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| Stories Bingo’s Home Bingo’s Lair |
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The Urinal — Part 2 Chapters 21 and 22 |
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21. Val left his car and walked toward The Rocking Horse. Angelique wasn't here Wednesday night; he'd try again and again until he talked to her. There were no clues, no leads, nothing that anyone admitted knowing, even the ones who he knew had been in the room with them Saturday night. The more he asked, the tighter lips became. His cellphone rang. "Yes?" "Val, where are you? You didn't come by tonight." "I'm busy, Megan. I'll call you back." "It's Cunt, Val. Remember? Right at this moment, useless Cunt. I need to talk to you." "I'm busy." "I'm going to Columbus tomorrow. I won't see you." "Have a nice trip." "Can you come by tonight? I'm having a crisis of conscience." "I'm busy, Megan." "You want to take everything away from me, don't you? If I'm Megan, not Cunt, to you, then I'm leaving." She waited. Val leaned against the building. It was after dark. The lights on the building made it look special, not like the dump it was. He could hear music, just the beat, not the tune. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'll get my stuff out tomorrow. You can pretend that nothing happened. Ever. Tabula rasa. Then you will be happy. Won't you? No Cunt to remind you of no Em, to remind you of Em and Cunt and what we three had together." He heard her move, knock something, a piece of furniture. "Do you need money?" "What I need, money can't buy, Val. No. I don't need, want or require your money. I don't need anything but a good fuck. Any suggestions?" "Will you be at your parents?" "I may not come back from Columbus. I don't know yet. Val?" "I'm sorry." He turned away from the headlights of the car entering the parking lot. "I have a confession to make and I'll preface it by saying that because of you my thesis committee has fallen apart. Dr. Dexter quit as the literature person in the committee. Now I have to find someone to replace her. It changes everything." "You didn't tell me Nancy was on your committee." "You didn't tell me she was a former lover but everyone knew. She was going on about how you this and how you that, not naming you but it was obvious. I got fed up and told her, 'You have to admit he's a good lay.' The cat was out of the bag, secrets revealed, oaths sworn, and the bitch threw a hissy fit." "I'm sorry, Megan, but I'm busy." "I kind of lied when I said my thesis was on pre-Modern women writers. Lady Mary Wroth et al. I'm a sociology major. Surprise!" She said the word with glee. "Congratulations. You'll get a job." "If I get a degree. My thesis was, this is the working title, 'Modern Sexual Slavery: Literary and historical antecedents.' The Story of O, comfort girls in World War II, ad nauseam. Say something so I'll know you're bored." Val turned back to the parking lot. "The night here is bright with meaningless light. What am I supposed to say, Megan?" She didn't speak for a minute. "Finding you was a dream come true for me. I understand so much now. I meant it, Val, about yes, you can do what you want with me. Lousy experimental protocol, but what the hell. I meant every word. I still mean it. If you think you might want me next week, I'll come back from Columbus. We can see what happens. If you decide not to, that's okay. Take as long as you want. A year, two years. You can even decide what I'm to do with myself while you think about it. Anything. I'll do anything, or try, Val, if you want me." Val shut his eyes. He didn't want her to go but there was no reason for her to stay. "I'll stay at the hotel through Saturday night. I've come up with nothing. It's up to you if you want to go or stay." He ended the call. The cellphone rang and he turned it off. Inside The Rocking Horse he gave the man at the door the ten dollar cover charge and asked him, "Is Angelique here tonight?" He had to shout it twice. The man nodded. "Know her?" "I need to talk to her." "The girls aren't here to talk to. Do you know her?" Val shook his head. "She's the tall blonde over there. She's popular." "Thanks." The man shrugged, half turned to reach for his beer. Angelique was beautiful, had a face and body that few others he'd seen the past week could match. Angelique told him if he wanted to talk he'd have to get a room. Getting a room meant giving sixty dollars to the bartender who gave him a key. Val showed her the key and she led the way. The room was eight by eight feet, no windows, dimly lit inside with dark walls. A chair was in the center. "Sit down," she said, shutting the door. The club's sound diminished slightly. She turned to him, smiled and hooked her thumbs into her thong, pushing it down. She stepped out of it. To Val, Angelique's body had a sexual density, as if her skin could barely contain the lust thrown at it. Her breasts were unnaturally round and perfect and didn't move right. Her pubic area was shaved and had a small tattoo that looked like a numeral 23 above and to the right of her slit. She moved with an easy grace. "Lap dances are twenty. Blowjobs are fifty, half and half one fifty. Straight fuck for one hundred, anal is three hundred. Double for bareback." She smiled at him, slid her hands down over her hips. Her fingernails were extremely long. "A dance to warm you up?" "I just wanted to talk for a minute." "I don't just talk." She smiled. "Let's do a dance. You can put the twenty right here." She pressed her breasts together with both hands as she straddled him, swayed, lowered herself. Val felt her ass brush his crotch; her breasts offered up to him. He took out his wallet, put a twenty in her cleavage. "Think you can last three minutes?" "I'm looking for a girl." He took a flyer from his wallet, unfolded it. She stopped moving, studied the flyer, and shook her head. "Never seen her." She settled on his lap, moved slowly, grinding his crotch. "You can touch them," said with a lift of her hands, an expectant look in her eyes. Val put another twenty in her cleavage. "Look again." She studied the flyer. "Never seen her. Why ask me?" "She was here last Saturday." "I was here but I don't remember her. I'll give you a blowjob for thirty-five." "There was a party afterwards." "That's the tattooed slut?" Angelique backed away from him. "Are you a cop?" He shook his head. "She's a friend. I'm trying to find her." "So are a lot of guys. I heard Saturday night she pulled a train from here to . . . Ruined it for me." "Sorry. She just likes to have a little fun." "Thirty for the blowjob. I need to make money tonight." "Megan said you went to the university." "You know Megan?" She folded the twenties, picked up the thong with her toes. "Is this all you're good for? I need to go back to the floor. They don't like us to dawdle." "Megan's a friend, too." He stood. "You gay or something?" She pointed to his crotch. "My mind is on other things right now." "Megan can go take a flying fuck, the stuck up bitch. Breezing about campus, dressed like a tart, and not giving me the time of day. We used to be friends." She pushed the bills into the front of her thong. "I know you're gay." She gave a crooked smile. "What happened between you and Megan?" She rubbed her fingers together; he handed her a twenty. "You could have had a blowjob for this, probably more if you'd dickered. That's how I know you're gay. Beats me what you're doing in a place like this. Megan and I were friends since we were freshmen. But she took exception to the things I like to do. Last summer she changed one eighty, from straight and narrow to I don't know what. I heard she was living with this guy and another woman, dressed screwy like she wanted it but never carried through. I need to get back to work. You see Megan tell her Angelique said hi." "I'll tell her." She raised an eyebrow. "What's going on?" "What?" "You must be some freak or something. You know how much I make a night here?" He shrugged. "One, two thousand. I don't need what you're offering." "I haven't offered anything." "Tell Megan hi for me. We'll leave it at that." "If you see her," Val pointed to the flyer, "call me. There's a reward." He held out the flyer. "I already told you I haven't seen her. I'm not sure you should come back here any more. Some of us were pretty upset." She raised her middle finger and shoved it in his face. "As for Megan, up her ass." "I'll tell her you said hi." Angelique left him, not bothering to walk sexily. Val left the key with the bartender, tried to give him a flyer but was ignored like the last time, and left. He sat in his car, tried to call Megan but there wasn't an answer. 22. The lights were on when Val went in his apartment Friday after work. He knew Megan would be gone. The table by the computer was clear of her stuff and he knew she was gone forever. In the living room, two pizza boxes lay closed on the coffee table, beer bottles and filled ashtrays showed the remains of a party. He sat on the couch, opened one of the boxes and saw several used condoms. He closed the cover. The pizza was from the other side of town by the name on the cover. They always called a place close by, family run, not part of a chain. Real New Jersey style pizza. He'd tried to call her last night and today but the number was either busy or she didn't answer. He could see why. He couldn't blame her a bit and wished her the best of luck. The unsaid things were the kickers. The things he'd never said to Em and the things he'd never said to Megan. With Em it was too easy to enter her nonverbal universe or to talk to her as if she were a child. These are your options: one, two or three. With Megan, the hyperverbal universe hid everything. He picked up a pizza box, folded it in half and carried it with as many bottles as he could manage and threw them into the trash. More bottles sat on the kitchen counter. A used condom was draped carefully on the edge of the kitchen sink; another was smack dab in the center of the floor. Val was more sad than angry. Sad that Megan was gone and how she went, leaving such evidence as a slap in the face. Sad that this was what she had wanted and he hadn't been able to give it to her like he'd tried to give it to Em. Which opened up all those doors which lead to more doors in the maze he was trapped in. Em was happy was a door to a long corridor of doors. A door in that corridor led to Em living close by but not entirely happy, with its own corridor of doors. Or in a different part of the maze: another door, she was taken. Another door, by force and he didn't hear her. Another door, why didn't she cry out? All these open doors, a maze he had followed for days to discover the maze was without end, each door led to new corridors and new doors; he was separated from Em, the tether cut. She existed, or not. He was in the maze, no matter what actually happened to her, if he ever found out or not. The moments between his last seeing her and finding her gone; he never could recapture those. They were lost forever to him, even if they were rich and fulfilling, his greatest hope, for her. Mechanically he cleaned the kitchen, picked up the living room, and those chores done went through the apartment finding new evidence of Megan's leaving. All her books were missing from the bookshelves, including the Story of O. He'd grown used to her marked up copy. Her things were gone from the bathroom. There were signs someone had attempted to clean this room. Condoms in the wastebasket, a towel faintly smelling of urine hanging from the shower curtain rod. He checked the bedroom last. Beer bottles were in clusters on the dresser and floor. The covers were torn off the bed and tossed in a ball in the corner of the room. Several boxes of condoms were on the dresser; one box still had two unused. Val sat on the bed which smelled of sex. They must not have always used condoms; the bottom sheet was stained. In the center of the bed, forming a miniature outline of her body, was her jewelry. Earrings, three on one side, five on the other. Lip and nose rings in the center of the imaginary face. Below those were two barbells for her nipples, navel ring, and cunt rings with their links precisely fanned out. He touched the links, didn't disturb them, got up and righted the steel bar he had used at nights for Em's feet. His clothes alone filled the closet. In the kitchen he made two cheese sandwiches, opened a cold beer. Whoever had joined her last night or today had brought their own beer; his was untouched. He sat on the couch, turned the TV on to a movie and ate, not watching or trying to make sense of what was happening on the screen. Actors and actresses did nonsensical things. It was a different world, not his. He'd been offered an opportunity to take a position in his company's Chicago office. That was far from here, cold in the winter, not like here at all. He was tempted except Em would never find him there. At some point he'd have to accept she was gone. For him, now, that wasn't a possibility. If there was nothing by Sunday he'd have to believe he'd done everything possible, with what grace he could muster. If he could imagine her happy, that would be all he'd need. The maze of corridors wouldn't be quite so large; the darker, more sinister, corners would be gone. He turned on his computer, waited for it to boot. He needed to print more flyers, find a change of clothes for tomorrow and he could leave. He wouldn't be back until Sunday. He'd finish cleaning then, take the trash out, recreate a new life for himself. In a way he'd be relieved to be done with the search. The strip clubs were unremitting in their money grasping ways and he couldn't help but feel sorry for the women who in unguarded moments, by their faces, showed how they felt. Mostly tonight he hoped to walk the neighborhood. Em's face never showed anything but pleasure when she was being used. Never boredom, fear, anger or disgust. Those emotions existed outside her frenetic activity -- when she felt he was keeping her from others or himself. Being able to do the things he'd done to and with Em and Megan had been liberating, had made him into a new person. He wasn't sure he liked himself anymore. He went online and checked his emails. There was one from Megan; he left that unopened and went to her account. It had been purged, everything deleted, address book, sent items, drafts and inbox. No folders remained. Her email to him was simple. "Dearest Val, "Isn't it funny? I can say that now that I'm about to leave you. Thank you for bringing me to the edge of the precipice of my desires even if you weren't able to join me in that leap I need so much. I never knew I needed it so much until I knew Em and you. You remain the model for the one I hope will bind me to his desires. Em remains a model of how much I can give up and how much I can gain; though her path isn't mine. "Paths? I hope you find yours, in time understand Em's and mine. I hope whoever you settle with loves you wholeheartedly and is a much, much better person than Dr. Dexter. How could you? "Em and I had worked on your birthday card. It's not complete, but has a message from Em, in her words, typed herself. "I've started something with a phone call. I don't know what will happen, where I'll be taken or what will be done to me. No more than Em and, if you're able to admit it, you. "If I say I love you it's because it is true, not because I want to lay a burden on your shoulders. Where I'm going I don't think that word exists. Think of me as I was, not as what I'm about to become. "The doorbell is ringing. Goodbye. "Love, Megan, who was your Cunt "PS The card is on the desktop: birthday.psd." He printed the email, folded the copy and put it in his wallet. He didn't think he'd reread it anytime soon. He didn't want it to slip away like so much else had if he tried to hold it too close. He opened the birthday file. The card was huge with densely layered photographic imagery of Megan's and Em's naked bodies and body parts. He reduced the image to 12% and was impressed. The artwork was coherent, filled the screen, and created a different impact with a riot of forms not individually apparent in its larger size. On the top half were the words: "Thnks Vl. M." Of course Em wouldn't use vowels. The bottom half was without a message, perhaps Megan deleted that layer, perhaps she'd never gotten to it. Val checked the partitioned drives and folders that held Megan's thesis and other projects and they were empty. Nothing else was touched. The only sign of vandalism was the remnants of the last party. Val printed more flyers, shut down the computer. He left the stack of flyers on the table by the desk, got the clothes he needed, and a suitcase from the bedroom. He saw nothing of Megan's remaining in his apartment except the jewelry on the bed. He stood by the bed, decided to add one last link. He got his pliers, an open link and sat on the bed. He remembered their last night together, Em's, Megan's and his, and pressed the link closed. He left the pliers on the bed, turned out the light in the bedroom, turned out the lights in the apartment. He left with his suitcase, locked the door. Free. Totally free. As a free man he had very little any more. Chicago was too cold. If he went anywhere it would be to a different country. Costa Rica maybe. The nearly empty suitcase rode in the back seat. Part
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