Fantasy Pt. 03: Cat and Mouse

Part Three -- Richard is to Cat as Henry is to Mouse

* * * * *

And that was all it took? How could he change her so easily? I replayed it and could tell the instant the hook went in. At first she fought it, but as he developed the fantasy it dragged her down. You could hear it in her voice. She didn't want it, but she did. It scared her how much she started to desire it, and then she tried to break it off but ended by giving him a time to call again. A time on a Thursday afternoon when I was never home. It was so easy for him, as though he'd hardly tried.

I called him at the number on his card.

"The little present you sent arrived. So you enjoyed seducing my wife. But you told me she was a bitch. Is that what made it so much fun, you fucker? Are you going to cut her loose now that you've had your fun? I want to talk to her. Now, you asshole!"

A message to Richard, sent to voice mail again. Words sent out to nowhere.

God, he was good. So goddamned good. Jesus fucking Christ. So good. How could a man born of woman turn her in those few minutes on the phone, turn a woman who despised him? He was the fucking Antichrist. Maybe I should be worshipping him, our malevolent God.

What was Alice thinking by the end of the call? What was she thinking when I came home? What about when we were in bed together and I was eating her? Was she busy counting the hours until Thursday afternoon, when she'd be home alone again, when he could talk about his tongue? Was she telling herself she was stupid, reassuring herself with me, trying to convince herself sex with me could be as good as the dream he was weaving. Was she trying to keep from thinking about him? Or was she fantasizing that my mouth was his?

And what about the second call? Did her heart stop when the phone rang? She'd hoped he wouldn't call, and she was desperate for it. I could imagine the whole sequence, her startled pause at the first ring, her intake of breath, her hesitant walk toward the phone, her hand hanging above it, the sudden grab before voice mail would click in, an almost breathless "hello?"

"Hello dear Alice. I knew you would answer."

Was she afraid to pick it up? Something in her changed before the call ended, maybe before it began. It had to be sometime after that one that she sucked me dry, before or after her late nights at the office. Maybe I would hear that call one day, too.

* * * * *

I got a call, but it wasn't from Richard this time. It was my PI, returning his call, wanting to meet but not offering hope. I think back on it and know my mind was torn in halves. I was a loser. Alice was gone. But she would return if only I could talk with her alone. She must! I drifted toward whatever I'd heard most recently, and at this particular moment Mickey was talking. It was time to plan a strategy. He wanted to do it in the parking lot at the Liberace museum. "Is there any particular reason for that?" It was convenient. So, okay, that's where we met.

"Why couldn't we just talk on the phone, Mickey?"

"He might be listening in."

"Listening?"

"He has a lot of money, and he's actually using manpower to keep you away. It's a logical step, and it's good to be a little paranoid in my business."

Something else to consider.

"Anyway, Henry, getting to any of Moriarty's places seems to be out of the picture, unless you're willing to do some seriously illegal stuff with some seriously dangerous people for seriously big bucks. And you still might not succeed, or you might even land in jail."

"Yeah."

"So if you want to have someone see Alice, I'd suggest you call the police."

"For an adult runaway?"

"Yes, because no one has actually heard from her, not really, and if you accuse him of kidnapping someone they might feel they actually have to look in on her. And he isn't going to stiff them if he doesn't have to. I don't think. Probably not. Well, I don't know, but it can't hurt."

I almost laughed, for the first time since Alice left.

"Who should I call?"

"I have a friend. He'll want a photo. Other than that, I can keep a tail if you want, but it's expensive. I can keep looking for more residences. And I'll let you know if I find they're out and about."

When I got home I found Richard had called me back.

"Yes, Henry, I enjoyed seducing little Alice. It was great fun sucking her down my rabbit hole. The fall into Wonderland was great fun for her, too. Isn't seduction always like that? And, yes, her being a bitch made it all the better. But she won't ever be a bitch again. No, she's completely docile. You wouldn't believe the transformation! I intend to continue enjoying her in all sorts of ways. Ciao."

* * * * *

That night I dreamed of Alice. She was lying on the bed, naked, her pale chest and neck covered in ecstatic splotches, writhing sexually, her eyes almost closed, her mouth open in an O. I was so swollen I thought I would explode, but I couldn't get to her. I was on the floor and I couldn't crawl to her. I could see her, but in the dream I was blind. I could hear her grunting little sex sounds while I tried and tried to crawl to her, but I couldn't get to her.

* * * * *

The days passed and Alice fell ever further distant. I wondered, how has she changed? What does she look like now? Does she ever think of me at all?

The next week there was another voice mail from Richard. "Hello, Henry. So you had to bring in the police, did you? Do you realize how much trouble this could cause you? We'll be polite, of course, once we let the officer actually visit, but I may have to punish Alice for it."

I called right back. "You fucker! What have you done to her? Have you hurt her?"

He picked up the call.

"Henry, Henry, Henry. What makes you think I'd harm sweet Alice?" He laughed his warm laugh.

"Let her tell me that herself!"

"Trust me, she's fine, just fine, but she can't talk right now. I suppose I should say she's indisposed." That laugh again.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. She's just in the pit of despair for a bit, being disciplined."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Oh you can read about it. I didn't make it up. It came from that old monkey researcher. Harry Harlow. For the sake of science he tied up monkeys down in little featureless pits. He made them stay there for ages, to see what the effect would be. It quite destroyed them mentally, I'm afraid."

"What the hell have you done to my wife?"

"Nothing, Henry. Really nothing. Don't you go worrying yourself. Anyway, she's not in a real pit. I substituted some simple sensory deprivation and movement restriction."

"You what?"

"Not to worry, Hen..."

"You fucking what!?"

"Oh, she's happy as a lark. Stop worrying so. Well, not exactly happy, not right at this moment. Pit of despair, you know. She's probably as miserable as a person can be..."

"Richard!"

" ... probably crying and talking to herself and begging for me to let her out."

"God damn it!"

"But I'll end it in a while and make her happy. A little change of position. A few caresses. Some touching of the genitals. She'll be completely grateful to me before the night is over. You should see her, Henry. She goes off like a Roman candle. And, it makes her so compliant! Well, have a nice evening."

He hung up. I called over and again that evening, but he didn't pick up the phone or call back. No, he did whatever he wanted with her while I called uselessly.

* * * * *

My other calls were to the police officer Mickey mentioned. I called every day. I left messages about Richard's claims of punishment. The officer was very polite. I thought they must all go to the same politeness workshops. I bought a phone recorder while I waited, to give me something to do.

It was another week before the cop came by. Oh, inscrutable officer, standing at the door, what do you have to tell me? Are there wives who want to go back to their husbands? Do they want help escaping a mistake? I knew the answer. The bell had rung, so I knew the news had to be bad.

"Mr. Jekyll, I followed up on your calls. I went by Mr. Moriarty's house and talked with Richard Moriarty and Alice Jekyll. At this time that's all I can do, and I suggest you drop the matter."

"What do you mean?"

"I went there as a courtesy to Mickey Edwards. He's an old friend. But there's no criminal issue here. Your wife is living with Mr. Moriarty voluntarily and she doesn't intend to return. That's the end of my investigation."

"How is she?"

"What do you mean?"

"How is she?"

"She's fine. She was fine."

"And you're sure it was her?"

"Mr. Jekyll," he handed me her photo, "it was her. She's thinner than in this pic and her hair is shorter. She looked fine."

"Did you talk with her alone?"

"No. They were together, but I talked with her fine. There was nothing screwy, no more than things usually are with him."

"How are things screwy with him?"

He stared at me with that blank cop look I always find so spooky. Then he sighed.

"Look. This isn't relevant, but a couple of years back a showgirl who was living with him came by to file a complaint. She said he'd hurt her, locked her in closets, tied her up. BDSM stuff. She had bruises and such. We followed it up. Well, suddenly his lawyer has a talk with the girl's lawyer and she drops the charges. Says it was a misunderstanding. They're great friends. She won't testify against him. There's a non-disclosure clause in the settlement, but apparently he paid her off well. She got married and moved out of town. End of story."

"I never heard of that."

"It never even made the papers. If it weren't for that case I wouldn't have looked into this even for Mickey. And it turns out there's no crime here."

"She didn't have marks? Bruises?"

"No. None that were visible. Look. You can't see everything. She had on a long sleeve shirt, buttoned at the wrists. Buttoned at the neck." A strange expression passed across his face and disappeared. "Anyway I'm not going to ask her to show me everything. I can't do that. And it wouldn't have made any difference if she had bruises, and if I could prove he made them."

"Why not?"

"Because they're adults! This is Las Vegas. There's an enormous S-and-M scene here. There are thousands of women in it, and probably half of them are soccer moms during the day. People can do what they want."

"And that's it?"

"That's it. There was one thing that bothered me. He was controlling. You run across that a lot in this line of work, and you get an eye for it. He held one of her hands and kept his other arm around her shoulder the whole time. He kept jumping in to answer her questions for her. That's all. It wasn't all that odd, and she wasn't acting scared. She said she was happy there. Take my advice. Drop it. If I were you, I'd file for divorce."

* * * * *

How long had it been since Alice dropped from my life? How many weeks? What do you do when your love becomes obsession? How long since I slept through the night? I was having dreams about her, really just the one dream, and waking over and again, thinking I heard her. Chasing phantoms. Trying to work. I was always tired. It was time to drop the whole thing and find myself again. It was a last effort when I asked Mickey to find the showgirl.

And then Mickey couldn't find her. "What do you mean you can't find her? You said anyone can be found!"

"I exaggerated. Anyway it doesn't mean I'll never find her, but her tracks are pretty well covered and I'm still trying to get her real name."

"Her real name?"

"I only have her stage name so far..."

"Which is?"

"Oh boy. Bambi McPherson."

"No."

"Yes."

"Bambi."

"Yeah."

"A stripper."

"A show girl."

"Who's disappeared. Let me ask you something. Are you sure she's even still alive?"

What difference would finding her make? So Richard had abused another woman? So what? He was rich. He probably abused a lot of them, and he seemed to pony up when called on it. This woman would tell us what? He tied me up in a dark room. He controlled me. Maybe he whipped her too, who knows? But she left him and got a settlement.

Alice could always leave when she got tired of the treatment. Unless. Unless. Unless his appetites increased over time. Yes, there was that. What if hurting women, and abusing them, and then letting them go wasn't enough for him anymore? What if Alice was the one he decided to go over the top with? Would anyone ever know? Would someone, someday, find parts of a desiccated body out in the desert?

When Mickey found Bambi, I jumped on it. He had her name and an address, and more. She lived in Sacramento, she was married to an anesthesiologist, and her name was now Eleanor Freedman. Mickey even got her home phone number. But she wouldn't talk to me. When I called and told her I needed to talk about Richard she cut me off. She didn't know him. Then, click.

I flew to Sacramento. Two steps forward, one step back. Tired. Oh Jesus. What would it be like to sleep forever, without the dream? Give up on this. Alice was gone for her own reasons.

Still.

The guard at the gate put a call in to Mrs. Freedman's house. Same old story. When he gave my name the response was that she wasn't in. I asked him to call again, and to say it had to do with my wife, and that I was desperate. He was an older guy, friendly and chatty and probably not too hard to get past if I wanted to, if I had had any energy left. I waited for a response while we talked, then gave him my cell phone number and the name of my motel and left. I slept away the rest of the morning and long into the afternoon, and it was in my sleep that I found Alice. I was looking for her and found her. Suddenly she was there, standing in front of a strange building I knew intimately, waiting for me. We kissed and I held her and I cried, and cried, and cried. I couldn't stop sobbing while I held her tightly, so she wouldn't disappear. Then something started knocking and we both looked to see what it was. That's when I awoke enough to realize it was the door. Who was it? Probably some of Richard's people, come to kick me out of town. Hold on. I'm coming. I was wiping my eyes as I went to the door.

It was Eleanor Freedman's attorney. Of course. A very polite older man. He told me she, unfortunately, could not see me and I should cease and desist and all that. I was wiping my face as he told me all this. Finish up, sir, so I can go back to sleep, back into the dream where I found my wife. You're part of the world that's determined to do anything but let me see her. Blah, blah, blah, go back home. Then, as he was leaving, he palmed me something. A note, with instructions to walk down to the coffee shop at the corner and out the back door to a car that would be waiting. I got a chill. What had Mickey said about being paranoid?

In the car was Eleanor Freedman, of course. After the fact, everything was "of course." It was all as I should have expected it to be. Here was Eleanor Freedman, a real woman I could actually see. Even sitting in the driver's seat she was tall, and it was easy to imagine her as a showgirl, in her legs and breasts and complexion, but she didn't look at all like a Bambi. No, she looked serious and focused and high class, like Eleanor-the-doctor's-wife might, the sort of woman who chairs community boards. She began talking right away.

"Mr. Jekyll, I have to be quick. I can't tell you anything about Richard Moriarty. I have a legal settlement that forbids any disclosures. And there's another thing. He already told me you were coming here, so he's watching you."

Another chill.

"His minions get around."

"I can't know for sure. He called personally. He let me know my past is still in my present, as he says, and that it would be a shame for it to mar my future." She shook her head. "He used to be so silver-tongued with me. Now he talks like someone from a Raymond Chandler novel."

"So he'll blackmail you forever?"

"It's not exactly like that. My husband knows I was a dancer, and so do some friends. It's not like I did anything illegal. I just wouldn't want the details to get out to the whole medical community or the synagogue. Anyway I simply can't be found to have talked with you."

"Can't you tell me anything?"

"I'm sorry for you. I'm especially sorry for your wife."

* * * * *

It was past time to give up. I would have. Really, I would have, but Mickey called a couple of days later. "Quick, Henry. The two of them are going to the opening reception of The Barracuda casino."

"Why couldn't you get me earlier warning?"

"You have about 45 minutes."

I was there right as Richard's limo stopped, working my way through the crowd, working my way toward the red carpet. Working, working. Then there they were. Oh God, she was beautiful. She wore a sleek, black, long dress, off one shoulder, with long black gloves gleaming with rhinestones. God, she was thin. That was obvious from a distance. She marched up the steps with Richard, leaning right up against him, her head almost on his shoulder. He held her waist.

"Alice! Alice!"

She raised her head and hesitated. She looked out toward me, but I was too far back, God damn it! I tried to push my way through and suddenly I was surrounded by casino security personnel, led by Richard's polite young men. "I'm afraid we'll have to ask you come with us, sir." Everyone was looking at me. I was a crazed and dangerous person, no doubt. I felt crazed. I tried to look back toward Alice, but by now they were entering the casino and then they were gone.

"Alice!"

They pulled me far back. They held me an hour or so in a small room while I yelled at them. Then they let me go. No warnings, no lecture, nothing. Just let me go. That was it.

* * * * *

Richard had called again. There was a long voice mail when I got home.

"Henry, Henry, Henry. I must say I'm impressed by your perseverance. Tracking us. Going all the way to Sacramento. Most men would have cut their losses by now. You know she's only a woman." I could hear the casino crowd in the background. The bastard had called from inside while I was being held in that little room.

"Alice is fixing herself for me right now, powdering her nose, as they say. She always stays lovely for me. Did you notice? Did you enjoy your little peek? I set a new regimen for her. She has to make herself beautiful every day. Remember how sometimes when you'd caress her leg, she'd have some stubble? She couldn't be bothered with that, not too much, now could she?

"Oh, that wasn't any special insight, Henry. My little joke. Sorry if it startled you. It was just an easy guess. Married ten or twelve years? Of course she gets careless and uninspired.

"But I never feel stubble. Why? Because she shaves every morning. Her vag, too. With a new blade every day. Not everywhere. Her arm pits. A little around her ass. Anywhere there's unsightly hair. She has to get up an hour early to prepare herself. I let her know it's for the cause, by telling her how lovely she is, and letting her know I mean it. I set strict rules for her, but there are rewards for complying. And of course costs if she disobeys." He chuckled again. The bastard was so pleased with himself. "She loves me for having rules for her and enforcing them.

"And did you notice how thin and fit she is? She eats right and works out, Henry. She doesn't have that little tummy anymore, and her thighs are smooth. I arrange her diet and watch her closely or have her watched. She's on a strict thousand calories a day, low on carbs. It's inevitable that she sneaks food." He laughed indulgently. Even today Richard's laugh echoes inside my head. I hate the fucking thing. I fucking hate it! "Then I have my excuse to use discipline. We'll talk later!"