AREA 47

SECTION 89:

COURTNEY, Chapter 38

Liz intercepted Reed outside Courtney’s front door.  “She’s locked herself in there again.”

The guard opened the door with his set of master keys.  “There you go, sir.”  Already, the guy was walking back toward the elevator which he had shut off to wait for him.

“Thanks, pal.”

Reed and then Liz entered Courtney’s apartment.

“Courty?” Reed called out, getting no reply.  Then he saw the big note on Lauren’s bedroom door.  DO NOT DISTURB.  THIS MEANS YOU, REED!  What the hell is she doing in there?

“You’re one of her friends, I take it?” Reed asked.

“You betcha,” Liz said.

Something about the girl was familiar.  She looked like a beer can baby, slightly dented; a teen-age hussy, dressed cheapo-flash.  “I’ve seen you before.”

“Big Fucking Deal.”

“Close the door, will ya?”

They stared at each other for a moment, and then she did.

“Are you the girl Alex is taking pictures of for his new art photo book?”

A hostile, “Yeah.”

“He showed me some pictures.  I think he told me your name, but I can’t remember.”

A cold, “Liz.”

“I’m Reed.”

“I know who you fucking are!”

Reed wasn’t sure how to react to such unexpected open hostility, so he just ignored it.  He went to the other bedroom and knocked on the closed door.  “Courty?  Are you in there?”

“Go away,” her slurred voice said.  It sounded distressed.  “Stay out!”

“Are you all right?”

“Go away, Reed!” she wailed.  “Go away!”

“Leave her alone!” Liz yelled from behind Reed.

He considered going in anyway, but gave that thought the toss.  You can’t force people to feel good.  If Courty needed space, she would get space.

The telephone rang, and after a moment Reed answered it, getting there before the machine clicked in.

“This is Courty’s place,” Reed said.

“Oh, dear,” a woman’s voice said.  “Are you Byron Reed?”

“That’s right.”  Reed watched Liz still eyeing him hatefully; she was now seated in the sectional across from the TV.

“Is Courty there?  I’m Kathy Martin.”

“Hello, Kathy.”  Courtney had told Reed a little about Kathy and her on-again off-again relationship with Bob.  “I don’t think she wants to talk to anyone right now.  Can I take a message?”

“Oh, dear.  Well, I . . . I need to talk to her.”

“Hang on a second.”  Reed went to Lauren’s bedroom and knocked twice.  “Courty, do you want to talk to Kathy on the phone?”

“Stay out,” she wailed from behind the door.  “Just tell her yes.”

Was she drunk?  Reed went back to the phone.  “She says yes.  Whatever that means.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

“Listen,” Reed said.  “Why don’t you come over?  It might be good for her to talk to you.  She’s not feeling very good, and could use some cheering up.  What do you say?”

“I don’t really have much money,” Kathy said, hesitantly and with obvious embarrassment.  “To get there, I mean.”

“I’ll reimburse you for the cab fare.  Come on.  You’ll be doing both of us a favor.”

“Um, well, maybe.  Oh dear, I just feel so guilty.”

“Hey, are you single, or part of a matched set?”

The telephone line was silent for a moment, and then Kathy almost shouted, “Not you, too!  God, are all men, everywhere, lying, cheating bastards?  Courty’s my friend!  How can you even think that I might be interested?”

“Huh?  Wait a minute.  I’m just trying to find out if you and Bob are still together.  I’ve got a friend, and I’d like to set him up with a date for tonight.  A double date, with me and Courty.  He’s visiting from California, and I thought it might be good to show him a good time.”

“I’m not that kind of girl!” Kathy shouted.

“What kind of girl?  Hey, I don’t mean anything heavy-duty, Kathy.  Relax.  I just mean feminine companionship.  I’m not looking for a call girl.  That’s the last thing I want.”

The line was silent.

“Hey, Kathy,” Reed said.  “Forget the date.  Bad idea.  But how about coming over to talk to Courty?”

“All right,” she said meekly.  “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Reed.  I misunderstood.  Forgive me?”

“Sure.  There’s nothing to forgive.  Just come on over.”

“All right.  Bye-bye.  And . . . thanks!”

Reed shook his head, and hung up.  Liz was still looking at him with unconcealed hostility.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked her.

“Nothin’.  What’s the matter with you?”

Reed thought Courtney had told him about all her close friends.  But she had never mentioned this girl.  Reed looked over at Lauren’s door, wondering what had gotten into Courtney to bring about her sudden flip back to depression.

Reed felt so helpless.  Some degenerates had hurt and frightened his woman, and he needed to hurt them right back.  But he had no target for his emotions.  He could feel the rage inside of him, simmering just beneath the surface.  He didn’t know how long he could handle the tension, suppress it, hold it down.  He almost wanted to grab Courty, ruthlessly question her, find out EVERYTHING.  FORCE her to tell him everything that happened.  He was quietly going FUCKING NUTS just holding it all in and doing nothing.

God, the thought of a bunch of rough guys holding his sweet, elite Courtney down, and raping her, making a movie out of it . . .

What the hell do you do to people like that?  Hire a bunch of faggot cowboys to rape them up the ass right back?  Get a knife-man to cut off their balls?  But would anything short of murder, make the world a safe place for Courty again?  Would anything make her feel safe again?  Would she ever trust him, a man, really trust him?  God, what could he DO?!  He had to do something!

His own father had died; and he didn’t have any leftover emotion for it at all.

“Hey,” Liz said, “let’s go over to my place and fuck.”

Reed looked at her; the hate was either gone or carefully concealed.  Now she was sitting there giving him a lusty look, squirming her body like an in-season juicy tidbit.  “C’mon, Reed,” she whispered, her voice dripping porno chic slow, “she’ll never know.  I’m hot.  I’ve just gotta taste your dick.  C’mon, man, you can have it any way you want it.”  She hooked a finger through the crotch of her hot pants, spread her frisky legs wide, and gave Reed a gratifying glimpse of her little girl love slit.

“Try me again in about five years.”

Liz unflashed her pussy.  “Don’t tell me you’re in love with her!” she sneered.  “Or are you queer, man?  That it?”

Reed looked at her long and hard, and then he exploded up onto his feet, and in her direction.  “Get the fuck out of here.”  He grabbed her by her arm, yanked her up onto her feet and shoved her toward the front door.  “I don’t know what your game is, and I’m not even interested.  Just get the fuck out!”

The intercom buzzed.

Liz stopped short of the door, and turned back, looking up at him with raw challenge, her voice snarling: “Courty’s my girl, you suck-ass!  I don’t like you messin’ with my girl.  Get this, Reed: we been lovers for months!  Courty’s a lez; she’s just a little confused, and thinks she’s bi.  You’re fuckin’ up her head, you foreskin-faced city-shit.  She’s lesbian!”

Reed was spooked mute, as the intercom buzzed again.

“Fuckin’ ask her,” Liz sneered.

Reed stared at the surly, thin female, standing there WIRED, hard-edged and dangerous.

Courtney staggered out of Lauren’s bedroom, calling out, drunk and happy, “Hey, hey, what’s’all the yellin’bout?”  She swayed back and forth, stepping forward, almost falling, concentrating all her mighty brain power on remaining vertical: she was successful.  She smiled bright.  “Anybody wanna see a dirty movie?  I got a good’un.  A good’un.”

“Jee-zus,” Reed groaned at the shape Courtney was in.  Then he turned on Liz, pointed, and said quietly but with awesome force: “Get the fuck out.  Now!”

Liz did; immediately.  A silent slink, the door slamming.

The intercom Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzed.

“C’mon in,” Courtney said.  “Front row seat, Reed.  Instant replay.  See Courty.  See Courty fuck!  Fu’ Courty, Fuck!”  She waved her arm, trying to beckon him, but just bungled her unstable balance.  She giggled uncontrollably, and toppled in a heap of laughter just outside the bedroom.

Reed realized that Courtney had just received the movie that had been made of her rape.  It was a pain that stabbed into his heart, thinking of her watching it.  Then it angered the hell out of him that someone would do that to her!  The accusation that Courtney was having a lesbian affair behind his back; it boggled his brain, already crammed with worries.

Courtney stifled her laughter down to a swazzled smirk.  “Now, it isn’t . . . the best movie . . . in fact . . . it’s rather . . . bedridden!”  And she violently shrieked into laughter that left her tangled horizontal with her head lolling on the carpet.

“Courty . . .”  Reed started to go to her.

Buzzzz——Buzzzz——Buzzzzzzz——Buzzzzzz . . .

“Fuck!” Reed shouted, and answered the damn thing.  “Yeah?”

“Mr. Tom North is down here, and would like to come up, sir.”

“Why not?  Send him right up.”  He took his finger off the intercom button, and groaned.  “Courty,” he said, trying to interrupt her laughter, going over to her.  “Is there a note?  What do they want?”

She righted herself, looked up at him, with shining, bleary eyes, a hazy happy face.  “I . . .” and she burst into horizontal laughter again because what she was thinking was so intensely funny she couldn’t even say it.

Reed stepped over her——she playfully tried to grab for his leg, and missed——and he searched Lauren’s bedroom for clues.  No note, just the VHS tape still in the player, and an empty 750ml Cointreau bottle balanced upside down on the dresser, no cap.

“Courty.  Courty!”  He grabbed her by her arms, pulled her up a little and then shook her around, hard, enough to anger her, but also enough to stop her laughter and get her full attention——well, as much of her attention as was obtainable.  “Courty, how much of that did you drink?  How much was in the bottle when you started?”

She was still angry and refused to speak.

“Courty, you can die!  You can kill yourself, just by drinking too much booze too fast.  Talk to me, damn it, or I’ll fucking make you throw up NOW!”

“Aaaaah,” she said, trying to shake loose, “I didn’t drink too much.”  She slurred, inaccurately, “’Bout a quarter uh’the bottle——leggo.”

He hung tight and angry on her arms.  “Have you taken any other drugs?”

She shook her head.  “No.  Reed, c’mon.”

“Anything?  Valium?  Sleeping pills?  Anything?  Have you taken anything else?”

“Penicillin,” she enunciated proudly and precisely.  “Wa’metaaah spellit?”

The door chimed.

“Those fucking express elevators,” Reed said.

“P, E, N, I, peni, C, I, L, L, I . . . N!” Courtney said.

|

The brilliant & bashful former paper-billionaire brewed coffee in the kitchen, and listened with amazement to black-eyed Byron Reed and his hopelessly drunk lady (& sparring partner, judging from her bruised face) out in the living room.

This is unilaterally excrementitious.  These two ’droids require the bi-concatenation techniques of
relationship-management engineers ensconced within a correctional facility!

Tom North had traveled to New York City to sign a valuable business agreement to create worldwide digital audio markets for Softbyte’s new co-processor super-chip.  He had not signed.  Byron Reed had formerly proved to be (in their many phone conversations and in the one prior meeting) an incisive and creative thinker on the cutting-edge of computer circuitry; but today, in real-time, he had been a slope-browed trog, completely worthless as a partner.  Wishing to observe further, Tom North had agreed to a few hours of evening socializing——he found himself now demoted to coffee-server.

I’m agglutinated!  I require incrementally ablative unlinkage from this mood-depressant-duo.

Reed walked Courtney.  Circles.  Half-supporting her weight.

Courtney babbled.  Stumbled, half-floating through the clouds.  She had never, never been this drunk before.

She pouted.  “They cut out the best parts, Reed.  There goes my acting career.  My best moments before the camera: Immortalized In Film?  Nah, they’re lying on the cutting room floor.  It’s criminal, I tell ya.  It’s criminal.”

“Yeah, well why don’t we talk about it later?  OK?”

“Later?  Mr. North!  Do you like X-Rated movies?”

Reed stuck his finger down her throat to shut her up.

She bit playfully at his finger.

“OUCH!”

“I like what’s in my tummy,” she informed him.  She closed her eyes.  “Jus’ lemme sleep.”  Her body sagged against his.

“Walk!” Reed informed her.  He propelled her forward. 

“I am.”  She traipsed like a tanked-up ballerina doing Swan Lake: windmill-arms; rubber, floating legs all over the place.  She stopped.  “The sexual-surgery scene is gone!”

“Walk, don’t talk!”

“I am.”  She pouted, and did the fiberglass stick-legs beery-penguin stroll.  She giggled at her kinetic wit, and then halted, wide-eyed.  “And my best golden shower!  It isn’t even there.  I mean, I saved that urine and saved it!”

“Courty, are you on acid?  Either make sense or shut up!”

“It’s very simple: I——”

Reed grabbed and kissed her on her mouth, silencing her.

Tom North approached and offered hot ’n’ steaming.

Courtney voiced her approval: “Yuck!  Get away!”  Her hand pushed at the cup, spilling most of same Northward.

Reed said, “Either this goes down, or that” (poking her stomach with his finger) “comes up.”  He offered her the remains of the cup.

“I drink under’essed . . .”  Her legs giggled out from under her; Reed catching her helplessly flapping arms by her underarms while one of her hands whacked Tom North in the ear.  “Under . . . under duress.”

Reed lowered her to the carpet.  She sat, arranging her legs cross-legged, and drank the proffered coffee.

Reed looked at Tom.  They stood, each on one side of her.  Reed was a sad hound dog.  “I think we’d better forget dinner.”

Tom North nodded, and smiled sickly.  “Heuristic.”

The front door chimed.

“My goodness,” Courtney said, then: sip.  Then: “My goodness.  Heuristic!  Mr. North, that’s far toooo . . . deterministic.  You should be more . . . pluralistic.  Or you might catch herpes’n’histic! . . . I know my theories are FEMINISTIC!”  She shrieked the word, enjoying that rhyme most particularly.  “Even, maybe, a little simplistic.  But they sure as heck are . . . probabilistic!  So there.  Beeeeeesiiides: I think you used the word wrong: Illlll-legalistic . . . ally.”  And she balanced the coffee cup upside down on her head.

The front door chimed again, twice.

“Fuck!” Reed said.

“Fuck,” Courtney enthusiastically considered.  “The duck in the muck said suck.  What luck!  Only a buck!”  The coffee cup and Courtney fell to the floor.

COURTNEY, Chapter 39
 

Copyright 2005 Area 47