been able to enjoy the experience fully. Too self-conscious. He recalled riding the pliant form of Miranda in the missionary position and feeling Lauralynn's lazy fingers caressing his ball sack and teasing the stem of his cock as it travelled in and out of the American woman's vagina, distracted by her overly affected girlie moans and the hoarse whispers of Lauralynn's encouragement as she squatted behind their rutting duo, his mind unable to concentrate on the lovemaking as he imagined how vulgar or even ridiculous the spectacle of the two of them fucking like animals must look like to Lauralynn, from her vantage point. At one stage, he knew, Lauralynn had sucked him – was it to make him harder before he'd penetrated Miranda or afterwards, or at some later stage in their excesses? He'd also gone down on Lauralynn as she did the same to Miranda, and the symmetry in their geometry had struck him as particularly apposite. Lauralynn had tasted strong, a flavour new to him but elusive in its savage strength.

He'd watched as the two women had ground breathlessly against each other, observed Lauralynn's agile musician fingers slip into Miranda's cunt and almost go deep enough to fist her, while he sat behind Miranda's head and allowed his cock to brush against her cheeks, teasing her mouth, feeling her staccato breath against his wide open thighs as she fought the tide of desire that Lauralynn had triggered. At one stage he had come over Miranda's breasts, and observed Lauralynn's pleasure as he did so.

Then he had switched off, just become a spectator, lost his hardness and allowed himself to drown in post-coital feelings of helplessness and indifference. He'd kept on
watching
as the two women on the bed persisted with their grinding and caresses, conducting their pleasure as if he wasn't even present. True, they were both beautiful, in their own way. Miranda a paradigm of softness, and Lauralynn's legs went on for ever. Her Amazonian broad-shouldered proportions as they unfurled across the bed were a delight to watch, as was the unfeigned cupidity of her mouth as she went down on Miranda over and over again. Had he regained his erection, he could at some stage have attempted to mount Lauralynn as she leaned over Miranda with her buttocks on full display, an open invitation. Dominik was unsure, though, whether taking advantage of the situation might not have broken the spell, so he merely kept on gazing at the two women writhe and moan. He had been used and now they were busy with their own business. He had no complaints, though.

Eventually, he stepped out of the bedroom, quickly washed himself, dressed and left the apartment.

Neither woman called him back or even suggested he rejoin them.

It was a balmy New York early summer night and he followed the outer perimeter of Central Park until he reached Fifth Avenue, the Plaza Hotel towering on his right. He decided to walk all the way downtown. He looked at his phone. No messages. What does one do in Maine at night? he wondered.

‘I fucked another woman.'

‘So what?'

‘Does it bother you?'

‘No.'

The line was so clear that Summer could have been at the
other
end of the loft; her lips sounded just a breath away from his ear. Her voice emotionless and so close.

‘Don't you want to know who and how it happened?'

‘It happened, didn't it? No.'

He desperately wanted her to be jealous. Angry.

‘Actually, there were two women.'

‘You don't have to provide me with the technicalities.'

‘I suppose not. How did the gig go?'

‘It went well. A much more provincial audience. Very formal at first. Took them a long time to relax, I felt. But the booking agent had warned me, which is why the repertoire changes slightly according to the venue. You adapt. Small-town and big-city tunes, so to speak. They warmed up. I always do
The Four Seasons
, though.'

‘Good.'

The first part of the tour, in Canada, only featured Summer and a small string ensemble. Having the whole orchestra to accompany her would have proven too expensive, what with the travel logistics it would involve.

‘I'll be passing through New York in a couple of days. Just a few hours, an opportunity to drop off my dirty washing, I suppose, and get some changes of clothes,' Summer said. ‘Thursday, late afternoon. It'll be nice to see you, as I'll be away for another two weeks after that.'

A few hours, with a rented car waiting for her downstairs, thought Dominik, what's the bloody point? I came to New York to spend my time with you! We now spend more time apart than together. On the other hand, he knew she was also sacrificing a lot; it was her career and this was the time to capitalise on the Webster Hall concert and the terrific acclaim it had received.

‘I'll try and be in,' he said. ‘Summer?'

‘Yes?'

‘If you feel lonely, you know . . .'

‘I know – I'm allowed to go with others. You've told me before.'

‘And have you yet?' he asked her, a knot constricting his throat.

‘No. I'm just too tired by the time we get back to the hotel.'

‘I want you to.'

‘Do you?'

‘I do.'

‘And you want me to tell you all about it?'

‘Yes.'

There was a silent interruption to their conversation. Dominik couldn't imagine what the Maine landscape might look like from her hotel-room window. Fields? Hills? The sea?

‘I have to go,' Summer said. ‘The others are expecting me downstairs for breakfast. I'm told they make great pancakes here. With maple syrup.'

‘
Bon appétit
,' he said, trying hard to keep a smile in his voice.

‘I'll see you on Thursday.'

Dominik knew already he would not be at the loft on Thursday, as he had agreed to give one of his talks at the library. He hadn't yet decided what the subject would be. He never had more than a dozen or so people in attendance anyway. He was good at improvising. It was one of the conditions of the fellowship, but neither the library nor the trustees did much to advertise the events, bar a couple of hastily computer-designed posters on notice boards at
unstrategic
points in the public areas. The only consolation was that none of the other fellows in this year's intake, which even included a Booker Prize nominee and a National Book Award winner, so much more famous and with a longer list of publications to their credit, attracted significantly more of a crowd.

He was wrapping things up, inconclusive but light-hearted ruminations on the various movies that had been made from Fitzgerald's
Gatsby
and the actors who had played Jay, Daisy and Nick. A latecomer shuffled into the small lecture room and sat himself down in the back row. Dominik recognised him. It was Victor.

He knew the man was in New York too, but had still made no effort to track him down.

How could he have found out about this small event? Then Dominik remembered briefly mentioning it to Lauralynn. That must be it. Was she still in New Haven, and had she successfully negotiated the auditions there?

‘Have you been avoiding me, dear boy?' Victor said, walking up to Dominik as the other spectators trooped out of the room. In the months since they had last seen each other, he hadn't changed. Short, grey-haired, tidy, trimmed beard, urbane and at ease in his skin. He appealed to women, although Dominik couldn't pinpoint a reason for this attraction. Maybe his air of superiority and the unflinching gaze of his steely eyes.

‘Maybe I have, Victor.' His tone was cool but civil.

‘I thought we were friends?'

‘So did I.'

‘What is it, then?'

Victor wore a seersucker jacket, white with blue stripes,
black
trousers and a shirt with a button-down collar. Despite the warm weather, he still insisted on wearing a tie, an odd brownish confection with an oversize knot. He had a strange way of dressing, his Eastern European heritage betraying him, more in the manner of a formal party apparatchik than a debonair academic, though perhaps it was just the style that he had grown up with. We're all a slave to our origins to some degree.

Amused by Dominik's lack of response, Victor volunteered. ‘The girl? The violin player?'

‘Exactly.'

Victor guessed Summer hadn't come completely clean with Dominik about what had happened between them once she had arrived in New York. ‘So Lauralynn has told you, hasn't she?'

‘That you suggested the crypt, pulled our strings as if we were puppets, Victor. That was rather deceitful, you know.'

‘Just a game, Dominik. Come on, we both enjoy playing those games, don't we? We understand each other.'