Then Kirby leaned back in his easy chair and scratched his erect cock with his hands.
And it was about that time that Eula Peters came in, followed by a lot of men in white.
Kirby nearly stilt in his pants when he saw those men in white because they had solemn expressions on their faces and looked strong enough to lift him and the early-American rocker to the nearest asylum.
"W-What do they want, Eula?"
Eula smiled. "Oh, they're just the Bekins guys. I just purchased all the necessary items in San Diego that'll make this place look… look like… well, hell – it'll look almost as good as the Rathers mansion."
Eula showed the men where to unload the furniture. And since Kirby was such a lazy asshole, the strong-armed Bekins guys carted him and the rocker to one side of the room while they brought in a piano in the shape of a manta ray, a couch with armrests and cushions made of sharkskin, oyster-shell ashtrays, paintings of Dover Beach, and little starfish knick-knacks that were nailed into the ocean-blue walls.
Kirby was amazed. And flabbergasted. He had hired Eula Peters to redecorate his home in a style befitting his personality.
But he wasn't any Goddamn fish or beached whale!
Jesus! He had paid Eula Peters, world-famous interior decorator, to make his home fashionable to his taste. But what she had envisioned for his taste was an aquarium instead of Early American.
What the fuck was all this? Sea World? Charlie Tuna's castle? Moby Dick's rumpus room?
"What the fuck is all this?! Iwanna live in a home!Not A fucking fish-bowl!"
Eula got angry. Rich people knew when she was angry because her stiletto heels would make little woodpecker holes in their rugs. And she would flick her cigar ashes all over their furniture.
But this time Eula was super-pissed because she was drilling dynamite-sized holes into the sea-green rug and fucking hot ashes on the sharkskin couch.
Christ! For ten thousand dollars, what the fuck did he want? A round chair with a square cushion? A desk that had a bunch of erotic gadgets on it?
"What the fuck did you expect for ten thousand dollars, Mr. Mosher?"
"A home! Christ, this place even smells like seaweed!"
"Don't mind the smell. That's only the mussel and barnacle odor that's on the starfish knick knacks."
"What!? Oh, Jesus Christ!"
"Look, Mr. Mosher, I'm America's best interior decorator. You were a very particular problem for me. In fact, I'm thinking of charging you twenty grand for this job."
"Bullshit! That's a bunch of bullshit! You're just taking advantage of me because I'm a lazy asshole who don't know nothing about the finery of life!"
"Well, I can't argue with that, Mr. Mosher. I know you don't know a damn thing about sophisticated luxury."
Kirby fumed, put on his shoes so that he could walk across the sea-green rug that was seven inches tall in some places and flat as a board in others. He huffed and puffed over the ocean of wavy rug.
"Sophisticated luxury, huh? Is that what you call this fucking aquarium? Christ, I feel like I'm drowning in salt water! Jesus!"
Eula shook her head. Couldn't believe that an idiot – granted a rich idiot – would not understand the color combinations and the complementary accessories of her creation that she called: Ocean Indigo.
Shit, it had taken her three months to come up with this original design. Days turning pages of the TV Guide to find out when the next Jacques Cousteau special was on. Hours talking to sailors and old salts and ancient mariners in San Diego where she had picked up the necessary information to create Ocean Indigo.
With a series of taps against the oceanic rug, Eula breathed in heavily, they exhaled her anger: "Just what is it you want, Mr. Mosher? Something that truly expresses what you are? Something like a Lazy Susan for a couch? Or how about a couple of stuffed dead hobos for doorstops! Because if I truly designed something befitting you, Mr. Mosher, I would have to call it Early Lazy Asshole!"
Kirby was stunned.
Jesus! It was the first time that somebody had actually come out and declared him to be a lazy asshole. Which didn't seem fair to him, especially when he feared that others knew he was a lazy asshole.
Kirby sat down on the sharkskin couch. "But why," he asked in a repentant tone of voice, "did you design this?" Eula watched Kirby's arm as he pointed to everything around him.
"Because I love the ocean, Mr. Mosher. Because I like to fish. And to eat fish. Fishing is peaceful and relaxing. The ocean's peaceful and relaxing. The smell of brine and barnacles and…"
"Just a second," Kirby interrupted. "That's everything you like. What about me? Ain't I supposed to like something too?"
"Well, of course, Mr. Mosher. What do you like most of all?"
"Well… uh, nobody's every really asked me what I like most of all. That's kind of a general question, don't you think?"
"That's why I designed Ocean Indigo. Because you're like most men. You don't know what you like. So I made up your mind for you."
Kirby shook his head, anger making him want to wring Eula Peters' neck with his feet, but confusion helped contain his urge to put his foot in her mouth. "Well, I don't like it! It stinks. Like fish. I don't like…"
"Then tell me what you do like, Mr. Mosher. I bet you you're such an indecisive creature, that you don't know what you do like and what you hate and what you love…"
"That's a lie!"
"That's the truth!"
"A lie!"
"The truth!"
"All right, God damn it! I'll tell you what I like!"
"Tell me!"
"I'd like to fuck your cunt! I'd like to cram my cock into your fucking mouth! I'd like to ram my prick into your ass until it comes out of your fucking ears! I'd like to shove these barnacles and mussels and starfish into your pussy 'cause you said you like fish so fucking much! There! How's that for licking something? Huh? How 'bout it, fish-lover? Whatta ya say to all that?"
God, what could she say to all that?
No man had ever propositioned her quite like that before.
God, there was something so macho about the way he said he'd like to cram his cock into her mouth and cunt and shove spiny things into her asshole 'cause she liked fish so much!
Eula looked embarrassed and red, as red as the clingy dress she wore that clung to her tits and hips like Saran Wrap. Then she could tell her dress was clinging like Saran Wrap because of the way Kirby was looking at her taut tits and tauter hips.
He had that look of a he-man, hungry for pussy. Desire was in his eyes. Passion in his breath. Ecstasy in his expression.
God! No man had ever propositioned her so crudely before and looked at her so crudely before. Like he looked very capable of shoving his cock in her three holes – no, not at the same time, but at different intervals… and without coming.
Eula started to back away from Kirby.
Kirby kept advancing.
Kirby had changed. It was a slow metamorphosis. Like a butterfly coming out of a cocoon. But it had all happened so fast. As if his transition were taking place on super-fast film.
Kirby knew why he was changing. He had not fucked a woman in three weeks. And, in the last three weeks, he had been so caught up with being a rich man and redecorating his home and getting settled into his role as a wealthy man that he had not had the time for fucking or sucking or beating or jacking.
And now, Eula, to his desirous eyes, looked very good. Very ravishing. Like bait for Jaws.
He tried to imagine what her tits would look like as he trapped her in the corner of the room where the whale-patterned wallpaper met the porpoise patterned wallpaper.
And all Kirby could see were her tits. Tits that looked very firm and proud as they made crinkly mountains of Eula's red crepe dress.