Chapter 5: The End and Beyond

Paul phoned me.

I killed the connection. He phoned me again and before I could cut him off he said; "This is important, Jules. Hear me out!"

It made me stop.

"I apologize, Jules," he went on, in a hurry. I guess he feared to be disconnected. "I am sorry I made you run out on me. Please, let's at least stay friends."

I said nothing.

"Jules?"

"I... I am sorry too, Paul," I said. "But you can't say things like that about Betty and hope we can stay friends."

"I am sorry," he repeated. "But we really must talk. Have you got time to see me at all?"

"Now?"

"Yes. At the bar of the Regal. Close to the UN, you know it?"

"Why there?"

"Ehm... because I'm there, " he said. "And you are not far from it either, are you?"

While walking the few blocks I recalled last night. Betty had run to the bedroom. I had waited for a while. Then I decided to follow her. Our bedroom can't be locked. There isn't even a door. Why would there?

She was on the bed, sprawled on her belly. She cried into her pillow. I sat next to her. My hand caressed her leg. She stiffened under the touch. But she stopped sobbing.

"Please let's talk," I said. "If we can't talk anymore, what's the point of being together?"

She looked up. Her face was a mess. A lovely mess. I leaned into her and kissed a salty cheek. She suddenly sat up and hugged me like a scared child.

"Don't distrust me, Jules. I can't live with that. It wasn't me. Believe me. Please. Please don't send me away."

I crossed First Avenue and smiled. We had made love.

Call me a fool. Call me pussy-whipped. Call me any cynic outsider remarks you cherish. But she is Betty. She is my Libby. There are things no lover can lie about and hope to get away with. Oh, all right. Maybe she can. But there are moments other things just matter more.

We made love.

I mean love. Slow, tender, desperate love. It took us from sobbing to gasping, from crying to sweet, liberating laughter. I felt like a swimmer rescued from drowning. A castaway thrown onto some far away shore, panting with relief. All I had missed was there again. Her breath, her soul. Her soft, soft body. Her eager weakness and sinuous presence.

The next afternoon I walked the streets of New York and chuckled. Damn, last night must have made me a softie to agree to Paul just like that and go see him after only a little phone call. One simple sorry from him and here I was.

I whistled.

The Regal is a greenish tower of metal and glass. Its sides rise in slanting slopes. It must be an architect's wet dream come true. I hear it is a first class hotel, but I really am a fan of the more conservative variety.

At least the bar was dark. Paul waved me over. We both sat at the bar proper. It gave us a nice view of the lobby.

We hugged and slapped backs until we coughed.

The first beer was a blessing. I had had a long, full day. On top of that, Judy had asked me tirelessly what brought the damn smile to my face. I informed her in detail during our frugal lunch. She congratulated me and said I shouldn't worry about the torn up wardrobe. What woman wouldn't envy Betty for stirring up such emotions in her man? And besides, did a woman ever complain about an opportunity to go shopping?

The second beer took longer. I intended not to get drunk too soon. Then Paul put down his glass and said: "Follow me."

I looked puzzled. He was already on his feet and begged me to follow him. I slid off the stool and went with him. He walked straight to the elevators.

"Where are we going?" I asked when the car started rising.

"You'll see", he said.

There was an endless corridor with doors at one side, glass at the other. It let you look down into a tree filled atrium. I wondered why he took me here. He stopped at one of the doors and slid his key-card through the slot. The door clicked open.

He again bid me to follow as he stepped inside. His finger was on his lips.

There was a small hall. There also was soft music. Jazzy. Then Paul opened the next door and my world ended.

The first thing I saw was a fat, hairy ass humping between two slender legs. The legs were in white stockings and red high-heeled shoes. They were spread wide, then bent at the knees, so the stiletto heels rested on the man's lower back. They spurred him on to pump his invisible cock into a cunt I could not see.

The first thing I heard was the man grunting like a hog. Then there was the woman's voice squealing. When I heard it, I knew. My heart hit the floor and spread like an oil-stain.

She screamed: "Oooooo... oui, ouiiiii. merde! Baise-moi, alors. Baise-moi, tu monstre... o merde... PLUS FORT!! PLUS FORRRTT!!! MERDE, GROS CON, TOI!!!"

The man rose a bit and crouched like a huge fat cat. Or a bristled swine, rather. I saw a gleaming monster of a cock slide in and out of a stretched cunt. The legs kept pumping, the woman screamed on and on.

The voice was Betty's.

I froze when I heard her. Then I flew forward and grabbed the fat man by the hair. I pulled him off the slut and tossed him aside with a power I never before possessed. He fell of the bed with a thud.

There was a sickening plop when his cock left her. It squirted whitish slime.

Then I was all over her. She looked awful. Her face and chest were flushed with sexual excitement. Her whorish make-up was everywhere. There was saliva dripping from her smeared mouth. Her eyes had rolled back into her skull. And the platinum wig hung halfway off her head.

She never saw what happened.

She wailed. It sounded lost and frustrated. Her hands clawed at her gaping cunt. When my fist hit her face, the wig flew off. I could not stop myself. Only after the third or fourth hit did she seem to see me and realize what happened.

She started screaming. Her hands rose to protect her face and chest. She rolled into a ball. "Arrête, arrête!" she screamed. She begged me to stop in French.

Strong hands grabbed me and pulled me off of her. I saw nothing. There was just a blood red haze. A voice tried to reach me, calm me. I now knew that one of the two screaming voices was mine. Then I toppled off the bed and sagged against it.

Through the haze I saw two large men grapple. It looked like a fight. The sounds seemed to fade away, until there was only a heavy breathing left.

And the sobbing of a woman.

Paul walked on to me through the haze.

He carried two bags of ice. I followed him with my eyes. He bent over the bed and put down the bags. A long groan sounded. I tried to scramble to my feet.

My head hurt.

There was a naked woman on the bed. Her white stockings were torn. One of the ice bags was on her eye, another against her cheek. I looked around. It seemed the three of us were the only ones in the room.

"Welcome back, Jules."

The voice was Paul's. The woman groaned.

I looked at her again. I didn't know her.

I looked closer. She winced and tried to hide.

"Leave her alone, Jules," the same voice said. "Get over here, we need to talk."

He handed me a big glass of whisky.

"Drink."

I drank. It tore through my throat. The haze vanished. I sat down in one of the large club chairs. My entire body hurt.

"Wha... what happened?" My voice was sandpaper.

"It isn't her, Jules. I'm so sorry. My mistake."

I stared at him.

First I didn't understand. Then I didn't believe him. I stood, swaying on my legs. I walked over to the bed. The woman once more tried to get away. I grabbed her wrists and pulled the ice off her face. The mascara and glaring eye shadow had caked into a dark mess. There was blood on her swollen lip.

But I saw now. Her hair was short and reddish. She wasn't Betty.

I turned to Paul.

"What the fuck, Paul? What have you done? I beat up a whore. I don't know her. She never did anything to me and I beat her up. Why did you bring me here, dammit? Paul?"

He rose two hands in defense.

"Sorry, Jules. My mistake. They look the same, don't they? I was flabbergasted when I saw it. It's eerie. They are so alike."

"My God, Paul. I beat her senseless for no reason at all. Her face looks awful. She'll sue us blind!"

She wouldn't sue us, let alone go to the police.