| Chapter One | All about Insatiable | Chapter Three |
|
|
INSATIABLEbyDavid Dvorkin
Chapter Two
Venneman shifted from side to side. First class seats were designed for much wider hips than his; they were designed for the hips of the rich, the kind of rich whose hips are wider than those of the poor. But there's a kind of rich people whose hips are narrower than those of the poor, Venneman thought. People like that would slide around in these seats. They'd be knocked from side to side every time the plane hit some turbulence. He chuckled aloud at the image. Four free glasses of champagne made it easier to chuckle aloud. Anyway, even here in first class, there was enough noise from the engines to hide the sound of his laughter. No, they wouldn't slide from side to side. They'd have all kinds of expensive doodads with them on the seat, doodads enclosed in expensive leather. They'd be using the doodads to work as they flew, to increase their wealth and power. "Must be nice," he muttered. It would be even nicer if Jill were with him. That had been the plan, but the head of the history department had decreed otherwise. At the last moment, on Thursday afternoon, with their flight scheduled for Friday morning, Montfort, the chairman of the history department, had rounded up his office staff and told them that any weekend plans they had were canceled. "But he knew about that damned conference months ago," Venneman had complained to Jill on Thursday evening. He was packing for the trip. Jill, looking unhappy, was unpacking what she had already packed and hanging it back in her side of the closet. "So why didn't he prepare ahead of time?" Venneman persisted. "Why is he doing this to you now?" "Who knows?" Jill said. "That's just the way he is. Why didn't you pack your stuff ahead of time, so you wouldn't be doing it now, the night before? Same with him." "No, it's not the same. The difference is, because I didn't pack ahead of time, I'll end up losing some sleep in order to get it all done in time. But I'm not screwing up someone else's weekend. I'm only screwing myself." "I wish you wouldn't use expressions like that," Jill said. "Anyway, it's irrelevant, right? I'm stuck here, so you might as well go to Colorado and enjoy yourself." "Enjoy myself without you? I doubt it. Why don't you just tell Montfort to go scr - To get lost." Jill's hands dropped to her sides. She felt exhausted, physically and spiritually. "Oh, Richie. We're not making it financially now. Let alone saving up anything for the future, for me to back to school, which we said we'd do. I can't risk my job, especially not with the way the economy is these days, and me without any kind of marketable skill." "You could be a model," he said impulsively. "You could get rich that way." Jill smiled at him. "That's sweet of you to say, Richie. But I'm already too old to break into modeling - even if I thought I could do that sort of thing, which I never could. Can you imagine having people looking at you and taking pictures of your face and your body like that?" She grimaced. "Thanks, but I'll stay with the job I've got. Montfort's not so bad. I've heard about bosses who're a lot worse." "I'd rather not go without you. If you've got to stay here, then I should stay here, too. Just say the word." "Oh, don't be silly, Richie!" She laughed. "Just because I'll be stuck here doesn't mean you should be, too. I'll feel better knowing that you're enjoying yourself." "I won't enjoy myself at all without you," Venneman assured her, but he felt relieved that she had rejected his offer to bypass the vacation.
Dinsmuir wouldn't ignore her, Venneman thought. Dinsmuir would jump at the chance. Dinsmuir would maybe even grab the pretty young woman and see if these first-class seats were wide enough to hold two. Hell, Dinsmuir would probably grab the pretty young man from the coach class, too. Venneman chuckled again. Dinsmuir would . . . Maybe Dinsmuir would drink less of the free champagne and keep his wits about him. And maybe Venneman should do the same. He sat up straight and put his champagne glass on the fold-out tray in front of him. It was still about a quarter full, and Venneman was determined to leave it that way. The stewardess took his gesture as a request for more champagne, or perhaps simply as an opportunity to approach him. She came down the aisle with the open bottle. "A refill, sir?" What a lovely smile she has, Venneman thought. She is very pretty. Not quite so pretty as Jill, but that left considerable leeway for prettiness. And she was trying very hard to be friendly. Venneman smiled back. "No, thanks, Miss. I've had more than enough. Lunch is coming, isn't it?" "Oh, yes, sir. It's heating right now. It should be ready in less than a minute. Traveling alone, are you?" No, it wasn't a lovely smile; it was a frightening one. The lips wanted to touch him, the tongue to suck, the teeth to nibble and tease. Venneman shriveled within and drew back, shutting himself off, donning his armor. "Only to Denver," he told her. "My fiancée is meeting me there." A lie was surely forgivable in such circumstances as these. The stewardess nodded. "I see. She lives there?" "No, we're meeting there. We're spending the weekend in Steamboat Springs." "That's a nice town. Hope you enjoy yourselves." She paused. "I have a layover in Denver this weekend, and I was kinda thinking of going to Steamboat myself. Maybe I'll see you there. My name's Karen, by the way." Venneman smiled and nodded but said nothing. It was unlikely that she would see him in Steamboat Springs, since he would not be there. His weekend reservations were for another resort town entirely. He had seen the name Steamboat Springs on the map of Colorado he had been looking at before leaving on this trip. The name had appealed to him, and it had come in handy to mislead this particular predator. A few hours later, when Venneman was wandering around helplessly in the winter-vacation madness of Stapleton Airport, he bumped into Karen again. Or she bumped into him. She was pulling a small suitcase behind her on a wheeled metal frame. Amid the colorfully garbed skiers with their bulky jackets, she looked trim and appealing in her dark, form-fitting uniform. "Hi!" she said. "Fiancée didn't show up?" "Oh, ah, no. Minor change in plans. We're going to meet in Steamboat Springs, instead. If I can find the airline that flies there, that is." "If you don't, I could put you up for the weekend here in town." "It's called Rocky Mountain Ski Transport," Venneman said, pretending he hadn't heard her. "But I don't see any signs for it." "Oh, I know where that is. Come on." She took his arm and steered him through the crowd. Her hand was small, but her grip was strong. Venneman, despite himself, found that exciting. The feeling frightened him. At last he saw a sign for Rocky Mountain Ski Transport ahead of him, above the heads of the crowd. "There it is!" he said, relieved. "I'm okay now. I can find my way. Thank you, Karen." She smiled that lovely, predatory smile at him again. "At least you remembered my name. I remember yours: Richard Venneman. Thank you for flying with us, Mr. Venneman. Climb aboard any time." Venneman mumbled something and pushed his way through the crowd toward the Rocky Mountain Ski Transport ticket counter, thankful when the mass of people closed again behind him and hid Karen from him. He realized that he was sweating. She could not have realized, of course, how she had terrified him. He told himself that, excusing her. He verified his reservation and then headed for the appropriate gate. He had little time to spare. The small prop-jet would be leaving soon. After Venneman had disappeared, Karen approached the desk and asked the young man behind the counter what Venneman's destination was. The agent grinned at her. "Better taste than usual, Karen." He told her what she wanted to know. "I bet it tastes very good," she told him. "And I intend to find out."
There was snow everywhere up here in the mountains. And it wasn't dirty from traffic like the snow at home. Colored lights draped buildings and the coniferous trees along the streets, as though the whole town were already decorated for Christmas. There were people in a party mood everywhere, the same gaudily dressed skiers he had encountered at the airport, and all in frantic pursuit of fun. For the most part, they went in pairs, happy couples bent on enjoying the slopes, the restaurants, and each other. As he watched them, Venneman's mild missing of Jill became rather less mild. The biggest difference between this world and the one he knew was the prices. Everything cost two or three times as much as he was used to. It became clear to him suddenly just how generous Dinsmuir's gift really was. The seasonal room rates listed behind the receptionist's desk at the hotel took Venneman's breath away. Dinsmuir, however, had telephoned ahead and made sure that the room cost was covered and that Venneman would be able to eat in the hotel's coffee shop and charge his meals to his room - which meant to Dinsmuir's charge card. If not for that arrangement, Venneman realized, looking at the prices on the menu, he would have had to manage with one meal a day for the whole weekend. If this was what he would have to pay for simple food in a coffee shop, what would he be charged in one of the town's fancier restaurants? He would never find out, obviously. Well, it would be a very simple vacation. He would spend a couple of days wandering around, watching other people having fun. He would eat only in the coffee shop at the hotel. He might window shop, but he would not be able to buy anything. And then he would go back to the small airport and begin his trip back home. It would not be an escape and it would not even be fun; he could already foresee that. It was still only Friday evening. He had a long, lonely weekend ahead of him. I think, Venneman told himself, that I will splurge on a lonely drink in some sleazy bar. It seemed an appropriate way to kill what was left of his first evening alone in this town dedicated to skiing and sex. He showered with the hotel's fragrant soap, dried himself off with the thick towel, and put on layers of clothing. He had brought with him the warmest clothes he had, but it was scarcely enough, as he had already discovered from his stroll around town in the late afternoon. Now, with the sun long down, it was bound to be even colder. His woolen cap should be adequate, but he wasn't sure about his gloves. He looked at himself in the mirror, contrasting his bulky, drab appearance with the brilliant peacocks he had seen earlier roaming around the town. He felt poor and out of place. You are poor and out of place, he told himself. So, all the more reason for a drink. One drink would probably be all he could afford. He hoped Jill would understand his spending the money. He would tell her how lonely he had been and how silly he had felt for coming here. She would be sympathetic, he knew. Venneman need not have worried about his colorless clothes. The revelers on the sidewalks ignored him. They were far more interested in each other. He walked past the bars the peacocks seemed to be frequenting and kept on going. Eventually he should reach a part of town where the streetlights were further apart and there were no colored lights on the buildings. Even in a town like this, there must be an area frequented by those with less money. There, perhaps, he would find a bar where he could afford to buy a drink. Or maybe even two. One of the peacocks blocked his path. "Well, hi, fancy meeting you here! Another change in plans, right?" It was Karen. She took his arm as she had in the airport in Denver and held on. "Going for a walk?" she asked. "I'll go with you." "Uh, no, I was just going to head back to my hotel room." "'My' hotel room? No fiancée?" "A delay. She'll be here tomorrow. Well, 'bye." But Karen held tight to his arm. "In that case, come on in here and let me buy you a drink." Weakly, Venneman let her lead him into one of the bars he had shunned earlier. Inside, the place was a bewildering riot of color and noise and the smells of cigarette smoke, alcohol fumes, and something pungent that Venneman didn't recognize. Karen seemed to know everyone there. They exchanged cryptic greetings with her, and twisted their faces, and it all seemed to be a secret language, communicating whole volumes that were closed to Venneman. She pushed him onto a bar stool and climbed onto the one next to him. "There, now. What do you want?" "I shouldn't let you -" "Of course you should. Hey, Stan, margarita. Okay, Rich, what?" "Uh, just a beer." The bartender was looking at him with raised eyebrows. "Miller Lite, if you've got it." The bartender shook his head, but it must have been in disapproval rather than negation, for he opened a cabinet beneath the bar and took out a bottle of Miller Lite beer, opened it, and put it and an empty mug on the bar in front of Venneman. "You gotta watch those things," the bartender said. "Two or three of them, and you're flyin'." He winked at Karen. "Stan," she said, "you're a killer. Where's my margarita?" Stan held his hands up, palms out. "Comin', darlin'." "Stan left his g's behind when he moved out here from Boston," Karen told Venneman. "But if you can get him drunk, he finds them again." Venneman grabbed his beer with relief and drank a large part of it, from the bottle, without pause. He decided that as soon as he finished it, he would be justified in leaving the bar and Karen and this whole repellent subculture and heading back to his hotel room. In the dim light of the bar, Karen looked even prettier and younger than she had on the plane. She surely couldn't be spending much of her time in this sort of unhealthy, smoke-filled atmosphere. How old is she? Venneman wondered. A kid, for Heaven's sake! What am I doing here, feeling lonely, out of place, with a girl hardly out of high school buying me drinks? I should be at home with Jill. For the first time, Venneman noticed another woman, seated around the curve of the bar and watching him with interest. She reminded Venneman vaguely of Jill. She was blonde, like Jill, and although her face was only moderately pretty, there was something about the bone structure and the eyes that resembled Jill's. She wasn't as pretty as Karen, either, he decided, after a longer examination. And her clothes were less colorful and flamboyant than those of Karen and most of the others in the bar. But more expensive, he decided, after a closer look. Through all of this, Karen was talking to Venneman, trying unsuccessfully to draw words from him. She was already on her second margarita. The woman across the bar smiled at Venneman. It was a smile that lit up her face, transforming her from pretty to beautiful. It was also a conspiratorial smile, as if she were expressing her sympathy for his awkward situation. But behind all of that, Venneman knew, was something else, something old, something he knew too well and hated with all of his heart. He finished his beer quickly. "Gee, don't drink so fast," Karen told him. "You'll get nonfunctional. Alcohol really does affect you a lot more at this altitude, you know. Less oxygen in the air. I think that's the reason. Stan, another one for Rich." "No, really, Karen, no more for me." "Hell, yes, Rich. Just accept what you're offered, okay? Now, I've got to go pee. Will you just stay here and sip your beer and wait for me? Really, just sip it. Okay?" Venneman sighed. Perhaps this was marginally better than a lonely hotel room. "Okay, I'll wait. Go on." Karen left. This time Venneman poured his beer into the mug. He sipped at the beer and then stared into it. He told himself that he had not felt so foolish and out of place since adolescence. Someone slid onto Karen's barstool. It was the woman whom Venneman had been watching earlier. "I'm Elizabeth," she said. Her voice was low, strong, and pleasant. "Good grief," Venneman muttered. No one had any shame or self-restraint in this place. "I said, I'm Elizabeth," the woman repeated. She had raised her voice, and now it was not quite so pleasant to Venneman's ear. She seemed demanding, and she reminded Venneman momentarily of Harold Dinsmuir. "You're Elizabeth, and I'm leaving," Venneman said. Karen would have no trouble finding someone else to fill her evening, he was sure. He finished his beer in a few gulps, then slid off the bar stool. "Good night." To his surprise, Elizabeth laughed. "Whoa." She grabbed Venneman's coat sleeve and kept him from leaving. With her free hand, she picked up Karen's margarita and swallowed what was left of it. "Wait for me." They left the bar side by side, Elizabeth keeping a firm grip on Venneman's coat. Outside, she finally let go of him, and he turned to face her. He put his hands in his pockets for warmth. His gloves were in there, but he felt more protected this way, with his hands inside his clothing. Elizabeth stood there without gloves, without even a coat. For the moment, at least, she seemed unbothered by the cold. She was taller than he had realized. She was quite a bit taller than Jill - almost as tall as he, in fact. The light from the bar window lit up the right side of her face, and the left side was almost in shadow. For a moment, Venneman wondered how he could have thought her only moderately pretty. She radiated something - sexual power, or perhaps just her desire for him - that affected him despite himself. He was aware that his heart was beating fast and that he had the beginning of an erection. She's a dangerous and unclean influence, he thought. He said, "Thank you for walking me out, but now that I'm safely here, I'd better get back to my room. I need a good night's sleep. My fiancée will be flying in tomorrow, and -" "And that's all the more reason to enjoy yourself tonight, while you still can," Elizabeth said. "This is ridiculous," Venneman snapped. "You people ought to be ashamed of yourselves!" Elizabeth drew away from him. She frowned and stared at him. "'You people'?" she repeated. "What people are those?" Venneman waved his hand toward the bar. He was trying to work himself up into a fit of anger to match his words, hoping that the anger would dampen his growing sexual arousal. "All of you. All those people in there, all the people walking around the streets in this town. All of you oversexed people. You all seem to be thinking about nothing except picking each other up and going to bed with each other." Elizabeth's frown disappeared. She laughed again. Her laugh, like her speaking voice, was strong and low pitched, and it stirred Venneman all the more. "Oh, those people," Elizabeth said. She stepped closer and put one hand on his cheek and stroked him gently. Her hand was very warm. It sent a thrill through him, like a wave of heat. His heart was hammering now. He had never felt anything like this with anyone before. God, she's a stranger, he told himself. I don't even know her last name! Behind Venneman, someone said, "Why didn't you wait for me, Rich?" It broke the spell Elizabeth had cast, and he turned around. Karen stood in the doorway of the bar, her coat over one arm. Now she saw Elizabeth. Karen glared at Venneman. "Oh, I see. So much for your shy act, you son of a bitch." She spun around and went back inside the bar. "Rich," Elizabeth said softly. Venneman turned back to her. "Richard, is it?" "Yes, Richard." He had trouble making his voice work properly. The words came out in a broken whisper. Elizabeth whispered in response. "Richard," she said, caressing the word with her voice. "Richard." She put her hand against his cheek again. "Come, Richard." She lowered her hand from his cheek and gently tugged his hand from his pocket. Clutching his hand firmly, she led him from the well-lit street and down a short alley. Even her hand was almost as large as his, and he sensed that it was stronger. Her skin was like a flame against his, sending heat into him, kindling something inside him that he had always thought he lacked. The alley was narrow, a snow-packed walkway between dark building walls. They could just barely walk side by side, and Venneman could scarcely walk at all. His knees were weak and he was gasping for breath. Elizabeth gripped his hand more and more tightly, pulling him along urgently. Her breath came unevenly, too. "I wanted you right away," she said. "As soon as I saw you. All women want you, don't they?" Venneman said nothing. He was overwhelmed by what he felt growing and burning inside him. Was this how other people felt all the time, whenever they were excited by each other? Was this was he had been missing all his life? It was wonderful and it was terrifying. "Now," Elizabeth said. "Here." They were far away from the buildings of the town, at the base of a mountain. Far above them, along a ski run, the mountainside was brightly lighted. Behind them, the town gleamed against the night. Around them, the snow glimmered with reflected light. But Venneman and Elizabeth were two silhouettes, dark figures against the whiteness. They reached for each other, mouths meeting and opening, tongues sucking eagerly. Venneman wanted to fill her with himself in every way he could. He wanted to touch her everywhere. She was hard and strong through her clothes, large, powerful - different from Jill in every detail. Somehow, she had stripped her clothes off, and now she was tugging at Venneman's. He didn't think of the cold, didn't notice it. They sank down onto the snow, onto the pile of clothing, bodies glued together. He was in her, her legs were wrapped around his, her arms around his neck. Her body was like a fire inside. She rolled on top of him and raised herself slightly. She stared into his eyes as she thrust her hips against his. His body responded without his willing it to consciously. He was under her control, or else under the control of this new force inside him. "Never," Venneman tried to say. "Never, never, never." Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Never," she whispered. She lowered her mouth onto his and sucked his tongue into her mouth. Even her mouth was afire. She gripped his head with both arms, his legs with hers. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed as hard as he could, thrusting into her rhythmically, knowing he need not fear hurting her. His climax began and went on and on, growing more intense, drawing more from him than he would have thought he had in him. Elizabeth was moaning into his mouth. Her eyes were closed. Her eyelids fluttered open slightly, showing only white. She pulled her mouth away from his. "Oh, God!" she whispered. "Oh, God!" She slid her arms down from his head, past his neck, down his torso until she was embracing him around the waist, trapping his arms. She began to move even more urgently, pounding against him, hurting him. The pain added to his own excitement, lengthening his climax still more. Her arms tightened around him until he could scarcely breathe, and her legs squeezed his still tighter. She lowered her mouth again, this time to his neck. She kissed him, a long kiss that he felt throughout his body. She opened her mouth and bit deeply into his neck, through the skin, through muscles and ligaments, down to his carotid artery and into it. Venneman tried to scream, but it came out as a choking gurgle. He tried to pull away, but Elizabeth held him immobile. Her face pressed into his neck, and he could not get away from her mouth. Through the agony, he could hear and feel her sucking at him, drawing his blood in with huge gulps. All the while, her pelvis kept thrusting and rotating against his, and she moaned repeatedly as her orgasm continued, and his own hips kept responding to hers and his ejaculations continued. Venneman kept struggling, kept trying to free his arms and pull away from her. But she was too strong, and already he was growing weaker. He tried again to draw a breath and scream, but he couldn't quite manage it. He was too weak, and her crushing grip around his waist kept him even from being able to pull air into himself. Now the pain was fading. All feeling was fading. No, not quite all. He could feel the cold, now. He could hear Elizabeth sucking at his neck, a slurping sound, and he could hear her moans, which were growing even louder. And he could feel his own ejaculations, still going on, becoming more intense. It would never end, he thought. It would last forever. His thoughts became more and more muddled and then stopped.
She knelt above Venneman's corpse for a moment. She touched his cheek as she had before and whispered, "Richard. Thank you, Richard. Goodbye." She put the corpse's clothing back on it quickly, hurrying while the joints were still warm enough to be flexible. Then she scooped up a handful of snow and carefully wiped away the trace of blood that remained on his neck. She pulled his woolen hat down over his face and turned up his collar. The huge wound she had made was completely covered. No one would notice it - not while it still mattered. Now Elizabeth put her own clothes on quickly. Sated and happy, she walked back into town. Her strides were long and energetic. By the time dawn came, and some early-morning skiers discovered Venneman's body, it was frozen stiff. The sheriff was called. He said to himself, "Another drunken idiot frozen to death after an evening in a bar," but he kept his expression grave and reverent. He arranged for the body to be taken to the local funeral parlor, whose director doubled as county coroner, for the inquest required by state law. The coroner promised to get to it as soon as the corpse was sufficiently thawed. Or possibly the following morning, depending on the press of other business.
|
| Chapter One | All about Insatiable | Chapter Three |