Zane Pella - Fanchon_s Book

True, I hadn't shown much originality a few days ago. It was Kristi's idea, not mine, that had promoted our holiday. But the circumstances were different now, I felt strong, I had a justifiable incentive-and of even greater significance, I wasn't pressed for time. For such a long-term deal-and expensive, too-she wouldn't expect me to come up with some hasty hit-or-miss scheme.

Still, I might have to do a bit of temporizing. Even now she seemed glum, casting a desultory gaze at the resort bulletin that had come with the menu. At the moment, what I needed most was a mere figment, a glimmer, a ray of promise just bright enough to keep her from sulking.

Then, astoundingly, I had it!-more than a glimmer, more than a placating hope-and the impact knocked out the insidious fireflies and cleared my head. Creative person? Then why not create? Why not do the thing I did best?

"Eureka," I murmured.

"Huh?" She kept looking at the printed circular and spoke around a spoonful of dessert. "What did you say?"

"Nothing much." I grinned complacently, quite smug in my new-found omniscience. "Eureka. From the ancient Greek. Shouted by Archimedes upon the occasion of-"

"Fanchon, don't act so smart."

"Well, at least I didn't shout it. Now if you could just manage to tear your attention away from that hotel gossip sheet you're so interested in… "

"Uh-huh. But it's not gossip. Only announcements. Hey, they're having fireworks tonight. Can we go?"

"In the rain? Fireworks?"

"It's stopped raining, I'll bet. It must have-or they'd be canceling the announce-"

"Kristi, please! I've got something to tell you. Something more important than the weather or fireworks. Would you be considerate enough to listen?"

"Okay, so I'm listening. What's so important?"

"The money. Money for an apartment. I know how we can get it. I'm going to write a book."

"A book? Poetry, you mean?"

"Of course not. Or short stories, either; none of those arty things that only the critics read. No, I'll do a novel, a fast potboiler to suit the masses. A mystery, maybe, or one of those crime shockers with lots of sex and gore. Whatever is selling best these days. I'll have to check with my agent and find out."

"A novel… " She shrugged in unconcerned apathy. "Sounds pretty farfetched to me. Just because you've written. some poems and stories-"

"Darling, I love you-but this is business. Please don't set yourself up as a judge of my literary ability. I'm sure I can handle the job. What are you trying to do, discourage me?"

"You needn't get huffy about it. I was just wondering, that's all. How long will it take?"

"Hard to say. But I've got a shrewd agent. He might be able to get me an advance quite soon-and then we'll rent a cozy little flat for you. All right?"

"I-I guess so." Then, as if my writing a book had already become a closed incident, "Fanchon, can we watch the fireworks tonight?"

"Must we? Oh well, if it will make you happy. But I'd like to go back to our room and put through a long-distance phone call first, I do have to talk to my agent and the sooner the better."

"Uh-huh. We can change clothes then. We'll stop on the way up and see what the weather is like, hmm?"

"Yes, dear. Have you finished your dessert?"

"I've finished this one. But we're not in that much of a hurry, are we? I want some more. There's plenty of time before the fireworks start."

I won the battle against my rising irritation and ordered the extra dessert, along with another coffee and cognac for myself. It was silly to feel so indignant, I realized. Just because she had punctured my pride with her lack of enthusiasm about the new project. Actually, my hurt feelings were no less childish than her sudden hankering for confections and fireworks-and she, at least, had some excuse for it, after all, wasn't she just a little girl on a spree?

Asinine, then, to let my impatience dilute the holiday spirit. The phone call to Stutz would keep. There was no rush. Although our waiter did seem a bit churlish about bringing the second order-and with good reason: we were practically the last ones left in the place. But that didn't bother me; indeed it was gratifying to be alone with Kristi again, even if we weren't behind locked doors. From our corner table the huge candlelit hall appeared almost deserted, an echoless cavern of romantically flickering shadows. I looked at her and felt a sentimental glow. So lovely. Precious. And such a happy little cherub, truly, spooning up the fresh batch of sweet stuff and smacking her lips over every bite.

She caught my eye. "Fanchon, you're staring."

"Nobody will notice. The place is empty."

"So it is. Hmm, that gives me an idea. Eureka. I was going to wait till we got upstairs, but… "

"Darling? I don't understand."

"Eureka. From the ancient Greek, remember?" She leaned close, frost forming on her words. "You weren't very nice to me tonight, Fanchon. You didn't have to be so sarcastic."

"Sarcastic? Was I?"

"Damn right you were. Pretty snotty, that's how you've been acting. Not like a loving slave, certainly."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"You ought to be. Plenty sorry. But don't tell me about it, just show me. Show me you want to be my slave again. Get down on your knees and show me."

"Here? Darling, you-you can't mean it."

"Here. Now. Under the table."

"But-but it's so risky. What if someone sees us?"

"Too bad about that. But no one will-unless you're clumsy about sneaking down there. After that, you'll be hidden. The tablecloth nearly reaches the floor."

"You want me to… uh, to suck you?"

"No. That's a favor you haven't earned yet. Just kiss my feet, that's all. As. an apology for your rudeness. One kiss on the toe of each shoe."

"Please, darling, couldn't we wait till-"

"Listen, you bitch, I've waited long enough. I know it's risky, but you're going to do it just the same. Because I'm telling you to. And because you're my slave."

My eyes begged for mercy, but I sat there motionless, stubborn, the stiff angle of my body almost defiant. It wasn't fair to make me play our private game in public. The thing she demanded was unreasonable, just too indiscreet, too dangerous; surely she would sense my well-founded conviction and relent at the last minute.

But I saw only stony intransigence in her intent visage, and I knew the worst. Fair or not, she wasn't about to back down. Nor could she even afford to I realized, now that our war of nerves had become 'so critical: the loss of face would turn conquest into farce. At this crucial point, a revoked command could only mean that her authority was no longer in effect. It would shrivel the very kernel of our still-ripening relationship.

And if I continued to disobey, what then? Wouldn't that be the deathblow?

A lance of terror pierced my heart and impaled my flesh to the chair. I couldn't move. Couldn't budge. And I wanted to now, I had to-but the shocking recognition of my near tragic mistake held me paralyzed. What stupidity! For the sake of self-righteous. prudence I might have lostShe snapped her fingers. "Fanchon?" The stone-rigid expression never wavered. But her voice went strangely soft, una corda, breathless with a kind of suspenseful complicity. "Just for the thrill of it?"

How I loved her at that moment! The lifeblood gushed; I took a swift survey of the room and then, warily-tremulous with fear and excitement-I slumped low in my seat and slid down to the floor and ducked my head as the tucked-up tablecloth let me pass and then fell neatly into place behind my crouched body. And what a thrill it was! Bizarre, grotesque, utterly enthralling; like some type of claustrophobia, more sexy than scary. Fear diminished as I recognized the safety of my complete concealment. Excitement expanded wildly in the constriction of the tent-like enclosure; I was surrounded by walls of fabric that would yield to the slightest push and yet I could no more escape than from a cage of steel. Because she had put me here, the little devil!-imagine, "just for the thrill of it"-such cunning coercion, irresistible, divulging a puerile penchant for danger and daring me to share her perversity; like children we were, both of us, naughty children making a mockery of the-grown-up world around us.