Chapter 46

On Thursday afternoon, January 24, Ann again called Maxim’s and again it was a familiar female voice who greeted her. “Hi, Molly, it’s Ann. How’s your cunt?”

“It’s great! Yesterday...” There was a pause and then she continued, “Mademoiselle Madeleine Lacroix Adams is no longer communicating with Mademoiselle la Marquise du Flandres or her busybody sister, Mademoiselle la Duchesse du Bourgogne.”

Knowing she was being conned, Ann replied, “Gee, Molly, we like you. And André likes—”

“Don’t mention that person’s name!” Molly exclaimed. “He is the problem. Here I was in my little brown shell — not happy, you understand, but contented and ... and ... resigned — and you two busybodies had to wreck it all! Do you know what that ... that... thing... ! did last night?”

Knowing this was the problem — and also knowing it was not a real one — in a voice dripping with sincerity, Ann said, “No, Molly, I don’t know. What did André do last night?”

“Well, were you serious about the lunch I served the other day? About liking it, I mean?” When Ann assured her that she was serious, the girl mused that she had worked particularly hard to ensure that each plate looked perfect. Returning to her subject, the girl said, “Well, compared to the dinner I served André last night, that lunch could have been served at McDonald’s!”

“My God!” Ann exclaimed. “You can’t be serious! The food was so good and so beautifully presented with every plate a work of art. If you’re serious, though, what you served last night must have been the finest meal ever prepared on this planet!”

“I really did work hard at it. I wanted it to be as perfect as I could make it,” Molly continued. “And I even took a leaf from your book: I served it to him on my knees, wearing that uniform you described to me, just a collar and cuffs.”

She paused for a moment and added, “It was a very fine dinner, too. The best I have ever prepared. It started around nine last night, and I served it in the private room we used. I wanted André to see that I could be a nice subservient wife.”

“What caused that?” Ann asked. “Did you kill him on the course yesterday?”

“I sure did!” Molly exclaimed. “And I shot a career round: a 63. Not quite to the level of a couple of kids I played with a while ago, but not too shabby. I guess it confirms the idea that an athlete performs better when she’s sexually satisfied. Anyway, I thought André’s ego needed a boost. So I prepared and served the dinner.”

“Did he like it?” Ann asked.

“He adored it! At least he said he did. And truly he savored everything I served, and he ate every last scrap.”

“Then what?” Ann prompted.

“Then what?” she almost screamed. “‘Then what?’ she asks. Then he lays down on the sofa and goes to sleep! That’s what. He goes to sleep! And Ann, I had rouged my cunt lips and my nipples. As he finished his dinner, my cunt was beginning to run rivers. I was literally starting to shake with anticipation of his hands roaming over my body. And he goes to sleep! I should have killed him right there and then and tried to forget the whole damned thing!”

“It sounds like you didn’t, though,” Ann said. “What did happen?”

“He woke up is what happened. And then my torture started. I’ll give you a tip: Never let your man take a nap after dinner. He caressed my tits to orgasm. He even kissed me until I came. Can you believe it? Cuming while you’re only being kissed? On the lips? And I mean the ones on my face, too. His hands were just so lightly stroking my cheeks — the ones on my face, not my butt — he wasn’t touching my body at all. But he made me cum! And he ate me! My cunt was the main course. He would eat me and fondle my tits. He would eat me and caress my bottom. He would eat me and kiss my lips.”

“And the problem?” Ann asked.

“The problem! The problem is my poor cunt is so raw, if I added some chopped onions and spices, I could serve it as steak tartare! That’s the problem. It’s so raw and red.” Then she paused, thinking. Then she said, “You know what? I think that’s what I’ll do tonight. There will be onions, capers, some Tabasco...”

“In your cunt!?” Ann exclaimed. “When it’s already raw? Molly Adams, you will die! You will kill yourself. My God! Tabasco in an already-raw cunt? You’re nuts!”

“I’m going to do it, though,” Molly said. “André will laugh so hard, he’ll be rolling on the floor. It will be so neat—”

“But you’ll be in agony!” Ann insisted.

“If it hurts, it hurts,” Molly retorted. “Big deal!”

“You are truly a member of The Sisterhood, Madeleine Lacroix Adams. You really are. You will do anything to increase your husband’s enjoyment. The cost to you to you just doesn’t get on the scale.” Ann paused and then added, “Darling, you’re going to be so outrageously happy! And it couldn’t happen to a nicer girl, either.”

Then with a lovely little giggle Molly said, “But since you tricked me into speaking to you again ... You called?”

“I sure did!” Ann exclaimed. “Molly, we need your help. I know it’s very short notice and all, and I certainly know how busy you are—”

“That’s another thing!” Molly interrupted. “Thank you for reminding me. Now the waiting list for a reservation is six weeks! Could we just bumble along with ten or fifteen tables a night for dinner? A nice quiet work-load so our kitchen staff can really take their time and prepare each dish just so? Not hardly! Our neighborhood nobility has to arrange to have pictures splashed all over every paper and magazine in Greater Los Angeles featuring them dining at Maxim’s. And did you really have to look like you were enjoying the food? Did you? Couldn’t you act like you’re eating the same cardboard with library paste that everyone else serves? Mademoiselles les Duchesses? Never!

“Now our kitchen staff are pulling their hair, we had to get an emergency order from our liquor wholesaler because the people waiting for tables drained the bar dry, and it takes André and me hours after closing just to count the money.” Molly stopped suddenly and said, “Yes, we’re busy. And it’s all your fault, too. Now what?”

“Oh, shit!” Ann exclaimed. “That tears it. We were hoping to be able to eat there tonight—”

“What time, who’s coming, and what would you like me to prepare?” Molly interrupted.

“But you’re mobbed to the doors. You just told me. And we don’t have six weeks to wait,” Ann wailed.

“I never would have guessed it!” Molly exclaimed. “You’re a retard. Since I did nothing but play golf, practice golf, cook and watch television — until you hopeless idiots screwed up my life, that is — I saw Joyce Johnson’s piece on you two on KNBC. And I remember her saying that 180¹⁸⁰ is a very big number, and I guess it is. But 3³ isn’t. She said that the way your brains work, one’s brain is raised to the power of the other. And three to the third really isn’t so impressive. Based on your comment, Ann Whitfield, your IQ is about three.”

She paused and mused, “Hmm. That’s a really low-grade idiot, too, isn’t it? And raised to the power of three — your sister’s — that gives a combined IQ of 27. Not as bad as an idiot, I guess, but still in the imbecile range. But it sounds about right.” By this time Ann was laughing so hard she couldn’t speak, so Molly continued, “You will use the private room again. I’m pretty sure I even got most of my love juices off the carpet. How many people will there be for dinner?”

“There will be five,” Ann replied, now able to talk again. “It will be Cara — and wait until you see her! — Mary and me, and the Sloans. You know Susie, of course. Steve Sloan was her husband. He had to watch while Susie was tortured to death. And then there’s his new wife and our savior, Barbara. And if you didn’t know it before, Mary and I are her personal slaves.”

Ann paused and continued, “Darling, you say Mary and I are responsible for your happiness. It’s bullshit — we both know that — but we’ll let it go. But with us, it’s different. Barbara Sloan took two filthy Czech prostitutes — Mary and me — and made us into what we are. And I mean ‘made’, as in ‘created.’ Understand?”

Now Ann was almost in tears as she continued, “Molly, this dinner is terribly important to both of us. So if you could try to see that everything looks nice—”

“I will prepare your dinner personally,” Molly interrupted. “And it will be even finer than the one I prepared for André last night. Is that good enough?”

“Molly, I don’t know what to say!” Ann exclaimed. “Except that you’re one of a very small handful of God’s perfect people...”

“And you and your sister are two more,” Molly interrupted. “What’s the big deal?” Then with the sound of glee in her voice she added, “I hope you and your sister are in shape, though.”

“In shape for what?” Ann asked.

“Our wedding, turkey!” Molly exclaimed. “André’s and mine. Oh! I forgot to tell you ... It’s going to be in Notre Dame Cathedral, can you believe? And the center aisle at Notre Dame is long! So you and Mary had better be in shape!”

“Oh, Molly!” Ann screamed. “I’m so happy for you! Good heavens! Can you imagine? Mary and I walking down the aisle in one of the world’s greatest cathedrals? With sunlight shining through the Rose Window, one of man’s most magnificent creations to celebrate the greater glory of God! And you know what? I would be willing to bet anything that, regardless of the weather or the time of day, He will ensure that sunlight is streaming through it, too.”

“It’s really funny,” Molly added. “M. le President de la France is already trying to wangle an invitation. The word is all over Paris already, Dad says. It’s the biggest social event of the year! Even though my parents and I are American, there’s the family thing, so that’s where it’s going to be.”

“We can’t wait!” Ann exclaimed.

After hanging up the phone, Ann swallowed hard and called Clifford & Jamison to leave a message about dinner for Barbara and Steve.

After calling out to Cara, the woman appeared almost instantly. “Slave, you are to dress this evening. We are dining out, and you are to accompany us. You shall try to imitate a lady, hear?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Cara replied in her lovely melodic voice. “I shall do my best.”

In spite of their efforts to persuade Ali that they could easily handle their own car, all she did was raise an eyebrow and announce that Fred Clark would be driving. The two girls now knew Ali well enough to know that when she looked that way any argument would be futile.

Again they were greeted at the door of Maxim’s by André Malraux and ushered upstairs to the private room where they found Barb and Steve already waiting. To Cara’s amazement, the two girls instantly dropped to their knees and kissed both of their shoe tops. Rising to their feet again, they introduced Cara to the Sloans.

Both Barbara and Cara instantly felt the same mutual attraction. Each took the other’s hands and just stood there staring into each other’s eyes. The attraction between them was palpable to the others. Steve and the girls just watched and said nothing.

“You are the original, aren’t you, Barbara Sloan?” Cara said softly. “God Himself could not squeeze more love into a single human body than you contain in yours. And your eyes! There is just warmth and love and Divine Grace in limitless quantities.”

“And you are the woman my kids at school talk about all the time,” Barb responded. “All they hear from their younger brothers and sisters is what a marvelous person you are. The mothers even talk about it. How, from the smallest infants to the five-year-olds, they are now so reluctant to leave school to return home. For as much love as they receive from their parents, it’s just a small fraction of what they receive from you, isn’t it?”

Then, as if drawn by a powerful magnet, the two women came together, cocked their heads, and kissed. Love flowed between them as the power of their kiss just intensified. Ann shook her head with the realization that anyone else would be dead. No one else could absorb the power of the love the two women exchanged. Finally they eased apart and embraced, as much to hold themselves up as anything else. Their behavior was the strangest the others had ever seen. It was as if a woman was looking at herself in a mirror.

First, they just lightly kissed, a kiss of enormous warmth, but devoid of the passion that had been in their earlier embrace. Then each one used her right hand gently to caress the other’s cheek. Meanwhile, their eyes were again locked together with their love visibly flowing between them. Then each reached out a hand gently to touch the other’s hair and smooth it back into place.

Finally Barb said quietly, “Hello, Caroline Campbell.”

And Cara replied in the same very soft voice, “Hello, Barbara Jensen Sloan.”

The others just shook their heads and Mary led the way to the sitting area. Looking at the fire, she thought that as much attention had been paid to it as to the food they were going to eat. It was utterly perfect, too. The Sloans sat on one love seat facing Cara, while the girls took the two lounge chairs facing the fire. A waiter appeared with sherry and canapés.