The Beast House by Richard Laymon Read Free Book Online Page B

cocktail?”
    She nodded, her bangs stirring against her forehead. “Sure, okay.”
    “Should we card her?” Brian asked.
    She let out a quiet, uneasy laugh. “I confess. I’m only eighteen.”
    “Close enough,” Brian said. “Just don’t tell on us.”
    This time her laughter was not so strained. She turned her head to watch Gorman pour two fingers of martini into one of the motel tumblers. He set down the glass shaker, skewered an olive with a cutlass toothpick, and plopped it into her drink. He handed the glass to Janice, freshened Brian’s drink and his own, then swung out a chair and sat facing her. He raised his glass to eye level. “Let me propose a toast. To Beast House, our partnership, and our imminent prosperity.”
    They clinked the rims of their glasses, and drank. Janice took a small sip. She grimaced and smiled, then tried another sip and nodded as if this one was an improvement.
    “Too much vermouth?” Gorman asked.
    “No, it’s fine. Just fine.”
    “Now shall we, as they say, talk turkey?”
    “Fine.”
    “I’ve given much thought to your proposal of a fifty-fifty split and while it does seem rather steep, there would, as you pointed out, be no book without your cooperation. It is, after all, your idea. And you are the one, after all, in possession of the diary. Therefore, I’ve concluded that your request is reasonable.” Her eyebrows lifted, disappearing under the curtain of bangs. “That means you’ll go for it?”
    “That means I’ll go for it.”
    “Great.”
    “Brian?”
    Brian set aside his drink and snapped open the latches of an attaché case beside him on the bed. He raised the top, removed a manila file folder, and slipped out two neatly typed papers. He handed both sheets to Janice.
    “I took the liberty,” Gorman explained, “of writing up an agreement. It spells out, basically, that I’ll be sole owner of the copyright, that you’ll be free of any liability in connection with the proposed work, and that you’ll receive a fifty percent share of the proceeds from any and all sales. It also stipulates that your participation in the project shall be kept secret. I added that for your benefit, since you seemed to believe you might be in some danger if your involvement became known.”
    Nodding, she read the top sheet. When she finished, she slipped the other one over it.
    “They’re identical,” Gorman said.
    She scanned it. “Well, they look fine to me.”
    Leaning forward, Gorman held out his gold-plated Cross pen. “If you’ll sign and date both copies…”
    She pressed the papers against her thigh, and scribbled her signature and the day’s date at the bottom of each contract. Both had already been signed by Gorman Hardy two weeks ago.
    “One’s for you and one’s for us,” Brian said. She handed one of the sheets to him. She returned the pen to Gorman. She folded her copy into thirds, and slipped it into her tote. Reaching down beside a folded sweater, she pulled out a thin, leatherbound volume. A brass lock-plate was set into its front cover, but the latch hung loose by the strap on the back.
    “The diary?” Gorman asked.
    “It’s all yours.” She gave it to him, and took a hefty swallow of martini.
    Gorman opened the book to its first page. “‘My Diary,’” he read aloud, “‘Being a True Account of My Life and Most Private Affairs, Volume twelve, in the year of our Lord 1903. Elizabeth Mason Thorn.’ Fabulous,” he muttered, and riffled through the pages.
    “It’s pretty boring stuff till you get into April,” Janice said. “Then she gets into it pretty hot and heavy with the family doctor. Around May eighteenth is when she starts with the beast. She called it Xanadu.”
    “Xanadu? As in Kubla Khan? ‘In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree, where Alph the sacred river ran through caverns measureless to man—down to the sunless sea.’”
    “I guess,” Janice said. “That’s what she called him, anyway.