25
When Susan got home, Bartelli was waiting for her in her living room.
She closed the door behind her and slumped against it. She was
emotionally and physically exhausted, and she couldn't decide whether she wanted
to laugh or cry. She laughed.
"Hi, Mrs. Garson," Bartelli said, scratching his stomach.
"Hello, Mr. Bartelli. I suppose I should have expected another call from
you."
"Well, see, Mrs. Garson, I just thought--"
"I know what you thought. Well, Mr. Bartelli, what can I say? You see, I
just had sex with a man, quite violently, not more than an hour ago. I had it
with another man, even more violently, yesterday afternoon. I'm tired, Mr.
Bartelli. I'm tired of sex, and of men, and of myself, and of everything. I do
not want to have sex now, and certainly not with you. But, of course, I don't
have much say in the matter. You can always tell my husband how you found me the
other day. Aside from that, you know that you can change my mind very quickly
just by being rough with me. And those things make my wishes mean very little.
So we can do two things, Mr. Bartelli. You can go away and leave me alone out of
the goodness of your heart, or we can go in the bedroom and get it over with.
Which will it be?"
Bartelli stared at her. "Jesus, Mrs. Garson, you talk a lot."
Susan laughed again, bitterly. "I think that means you want me to stop
talking and start fucking, right, Mr. B.?"
"What's wrong with you? You liked it the other day."
"Look, I've been analyzed enough. Would you go away? Please?" She moved
away from the door in the slim hope that he would choose to leave.
For a moment Bartelli seemed undecided. Then he said, "No. No, I won't
do that, Mrs. Garson."
"Oh. Why not?"
"Because when you get turned on you're the greatest piece of ass I've
had in I don't know how long."
"I see," Susan said flatly. "Well. Well, good for me. At least I'm good
at being a slut. But I'm afraid I don't have the same reaction to you."
"Oh, come off it!" Bartelli said. "Cut it with the high-and-mighty act,
Mrs. Garson. You loved it. Christ, once you got into it you fucked me like a
goddamn tiger! And with your hands tied, too! Geez, you must've come at least--"
"Yes, Mr. Bartelli," Susan said wearily. "I know. And if you tied me up
again, or slapped me around a bit, I'd be that way again. But I want you to
know, Mr. Bartelli, that it has nothing to do with you. Nothing. It's the way I
am--I can't help it. So don't be too pleased with yourself. I don't find you the
least bit attractive. In fact, I think you're rather disgusting. Right now, the
thought that I may be having sex with you in a few minutes--yes, and loving it,
as you say--makes me want to throw up." She shrugged. "That's how it is. And if
you were really any kind of a man, Mr. Bartelli, you'd get the hell out of here
and leave me alone."
Bartelli stared at her a moment, then got up out of his chair. His facte
twisted, and he spat suddenly at the floor. "You cunt!" he rasped harshly. "You
stuck-up twat! Yeah, I'm going. Hell, I don't need to beat up some kinky pervert
whore to get laid! Fuck you, you bitch!" He started toward the door.
His abusive words were almost like physical blows. Susan's knees felt
weak.
Stop, she told herself. He's going, thank god. I'm spared this time. But
her mouth was dry, and she felt her legs start to tremble.
Bartelli was at the door now. "High-class weirdo, that's all you are,"
he raged. "Fucking cock-teasing pig! You're shit, Mrs. Garson! Shit! Who needs
it? So long, cunt!" He opened the door.
"Wait," Susan whispered.
He paused. "What for, bitch? You want to give me some more bullshit?
Stick it up your filthy ass!"
Susan made a small whimpering sound. She hugged herself, shaking. "Don't
go," she moaned softly. "Please..."
Bartelli looked at her in amazement. "Jesus Christ," he said then. "It
gets you, doesn't it? The names. Just calling you names..."
"Please..."
"Bitch," Bartelli said, deliberately now. "Cunt. Fucking whore.
Cocksucker."
Susan fell to her knees.
"Turd. Asshole. Shit-eating twat."
Susan lowered her head. "Please..." she breathed. "Tell me...what you
want me to do."
Bartelli closed the door.
