Ronald Rabbit Is a Dirty Old Man - Lawrence Block [50]
And then there was nothing to it.
Larry, that woman is a lesbian. That woman managed to live twenty-nine years of her life without ever suspecting the truth, and it evidently took a cock up her ass to give her the idea, or at least that was what she kept talking about, how men give you sweet talk and pretend to be in love and all they want to do is bugger you and split your asshole open. Of course she found a more genteel way to say it, but that was what it added up to.
Merry Cat made the original pitch. She started off telling Fran how she didn’t like the way all the cowboys bothered her (which they don’t, the schmucks are all either faggots or else they just want to marry rich divorcees, or both) and Fran came right back with a line about how men are all beasts, and from then on it was almost a question of who was going to seduce whom.
Merry Cat wants to tell you the rest of it, so I’ll say au revoir. “Au revoir.” There, I said it. Your turn now, Mary Katherine.
B.J.
This is Mary Katherine O’Shea speaking. Talk about insatiable dykes! She was here for a week and wouldn’t leave us alone. She ate all her meals between our legs. I’m not kidding, Larry. It’s the truth.
Do you remember the other letter you wrote us? Telling us not to worry that we were lesbians? I think we may have been ready to do a wee bit of worrying in spite of what you said, but the week with your spouse really set us straight. Ooops! Sorry about that.
But it did. That woman is a dyke and she’s as different from us as, oh, night and day, since I can’t think of anything more original just at the moment. She has this hangup where all she can talk about is how rotten men are. By the time she was ready to leave, it really got to me. I felt like going out and fucking one of the horses.
I’ll bet she never fucks a man again as long as she lives.
She talked about Steve quite a bit, and also about you, and it was slightly weird pretending we never heard of any of you people before, but she never caught on, even when B.J. slipped and told her what school we were from. It didn’t even register. She didn’t say much that was interesting, except one time she said, “Larry knew about me all along. He used to pester me to find out if I ever made it with a girl. I guess it was always obvious to him.”
Oh, one other thing. She’s going to divorce you, but she’s into this Women’s Lib thing to such a degree that she won’t accept alimony because it destroys a woman’s dignity. I don’t suppose that will make you shed tears!
Send us more assignments from time to time. We love our work, and we love you.
Sister Mary Katherine, S.J.
39
Cuernavaca
Mr. Laurence Clarke
c/o Gumbino
311½ West 20th Street
New York, New York
Lorenzo, mi amigo—
You’re not going to believe this. Damn it all, you are simply not going to believe this.
I’m getting married in the morning. Here, in glorious Cuernavaca. Me. Steve. Your old buddy, the permanent bachelor.
And it’s all your fault, you sweet old sonofabitch.
That’s not the part you’re not going to believe, although God knows it’s unbelievable enough. The capper is that I’m getting married to Lisa. Your ex-wife. That Lisa.
Well, in this case you can’t be pissed, can you? I mean, I waited until you were done with her before I picked up on her. You can’t be pissed this time.
As far as I’m concerned, you’re Thomas Edison and Marconi and all those cats rolled into one. Because I took your advice again, Larry, and this time I made it work. Turned her on but good, flipped her over, rammed it halfway to her small intestine, and pinned her steady while I pumped it to her.
Screamed her head off. I thought we would have Mex cops all over the bed. But I kept it up just the way you said, and lo and goddam behold, Larry, if it didn’t work like a charm.
Fantastic. She’s got big tits and a rich father and she worships the fucking ground I walk on. Keeps telling me I’m the only genuine man in a world full of faggots. All I have to do