Goodbye, Janette by Harold Robbins Page B

forced her to her knees before him. He pulled her head back against her neck, forcing her mouth open. “Suck it!”
    She tried to close her mouth. This time the cat fell across her back and she gasped in pain. “Now. Will you do as I tell you?”
    Slowly she reached for his phallus with one hand as she inched closer to the small couch next to where he was standing. She closed one hand around it, drawing it toward her mouth, as with the other hand she searched between the cushions and found the razor.
    Maurice laughed triumphantly. “I told you I knew what she wanted.”
    Jerry giggled. “She’ll never get it in her mouth. That’s the biggest cock in Paris.”
    Now the razor was in her hand. The silver blade flashed briefly in the light. A line of blood suddenly appeared on Maurice’s body reaching from his bellybutton down into the hair over his pubis.
    Maurice screamed in sudden pain. He stared down at himself. “What have you done to me, you bitch?” Then he saw the blood. “You’ve killed me!” he screamed and fell to the floor in a faint.
    She got to her feet, staring down at him, the razor still bloody in her hand, then she turned to look at Jerry.
    He was suddenly sober, his face white, as if he were going to be sick. He stared at the razor in her hand and tried to speak, but no words would come to his lips. Then his eyes fixed on her with horror.
    “I could have killed him but I didn’t,” she said calmly. She stepped across Maurice and started for the bathroom. At the door she turned back to Jerry. “You’d better call a doctor. He’ll need some stitches or he could bleed to death.”
    “What are you going to do?” he asked hoarsely.
    “I’m going to my daughter’s room to sleep,” she said. “After all, I’m not responsible for what you to do to each other when you get drunk.”
    ***
    It was about ten o’clock the next morning and she was seated at the breakfast table having a cup of coffee after dropping Janette off at her new school when he came into the room. She glanced up at him. “You’d better sit down,” she said calmly, as if nothing had happened the night before. “You don’t look too well.”
    He dropped into a chair. “The doctor says I might have the scar the rest of my life.”
    “Too bad,” she said noncommittally.
    He reached for the coffee and filled his cup. He took a sip and looked at her. “Now what do we do?”
    She met his eyes. “We stop playing games and go to work. Isn’t that the reason for this whole arrangement?”
    He nodded morosely into his coffee cup.
    “You’re a good businessman,” she said. “Wolfgang said that a long time ago. I respect that and I respect your abilities. I haven’t changed in that regard.”
    He raised his eyes. There was a growing respect in his voice. “You’re a strange woman, Tanya.”
    “Maybe,” she said. “But there is one thing you and I have in common.”
    “What’s that?”
    “We’re both survivors,” she said slowly. “We’ve come this far together and there’s no reason to let a moment’s stupidity fuck us up and keep us from going a long way further.”
    He took a tentative sip of his coffee. It was already cold. He put it down. “And you’re not angry over what has happened?”
    “Should I be?” she asked. “As far as I’m concerned it’s over. Are you hungry?”
    He thought for a moment. “Yes. And no. But you are right. It’s over.”
    “We can still make it the good life, Monsieur la Marquis.” She smiled. “For both of us.”
    He raised his head and looked at her intently. Then he nodded his head slowly. “Madame la Marquise, I’m beginning to believe you are right.”
    “Of course, I’m right, Maurice.” She smiled. She picked up the service bell. “Now, let me call Henri and get you some hot coffee and breakfast.
    ***
    The voice came through the telephone, echoing through a corridor ten years long. “This is Johann Schwebel.”
    Maurice felt the knot tighten in his