| Subject: Chapter 212 - Part 1 (16 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, November 02, 06:41:03am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (203 > )" on Monday, October 03, 07:35:40am
Extra warning: There are *a lot* of bad words and seriously unpleasant thoughts here. I'm rating it 16 and above. Be warned.
Dreams in the Dark (212/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
Life went on--various dilemmas addressed, anxieties kept well in hand. The couple so many either feared for or targeted passed through each day with their usual caution but a growing sense of resolve--no internal strife allowed to derail them for long. Even as the day of their enemies' attack grew unknowingly closer, they were firm in their approach. No matter how much opposition they faced, they would never be separated for long.
This truth comforted many, but there were those who felt less than soothed by the couple's willfulness. It had been many months that Bauer, in particular, had been part of the plots against them--with one of its parties or another. And he, especially, found no joy in any steadiness they might portray.
It was now October 13th, five months to the day since the producer had made his original deal with Hillinger--had he ever remembered such details so clearly. But he didn't need to know such minutia to be slightly irritated with the pair just now--their unity goading; his eyes cut over to the stand-in he had so foolishly promised to keep around. There were only so many delays he could stand.
Bauer wasn't a patient man, had never seen any use in such a trait. And, for the most part, life had always given him what he wanted quite quickly. Without any particularly extraordinary skills in any area, except his general ability to deal with other men, he had floated from well-paying career to career, until he had finally found himself in Hollywood; that oil-slick smile spread across his face. But that had been the start of his real life at last.
He cherished this truth--as much as he was capable of such an emotion; his eyes lazily took in the scene the embattled pair was filming, as he allowed his mind to roam. He was sometimes a little cloudy on how the transition had occurred, but, once he was here, all his connections had happened quite fast. There was a certain sort of camaraderie that men had together, especially those in the same clubs, with the same sort of habits. A man who could hold his liquor, make a deal, and sweep through a dozen or so women in a week was one to be respected; the grin grew. And he had been such a man from the time he was in the womb.
He was quite proud of these truths, always had been--had started on all of these careers far back in his teens. Still, he was of acceptable enough birth that he had never been considered one of the "bad kids," would happily be invited into even the most prestigious of homes. And, even as a kid, a few glasses of wine had never been considered a problem--the talk in the men's corner of the room always rather instructive. It had been there he had acquainted himself with the concept of the "useful whore." And it was an idea he had since perfected to its heights.
His pride never dimmed, even if his look soured somewhat, his gaze finding Sondra--already very tired of her. The important word in this lifelong concept, after all, was "useful"; his sigh lingered. And she had outlived her usefulness a minimum of two months ago.
He hated this fact, hated what he was being forced to do. For many years, he had had a rather disposable attitude toward women, was intelligent enough to know what they were good for--and for how long. After all, there were only so many weeks a bitch could keep that innocent aura about her; there were only so many orifices to conquer. After a while, even the least tender treatment would only draw a jaded sort of sigh. And that was when they all became way too boring to bother with anymore.
There had been at least a decade of his life that he had felt this way--his taste for the exotic growing ever-further, as it was constantly fed. And it had been about 15 years ago when he had branched out, in a minor way, into young boys--the girls' supposed exclamations of astonishment and pain not enough for him anymore. He knew it was a little unconventional, but there was a lot to be said for taking some boy for the first time--their expressions absolutely priceless, even better than some dewy virgin of a girl; he was laughing softly. But there were only so many of them he could have before he drifted back to his previous inclinations again.
He felt no guilt for any of these motivations; there was no reason to. No matter what any of them said, they all learned to like it--were lying to themselves, if they said they didn't. He had known enough women to crawl back to him, even after they had claimed they were through; he barely kept his laugh hidden, trying not to upset little Petrosian. That alone proved how false their claims of disgust really were.
There were no qualms about any of his needs, therefore, his lust for even bigger game growing. It was why he was after either Volker or Dian; it didn't much matter which. So long as he got to have one while the other watched, it would be enough; his chuckle almost sounded to the room. That was definitely where he was heading next.
This intention was being savored somewhere deep inside him, all his current plans working into it. Of course, his recent warning had only been about tormenting them, getting them ready for what he wanted. And he was quite pleased about the swiftness of their capitulation. Without anything like a fight, they had pulled back from the couple who would soon be torn apart; his grin focused rudely on the endangered pair. And, without allies, they would soon be irretrievably lost.
He enjoyed this fact quite thoroughly, would enjoy even more what he would do to Volker and Dian one day. Given how quickly they had already given in, it wouldn't take long after Michael and Kitty's deaths that he would make his next demand clear--the same threat used. Rather than expose the couple for what they were, he would simply take them; he had to laugh, if rather quietly. Then, they wouldn't be able to put on such airs of morality any longer.
He was more than ready for this outcome, was looking forward to the day when they became his completely. That he wasn't certain whether it was his threat of exposure or Dian's fears for his ex-wife which had made them give in didn't bother him. He would use Anna as his messenger yet again--her message mostly unchanged. Soon, they would be trapped--and then he would enjoy them in full.
He loved this fact, had always despised the sort of sentimental crap the pair believed in, was more than ready to shear them of it. If they weren't entirely innocent lambs, they had yet to meet anyone like him; the laugh did emerge. And they were going to remember him, for however long they might live.
The sound won a glare from the movie's director, and Bauer had to hold up his hand in apology, shrugging; Petrosian growled, starting the scene again, while the producer tried to hold in his mirth--evaluating the man. He had never much liked him, thought his approach to women a little too precious. While the director couldn't be said to be the gentle sort, he did focus far too much on one woman at a time--kept them around *way* longer than any, more virile, man would. Take Julia, for instance. Before that sop Jurgen had taken her off his hands, the director had apparently spent *months* using her; Bauer didn't get it, his head shaking. Why any man in his right mind would keep one woman for that long was thoroughly beyond him.
He saw no reason to question his evaluation of the director--would never think much of either him or the man he had replaced on this film. Walter, at least, could hold his liquor a little more, but he was still a weak sister; it was only a shame that he had just been shifted to another production, rather than fired. He was actually married to the same woman he had been with for years, didn't even seem to stray; the producer had to shake his head. Why God made such fools he had no idea at all.
He had no reason to question these attitudes, never had. Even with his ex-wife--well, maybe not "ex" officially, everybody thought she was dead--they had held firm; he had never been serious about her. It had just looked good to have her on his arm. She was a good deal maker, too. If some mogul were stalling, all the producer had had to do was offer him Stephanie for a night or two; she had been golden. His smile almost turned into a grimace. Too bad Dominic had fucked her up so badly. She might still be worth it to have around to turn a trick or two.
He had no regrets over his wife's current, almost vegetative, state other than this, was otherwise glad to be rid of her. Besides, Anna was almost as good at completing such deals as Stephanie had been--and she had a definite added benefit. He hadn't had to marry the bitch to get her to do his bidding.
This fact alone made the girl worth her weight in gold--the money he had to pay on her debts well worth it. That she wasn't his whore in particular meant nothing; there were plenty of others to make up for her. Besides, she was just too jaded to interest him. That was a bad trait, in any bitch.
He snorted quietly at this truth, gazing begrudgingly back to where Sondra stood, looking so very empty. It was more than enough to irritate him. Anna and Stephanie had their usefulness, but this one was almost too much to take. He had already gotten everything out of her worth getting--was gaining nothing by keeping her around--except that he was keeping his part of his bargain with Madeline. She was too boring to fuck anymore--too useless to loan out. She didn't have a scrap of talent or sex appeal anyone could pretend to sell to a studio, either. All she was doing was taking up his time, as he waited to get rid of her; his eyes drifted back to the actress everyone watched. But maybe keeping her around for a little longer would net him something worthwhile, in the end.
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