Part 56 (2/2)

When he reached the end of the pa.s.sage he glanced back. Berrington was watching him.

”Night, Dad,” he said.

”Good night.”

Left or right? No way to tell. Pick one at random.

Steve opened the door on his right.

Rugby s.h.i.+rt on the back of a chair, Snoop Doggy Dogg CD on the bed, Playboy Playboy on the desk. on the desk.

A boy's room. Thank G.o.d.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him with his heel.

He slumped against the door, weak with relief.

After a moment he undressed and got into bed, feeling very weird in Harvey's bed in Harvey's room in Harvey's father's home. He turned out the light and lay awake, listening to the sounds of the strange house. For a while he heard footsteps, doors closing and taps running, then the place was quiet.

He dozed lightly and woke suddenly. There's someone else in the room. There's someone else in the room.

He caught a distinctive smell of some flowery perfume mixed with garlic and spices, then he saw the outline of Marianne's small form cross the window.

Before he could say anything she was getting into bed with him.

He whispered: ”Hey!”

”I'm going to blow you just the way you like,” she said, but he could hear fear in her voice.

”No,” he said, pus.h.i.+ng her away as she burrowed under the bedclothes toward his groin. She was naked.

”Please don't hurt me tonight, please, Arvey,” she said. She had a French accent.

Steve figured it out. Marianne was an immigrant, and Harvey had her so terrified that she not only did anything he asked but also antic.i.p.ated his demands. How did he get away with beating the poor girl when his father was in the next room? Didn't she make a noise? Then Steve remembered the sleeping pill. Berrington slept so heavily that Marianne's cries did not wake him.

”I'm not going to hurt you, Marianne,” he said. ”Relax.”

She started kissing his face. ”Be nice, please be nice. I'll do everything you like, but don't hurt me.”

”Marianne,” he said sternly. ”Be still.”

She froze.

He put his arm around her thin shoulders. Her skin was soft and warm. ”Just lie there a moment and calm down,” he said, stroking her back. ”n.o.body is going to hurt you anymore, I promise.”

She was tense, expecting blows, but gradually she relaxed. She moved closer to him.

He had an erection, he could not help it. He knew he could make love to her easily. Lying there, holding her small, trembling body, he was powerfully tempted. No one would ever know. How delightful it would be to stroke her and arouse her. She would be so surprised and pleased to be loved gently and considerately. They would kiss and touch all night.

He sighed. But it would be wrong. She was not a volunteer. Insecurity and fear had brought her to this bed, not desire. Yes, Steve, you can f.u.c.k her-and you will be exploiting a frightened immigrant who believes she has no choice. And that would be contemptible. You would despise a man who could do that. Yes, Steve, you can f.u.c.k her-and you will be exploiting a frightened immigrant who believes she has no choice. And that would be contemptible. You would despise a man who could do that.

”Do you feel better now?” he said.

”Yes....”

”Then go back to your own bed.”

She touched his face, then kissed his mouth softly. He kept his lips firmly shut but patted her hair in a friendly way.

She stared at him in the half-dark. ”You're not him, are you,” she said.

”No,” Steve said. ”I'm not him.”

A moment later she was gone.

He still had an erection.

Why am I not him? Because of the way I was brought up?

h.e.l.l, no.

I could have f.u.c.ked her. I could be Harvey. I'm not him because I choose choose not to be. My parents didn't make that decision just now: I did. Thanks for your help, Mom and Dad, but it was me, not you, who sent her back to her room. not to be. My parents didn't make that decision just now: I did. Thanks for your help, Mom and Dad, but it was me, not you, who sent her back to her room.

Berrington didn't create me, and you didn't create me.

I did.

MONDAY.

[image]

62.

STEVE WOKE UP WITH A START.

Where am I?

Someone was shaking his shoulder, a man in striped pajamas. It was Berrington Jones. He suffered a moment of disorientation, then everything came back to him.

”Dress smart for the press conference, please,” Berrington said. ”In the closet you'll find a s.h.i.+rt you left here a couple of weeks ago. Marianne laundered it. Come to my room and pick out a tie to borrow.” He went out.

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