The Royal Family (111 page)

Hello, Domino, said Tyler.

Look, said the blonde. I’ve got to go make money. Let’s move things along.

Same to you, darling. Where’s the Queen?

Downstairs. She’s interrogating again. Does that make you scared? You wanna get interrogated?

By you? With which mouth?

Laughing, she threw a mock punch at him and shouted: I
love
you, you old misogynist!

A misogynist is somebody who’s really good at eating pussy, right?

Oh, get lost. Always talking about pussy. You know what you and your brother have in common? You’re pussy-whipped pussy
addicts.

So how
is
John these days?

Still hates you—ha-ha-ha! Hey, did you hear the one about the hooker with a glass eye? This one’s really rich. I forget who told it to me. Okay, so, there’s this hooker with a glass eye, see, and the john comes up to her and says he doesn’t have enough money to stick her, so
she
says: Never mind, honey, I’ll keep an
eye
out for you any time! Ha, ha, ha! Ain’t that rich? I heard that one in jail, from some girl named—oh, what the
fuck’s
her name?

Yeah, that’s a good one, all right.

And guess what else John said? I think John is really well connected.

Well, sure he is. He’s connected to you.

You pervert! He says, the whole entire Tenderloin’s gonna be
sterilized.
And then they’re gonna do Capp Street. And then it’ll all be over.

How does that make you feel?

Scared, she said frankly.

And what can he do about it?

With a choking, coughing laugh she said: I’m still bargaining for that. I . . . Anyhow, Maj keeps insisting it’s the end, so why even—

Well, at least we don’t have to repent of our sins, because we’re Canaanites. And John has his good side. I’m sure he’ll take care of you. And, you know, you and John have
a lot in common, too. You’re both in business; you both like to get straight to the point . . .

But to what extent would John
really
take care of her? Having never slept with any Canaanites before, he had expected his affair with Domino to be easy and pleasant. (Henry Tyler had begun beclouded by a similar illusion regarding the false Irene.) The seduction of Celia had proceeded smoothly, just as soft round lights go on like excited robot breasts over those elevators in banks; and likewise the courtship of the true Irene—or so it all seemed in his recollection. But finding out how bitter and anxious Domino was made
him
anxious. Sour tyrant, rapacious thief, unwashed liar, she ruled him so rigorously that whenever he was away from her, as when he drove beneath blue clouds up the rainy hill to Washington Street, the degree of his submission amazed him, troubling his steadfastness toward all that he had previously believed.

She insisted, for instance, that John make love to her three or four times every night they were together. When he didn’t or couldn’t, she’d fly into a rage. And the sex also had to occur in a very particular and laborious way involving manual, oral and penile stimulation. But then she could assert the frequency of their intercourse as proof that she withheld nothing from him, that he was using her solely for his own pleasure.

That’ll work, she always said when he paid her, but somehow it never did.

From time to time, either wearied of her own imprecations or else (what was more likely) caught up in bitter brooding, she’d fall silent, so that for a moment or two his eyes could close. But just as he was about to be swallowed by sleep’s narrow gorge, terror would strike a shocking blow upon his breastbone: —sometimes it was her actual touch, grasping and pinching and slapping to prevent his escape into unconsciousness; sometimes it was strange words; often it was simply a presence which suddenly invaded him; his eyes would fly open; he’d emit a strangled groan, and see her still sitting at the foot of the bed, gazing at the wall, her long, greying hair flowing down her back. He waited for her to turn around and commence upon him again.

Now you’ve pissed away an opportunity, Domino, and I don’t
like
that, Smooth was saying. An opportunity, you see, to save our Queen.

God save the Queen.

I’ll talk with him myself.

Whatever.

Does he turn you on?

Excuse me?

Does he make your pussy wet? Does his presence kind of
loosen up
your insides?

I’ll give you fifteen minutes in there and that’s it. My business is my business.

Oh, so you’re worried I might steal him away?

Smooth, John’s not going to give you the time of day.

Hmm, the pedophile said. If I tell him what color your insides are, maybe I’ll get his interest.

Fuck you.

You don’t like me, do you? Smooth whined. I’ve done you so many favors, I’ve put in good words for you, and now it comes out that you have a heart of brass.

I don’t have time, the blonde contemptuously replied, and she went her ass-wiggling, heel-clacking way down Jones Street.

Smooth entered the Wonderbar, where John was sitting, anxiously and morosely staring at his watch. —Hi there, he said. I’m a friend of a friend. May I buy you a beer?

A friend of
which
friend? said John.

Let’s spell it backward, John, because that’s more
fun.
Spelled backward, her name is
Onimod.
I’ll bet that’s in the Bible somewhere, don’t you think? If not, maybe it’s one of those monsters in the Book of Mormon, which is one of my favorite books because some Mormons are
polygamous.

What do you want?

I’m here to help you out. Well, actually I’m here to help Domino out, but isn’t that sort of the same thing? I mean, you’re in love, so I understand.

I’ve met insects like you before, said John. What’s your name, fellow? I like to know the name of the fellow who’s bothering me.

Strangely enough, Smooth, ordinarily more invincible in his defiance than Henry Tyler himself, felt daunted by John’s abrasive confidence. Perhaps he should have stuck to his subject, although I myself, as a believer in the Queen and her prophecies, remain sure that his actions would have come to nothing in any event. Instead, Smooth made the mistake of trying in the face of this strong current of hostile contempt to swim at an angle, as it were, but because he was a little drunk and because he was limited and damaged like anybody else, the only topic of small talk he could conceive of just then was
children,
a category which his obsessions had long polished into the same
fascinating legitimacy
as Celia’s mind had done with
stoneware dishes.
Sincerely seeking to entertain John, in order to ingratiate himself and then buy the favor of the Queen’s safety, Smooth began to relate a tale he’d heard not long since when he and Tyler were at the Inn Justice bar on Bryant Street, drinking with a quasi-colleague from the public defender’s office. The public defender said: So this one cop goes into a massage parlor in the Tenderloin, and he fancies a prostitute, I forget whether the chick was Laotian or Thai or Vietnamese; anyhow, he snatched her right out of there. This is kidnapping, right? This is no five- or ten-year case. This is a
life
case. All right. So he drags her out, actually starts doing her in front of some tourists, then thinks better of it and drags her somewhere else, then makes her orally copulate him. Now here comes the interesting part. The evidence, well—you’ll like this, Smooth—there was semen all over the place, because I guess she didn’t want to swallow, so she, well, anyhow, they found the guy’s semen on her. Did a DNA match. It was definitely his. Now here comes the cha-cha-cha. Guy said for his defense: No way in the world I’m gonna make anybody in the world orally copulate me, because my father used to force me to watch my sister orally copulate
him
when I was a kid! And the sister, who’s also a cop, takes her place on the witness stand and confirms it. This is like, well, it’s talk show justice! The cop did get convicted, but he only got six years. If it had been one of
our
clients . . . Kind of a unique defense, don’t you think? —Smooth chortled and chortled, thinking about the cop’s defense made absurd by the semen itself but rendered somehow amazingly believable by the sister’s tears; and he was trying to explain this to John, who cut him short, saying: You sure know how to be a sleazy asshole. I’ll say that much for you. I don’t care whether you’re a friend of Domino’s or not. Get out of here. —And he balled up his fists, which even the tall man had never
done to Smooth, and Smooth left the Wonderbar in apprehensive haste, he couldn’t have said exactly why . . .

It was Saturday evening. The worst of the traffic had already drained from the financial district, rendering John’s driving pleasurable as he descended the hill at Bush and Grant with Celia in the passenger seat, her shoulder belt and lap belt both safely in-clicked, and John felt richer and more luxurious than silk because they were about to try Camponegro’s Grill, whose pesto-lobster gnocchi came highly recommended by both Rapps and both Singers; and to John the expectation of excellent food in a refined atmosphere, no matter to what degree reality might compromise that expectation, always spellbound him into celebratory thoughts and sensations. The next two hours would probably be the pinnacle of his weekend (he couldn’t speak for Celia, of course). Upon them both beamed the yellow sun-star on the blue of the Triton Hotel sign.

Then his heart slammed so nauseatingly that it almost burst. On the corner, in a silver miniskirt, stood Domino, grinning at all the passing cars.

Don’t let her see me, he prayed.

But she saw, and her gaze was like light coming through many upturned silvery shot-glasses.

Hey!
she yelled.
Hey, John!

The light would not change.

The blonde came striding menacingly toward the car as if she were about to pound on the windshield with her nightmare claws, and Celia sat there gaping. She was almost upon them now, smiling crazy and evil like a monster who would never forgive him for being her prey. Suddenly John realized that he had always known that it would end like this, with his being exposed and humiliated in front of Celia as he sat paralyzed just as in one of his nightmares of Irene’s avenging specter.

The light changed.

John, you fucker!
screamed Domino, thumping on the side of the car with her fist as he pulled away.

She knows you, Celia said quietly.

For God’s sake. Just let me—

You’re all pale and sweaty, John. Tell me what this is about.

I—oh, balls.

John. Who is she, John?

She’s . . .

Is she a hooker, John? She looks like a hooker.

Yes she is.

How did she know your name? Have you been sleeping with hookers?

John gripped the steering wheel very tightly, his face red.

What’s her name, John?

I don’t know her real name. Her street name’s Domino.

Domino. I see. And you’ve been having sex with her.

I did sleep with her, Ceel. But that was before I met you.

How many times?

Knowing that if he pretended he’d had intercourse with Domino only once, the fact that Domino knew his name would strike Celia as very peculiar, to say the least, John thought very rapidly and said: A number of times. Several times. I don’t remember how many.

And you say you did this before you were with me?

Yes, that’s what I said.

When was the last time? Were you already cheating on Irene with this Domino before you started having an affair with me? You never told me anything about Domino before.

I never wanted to think about it.

So when was the last time?

Three years ago, he muttered.

And you started seeing me two and a half years ago, but you never told me about Domino until now. Is there anybody else you’re not telling me about?

Look, can we just—

Is there?

No.

So. You’re now telling me that you had sex several times with this Domino, but it happened three years ago and then you never saw her again. And yet she remembers you by sight. How can you explain that?

I paid her a lot of money, said John, thinking fast.

Now, that’s possible, said Celia in the same cool tone, but he could tell that he had finally said something plausible and that she wished to believe him. —John, did you always use a condom with her?

Always, said John truthfully.

And you’re not seeing her now?

No.

You swear to me?

I swear.

Celia sighed and stroked his hand on the steering wheel. —I believe you. I’m sorry.

John bit his lip. This hurt the worst of all—that he had just betrayed Celia again with his lies, and been believed.