Back to Blood - By Tom Wolfe Page 0,200

let him buy all these pieces of plain, out-and-out pornography by this Jed Whatever-his-name-is and let him spend millions on them. I can’t believe you were dying to go to that orgy, the Columbus Day Regatta, in the first place, but you also wanted me to join in, and if I had, you would have, too. I can’t believe I even let you persuade me to do that ‘role-playing’ you sprang on me as soon as we started living together, the time you had me carry that black suitcase hard as a piece a-uh-uh-uhh—fiberglass and pretend like I was knocking on your hotel door by mistake and let you ravish me, you called it, and tear my clothes off, and let you pull the thong of my panties out and do it to me from behind. I can’t believe I let you do that, and I spend two days trying to persuade myself this is ‘sexual freedom’! Freedom—ohmygod—si ahogarme en un pozo de mierda es la libertad, encontré la libertad.”

Norman didn’t say a word. He looked at Magdalena as if she had suddenly given him a two-finger killer karate jab in the Adam’s apple, and he was studying her, trying to figure out why. When he finally spoke, it was in a low voice… with his upper teeth bared but without a smile. “So you just neglected to mention all this before—what is all this bullshit?”

“I told you—”

“Oh, I know, you’re too proper for talk like that. You know what? You’re about as proper as the last blow job you gave me. Do you know that!?”

“You’re the one who said ‘Be honest’!”

“And this is your idea of being honest? This is your idea of—something. I don’t know what, but it’s something clinically sick!”

“ ‘Clinically sick’… is that a medical term? Is that what you tell Maurice his problem is? He’s ‘clinically sick’? You want Maurice to stay sick, don’t you? You want him to have pus blisters—right?! Otherwise, nobody’s gonna be getting you through the VIP door into Art Basel or getting you a slip for your cigarette boat on Fisher Island or getting you into Chez Toi or what’s that special upper floor, the Chez Toi Club or whatever it is, with the black card?”

“God damn it—”

“It’s not enough for you to be a prominent TV schloctor, is it? Noooo, you want respect, don’t you! You want to—”

“Why, you bitch!”

“—be a socialite! Right! You wanna be invited to all the parties! So you’re gonna give poor Maurice your ‘clinically sick’ diagnosis until—”

Norman made an animal sound and before Magdalena knew what was happening, he had grabbed her by the upper arm, just beneath the shoulder, and jerked her upward by the arm and jerked her body near his by the arm, and half-hissed, half-growled, “Oh, I’ll give you a diagnosis, bitch… you’re a bitch, bitch!”

“Stop it!” said Magdalena. It was close to a scream. In that instant she was terrified. The animal sound of his voice—he called her a bitch—he was manhandling her—“Bitch!”—jerking her this way—“Bitch!”—and that —“Bitch!”—and this time she shrieked the bloodiest shriek she had ever shrieked in her life! “Stop it!” Norman swung his head about as if looking for something ::::::the bastard! He wants to make sure no one is aware of what he’s doing!:::::: Norman’s grip slackens for that split second… Magdalena breaks loose… more shrieking shrieking shrieking shrieking shrieking shrieking to the roar of you bitch—“Bitch!—you don’t—you bitch!”—he’s right behind her!… she throws herself at the crossbar latch of the door that opens out into the parking courtyard and stumbles into the sunlight, cars circling looking for parking spots, some man in a passenger seat yells, “You okay?” and doesn’t pause long enough to find out but it stops Norman, anyway. Not even that sex-crazed hulk of egoplasm dares to be seen running like a madman out into a public parking lot physically overpowering a shrieking girl half his age. Nevertheless she runs through the ranks of parked cars hunched over so that he won’t see her head pop above the roof of a car and go mad enough to… scampers hunched over… gasping for every next breath… as afraid of dying as she has ever been in her life… her heart hammering away in her chest. ::::::Where do I go? I can’t go to my apartment… he knows where that is!… He’s turned into an animal!::::::

She reaches the car… crouches way down beside it… the door! ::::::Get in! Lock it!::::::… she starts

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