She looked at Quentin, at Giles, at Celia, at Diana, at Lucy, at Quentin again. "Any of you. Come on. Let's just start with something."
"With me?" asked Whitehead.
55: DON'T BE DISGUSTIING
For the rest of his life Keith was to remember the divine comedy of that slow, andante ascent to the Rectory attic. One part of his mind, of course, was still anxiously trained on his immediate surrounds. The exit from the sitting room, for instance — with what eerie ease it had been conducted! Roxe-anne had simply turned to him — had, then, actually, smiled — and walked coolly out of the door. Picking his way through a forest of embarrassment, Whitehead had followed, encountering neither laughter, protest, nor spontaneous intervention from any member of the room. As he now scaled the thinning stair carpet, a different area of his mind — though a no less self-conscious area — shook with hilarious awe. Another step. Watching Roxeanne's strong legs lift in front of him, he felt that whatever happened, however pathetic and grotesque the scene turned out to be, he would have captured something of real and lasting value. Another step. He would have swerved his life alongside something not entirely ridiculous, would have completed a raid on the inarticulate, would have transcended this bad body, would have touched good skin. Another step. Foreboding flashed against him as they passed Andy's creaking room. Another step. Safe. On the last flight he experienced a rush of sheer gratitude; he wanted to stop, to take her in his arms, to kiss her at length and with soft languor, and return in silence to his friends. Another step. But things started speeding up.
She walk fast into room, turn, take off shirt, slip down she jeans, no pants, take she breast in she hand. On bed. "Come here." He go, he kneel, she mouth over he lip. She push he back on bed, climb up front of he to kneel across he shoulder, grip he ear to press to she pubis. Straddle he lap then. Undo he shirt, shinny down he trousers next. He sit up sudden take off he boot, she lick he back and she lick he under arm. He lie down she climb onto he again for tug he hair, drive sheself up he face. She swivel full circle, bend forward. She draw he genital into she mouth and gimmick she perineum to he face so good. She urinate some. She climb down he body so lick he thigh. She get she finger, grind it to it root up he anus. He defecate some. She press she nail into he hip, drag breast up he leg, feed on his penis. He head stretch back in long silent scream.
As Andy slipped down the stairs, Quentin loomed out of the passage shadows. Together they stole into the kitchen.
"A good one?"
"Fuckin' marvelous," said Andy, dusting his palms. "I don't know why people bother with anything else — I really don't. I was practically bent double."
"Guess what's happening?"
"Lemme see. Skip's fucking Mrs. Tuckle."
"Wrong. Roxeanne is fucking little Keith!"
"Quentin," said Andy, "call the police."
"To arrest Keith?"
"To arrest Roxeanne. What kind of pervert can we have up there? Keith!"
"No, it's true."
"Don't be disgusting, man. I mean, it's not that I'm shocked; I just don't happen to think it's particularly funny, is all."
"It's true, Andy. No one else would, so little Keith volunteered."
Andy threw his head back in a roar of dark, anarchical laughter. "Keith! That shape!"
"If shape it could be called that shape had none."
"Still, you know, you've got to give her credit. Come on, man, you have. Anyway, what difference does it make in the end? You get used to all kinds of shit." Andy wagged his head at the sitting-room door. "What gives in there?"
"Not a great deal, as it happens. Skip's trying to pull Lucy, who appears to be trying to pull, or at any rate solace, Giles. And — well — Marvell's trying to pull Diana… I
oughtn't to have mentioned it. He's having small success."
"I don't give a pig's rig. I talked to Diana this afternoon. We're forgetting it." "No, really?”
"Yeah. I just fuckin' told her, was all. No sweat."
"How did she take it?"
"Well, it completely cracked her up. Course. But the fuck, you know? Hadda happen."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Andy."
"Relax."
"And tell me — what devilment are you planning now?"
"Nah. " Andy was about to shrug deprecatingly, but then his face cleared and became quizzical. "I. "
"You're feeling it, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I am, actually."
"It's quite impossible to describe, isn't it?"
"Yeah. It is."
56: it started strangely
It started strangely. Not with a rush or a jolt, but as if it had always been there. The rosewood of the kitchen table seemed to have faded into a weak pastel brown. The blue and yellow tiles on the ceiling had receded and blurred so that its pattern was no longer distinct. Even the plain white of the walls appeared to have become something more washy, more neutral. Color had begun to drain from the house.
Andy had just sat himself down on the sofa and poured himself a sextuple Benedictine when Roxeanne came into the sitting room. He banged down his drink and hurried toward her. Marvell and Skip got to their feet.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Did it happen?"
"Did what happen?"
Andy's shoulders went slack. "Okay, I asked you nice. Now did you fuck him or didn't you fuck him?"
"I didn't fuck him." Roxeanne nodded to Marvell and Skip. They moved toward the door. Skip was rolling up his right sleeve. Marvell's fingers toyed with his belt buckle.
Andy wheeled round. "What's.?"
Waving Skip and Marvell on, Roxeanne said to Andy, "He
couldn't get a hard-on. And he threw up. It's not girls he likes."
"When we get in there," Marvell was telling Skip as they left the room, "don't fuck around. Just get his fuckin' legs and—"
Andy gestured hesitantly at the closed door. He turned to Roxeanne. "What's going on?"
Roxeanne sat down. She looked hot and very angry indeed, but her voice remained calm, even rather piano. "I'm getting some theories about this house. There's no one in it knows how to fuck right." She sighed. "What they're going to do, Andy, is: Marvell's just going to screw him — okay — but Skip's gonna fist-fuck him first. Got it?"
"Fist-fu— You mean — right up the.?"
Roxeanne placed her straight right hand on the inside crook of her left elbow. "Fist-fuck," she said.
"All that? Up the. right in his…?" Andy placed his arm obliquely across his stomach. It went from his hip bone to his solar plexus. He stared at Lucy and Diana. "But it can't. He's only little. It'll go right up to his— It'll fuck him all up."
Roxeanne reached for the liquor bottle. "Skip told me that after the initial tightness it goes all sort of hollow," she said matter-of-factly. "It all sort of… gives, you know? It does no permanent damage. It's amazing what people can get away with these days."
Andy stared flinching at the door. A thin, insect scream had joined the sounds of violent struggle from above.
"That fat little fuck," said Roxeanne.
Marvell bent down to zip up his boot. "That bastard Archie," he said.
"Yeah," said Skip, pulling a T-shirt over his head. "What was he trying to pull?"
"Last time I go to that shiteater. He can't do that to me, he knows that. It'll finish him. Time to retire."