“You knew?”
“I’m a fan, Madame.”
“How did you know?”
“I get a call in Manhattan to come out and converse with a babe at this address-from your books, I know you’re familiar to some extent with the workings of my profession-so you can probably guess the rest.”
“So you already-uh-investigated me. Mister-uh-Griffith.”
“Poindexter. Griffith’s the first name. A lot of people just call me Gruff. It pays me to know who might be hiring me.”
“I see, Gruff.”
“I forgot to tell you. I don’t necessarily like for people to call me Gruff-but they do.”
“Cute. Griffith?”
“Fine. If it’s all the same to you-”
“Constance. Although-I guess like you-I’m used to being referred to by my professional name, Jasmine Hyacinthe-”
“As well as, in other circles, the Lady Farnsworth.”
“That’s good, Griffith. You do your homework. Tell me. Since you’re such an aficionado of my literary works, what drives you to read about the interior lives of unfaithful wives?”
“I like that murderous attitude they have. And all those lesbian overtones-you know-between the icy rich bitch and the hot little witch.”
“I do believe you’re simplifying what I admit is something of a literary formula. No one in my books or even in real life is simply a rich bitch or a whorish witch.”
“Not simply. But they seem kind of that way as I read it. Sisters in crime and in the head. What else do you need to get someone into bed?”
“My female characters are often at odds over affections or finances associated with men. I do not recall their having been explicitly portrayed as being hot for each other’s bods.”
“But it’s in there. That dyke stuff. I’m waiting for you to really show it.
Maybe in your next book? You know. One of the greatest male fantasies runs something like this. May I?”
“If you insist.”
“Hey, man-he says. My girlfriend calls me up last night.”
“Mind if I smoke?”
“Go ahead, choke. So the guy says to listen to this, man. His girlfriend says she and her girlfriend were just sitting around sucking down some carbonated grape juice-champagne to you. The two girls-they’re kinda tipsy. Bored. Getting all giggly. They embrace. Start to play kissy-face. Tug-the-titty. Get into a pillow fight. Tackle each other. Wrestle a little. Tear each other’s clothes off. But that’s not enough.”
“So far, so bland.”
“Can you get this? These girls-there was a tape they wanted to hear. Or maybe a video they didn’t have. They call up the dude-they know he’s got the tape, say-and tell him they’re both nude. Tell him he might as well come on over for some joy juice and bring along the electronic entertainment while he’s at it.”
Constance sucked down smoke.
Piped it from her lips.
Drew it furling into her nostrils.
Constance’s mouth flared as she interrupted his speech. “Allow me to complete your dissertation. Our hero walks in on the awful sluts, just oh so gross fucking and sucking on each other. He saves them from their Sapphic affliction-which rather turns him on indeed. Shall I go on?”
“I wish you would.”
“You want me to tell you how he realizes that what they really need is some good pure cock? How he flicks them both? “That’s it-”
“Shoots off into their mouths, up their asses, and creams their cunts in easy succession-all the while maintaining an eternal erection.”
“Sounds good.”
“Or maybe he watches them for a while first. They suck each other until their tongues are raw. His hormones are blasting out of control. He rolls his hips.
There is only one thing our hero can think of to do to save all their souls-”
“You got it.”
“Of course. So simple. I could write that easily. But I don’t. I want to hook you the reader by playing to your fantasies. I want to keep you buying my books by never really satisfying you fully. It’s called titillation.”
“Literary cocktease.”
“And cuntsqueeze. Most of my readership is female. You a faggot, by the way?”
“Thought I heard you say-”
“Queer. You seem to read a lot. That’s suspect these days for real hard guys like you.”
“I guess you could say I’m gay. But don’t let that get into your way. I’m not real delicate with the poetry these days.”
“More straightforward.”
“Guess you could say.”
“Anyway. Hate to cut off the literary chitchat, Griffith, but it seems there’s real work to be done around here. I’ve got some trouble. A real problem for a change.”
“Well, trouble is my business. So that’s good to hear. And the main problem I run into is when somebody hires me for no particular reason. Maybe they have too much money and too little to do.”
“That is a sad state of affairs.”
“Believe me. Boredom is the root of much evil. These people simply want somebody to have around to play with. Then if they’re romantically inclined they might come up with jacked-off schemes involving undercover work.”
“Undercover. That is romantic.”
“Not when you see how it actually works. Or maybe they’ll want me to try to set up dangerous liaisons to entrap their spouse-so they can have documented grounds for divorce. Or else-believe it or not-they might even want to try to seduce me to see how mercenary I can be.”
“The games the rich do play-”
“See. I know that all the stuff you write there in your books is not strictly fiction. Cause I’ve seen it myself.”
“Do you want to hear my situation? Or do you want me to continue to pay you to be my personal literary critic?”
“Either way. I’m game.”
“Pearls are a nuisance.”
“I heard that one before.”
“If the plot is jaded, Griffith, I’m sure that the money is not.”
“Correct. Shoot.”
“The pearls in question were to have been included among the pieces to be auctioned as part of a charity ball I am organizing.”
“Oh, really. Socially concerned, are you?”
“That’s neither here nor there. I tell you quite frankly that I am hosting this ball in order to clear my name-so to speak.”
“Now this is interesting. Have anything to do with your married life?”
“Mister Griffith-I mean Poindexter. Gruff. Shit-I let it slip. Please pardon me, Griffith, while I blush.”
“You’re too much.”
“So of course you know about Arturo.”
“Claims he should be King of Spain.”
“Cuban, isn’t he?”
“Wasn’t sure you knew.”
“I do.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have said those last two words so often.”
“I married Arturo because of young love. I didn’t care whether he was royalty.
I have my own money and I did not particularly care to hear about his. It was there.”
“Didn’t you wonder how he got it?”
“Not at first. You know all fortunes are first gained through ruthless amorality. Sometimes such activities may be sanctioned as acts of war. But exploitation is part of the heritage of wealth.”
“Like the nobleman’s private game preserve. The master may pillage wildlife indiscriminately as he pleases. But if you are a hungry peasant-no dice.
Poaching shall be punished by death. Like the street gangs. Protecting their turf.”
“I’m sure getting my money’s worth from this discussion. However, Mister Griffith, what do you know about pearls?”
“They’re for girls.”
“You know how they can be faked?”
“Porcelain. Bone china with special glaze. Places in Belgium and East Germany used to do the best duplicating jobs. Now some Swiss and British contacts are first-rate.”
“Hmmmmm.”
“Okay. Yours are taken and you weren’t sure they were real anyway. How the insurance reads is actually the more important factor-”
“Ah, let’s see. t may have only misplaced them. But once they’re recovered, I think they should be kept under guard.”
“If they weren’t stolen-why now?”
Constance was silent a split second too long.
“Let me help you,” Griffith said. “You want to maybe let on to the press that they’re valuable. Tell them how the pearls were recovered and how it was so upsetting that they were lost. Nice little column in the newspaper with a nice big picture of you with the black bangles hanging over your boobs. Draw some big spenders to the charity ball. Am I okay so far-or am I off the wall?”