Sacred Monster

Flashback 24

The naked giggling girl ran across the patio, past the pool, around the edge of the rose garden, and off across the rolling lawn. The naked Jack pursued her, gasping, grinning, dropping to his knees from time to time, struggling up again, lumbering on, following that round and muscular behind.

The girl had been told to see to it that Jack got his exercise, so that’s what she was doing. When he got too close, she would dart away, laughing slightly, sticking her tongue out at him, wriggling a lot to encourage him. And when he would fall back, when he would seem to lose heart for the chase, she would slow, her looks would become seductive, her movements lewd, and slowly the light would come back into his eyes, his trembling limbs would firm themselves, and he would go on with the chase. Because, as they both knew, the other part of her instruction was that eventually he must catch her.

Out across the lawn she went. The distant high wall, which was topped by broken glass embedded in the cement, was barely visible through the surrounding layers of ornamental brush. Panting, grinning, eyes rolling, arms pumping, Jack followed, weaving from side to side, slowing, struggling, slowing, stopping, falling forward, landing on his face on the lush green lawn.

The girl ran on another few paces, her bright laughter rising toward the blue sky, but then she looked back and saw Jack lying there, face down, and she stopped, turned around, put her small fists on her lovely hips and considered the situation. A ruse? A temporary rest? But he wasn’t moving, not at all, so finally she raised her voice and shouted toward the house, “He fell down!”

Immediately, the door in the end of the house beyond the multicar garage, the door leading to the security offices, opened and four young hefty men came trotting out. They all had short, military-style haircuts. All wore gray slacks, white shirts, narrow neutral ties, and beige or gray sports jackets. The four of them came trotting in unison across the lawn toward Jack as the naked girl also walked toward the unconscious man, wondering if her job here was finished now.

The security men reached Jack, flipped him over, checked him for vital signs, discussed the situation briefly with one another, and came to the conclusion this was no more than a normal kind of passing out, requiring no particular medical attention. Therefore, as the girl wandered away to get dressed, each of the four security men picked up one of Jack’s limbs and carried him like a firemen’s net across the lawn and through the main front door of the house.

Where Buddy was just coming down the main stairs, in a light gray summer suit, accompanied by two servants carrying his matched luggage. Hoskins, at the foot of the stairs to wish Mr. Pal bon voyage, became the hub of all motion, as Buddy and his entourage approached from above and Jack in the grip of his security quartet was borne in from without.

Hoskins gave his first attention to the conscious person, saying, “Enjoy your trip, sir.”

His voice and manner grim, his cold eyes on Jack, Buddy said, “Oh, I will, Hoskins, believe me. I will.”

“Yes, sir.” Hoskins raised an eyebrow at the right front security man. “Yes?” he asked.

“No sweat,” the security man said. “We’ll just put him to bed.”

“Bed,” said the ghost of Jack, and smiled.

The security men made their way up the stairs with their burden. Buddy paused to watch them go, and the servants paused with him, carrying his bags. Jack and the security men reached the top of the stairs and disappeared on down the wide white hall. Buddy looked at Hoskins. He said, “Give Jack a message for me.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Tell him,” Buddy said, “not to kill himself before I get back.”

Hoskins nodded, accepting receipt of the message. Buddy turned about and left, the servants trailing with his bags.

“That was six weeks ago,” I say, feeling dreamier again. “When Buddy went away.”

“And Buddy came home last night,” O’Connor says.

This surprises and pleases me, and yet at the same time makes me nervous and scared. But why should I be nervous and scared? Buddy Pal is my oldest friend in all the world. “Gee, did he?” I ask. “Are you sure?”

“You talked with him last night.”

“I did?” Wherever I look, there are deep black holes. “I can’t remember,” I say.

O’Connor leans forward. This is important to him, for some reason. “Try,” he says.

I try, but it doesn’t help. Sadness, sadness; all I can feel is sadness. I say, “I had a breakdown once, you know. Did I tell you?”

“You didn’t tell me,” O’Connor says, “but I do know. It was after Miriam Croft died.”

Oh, I can feel that, live it again, those terrible moments in the back of the limousine, rushing across Connecticut. She was making such noises. I wanted her to stop making those awful noises, and then she did, and that was worse. “Miriam!” I screamed, trying to reach her, reach her, pull her back. “Miriam, don’t die! Don’t die! Not you, too!”

O’Connor’s voice brings me back. He says, “Why did Miriam’s death upset you so much? Why did it give you a nervous breakdown, so bad that after the funeral you had to be hospitalized for five months? The doctors told you you weren’t to blame for her death, so what was there about it that affected you so strongly?”

“I don’t know,” I say. The nervousness is getting stronger. I don’t want to talk anymore, I don’t want to be interviewed anymore, I don’t like the way this is going, I don’t like any part of it. “I don’t know,” I say, “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Could it be, Mr. Pine,” O’Connor asks me, leaning over those huge gray knees of his, that nothing face pressing toward me, “could it be that it reminded you of something earlier in your life? Some other event, involving a woman, and death, and the backseat of a car?”

Rattled, my jaw trembling, I manage to say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“I think you do.”

“No! I’m Jack Pine! I’m the movie star! I live here in this house and they take care of me! That’s all there is! That’s all there is!”

“Let’s go back, Mr. Pine,” O’Connor tells me, “to the very first time, your very first sexual experience with a woman.”

Shaking my head, shaking my fists, I say, “I don’t want to.

“You were so excited, you lost control,” O’Connor says. “Do you remember telling me that? It was like an explosion, you said.”

I cover my eyes with my hands, but still I can see. My whole body can see it now.