Messalina: Devourer of Men (36 page)

“How’s work going?”

“Everyone’s still in knots.” I put down my spoon. “But it’s been quiet. The case seems to have stalled over the last few months. I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse.”

“And what about your student?”

“If you mean Neil Hollister, he’s still around.”

“Is he a blessing or a curse?”

“Let’s just say he’s my gargoyle. Whether he’ll rain blessings or shit from above remains to be seen.”

“I tell you, Cookie. That little boy made Jared awfully nervous.”

“Why? As you say, he’s a boy. Jared’s a man. No contest.”

I decide to keep to myself how that last week I went to the matinee at The DeLuxe Theater and saw Neil Hollister come in as I waited in the upstairs lobby. It was the first time since getting involved with Jared that I’d set foot in the place and I actually wanted to see the movie. I ducked out before Neil saw me, went straight home, and joined a DVD club.

Trey shakes his head. “Well from what I’ve heard, Jared doesn’t trust him. Just you be careful.”

Chapter eighteen

“Messalina”

It’s here.

Two months since my split from Jared, and almost one year to the day since we met, the issue everyone’s been waiting for—the one causing so much speculation that
LoL
chatrooms, blogs, and bulletin boards are multiplying daily—has arrived. People are already calling it “The Sex Issue.”

Why all the suspense? Because in
The Life of Lucrezia
issue #17 the wait is over. Messalina and Jack Dover are to consummate their lust for each other.

I open my mailbox and see the familiar magazine in the brown wrapper protected by a plastic sleeve, even though I had let my subscription run out.

They are sent.

And it’s not like I can simply toss it aside and pretend it doesn’t exist. That would be like I stopped using my left arm because I was mad at it. No,
The Life of Lucrezia
is a part of me, like it or not. Taking it with the rest of my mail, I head back to the elevators.

I must look ill, because I hear Hank the security guard ask, “Are you OK, Little Eva?”

“I’m fine.” I smile. “Guess I’m just thinking too hard.”

We laugh and one of the elevators opens. I step inside and punch the button. On my slow assent, I think about whom else I know that will get this issue and know its significance?

Ana, Tony, Talley. Obviously.

Dad. But he doesn’t know it’s me. Does he? After that blowout over Sunday dinner about Jared simply buying the book, I suspect Dad’s been paying more attention to it.

“Shit.”

The twins! Oh, hell! I can only hope they haven’t read or even touched this magazine since Jared and I busted them at the bookstore. We never spoke of it, but they are kids and if they want something, they’ll find a way. On the bright side, they won’t know it’s me.

Neil. He suspects something, I know it, and this issue could be the one that confirms everything.

“Fuck.”

Sarah? I don’t doubt she’d pass up an opportunity to see me humiliated.

“Bitch!”

The elevator doors open just as I say the word and all its venom gets directed at my neighbor, little old Mrs. Parkhurst. Her green eyes, magnified by coke-bottle specs, get even bigger with surprise.

“Oh! Mrs. Parkhurst, I am so sorry. I was thinking of someone else.” I help the old woman into the elevator.

“Well,” she says, “I hope she’s housebroken.”

I smile. “Frankly, ma’am, I doubt it.”

Indicating the ground floor with my finger, she nods. I press the button and rush down the hall. I need to read this thing quick and figure out how much damage control it’ll require. Once inside, I go to my chair in the den and make myself comfortable, because I know I’m in for a shock. I fluff the cushions, put my feet up, and place one chenille throw about my shoulders and the other over my legs. Tossing the other mail aside, I tear open the plastic and slowly rip the brown paper sleeve. The first thing I notice is how this issue’s cover is totally different from its colorful, sexually teasing predecessors.

Usually,
The Life of Lucrezia
comes in a plastic wrapper with a belly band to shield any overly-provocative images. This time, with the exception of the upper left-hand corner stating the issue number and cover price, the cover is totally black with only a white, gothic “M” in the center.

The back is also completely black except for white space containing the barcode.

There is no way anyone without a clue is going to guess what’s in between these covers. But the sheer simplicity of the cover is enough to make it stand out on any magazine rack.

I take a deep breath, swallow my pride, and open the book.

What I see inside is magnificent, sublime. There is no dialogue. The time for talking between Messalina and Jack Dover is past. This issue is all about action and Jared has laid it bare with cinematographic perfection. 

It starts with Messalina standing in the doorway, hands on hips, feet planted. Her tall, hourglass body fills the doorway, blocking any means for Jack to escape, even if he wanted to.

Jack is sitting on the edge of her desk, calmly smoking a cigarette, which he flicks aside and they meet in the center of the room, each prepared for a battle.

It’s all over from there. From that panel on, there is nothing but wild, unbridled sex presented in the most erotic, sensuous drawings I have ever seen and the color scheme changes to suggest pleasure and pain—red, purple, black, blue.

Jared has captured some of our most intimate moments and has recreated them for the world to see in vivid detail: a Jared and Evadne “greatest hits” retrospective. The straining muscles, the yielding flesh, the sheen of perspiration on skin, it’s all here.

And Jack and Messalina are an energetic pair. They start in the office on her desk, but their passion is so intense they move from the desk to the floor, out the door, into the hall, and beyond, but the progression is natural, seamless.

My eyes cannot look away from the images on the pages before me; they absorb the heat Messalina and Jack produce and transfer it into my body. No one can doubt the force and power in their lovemaking. It’s like the first image I ever saw of Jared’s graphic work in the bookstore. He has conveyed the same emotion—and cranked it up.

You can feel it when Jack plunges into Messalina or when her nails cut into his skin. Jared’s decision to use no dialogue or scripting of any kind makes the images more forceful. You don’t need bubbles with “Oh!” “Sigh!” “SLURP!” when it is all in their faces. This is body language in the extreme and the things Messalina and Jack’s bodies are saying is lewd.

Regardless of my tutelage in porno flicks, I am struck dumb by what I see. Sure, it’s titillating, but it is also beautiful. Jared and I never videotaped our lovemaking—not to my knowledge, anyway—but as I see it playing out before me, I find it hard to believe that it all came from his memory.

The mirrors. I remember being unnerved at the thought of all the mirrors in Jared’s bedroom but by the time we split, their presence seemed totally natural. They have served their purpose well. I take what I see on these pages before me as genuine.

But it’s more than Jared’s memory I’m seeing. The way he has composed this issue has given me the most insight into his feelings about the time we spent in each other’s arms. The detail he puts into drawing the oral sex, the vaginal sex, the anal sex, the way Jack gropes Messalina’s flesh or grits his teeth.

A drop of sweat falls into my eye making me gasp. It’s a perfect reaction to the next panel of me—Messalina rather—moaning out of ecstasy. He captured what I have never seen: my face during orgasm. I didn’t know how blissed out I looked. I know I felt that way, but I never realized my expression was so soft, so enraptured.

Damn. I’m
beautiful
when I come!

Of course, Messalina doesn’t have my face, but the way she moves her mouth or expresses with her eyes, I see myself. And Jack doesn’t resemble Jared, but from the way Jack talks or reacts, I can look see Jared.

He has really outdone himself. This one sex scene is an extended game of cat and mouse. Jack and Messalina fight and change position between master and servant at least three times until the last page where they are hammering away at each other with him on top. In one panel, there’s a close-up of his eyes and, in the next, one of her eyes. Suddenly, Jack grabs her by the waist and they turn over. Messalina now straddles him between her strong, exquisite thighs.

Finally, it happens. Silhouetted against a background that’s a firework explosion of color, Jack comes inside Messalina. The last frame is of her riding him to glory, head thrown back, hands gripping his as he holds her down by the hips.

With amazing accuracy, Jared has captured the moment during my last night with him in Dallas. He has immortalized the one moment in my life I thought was totally private, that I thought was mine alone, because no one else in the world would place as much significance on it as I would.

The night I went to Nirvana . . . Jared went too.

I drop the comic onto my lap. I can’t hold it any longer. I am drenched. The chenille throws were thrown aside long ago. I’m sweating, aroused, and can feel heat and dampness between my legs. But I am also crying, trembling.

The phone rings, startling me out of my seat. It rings again.

Fuck, I can’t deal with anyone right now. One more ring and the answering machine does its job.

“Hello? Eva? It’s Ana. Pick up friend-girl.” Her voice is soothing, sympathetic.

Silence.

“C’mon, Evie, pick up.” She’s sharper now.

My mind races until I finally pick up the receiver.

“I knew you’d be home.” She says.

“I can’t talk right now.”

“Sure you can. You just did.”

“Ana—”

“Evadne.” Ana’s tone is no-nonsense. She isn’t going to let me wallow in self-pity. I blow my nose.

“What do you want?”

“To ask you what I should think.”

“Huh?”

“What do you want me to think, Evadne? Is Jared a complete and utter bastard or a mother-fucking
genius
? Personally, I choose the latter, but you’re my best friend and I love you and I got your back.”

Her words remind me just why we’ve been friends for so long, but I am too drained to be in a rage. I’m not even sure what I’m raging against and sigh. “Think what you want, Ana-Marie.”

“Well, what’s your opinion?”

“Shocked. Mortified.”

“But why?”

“Because it’s me,
Ana!” I can’t believe she can be so slow. “It’s us! Jared has taken our love life and exposed it to the world.”

“Eva,” she argues, “he’s been doing that for months with the rest of the comic.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because those acts between other characters can’t be traced back directly to us.”

“But you don’t deny the experiences are genuine? You and Jared do—did—those things. Whenever someone has sex in
The Life of Lucrezia
, it’s really a recreation of what you and Jared have done.”

“It’s still different, Ana.”

“How?”

I roll my eyes. We’re repeating ourselves. “This is personal, Ana. I feel so exposed.”

“Why should you? There’s only six people who know the connection—and we ain’t tellin’.”

I tell her about the possibility of my dad, nephews, Sarah, and Neil knowing.

“Personally, Evie, I sincerely doubt your dad and nephews know. This isn’t the type of thing your dad goes for and the twins have probably progressed to stealing a peek at
Shaved Snatches
or
Horny Whores
by now.”

I smile at her made-up titles.

“And Sarah,” she adds, “she’s just bitter.”

“And Neil?” I prompt. “He’s been trying like hell to get me in a compromising position. I can’t think why. There is some kind of frat-house game I’ve heard about, but I don’t see how I could be a target.”

“Yes,” Ana drawls and I hear her throw something into a hot skillet and the loud sizzling that follows. “He does pose a minor problem.”

I chuckle despite myself.

“Seriously, Eva. You don’t sound like the same chick that emasculated Eddie Norton. Where’s your fight, girlfriend? This Neil kid can and will be eliminated.”

This time I do bust out laughing. “Listen to you, Ana. You sound like a hood rat.”

“Hey, I got some street in me. You do too.”

“Ana, we’re about as street as Clare Huxtable.”

“What-
ever
,” she says in her best snotty teenager voice. “You don’t need street cred in order to scrap. And Clare Huxtable did become a partner in the law firm, remember?”

I don’t say a word. My head is starting to ache.

“Think about it, Evie. Neil is a little schoolboy who’s looking to be taught a lesson. You’re the professor, so teach him. You know where I am if you need me.”