The Lord Won't Mind (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (26 page)

“She knows it’s a possibility.”

“And she’s just waiting to give you all the help and encouragement you need?”

“I don’t need her help. About anything. She knows it as well as I do. I don’t know why everybody has the idea that she rules my life.”

“Who’s everybody?”

“Well, you, for one. You might as well accept the fact that I’m damned fond of her and I won’t allow you to knock her.”

“Oh, now we’re going to be told what’s allowed, are we?”

“You’re damn right.” He looked at her, at the huge eyes, the comic nose, the stubborn little chin, and wondered why he bothered to shout at her. Her will was iron, but it couldn’t affect him. No matter what she did, she couldn’t hurt him. He shrugged “Any objections?” he added with a smile.

“Ohhh.” She made an exasperated noise in her throat. “Maybe we should go to bed, after all. At least you don’t talk when you’re doing that.”

He could tell by the look in her eye that it was more than an idle suggestion. “No. You said later. You better get over the idea that I’m some sort of machine you can turn on and off whenever you want. What about all that magnificent food you were going to fix us?”

He was comfortably aware of having won a skirmish. She became all bright solicitude; she wooed him with laughter. They had more drinks while she prepared one of her elaborate meals. What with the wine and the brandy afterwards, they both got hilariously drunk and the next morning neither was very clear about how the evening had ended.

Hattie called C. B. and accepted her invitation to lunch in a few hours. It went more smoothly than either of them had expected. C. B. deployed all her charms, and although Hattie was prepared to be aggressive, she found no occasion for it. She had even thought of exposing Charlie’s theatrical ambitions just to prove that she knew him better than C. B., but she ended by respecting his wish for secrecy.

“You know, of course, I’d love you simply for being Charlie’s wife, even if you weren’t such a delicious creature.” C. B. put an arm around her waist as she led her from the dining room to the small library for coffee.

“You’re so sweet. I thought you’d hate me.”

“Because of your doing it so suddenly? Not at all, my dear. I quite understand. Marriage is such a private matter.”

“I never really thought he’d ask me. When he did, I thought we’d better do it quickly before he changed his mind.” She hooted at herself.

“Had you known each other long before? Physically, I mean.” The distaste with which she pronounced the word was lost on Hattie.

“No. I’m virtue incarnate, even though nobody would believe it. Just the night before, when we were deciding to get married. Night before last, actually. How amazing.”

“He must be an exquisite lover, even though I know he’s had little or no experience.”

“Sensational. Exquisite’s hardly the word.” Hattie looked at her with something approaching a leer and laughed softly in her throat. Since C. B. had raised the question, she could allow herself to gloat a bit. He was, after all, hers now.

C. B. responded with a worldly smile. “You’re a very fortunate child. There is one thing, however, that I must tell you. This may come as a great blow to you. I’m sorry, but it’s my duty to speak. You must never bear him children.”

“Children?” She crowed with laughter. “I should hope not. I’ll probably marry several more times before I even think of that. But what do you mean, ‘never’?”

“There are certain things one doesn’t discuss except in the strict confines of one’s family. I would have been obliged to speak to Charlie if he’d given me any warning. Of course, you are family now but very newly so. Are you quite sure you know what you’re saying? In my experience, when a girl is in love, the first thing she thinks about is having a child by the man she loves.”

“Not me. Don’t worry. If anything went wrong, I’d have an abortion.”

“I see.” C. B. appeared to be in no way discomfitted, though there was perhaps a trace of regret in her voice as she added, “In that case, there’s no need to pursue the subject.”

“How fascinating. Is there a lot of madness in your family?”

C. B. waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t always understand you modern young people. You don’t consider your marriage to Charlie permanent?”

“Good heavens, no. I’m madly in love with him now, but an actress can’t shut herself off from new experiences. I don’t think Charlie would want to stay married if I were unfaithful to him.”

“I should think not. How extraordinary. Aren’t you being rather heartless?”

“Heartless? You mean by talking about being unfaithful to him? Married couples are always unfaithful, aren’t they? I just know that when it happens, I won’t make any pretense about it. I’ve told Charlie I expect to have at least four or five husbands.”

“I see. And what did he say?”

“Oh, he doesn’t listen to half the things I say. He’s terribly removed, you know.”

“No doubt. Well, I confess I find this conversation unusual, but I think
we’ll be friends, my dear. If you change your mind in the future, come to see me. Meanwhile, I shouldn’t discuss with Charlie what I’ve referred to. He knows nothing.”

“You’re so gorgeously mysterious, C. B. I absolutely adore you. I thought we were going to be enemies.”

“I see no need for that, my dear.”

THE next weeks were filled with family, both Millses and Donaldsons, although the latter had a vast numerical superiority. Since Christmas was coming, there appeared to be no end to it. There were cocktail parties and dinner parties and over the weekends there were parties all day. One of the first was C. B.’s Sunday affair, filled out for the occasion with unaccustomed females. Charlie had no difficulty in having a private word with Tommy Whitethorne.

“Now that you’re married, I don’t know whether you’re interested, but I might as well tell you all I know,” Tommy murmured. “In case you’re wondering, to begin with, the answer is no. When he called, I assumed that all those insidious looks I’d been giving him here were paying off, but it was no go. He said he wouldn’t do it with anybody you knew. He’s such a sweet guy that I didn’t insist. It’s not like me, I can assure you.”

“Where is he?”

“He left me a couple of days ago. He was going to the YMCA. I warned him what to expect. He’ll be torn to pieces. I think that’s really what he wants. He hopes he’ll forget you that way, poor kid. He’s dropping Columbia. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s quit his job by now. He was planning to.”

“What’s he intend to do for money?”

“He doesn’t think about it. He’ll probably get away with it, too. He’s the sort people fall for hard. I did, God knows. Just having him around the house was better than any lay. I’d have kept him with pleasure without asking anything in return. Well, maybe that’s going a bit far, but I thought about it. Are you in the clear with C. B.?”

“Certainly.”

“And now you’re married. That’s the safest way. I’m planning to do the same thing myself. Anyway, our friend will keep in touch with me. He wants you to be able to find him in case you want him. Of course, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, just drop a hint.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, happy marriage. It’s lousy, isn’t it? I mean not being able to come right out and live the way you want to. That’s what he just can’t understand. I tried to make him see it our way, but it’s like speaking a foreign language to him.”

“Thanks again.” Charlie turned away, not caring whether he was rude or not. Tommy Whitethorne took much too much for granted. Charlie got himself a fresh drink and went and stood beside Hattie.

It was a pose that was to become familiar over the weeks, drink in hand, Hattie at his side. The drinks were consumed in large quantities. His capacity grew so that he was drunk a large part of the time, but rarely noticeably so. He got very little sleep. He postponed a decision about his job from day to day, but he insisted on making the rounds of her theatrical haunts whenever they could get away from a party early enough. She couldn’t accuse him of neglecting their careers. As he never had with Peter, he also felt obliged to make a daily affirmation of his potency. That, after all, was what marriage was to a great extent about. By the time they got to bed, he was usually too dazed with alcohol and fatigue to care about anything, but in the morning he could count on performing quickly and efficiently. His awareness that she always had her diaphragm in place robbed the act of its initial joy of procreation; it was as sterile as any of his play with boys, but nobody could accuse him of being an inactive husband.

A selfish one, perhaps. On one of the few evenings when they stayed at home, Hattie made just such an accusation. He had had less to drink than usual, but by now he was accustomed to having a drink in his hand during all his leisure hours, so he was far from sober when she suggested going to bed. She was already in it when he had finished in the bathroom and snapped out the living room lights. Her eyes held a speculative look as she watched him approach.

“There’s no denying it’s a compelling apparatus,” she said, with laughter breaking through the words. “I just wonder if we’re realizing its maximum potential. There must be a way for us to keep it operational longer.”

“What’s that supposed to be all about?” he demanded, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Girls like to have orgasms too, you know. At the beginning, the average was a bit better, but in the last three weeks I’ve come exactly twice. Bang, bang, bang, and it’s all over.”

“Why do you take so long? Has it occurred to you that you might be frigid?” His sex, which had been extended in the preliminaries of erection, began to shrink as he realized its performance was being criticized.

“Me? Frigid?” She crowed at him. “It’s a well-known fact that most girls do take longer. There are books about it. Maybe you should read one.
Marriage Can Be Fun
and things like that. You see them in all the Broadway drugstores.”

His sex shrank still further. “Oh, for God’s sake. Are you trying to suggest that I’m not good in bed?” His tone was incredulous; his prowess had never been questioned.

“Good heavens, no. You’re so good that one wants more. Perhaps I’m doing something wrong.” She reached out and put her hand on his diminished sex. He pushed it angrily away. “Oh dear, now I’ve hurt your feelings. You’re no good to me at all like that. Forget everything I said.”

“Forget it? Maybe you should read one of those books yourself.” The confidence he had acquired over the last weeks, the conviction that he was a success in his marital role, was rudely shaken. His sex was useless; his mind was clogged with rage. “Goddamn you,” he shouted. “Just when I’m about to fuck you, you start a discussion of orgasms. Don’t you understand anything about the way a man is made? By God, I’ll show you some things.” He leaped up and charged into the bathroom. He scattered her cosmetics as he fumbled about and found the tube of lubricant where it had been left weeks earlier. He applied it to himself, swaying slightly and deeply absorbed. Associations crowded in on him. His sex reared up and grew under his knowledgeable touch and locked into rigidity. He grabbed a towel and lunged back into the alcove. “There, goddammit. Take a look. Is there anything wrong with that? Now turn over.”

“What do you mean?”

“You heard me. Turn over. On your stomach.”

She stared at him and then did as she was told. “So now we begin the fancy games. I’m warning you, I probably won’t like this.”

“Why shouldn’t you? Lots of people do.” He straddled her and applied the lubricant roughly. He took her hips and lifted them and drew them to him. He guided his sex between her buttocks and shifted her hips and entered her. She screamed. “Shut up and relax, goddammit.” He continued his penetration.

She cried out again. “Oh, no. Oh, God, no. Please Charlie. Don’t. Stop it. You’re too big. I can’t take it.”

“Why can’t you? Plenty of others have.” He held her hips firmly and forced his way slowly into her. His chest was heaving as if he had run a race. She whimpered, she cried out, she cursed him through sobs. As he completed the long, inexorable penetration, he reached around instinctively between her legs to grasp what wasn’t there. His hand remained to caress what was. Her body shuddered, and she began to respond with cautiously gyrating hips. She sobbed and crooned and cursed him some more. Her movements became freer and more agitated. Her hair fell over her face, her breasts swayed from her chest, she hung on his sex as she struggled for satisfaction. He felt moisture accumulating as her excitement mounted. He laughed. She looked so like a little animal, abject, totally subjugated. Her crooning rose to a wail. At last, it was broken by a succession of strange barking coughs. Her body was shaken by spasms, and he drove his orgasm into her as she collapsed beneath him. She burst into tears as he lay on top of her.

“Stop it, goddammit,” he commanded when he could speak. “You came, didn’t you? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you crying about? You like it.”

“Get out. Get out of me. You’ve ripped me apart.”

He withdrew slowly and wrapped himself in a towel and lay beside her. “What’s all the fuss about? You liked it. Why not admit it?”

She rolled over onto her back, and her weeping abated. She wiped her eyes with her hands. “I’m in love with you, you lousy shit. I’d probably like it if you nailed me to the wall and threw darts at me. Don’t push it. That’s all. Just don’t push it.”