49

“Who is it?” Duvivier called, though he knew. He tossed his notebook under the bed.

“Renata Tebaldi. I have a singing telegram.”

He opened the door. “Come,” he said.

“Is that all men ever think about?” Lida wrapped her arms around his neck and spoke with her lips brushing his. “Women, you see, are process-oriented. As opposed to goal-oriented.”

“Take your coat off,” he said, stepping aside to help her with it.

“It’s supposed to snow tonight. I hope they won’t cancel the play.”

“Yes.” He spoke with artificial solemnity. “It would be a great pity to be stranded here in a hotel room together.”

She giggled. “How much time do we have?”

“A couple of hours.”

“Good.” She began to undress.

“How would you like to spend them?”

“In bed,” she said. “Why do you think I’m taking my clothes off?”

“Yes, but how in bed?”

“How?”

“In your fantasies, how?” He stepped out of his shorts. “I could take you savagely. Or softly. Or not at all.”

“Oh, God.” She caught hold of his arm and undid the buttons that gave him so much trouble. “The ultimate perversion.”

“I mean it. I could hold you. Comfort you. Just that, if you like.” A nice touch, he thought. He would add it later.

“What about you?” She lay back on the bed, smiling. “Your fantasies. Because, frankly, you’ve already fulfilled all of mine.”

“I have none. Remember, I’m an old man.” He laughed at himself.

“You’re holding back, aren’t you?” She stretched her arms over her head so that her breasts, small to begin with, all but disappeared. Had she thought of Danielle at this moment, it would have been with gratitude.

“Holding back?” He felt a little burst of fear, as if he had heard the hammer of a gun cocked.

“Yeah.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” She smiled again.

He straddled her waist, then lowered his buttocks onto her stomach. “All right. What do you mean?”

She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, then lightly along his arms.

“Am I too heavy?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not yet.” She brought her hands to rest on his thighs. He began stroking his testicles with his left hand, looking down at her all the while. “Go ahead,” she said.

“Aren’t you afraid?” he asked. “Doesn’t this, in some way, offend you?”

“You mean, do I feel like a prop?”

“Yes.”

“If you’d come up a little bit, I wouldn’t have to be a prop. I could be a participant.”

“Come up?”

“Closer.” She tugged at his legs. “Come closer.”

“I’m not sure this is anatomically possible.”

“Let’s find out.”

“You’ve never done this?” He was half-afraid she had.

“No.”

“For some reason, that pleases me. Does it please you that I never have?”

“Yes”—she began laughing—“except that you’ve lost your erection.”

“It’s all this technical talk,” he said, placing a knee beside each of her shoulders. “Here”—he balanced over her—“can you reach?”

She raised her head slightly and ran her tongue over his testicles.

His penis swelled at once. He wrapped his hand around it and began to masturbate. He closed his eyes, fearing he would come too soon.

She blew softly at his testicles, then enveloped them, one by one, in her mouth. “Mmmm,” she said, letting his pubic hair tickle her cheek, her nose. “Come in my hair, come on my eyelids, come in my mouth.” Her voice, like butter.

He groaned, stiffening, almost falling. Semen splashed across her face, her lips. When it was over, he wiped her face with his hands. “Lida,” he whispered, “Lida.” He raised his fingers to his lips and sucked at them. “Bitter,” he said.

“Warm and bitter.”

He swung his leg across her body and stretched out facedown beside her. “God,” he said, “I can’t move.” But he rolled over and pulled her up against his chest. He stroked her hair, the back of her neck, her shoulders. “Peaceful,” he said. “I feel so peaceful.”

He must have fallen asleep. He opened his eyes, wondering, for a brief instant, where it was he had awakened. Yes. The hotel. Lida.

He listened. “A bath?” he called.

“I’m all sticky,” she shouted over the sound of running water.

He went into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub. Steam had fogged the mirror. She lay, her flesh bright pink, amid a cloud of steam. “It’s too hot,” he commented.

“No, it isn’t.” She splashed water over her face.

“Your hair,” he said.

“What about my hair?”

“It’ll get wet.”

“Right.” She held her nose and leaned back, her head disappearing beneath the surface of the water.

He counted the seconds.

She emerged, still holding her nose. Her hair was sleeked back, flat and shiny against her head.

“You can’t go out like that,” he said. “You’ll get sick.”

“I do it all the time,” she told him, “and I’m not dead yet.”

He moved aside when she climbed out of the tub. He took a towel and began to pat her back, her arms. She took it from him, drying her legs, her feet, her crotch. She dropped it on the floor.

“Sit down,” he said, taking a fresh towel.

She sat on the toilet. “I’m not going to pee,” she teased.

“I know.” He rubbed the towel against her hair, gently, then briskly, then gently again. He tossed the towel aside and bent down, kissing her shoulder. He knelt at her feet, wrapping his arms around her hips. “Lida,” he said, kissing her thighs. “Lida, Lida,” again and again. He laid his cheek against the brush of her pubic hair and was silent.

“Hey,” she whispered, “we’ve got to go.” But she held him.

He didn’t move.

“Come on,” she said again, still whispering. Then her voice neared its normal pitch. “Hey,” she said, “what is this? The Penthouse version of the pietà?”

“Where is your car,” he asked, “in the lot downstairs?”

“No,” Lida told him, “my car is in hock. We’ll have to take a cab.”

“In hock?”

“Too many tickets. It’s not worth explaining.”

He held her coat. “I saw a hideous production of Herod once. A long time ago. This one, I hope, will atone for it.”

“At Murdock College?”

He tilted his head a bit to one side. “Yes.”

“I’ve never seen it,” Lida said, “but isn’t Herod a bit before your time?”

“Meaning?”

“You were in Renaissance, not Medieval, right?”

“There’s some overlap,” he said, checking to make certain that he had his wallet. “The pageantry and what-not. Are you ready?”