Chapter 18 Section 9

Nick wanted to find the magazines he had amassed and take them to Houston.He saves up some reading material for use on business trips.Some magazines, which he didn’t normally have time to read, piled up and were delivered to the sidewalk on designated days.He was leaving his carpeted residence and heading to the airport when he heard a sound, a commotion from outside.At every mile of his official journey he heard that constant monotonous hum; in this case he wished to read something pleasurable. It was a Time magazine that had been missing for a month, and he had finally found it in the bathroom.It was hidden in the basket Marianne used to keep her fashion books.Those books were beautifully printed, with flat pages, every shadow on the cover carefully treated, and the characters clearly defined.It's the kind of book one loves to read when one takes off one's trousers and submerges one's body in warm water.There was an article in that magazine about Clara Sachs, and he wanted to read it.It wasn't the first article he'd seen about her in years, but it was more interesting than many, mentioning her ambitious project in the desert somewhere.

His suitcase was on the bed, just the right size to fit in an airplane luggage rack.He put the magazines in the zip-up bag on the outside of the suitcase and packed it away.Marianne walks in, wearing the Catwoman blouse.She has found work on the city's arts council and hopes to dress herself a little more stylishly. "Aren't you hurrying up?" "The car hasn't arrived yet. I'm sure it will come on time," he said. "That car is reliable." "That car knows things we don't." "That car was never late." "The car and the plane were in constant communication."

She was always in good shape when he walked out of the house.He thought to himself, why?Something tender, something demanding his attention.However, that is also a secret that makes people hesitate to speak, as if they are afraid of disturbing the atmosphere between the two. He pushed her against the wall, put his hands on her thighs, kissed her on the lips, and nibbled on her neck.She was mumbling something, but he didn't catch it.He put his hands between the wall and her buttocks, and pulled her into his arms.Her skirt was open and draped over her lap, making the rubbing sound he'd been expecting.He stepped back a little and looked at her.

"What's going on here?" he asked. "What are you saying?" "When I came back, the whole thing was gone, all gone, forgotten. What's going on here?" "What's the matter?" He took off her sunglasses and handed them to her.A few seconds later, he walked out of the house, and the car sent by the company was waiting. A few hours later, Marianne was standing in a small room in a two-story gray building near a Doll Box.Cars are parked in a sloping parking shed behind the small building, and there is a discarded men's shoe in one of the empty spaces.She was leaning against the window, completely naked.Later, she walked in front of the mirror, slowly leaning her butt against the glass surface, and her body was in contact with the mirror, which made her feel a chill.She looked fine.She exercises, diets, diets, exercises.She put up with all those nasty reps, all those tough, boring exercises to stay in shape.The great figure she once had is no longer there, but she is still fit.Fuck you, what a bodybuilder!She stood in front of the mirror with her chest out and her belly in.There's nothing she can do to change her pointy nose, and it's actually not too ugly.At home, she had never observed herself so carefully.Here, in an unfamiliar room, it is easier to observe yourself.She leaned her nipple against the glass.As she stepped back, she saw her nipples leaving two spots of wetness on the mirror, two tight kiss marks, like a winter's breath.

When Brian arrived, she was wearing a nightgown she found in the closet. "I shouldn't be here," he said. "Neither should I. That's the thrill, right?" He sat on the edge of the bed and began to take off his shoes, a bit like a whining schoolboy undressing for gymnastics class. "Whose apartment does it belong to?" "My assistant's." "Really?" "Why ask? We need safe places," she said. "Is it your secretary?" "My assistant. It's better than a hotel." "I shouldn't be here."

As he walked around the room barefoot, he started to unbutton his shirt.He had splayed legs, big feet, and hypertrophied toes.First he pulled his shirt out of his trousers, then took off his tie. "Is she young?" "How do you know it's a woman?" "No kidding. Young?" "Young," she said. As he turned, he touched things, looked at photographs and matchboxes. "is it beautiful?" "You want to check her panties? See, I'm wearing her nightgown. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," she said bluntly. "She can't afford better ones?"

"We don't have enough money." “The room is too small.” "Small and compact," said Marianne. She was standing against the wall with her arms folded across her chest.He walked over and put his arms around her.She freed her hands and unbuttoned his pants.She loved having sex with Brian, she could control him, play with him, adapt him to her mood, easily turn him on, make him talk.His language is by turns acerbic, frank, embarrassing and unacceptable, but never lacking in humor. "I think he knows," she said. "what?" "I think he knows."

"he does not know." "I think he knows." She put her hands inside his trousers and smiled.He took off half of her nightgown and rubbed it, stroking her shoulders and breasts through it.Then he took it off, almost all, and pulled one of her arms out of the sleeve, letting the nightgown drag in its wake. They moved cautiously to the bed.She wanted to take off the whole dressing gown, but he wouldn't let her do it.He likes women half in nightgowns.The phone rang and they stopped to listen.They tryst at a borrowed place, stop when the phone rings, and think about what they're doing, and maybe, on some level, about the life of the homeowner.This, she felt, gave them the wrong feeling of guilt for trespassing.this bed.Someone else's life, someone else's medicine cabinet, someone else's bed.It was one of the things she didn't like, among other things, that she couldn't have sex with the phone ringing.

She reached for the bag on the bedside table.The phone stopped ringing.Brian got out of bed and undressed. "You think she'll keep silent?" "She's pretty tight-lipped about everything else." "It's nothing else." Marianne found cigarettes and lit one, and he handed her the ashtray. "I thought you quit smoking." "I've cut it down to five a day." "I thought you were using quit smoking patches." "I don't." He lay down next to her, sleeping on his side.The phone ringing just now made them enter a lazy state prematurely, caressing each other, talking in low voices, and the smoke flowed on their bodies.

He said, "Do you do this job for real or for real?" "I work with structural engineers and urban designers. I have to deal with civic groups all the time. But I can handle it, probably." "Not long ago, I was having lunch in a place with a steel structure that looked like a shopping mall." "We don't do malls. We design landscaped avenues." "What are you doing on Parkway?" "Make it nice and habitable. Put some sculptures on the median and make the pillars look like animals." "What's your secretary's name?" he asked.

She shook a long strand of ash onto his pubic hair. "Secretaries work long hours and stare at one thing, and the result is what the Japanese say," he said, "death from overwork." "Disappear from the company and die. I don't do this job to disappear though, I do things that are seen and heard. I'm not sure what you mean by real or fake. " He picked up the ash on his lower body with his fingertips and blew it off in one breath. "Most jobs are fake." The secret tryst between the two is relatively short and has not yet formed a reliable rhythm.Only three or four apartments were used, and one was only used two or three times.She has learned not to notice her own disappointment, which is an aspect of being perfectly normal.However, Brian's reluctant attitude made her quite annoyed.She had to arrange an apartment for the tryst, ensure reliability, adjust the time, and finally wait anxiously, wondering if he would show up on time.They talked about Demon Lover.She had the devil husband, and the lover was a freewheeling guy with freckles on his forehead and hair on his head like a diaper.However, it was a challenge she had to face, a way for her to come into some basic state of being herself.If it wasn't, she would feel unstable, tedious, and underexcited.Although such trysts are short and infrequent, they belong to her.Also, he was so easy to get along with, and became more and more precious to her.She liked to tease and frighten him, but she had no intention of giving him up. "Put the smoke my way," he said, "I like all the scents, tobacco, sheets, and women." She had no qualms about going on a tryst with Brian.Whatever that means, she feels she knows what it means.Not so much about his attitude, not so much about his deliberate impact on life. "Remind me that I have a meeting at three o'clock," he said. "Well, you didn't," she said uncertainly, "in love with me, Brian. That really puts me off a bit." "You're about my age and about the same height. I'm going to love a woman who looks petite from a distance and is full of life." "And, they have to be young." "They have to be young. You and me, we're friends. I feel guilty for loving you. Very guilty, guilty as hell." "Then why are you still with me?" "Because you want it," he said. She stubbed out a cigarette in the ashtray. "Are you accommodating me like that? Because I want it? Are you willing to do this?" "I would like to, too. But you're desperate for it." She didn't like the seriousness with which he spoke.This is outside the rules.He tilted his head towards her and murmured. "This kind of behavior is stupid and reckless, we should not continue. If he finds out." He whispered. "What will happen if your wife finds out? She will cut your balls off." "Nick will kill me." "He doesn't have to discover anything at all, he already knows." "he does not know." "I think he knows." He whispered, "Let's make this our last farewell bash." She wanted to tell him something, but when the words came to her lips, she changed her mind.They fell together, their bodies overlapping.Then, she leaned back into an arc, her arms back to support her body, allowing him to control the entire speed.At one point, she opens her eyes to find him looking at her, judging her progress.He looked a little isolated, a little tired.She pulled his head off, sucking the salty taste of his tongue, and heard a sound like a punch to the chest, and the two of them collided to the upper body, and fell on the bed together.Then comes the part that requires concentration.She listened to her own rushing blood, looking for something, and twisted his hips with her hands, feeling electric, floating, and then completely relaxed.She found that his eyes were closed tightly, his teeth were clenched tightly, and the corners of his mouth seemed to be covered with adhesive tape, and his upper lip was bitten tightly, and it was already white.She found that when he reached orgasm, he was like a hanged man, his body pushed up and his limbs stiffened.She strokes his hair with one hand - it would be better if we did it more. She waited for their breathing to calm down before reaching out cautiously for the bag on the chair. He went into the kitchen and drank a glass of water. The bag is quite large and comes with straps.She took out a sheet of aluminum foil and spread it out on the bed.Brian stood in the kitchen doorway, watching her.Then, she took out a small transparent bag.It looked like a crumpled sandwich bag, but smaller, and had a sign affixed to it that read: DEATH JOURNEY 1. "Come on," she said. She opened the pouch and dumped the contents—half of the contents—on the foil.It was a resinous substance that came in lumps, little lumps.She sat Brian on the bed and told him to pick up the foil, fingers under the edge, steady.That way, what's placed on top—bitumen-like nubs—don't leak down. "What the hell is this? If it's solid, how can it flow away?" Then she reached into her handbag and pulled out what looked like a straw.It was a straw made of aluminum foil, a few inches long. "Why, Marianne, what's the matter?" That's when she pulled out a match, lit one, and placed it under the aluminum foil that Brian was carrying to heat what was on it. "It's heroin," she said, watching the pitch-like substance slowly liquefy. "Heroin," he said, "what do I say?" The pitch-like thing began to evaporate, and the smoke came out.She extinguished the match, put the aluminum foil straw into her mouth, followed the rising smoke, and sucked desperately, letting it stay in her lungs, showing a focused expression. "Okay. Where did you get this thing?" She watched the pitch-like thing melt and flow and evaporate, chasing the smoke rising from the tinfoil, sucking on and on through the straw. "Mary Catherine." "Who is she?" "My assistant." "Whose bed are we in? Is your secretary a drug dealer? When did you start taking drugs?" "I actually never thought she would do such a thing." She stared at the smoke rising from the aluminum foil, then stuck her head in and sucked it through the straw. "I didn't think about asking her to supply me. But I think she is my supplier now, and I am hers—you can say whatever you want." "Is this something new?" "Yes, quite new. Here, have a bite." "no thanks." She stared at the smoke drifting in the air. "Listen, I'm very careful and rarely, very rarely, rarely use this stuff. I don't wake up with puffy eyes and aches and nausea or whatever. Take a sip." She inhales smoke. "Does Nick know? He can't possibly know about it, can he?" "Are you crazy? He's going to kill me. Take a bite." "You take it away from me." "I want you to sink in a little deeper. Take a bite. I want you to sink in so deep that you don't sleep, you don't eat. I want you to lie in bed thinking about just the two of us. In a borrowed room You don't think of anything else. That's my plan for you, Brian." "Mary Catherine. I like that name," he said. "Sexy." The two of them sat on the bed, shoulder to shoulder, listening to the roar of traffic on Thomas Road.After she was done, they packed up, made the bed, and lay talking. "I think he knows," she said. "Where is he?" "On his way to Houston, maybe already there. Then, he drove to the nuclear waste dump site, I don't know the exact address." "Salt mountain." "In the area of ​​the Texas Highway Killer." "He doesn't know," Brian said, "but we should think it's over, let's call it a day." "I'm not ready yet, so stop it. You make me feel like an old, sloppy woman who's stalking you." "You're not a slut, you're a mean bawd." "Don't be so mean," she said. She felt that the day had become a sleepy pulse somewhere near her eyes.She stretched herself, and felt the scabs in her pubic hair raised and slightly cracked. He whispered, "Let's have civilized sex one last time and get out alive." She heard the sound of cars passing in the street and wondered what she would say in movie dialogue. He whispered, "Let's do it one last time, then get dressed and go." She smiled slightly, feeling some kind of lucky idea floating in the air, and she had a faint feeling in her heart, as if she was in a movie scene.She rolled over on top of Brian and made love and chatted for a long time, full of sweetness and love, feeling the unseen conception of very lucky things. When they're done, lie down side by side.He propped himself up on one arm, his eyes fixed on her. "There's a melted look of defiance in your eyes." "Don't say it's over. It's not up to you to decide whether it's over or not." He laughed.When Brian smiled, his body would be translucent, and the blood would flow pink under his skin.He got up and began to dress.He picked up a fashion magazine, flipped through it, and in front of him was a picture that stood out: some muscular androgynous man.Maybe, that was a white guy, maybe not.He tossed the photo on the edge of the bed, as if to illustrate: His body had aged, his life had lost its vitality, and there were no more bodybuilding videos to throw away in the stereotypical life of Brian himself. "Underwear, panties, all of a sudden it's underwear, panties," he said. "Tell me what that means?" He looked at the time and looked a little panicked.She tried to help him by passing the clothes to him from the other side of the bed.Intentionally clumsy, he put one sock on backwards, hastily tied up his shoelaces, and stumbled towards the door.The later the time, the more mischievous moves he has.This is Brian at his best. "But what shall we do if he finds out?" "He doesn't know," she said. If by demon she meant some kind of power, the restraint and self-control that went with it, the flicks he was good at, like turning off the radio, then her husband was a demon.She knew about his father's disappearance, but there was something else, an unacceptable separation.This was what drew her to her in the first place, the risky sexual advances. Brian stood by the door, looking at the pictures on the wall. "Which one is her?" "Get out," she said. She made the bed, bagged the drugs, put the dressing gown in the closet.She stood naked in the kitchenette, rinsing Brian's used glass.It all seemed perfectly reasonable, perfectly natural, all of it, what she earned, what she needed, what she didn't hide.She took a shower and got dressed. She felt pretty good, with a relaxed languor.Something keeps causing distress, creating a drag, and then resolving it in unexpected ways. She feels that she will encounter good things that are usually difficult for others to see.She knows that when she sees good things with something akin to a movie show, she'll see them in her heart. She stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her sunglasses.If she hadn't done it, hadn't planned and dealt with it and looked forward to it, hadn't had a tryst with this too-difficult--she'd almost told him the question herself--driving along in the scorching sun When she came home from the decorated road, she would feel lonely, restless, and feel that she was no different from others. She feels good about herself.She likes her state today, with a sense of comfortable laziness, and feels that everything in Los Angeles seems to be going well.She could even say that there was more or less a sense of joy in her heart-but she didn't want to admit it right away. Before leaving, she checked the room again.Borrowed apartments, memorized phone numbers, coded symbols on calendars brought secretly arranged trysts into her world.In fact, this is just a spy game played by children, which brings her more guilt than sex itself, forming a kind of cowardly self-blame.She patted the pillow to smooth out the dent in her head.She wanted everything in the apartment to look untouched, and Mary Catherine wouldn't mind the next time she asked to borrow it.