Chapter 6

The next few days were like the Ice Age. The coldness that gripped the house was overwhelming: it entered your bones, and it froze your mind. You couldn't think. You could only feel discomfort and could only worry about what to say, for fear that something might happen.

Alice and Tom didn't speak. The staff was on edge. The children too knew something was very wrong.

But it was the season for parties. Another few weeks, full of social engagements, then the weather would turn, the sun would set too early, and the air would be too cold, and it would all stop.

'We have that thing tonight. I'm afraid we can't get out of it,' Tom said.

The Prescotts, an American family in the hospital business. Tom shared an interest in the plastic supplier that made the syringes for them. They had to go.

Alice didn't reply, but after breakfast announced she was going out. Hair. Nails. Shopping for a new dress.

She spent the day out, running her errands almost mechanically. At times, she found herself wandering in an unfamiliar part of the city, surprised she had walked this far. She quite couldn't remember what she had been thinking about.

Why Tom? That's what she had been trying to remember.

Looking at Tom now, she couldn't quite believe she was capable of loving him. But she also felt a pang of terror, when she had to concede that she didn't believe that he had any feelings for her.

Was it her fault? Had she become distant, too distracted with the silly cares imposed on women like her to notice that he was drifting away? Like all the women in her circle, she was preoccupied with gossip: she had to know what embarrassing barbs people were being caught by, and she had to know how to avoid them. She obsessed over what to wear, or the right book to read, or what movie to watch before everybody began obsessing over it.

She was so worried about how people saw her, that she wasn't sure that she wanted to be that way in the first place. Why were those people so important to her, while her own husband was an opaque presence at the periphery?

She didn't know exactly when things had changed with Tom. After all, she was mad for him when they met. She was right out of high-school, and he was a few years old, about to finish university and about to join the family business.

But why Tom?

She couldn't quite remember now. There had been other men, but they hadn't ever achieved the same effect on her. What did Tom have?

They got married as soon as they could. They travelled, they partied, and they enjoyed life.

Now, of course, it was all different. They did the same things as before, they had no cares and had time and money to indulge every whim, but there was no joy. There was nothing she looked forward to. She was jaded and he was dulled by the endless drinking.

The party was held on the rooftop near the river. The Prescotts owned and occupied the whole building.

Alice was wearing a long chainmail dress. Everything she wore was bright platinum, except for an elaborate necklace with various precious stones of many colours.

As they walked out of the staircase onto the terrace, the fresh air hit them.

'They will talk,' Alice had forecast in the car. Those were the only words she had uttered to him since the incident.

Tom knew she was right. People had only heard Vincent's side of the story, how Alice had tried to seduce him. Laughs from the guests made him turn his head. He was quickly uncomfortable, feeling the scrutiny. Alice thought he had fleas: he kept moving jerkily, as if itchy. He kept looking over his shoulders hoping to catch someone as they gossiped about them. But he soon disappeared with their host, a glass of whisky in hand.

'Talk business…' he mumbled.

Alice was left chatting with some women she knew. They were nice and chatty as always, but Alice could not help but wonder if the thought she had…

She was so annoyed with this, that she started to give people hints.

'Have you heard what happened to me at the Durands'?'

People protested they didn't know.

'Oh, don't worry. Something quite nasty,' she said vaguely.

As the night progressed, she got bolder.

'I nearly got assaulted.'

'Oh dear!'

Finally, having had a few drinks herself, she would just come out with it.

'Do you know Vincent?'

'Oh, yes,' someone would say vaguely trying not to commit.

Someone else, evidently not having heard anything about it, would just blurt out, 'Such a nice guy!'

'Not to me, I assure you,' Alice said.

Then, she would describe the event, make it cruder every time. She dwelled on Vincent's eyes, 'Like those of an animal.' Alice was fearful of what he had in mind. She even thought he might throw her out of a window if she refused. But she did!

Everyone was shocked. And keen to hear more. So, she would embellish, and she would drink more to dull the pain of recounting, to make those people, so eager to get more out of her, more distant and harmless. She started to understand what it took to be Tom.

But now it was almost done: scandal had caught up with Vincent, like a knife to the flesh. But was the wound deep enough? Would the scar ever heal? After all, people like him were always protected.

'He had the smallest penis I've ever seen,' she said, almost without knowing she was saying it.

There: ridicule! That he wouldn't be able to escape.

Alice was giddy. There was something to be said for regaining – and for having control, she told herself. She never had the need to handle power. Things – nice things – were given to her. Nothing bad ever happened because Tom took care of that. Until now, she never had to want anything.

She was all smiles. She was relaxed. People, she imagined, were now talking about him. A monster in the body of a boy! He had become like those untouchables she had read about, so beneath everyone, that nobody would speak to them, nobody would feed, nobody would ever save.

She still had the strange feeling of being observed. The feeling became so overwhelmed, and she started scanning the room. Little ripples were creasing the surface of her new happiness.

Then, she saw a pair of eyes staring at her. Where were they? She looked again, but they were gone, disappeared behind the shifting crowd.

The stars had come out. Alice looked at the half moon. The lights of the city below had come on, and the terrace was now lit by a thousand little globes hanging on long strings that ran around the space. All those different lights making up a giant kaleidoscope before Alice's hazy eyes.

Then, she saw him. A face: a man with a large birthmark. Where had she seen him before?

He was looking at her, intently.

She moved closer, pushing people aside. He wore a black shirt, a jacket. He was a waiter! A waiter with a silver tray full of glasses and two large bottles of wine. He was asking people if they wanted a refill, and he stared at her. But where had she seen him before?

Then she remembered: the brothel. He was the patron who had grabbed her by the hand, thinking her one of the girls, hoping he could rent her for some time.

Alice felt numb. Around her, conversations were flowing like rivers; glasses were clinking noisily like mountains crumbling; laughs struck like thunder. The man's eyes followed her. Whenever she looked at him, he looked down, embarrassed. Then, he would look again.

The waiter with the purple mark kept moving about the room bringing offering fresh drinks to the guests. Now and then, Alice noticed that he would disappear downstairs to bring empty glasses back to the kitchen or to get fresh bottles.

Alice decided to follow him.

She followed him down the stairs and, like he had done before, grabbed his arm. He turned, and his mouth opened in surprise, but no sound came out.

'Come in here, you!' she barked.

She dragged him through a door that opened on the first landing below, into the roof space. This floor, once dedicated to the servants' quarters, was now mostly used for storage and was unoccupied.

They were in a small room. It had the small of a space that hasn't been aired in years. Mouldy, dusty, and rotten.

Alice tried the light switch, but nothing happened.

From a little window came the light of the city lights, and she could see his face quite clearly. He looked worried.

'What do you have in mind?' she said, angry.

'I – I – don't know, miss,' he babbled.

She gave him a push, emboldened by the many drinks. The man took a step back.

'I didn't mean to upset you, but – '

'But what? What do you think you know?'

'But I was surprised to see you. Here.'

'Well, this is where I am. What are you going to do about it?'

He was puzzled and simply said, 'Nothing. I won't do nothing.'

'No blackmail, no dirty trick?'

He was almost hurt.

'I would never!'

Alice relented and calmed down. The man looked genuinely lost. Maybe people were not all like Tom or Vincent.

'So, why did you keep looking at me?'

'Because I knew you – a little, I mean. And because you're so beautiful. But you explained the other night – I know you're not – what I mean is, you don't – '

'I'm not a prostitute, you mean?'

'That's what I meant to say, yes.'

She smiled a little. Poor guy. He was so flustered, he couldn't wait to be out of there, and yet, he kept staring at her, with his face half lit by the light that was streaming through the window and half obliterated by his birthmark.

'Tell me,' Alice asked, 'Why do you go to that place? Don't you have a girlfriend to do those things with?'

She was thinking of Tom. Why wasn't she enough anymore? Why did he have to abscond with his drinks in his business meetings, in the absences, in the odd perfumes she smelled on his clothes.

'I go there,' he continued, 'because those women treat me well. I don't have a girlfriend – you see, women don't like me much.'

'Because of this?' she asked, gently putting her fingers on the large spot.

He winced, but then let her touch it. Alice studied the shape, almost black in the dim light. Its broken edges, the wide expanse that took out almost half of his face. The man looked at her in return: he knew she was not like the women in his life. She was a lady. Her golden dress caught the light and sent bright flashes with every movement. Her blonde hair was freshly cut, her make up was expertly applied and exalted her features without hiding them, without making her look cheap or vulgar. Her perfume also, complex and yet balanced, was obviously expensive. It was the smell of the undergrowth in the forest, the sharp acidity of berries, the mellow scent of decomposing leaves, and the sweetness of nectarines. He had never smelled anything like it. She was almost too perfect, too foreign to approach.

'Yes. It scares them. It scared you too the first time you saw me.'

'No,' she lied. 'I was just upset because you were rude to me.'

'I'm – Yes, I was, miss. I'm so sorry about it, miss. It's just – '

'Just what? What reason could you have to grab a woman like that?' she challenged him, but her tone was friendlier now.

The man couldn't find the words.

Then, he said, 'Sometimes, I feel like I need to act tougher than I really am.'

Alice rested her hand on his cheek. This man felt just like her. He went to the brothel because those women treated him well. And he was now being nice to Alice: he could have exposed her to people's ridicule. He could have taken her power away once and for all. But he didn't care.

Alice felt like she was slowly waving a web of alliances with a new type of people, those on five percent. None of them had power or real freedom. What did it matter if you had money like Alice, if your every movement was determined by the fear of causing a scandal, of losing your reputation, of losing the protection the people upstairs afforded them?

The waiter was not like Vincent: this man could keep a thousand secrets. And yet, women didn't like him much. He had to buy their affection.

'How often do you go?' she asked.

'When there's some spare money. That's not too often,' he confessed.

She smiled at him and gave him a little kiss on the birthmark.

He looked at her as if she had just kissed an open, festering wound.

'Why?' he asked.

'Because you've done nothing wrong.'

Then, she moved closer. She gave him a hug, caressing his hair. To her, this man now embodied some of the pain that the had been filled with recently.

He didn't dare to move. She knew he found her attractive, and that he could have taken her new-found tenderness as an encouragement, but he simply stood still. When she released him from the embrace, she saw he was biting his lip.

'Don't start crying now,' she said with a little smile to show him all was forgiven.

'Nobody's ever been very nice to me because – '

'It's dark: I don't even see it,' she said. 'And I wouldn't mind anyway.'

Then, she took his hand and put it on her breast. He rested it there, still unsure of what to do.

'What is it? You don't like me anymore?'

Without waiting for a response she moved his hand down, following her stomach, then moving to her hip, and the top of her ass. His touch was light, as if her body was burning hot, and he was worried he might get scorched.

'It's nice,' he whispered.

She put her hand on his crotch and massaged it gently. She could feel the bulge under the fabric fill her hand.

'You're nice too,' she commented.

Then she kneeled. She slowly and carefully undid his pants. His dick was surprising because, while it was of normal thickness, it was rather long. She caressed it, feeling the smoothness of the skin. Then, moved the foreskin back. She held the dick by its base and gave a slow lick around the exposed glans and put it in her mouth: she wanted to feel the dick getting bigger and harder for her. She wanted to feel the blood pumping under the skin with desire.

Alice had to lift herself up a little to follow the rising organ as it started pointing upwards. It was now hard. She gave its base a little squeeze with her hand and started sucking it, slowly at first, trying to take more and more in. She could get half its length in before she had to come up for air.

'Aahh!' she gasped.

She looked up to him, with a big hungry smile, then she went down again. Now, she settled on a pace, which she matched with her hand that she used to wank the base of the penis. From time to time, to take a breath, she stopped sucking and started licking the staff, going all the way to the base, indulging on the balls, which she sucked gently. Then she resumed the sucking, each time faster and harder. Her head was bobbing up and down. The waiter put his hand on her hair and, now and then, pressed her gently to show her to go a little deeper, or showed her that he wanted her to increase the pace, as his desire grew.

Alice could hear the man hold his breath to increase his pleasure. When he couldn't take it any longer, he would take a big, deep breath.

She knew he was probably going to come soon. It was exciting to know how much pleasure she was giving: Alice was the one in control of the situation, of the release to his desires.

She took a deep breath, opened her mouth as wide and she could, then assuredly swallowed the cock. It went deeper and deeper into her throat. She felt like a new passage was being opened. She felt the impulse to gag, but she pushed through. Tears were welling up in her eyes, but she ignored them. Then, she felt his pubic hair against her lip. She gave one little extra push, and she came against the base of his stomach. She moved back and forth a few times, as if to establish that she had truly gotten here. That long dick was in her mouth and in her throat. She could feel the overwhelming sensation of tightness, the warmth spreading from the skin. Back and forth, back and forth, in short little bursts. Alice then moved her head back swiftly, taking in a big draught of air: it was out.

She laughed merrily, then stood up. She moved behind the man. She hugged his chest tightly with one hand, and with the other she started waking his staff. She knew not to be delicate about it: her grip was tight and each movement was decisive.

'Let's leave a nice souvenir to these assholes,' she whispered in his ear.

The man was holding his breath in and now and then cried out with little moans. Then, he exploded. In the dark, she couldn't see where the load was directed to, but she felt his body convulse with every spray. The man stopped, panting.

Alice felt something warm on her hand: a few drops of his sperm. She brought it her mouth and sucked each finger, savouring the salty, eggy liquid.

'You taste nice,' she said to him.

She ran a finger around her lips and along her cheeks and chin, putting streaks of saliva back in her mouth, swallowing it. Her lipstick was probably messy too, so she ran the back of her hand on her lips, rubbing it off.

Then, she was gone, leaving the man to recollect himself.