Thanksgiving by Michael Dibdin Read Free Book Online

to cover it up, all except one little crack I left open for the camera. So far, so good. The really tricky bit was getting Luce drunk. I knew that after a few belts I could get her to do anything. The problem was, she knew it too, and the way we were fixed she wasn’t going to take the risk with me around. So I had to kind of sneak it up on her.
    ‘In the end I went down to the video store and rented an old movie. White Cargo . 1942. Hedy Lamarr as Tondaleyo. One of her favourites. On the way home I stopped off at 7-Eleven and bought a big bottle of Coke and some popcorn. Then I hit the liquor store and picked up a twenty-sixer of Smirnoff Blue Label. Back home, I poured about a third of the Coke down the sink and topped up with the vodka. Both the kids were spending the night with friends, so they weren’t a problem.’
    It seemed that the battery-operated lamp had started to fail too. I could hardly see Allen’s face.
    ‘Well, like a charm it voiked, as they say. I salted the popcorn pretty heavily and kept topping up Luce’s glass of Coke, and by the end of the movie she was pretty well sideways. I told her I’d run her a bath, and while she was in it I turned on the VCR and the camera, leaving the closet door on my side open just wide enough. Luce came back from the bathroom in her robe and nightgown. First of all she tried to get me to sleep in Frank’s room, and when I started to undress she made a show of protesting, but I knew her heart wasn’t in it.’
    He set the tape down and laughed heartily.
    ‘I’d bought this tape. Ninety minutes. I figured that should be enough, but you know what? It ran out before we did. You want to watch it?’
    I couldn’t speak.
    ‘Well, it’s your call,’ Allen went on.
    He sighed lazily.
    ‘So tell me, Tone, how was it for you?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘How did you like fucking her worn-out old snatch?’
    I finally found my voice.
    ‘It was just great once I got past the worn-out bit.’
    ‘Yeah, I heard that one already. Not bad, though. You’ve got a sense of humour, anyway. That’s good. A loser needs that. Winners don’t need to be witty. They’ve won. Humour’s a loser’s saving grace. And that’s what you are, Tone, let’s face it. A loser.’
    ‘You’re the loser, if anyone is.’
    ‘Oh, I guess I’m a loser in the eyes of so-called society, no question about it. But in this particular little area, you are. You know why?’
    I heard him splash more whiskey into his glass, then drink it.
    ‘Because I got to fuck her when she was twenty. Not to mention when she was thirty. You should have seen her when she was thirty. Luce once told me that she would have a three-act life. Gauche adolescent, knockout midlife and sweet old lady. Well, I guess I got the first two, while you were stuck with the sweet old lady. Plus you know what? Ben Franklin was right about the oldies being grateful and all the rest of it. What he didn’t say was that there’s a downside too. Same with the uglies. You ever fuck the uglies, Tone? Ever get that desperate? Sure they’ll let you do it. Sure they’re grateful. But they also despise you, just like the sweet old ladies do. For not getting better-looking, younger stuff. It’s kind of a Groucho Marx take, you know? They don’t want to get laid by anybody who’d fuck someone like them.’
    There was a long silence.
    ‘Fifteen years, Tone. One hundred eighty months. Over five thousand days and nights. When she was in her twenties and thirties, with a body to die for and a cunt that wouldn’t quit. We used to do it four, five times a day in the early years. And everywhere. On the kitchen counter, in the shower, on the floor. One time we did it in the toilet on an airplane. Even after the babies we still did it at least once a day. And after I left there was Scott and at least three other guys she had on the side. And then along comes you, a big-time journalist and all. And a distinguished English gentleman, to boot.