Part 8 (1/2)
”Will they, c.u.mmings?”
c.u.mmings couldn't speak, could only look at Neville's calm eyes that had been so wild only a moment before. Finally the words came. ”What do you want? What do you really want from me?”
”Not much,” Neville said softly. ”Just to see you scared s.h.i.+tless. Maybe to even see you cry.” He chuckled. ”Yes. I want to see you cry, c.u.mmings. How about it?”
c.u.mmings stirred then, clenching his jaw so that the muscles stood out starkly.
”Cry, c.u.mmings. Cry. And I'll give you a letter of reference. Hmm?”
”You're crazy.” He could hear his voice trembling and hated himself for it.
”Crazy, huh? Fine. At least I'm not an a.s.shole. Now, get out of this room. You're not to come in here again. That's one of my 'reasonable requests.' Got it?”
It's too late was all that c.u.mmings could think. I've blown it. But the million-the million would still be his. They'd signed the papers, so Neville could go and ...
”f.u.c.k you, Neville.”
Neville winced, and his smile faded momentarily as if a cloud had pa.s.sed over a lake at noon.
”Who the f.u.c.k do you think you are?” c.u.mmings went on.
”Your employer, for-”
c.u.mmings laughed. ”My employer? Sure. But that doesn't keep you from being a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. And it doesn't mean I have to kiss your a.s.s either. I'll fulfill my part of the bargain. I'll spend the month here with you.” c.u.mmings's mind was racing. He knew what he was saying and didn't care. There was no way Neville would ever do a thing for him, and if he had the million, he had nothing to lose. So vengeance sprang up in c.u.mmings's soul as it had done innumerable times in the past. This was a contest he knew he could win. Neville was merely sardonic. c.u.mmings was vicious with the studied venom that only experience can bring.
”Yeah, I'll stay. But I don't like being around you any more than you like me. You stink, Neville. You stink of easy money and never doing a day's work in your life.”
Neville whitened, and inside c.u.mmings crowed, found it!
”So you play the lord of the manor and get us up here to play your G.o.dd.a.m.ned games with us. Well, I don't play with kids! And that's all you are here, brother-a rich kid at summer camp, no better than the rest of us, and when it comes right down to it, a h.e.l.luva lot poorer, because you don't know how to do s.h.i.+t! Your wife wipe your a.s.s for you?”
Neville shot out of his chair, trembling with rage. ”Don't you. . .”
”. . . dare mention my wife like that,” c.u.mmings finished mockingly. ”Okay, Ace, I won't. In fact, I won't even talk to you again, how's that?” He started purposefully toward the door, then turned. ”As for crying, Mr. Neville, we'll just see who breaks down first before the month is over. And if you care to wager, I've got a million bucks just waiting for a sucker.”
He went into the hall, slamming the door behind him. b.a.s.t.a.r.d! he thought, not sure whether he meant himself or Neville. He'd been a fool to talk to Neville like that, but he couldn't help it. All his life he'd sucked a.s.s with people just like Neville, wearing that same supercilious look of calculated pomp. Jesus, what fun it had been to crack that mask so that the scars showed underneath! Neville had looked guilty, absolutely guilty. And angry. There was that too.
But what could Neville do here in The Pines? Not a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing, that was for sure. But what about later, when they were out? Neville was a rich man with powerful friends, and c.u.mmings knew himself too well-the million wouldn't last forever. Even if it did, if he invested wisely and lived on the interest, he knew he couldn't stay out of the arena. He was a soldier just as much as McNeely was. The compet.i.tion was his life. To sit on a houseboat in Florida drinking pina coladas all day would kill him as surely as a stress stroke. He'd have to work again, and s.h.i.+pping was all he knew.
Neville could hurt him, hurt him badly.
If Neville survived.
A month was a long time. Things could happen. Things could happen.
The thought of seducing Gabrielle Neville came a short time later. At first it was merely a tickle of thought, as he remembered how long it had been since he'd had a woman. But once the idea had established itself, it would not go away, and he found himself aching for her. He considered masturbation, but something stopped him, and he could not tell whether it was his own pride or the feeling of being watched that had hung over him since seeing the man and woman on his bed.
The more he thought about Neville's wife, the more convinced he became that he could make love to her. He'd never been turned down before, even by the more outwardly virtuous of his a.s.sociates' wives, although admittedly there were those women to whom he would not make a proposal due to some quality about them that seemed to guarantee frustration.
Or perhaps, he thought, it was the lack of a quality that he sensed in them. There was an aura, faint and indefinable, about those women who responded eagerly. A spoor, was that the word? Whatever it was, Gabrielle Neville had had it. It hung around her like a red shawl.
Like a b.i.t.c.h in heat. He smiled, thinking about when he'd like Neville to find out about it. In one way, it would be nice to withhold the information until the month was up, then spring it as they left. That would certainly be the easiest.
But in another way, wouldn't it be nice if Neville knew before they left. Then c.u.mmings could feel his hate and rage at being trapped in a house with the man who'd cuckolded him.
Both had their advantages and disadvantages. He decided to play it as it lay. First things first. He couldn't f.u.c.k her if he couldn't find her.
He left his suite and started to look for Gabrielle Neville.
She was in the billiard room.
She was wearing a dark brown bulky sweater in which her trim figure was totally lost, and a pair of camel slacks. She wore no makeup, and she didn't need any. She was alone.
His entrance startled her so that she m.u.f.fed her shot, but she laughed easily at the rattling b.a.l.l.s. ”Mr. c.u.mmings,” she said, ”I'm afraid you caught me at my worst.”
He smiled charmingly. ”Your form looked good.”
She ignored the compliment. ”Mr. McNeely and Mr. Wickstrom have been trying to teach me eight ball. At their peril, I'm afraid.”
”Oh. Are they around?”
”They went up to the lounge for a drink. I decided I needed the practice more.”
”I can hardly believe you'd need practice.”
Her answering smile was a bit crooked, and he cautioned himself not to move too quickly.
”I mean, surely you've played the game before?”
”No, I haven't. A little billiards years ago,” she said, gesturing to the smooth pocketless table across the room, ”but David was never interested in pool, so I never was either. But it seems that it's all there is to do around here.”
”Well, in that case shall we play a game?”
”Fine. Eight ball is the only one I know so far.”
”Eight ball it is, then.” c.u.mmings was a fair pool player. He'd had a table ever since he'd had a house with a rec room, and he beat Gabrielle handily in the first game. In the second he helped her more, suggesting the easiest shots, and at one point correcting her stance and grip so that he was able to put his arms around her. When she made no attempt to shrug off his instructive embrace, he grew even more confident. At first he had not been sure that the aura had been there, but now, as they stood pressed together, his fingers intertwined with hers on the end of the cue, he could sense it clearly.
”That's right,” he purred into her ear. ”That's the way.”
”Like this, then?”
”Exactly.” He stepped away and let her make the shot. The ball caught the edge of the pocket and swung in with a soft plunk.
She laughed. ”You're a good teacher, Mr. c.u.mmings.”
”Seth. My shot now.”
They played a few more games while c.u.mmings let the warmth grow into intimacy, and soon he knew the outlines of her life story. It was only bare bones, but he could see behind the words enough to know that something was missing, that she was desperately unhappy with her life. She loves her husband, he thought oddly. But still he knew that she was ready for something more.