Colin Harrison - The Havana Room

"Charcoal?" I called to Allison.

"It absorbs all the bad stuff," she explained. "He dumps it safely."

"Diluted by the New York City sewage system."

"Something like that."

"One poison among innumerable poisons?"

Allison nodded. "Like men."

"Men being innumerable or poisonous?"

"Both," she said. "Just like women."

She nodded goodbye to some of the patrons as they left. "Yes," she said to one, "I'll let you know the next time."

Now she came over and sat down across from me. "Well?"

"I don't believe it," I told her. "It's got to be a trick."

"It's not," Allison said. "The stuff works."

"I don't believe that for one minute."

"Oh, you do. You don't want to, but you do."

"Nah."

She shrugged. "Try it yourself then, prove me wrong."

"Thanks, but no."

"Afraid?"

"The stuff's poisonous."

"I thought you said you didn't believe it."

"I believe in the poison, but not the brain magic."

"You don't get the brain magic without the poison. If you believe in one, you believe in the other."

"Sorry," I told her.

"You really think it's a fake?"

"It could be a bunch of ringers. Or maybe those bidders were real but Ha did something to the fish, sprinkled LSD on it."

"It's real," Allison said right away.

"I'm just not convinced."

"What are you convinced by, then?"

"Other things. I find other things more convincing, Allison."

Allison sighed, pushed a finger along my collar. "Hey Bill?"

"Yes?"

"Can you convince yourself to get your coat and meet me outside?"

She was all over me in the cab, a leg thrown over mine, holding my cheeks in her gloved hands, and I lay back and enjoyed this- although not without worrying that H.J.'s men were somehow cruising along behind us, having waited for me outside. I could just about convince myself that they were capable of that, too. They'd grabbed me once, so maybe they'd grab me again.

Somewhere in the East Eighties Allison told the cabbie to make his turn, and a moment later we were walking through the lobby of her building; Allison's salutation to her uniformed doorman on his stool was as sharp and quick as a flung knife- and nearly had the same effect; his head slumped onto his chest and he said nothing. I was not, I knew, the first man to follow Allison across the marble chess squares of her lobby, but never would I hear that from her doorman.

Upstairs the elevator opened into an enormous apartment, deep as a tennis court.

"Wow, what a great-"

"I'll show you it in the morning," Allison interrupted. "Come on."

So I did, following her directly to the bedroom. The bed was immense, large enough for three people. Allison stared at me, threw her purse on a chair, then took off her clothes. Shoes- flung over the carpet, dress- dropped in the chair, bra- a quick snap and her breasts were before me, panties- down past the knees, flicked away.

"Now you, mister."

In a moment I was naked as well and tasted the saltiness of her skin, her nipples in my mouth. It had been a painfully long time since I'd held a woman, any woman, and I felt grateful to Allison for giving herself to me, or taking me to her, so very grateful when she pushed me onto my back and sucked me with frank abandon. A moment later I was inside of her, and if I was not exactly heroic, then I was serviceable and of sufficient duration, and besides, Allison was easy- she took it in and made use of it for herself. Like mixing batter with a spoon. There is nothing like the velvety wetness of a woman, and my head swam with pleasure.

"Wait," Allison said suddenly. "Pull out a moment!"

"What?"

"It's okay. Hold your fire."

I rolled off of her in the darkness, baffled.

"I'll be right back, folks."

She grabbed something from her purse and ran into the bathroom. The light flashed on just before the door closed. I didn't know whether to be angry or hurt or amused. Then the door opened and Allison's naked shadow flew through the darkness right back into bed.

I wondered if I smelled something in her breath. "Everything okay?"

"A minor adjustment."

"Ah," I said as if I knew, trying to remember the obscure locations of certain forms of birth control.

"Okay," Allison purred, grabbing me. "Where were we?"

We started again and of course the interval created a new ascent of pleasure. I felt her hands pull me close to her, so hard her forehead bumped my nose. "Bill, if I act a little weird," Allison whispered in the dark, her lips against my neck, "just deal with it, okay? Take care of me, okay?"

"Okay." But I'd have said anything.

"Good," Allison breathed. She pulled me closer and suddenly bit my bottom lip so hard that it bled. "Now," she growled in a strange, panting whisper, a voice I'd never heard from her before, "now fuck me hard, go as long as you-"

I did. But it wasn't that long, a minute or two, perhaps, and then, when I was done, had roared my private roar, I understood that she lay limp in my arms.

"Allison?"

Her head dropped back, eyes unseeing- and I suffered a memory of Wilson Doan Jr.

Cold fright now. "Allison? Hey!"

I sat up. She lay collapsed on the bed, arms akimbo. I turned on the table lamp. She breathed slowly, eyes closed, twitching infrequently. I took her hand, worried that I'd done something wrong, had somehow hurt her, that she was dying or in danger.

"Allison?" Nothing. Then a slow blink, tongue on her bottom lip. If I act a little weird, take care of me.

"You okay?"

Nothing. A tremor of a smile played strangely at the side of her mouth.

It occurred to me that when she'd gone to the bathroom a few minutes earlier she hadn't flushed the toilet.

I jumped up, entered her bathroom and closed the door, fanned the wall for the switch, and was shocked by the sight of a naked man in front of me. He didn't look too good, either. Eyes wild, hair a mess, a bit of a gut. The mirror. I let my eyes adjust to the light, and then searched the bathroom cupboard. Makeup, birth control pills, Tylenol, the usual. Nothing interesting. I stared into the toilet. Nothing there. Nothing in the pocket of the bathrobe on the back of the door. Maybe I simply had- maybe I'd better look in the trash. I knelt down. Yes, there, dropped into a nest of tissues and dental floss lay a little wide-mouthed jar with a lid screwed on tight. I held it up to the bright light and swished around some flecks of white stuff and a piece of cabbage in some sort of vine-gary liquid. I unscrewed the lid and smelled the contents of the jar.

Fishy. Yes, fishy. What was left of a small bit of fish, no doubt. Shao-tzou fish.

If I were a man different from the one I am, I might have taken furious advantage of Allison in some way. She lay insensate on her sheets, deep tremors occasionally playing across her face, utterly undefended, fuckable, murderable. I could have done anything to her, rifled her drawers, shaved her head. And I won't pretend I wasn't angry, either; on the pretense of sexual affection, she'd coldly duped me into being her hospital orderly while she departed on a drug trip. Is this what she did with all her men? Fluffed them up so that she could overlay one pleasure with another? The fish must really be good, I realized, for her to undergo such risk. I rolled Allison on her side, on the off chance she would vomit, and doing this, I saw that she'd urinated a bit in the sheets. This was sad and a little sweet and deeply weird, and my anger toward her melted away. What a lovely, lonely woman. What a waste of her vitality. I covered her with the blanket, made sure that she was warm. She didn't wake. I checked her pulse every few minutes for almost an hour. It was steady. Her respiration held steady, too. How much fish had she eaten? Enough to have a strong effect, much stronger than the effect the men had experienced earlier. But not so much that she was in danger. An amount that was- well, perfect. An art, she'd said, an art.