For The Death Of Me

47

I drove us back to the hotel and checked in again. If the desk clerk was surprised, he didn’t say so, even when I checked in under a different false name than the one I’d used before. I suppose that in Trenton, New Jersey, they see many things.

Marie began to undress as soon as I closed the door. I watched her as she slipped her shoulders out of the silk dress and let it fall to the floor. I watched her as she slipped off her thong with her thumbs.

And then it was my turn.

I made love to her slowly, very gently, taking my time, as I sensed she wanted. She winced a little when I entered her, and I realised she was a virgin, only the second I’d ever been with. I held nothing back; I gave her the best I could. Maybe here I should lie to you, and say that it was magical: yes, maybe I should, but it wasn’t. It was just all right, for me at least, although she wouldn’t have known if it had been cannon-fire, she’d nothing to set me against.

I told her it had been wonderful, though; well, you do, don’t you, if there’s anything of the gentleman about you? After a while, we did it again, and this time, Marie contributed more, although I could tell that she was making it up as she went along, trying to please me as best she could.

About ten minutes before ten, she got up. ‘I have to go downstairs,’ she said, as she headed for the bathroom. ‘I need things for morning. There’s a pharmacy across the street.’

‘I’ll go,’ I volunteered. ‘You stay here.’

She smiled at me. ‘Don’t be silly. You can’t shop for what woman needs.’

I watched her again, as she dressed this time. It didn’t take long. When she was ready she picked up her bag and stepped through the door, closing it behind her.

I lay there for a while, still naked, wondering what the hell I’d done, and where it was going, if anywhere. I think I began to feel ashamed, but as it turned out I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

To divert my thoughts, I picked up the television remote and switched it on. The hotel menu popped up on screen; I pushed a number at random and found myself watching more bloody baseball. I moved on to the next channel.

‘Blackstone.’ My name came out at me; I was watching the local CBS station and they were talking about me. ‘I repeat,’ said the announcer, ‘our breaking news story. English movie star Oz Blackstone is believed to have died tonight when a private jet crashed in a New Jersey swamp, en route for Newark Airport.

‘He was one of four passengers on the chartered Gulfstream when it came down. Emergency services report that so far five bodies have been recovered, those of the two pilots, the flight attendant, a woman as yet unnamed, and the promising New York mystery writer, Mr Benedict Luker. Police and fire-fighters are still searching for the remains of Mr Blackstone and of his former wife, Mrs Primavera Blackstone, the sister of Oscar-nominated Dawn Phillips, wife of Miles Grayson. More news and pictures on this story as it develops.’