"Here, lift up," Bobby's saying as I raise my hips, and he quickly slides a towel under my ass and I'm touching the contours of his chest, tracing the line bisecting his body, and he's spreading my legs while leaning over and kissing me hard on the mouth, his lips thick and wet, and one finger, then two fingers, start moving in and out of my ass**le and both of us are glistening with sweat and my head's in Jamie's lap and she's holding me, whispering things in my ear, leaning over and stroking my erection. "Yeah, show me that dick, Victor," Bobby says. "Keep stroking it, that's it. Spread your legs. Wider. Lift them up. Let me see your ass**le." He lifts my legs up and pushes my knees back and I can feel him spreading my legs open, inspecting that area. "Yeah, you've got a nice pink butthole, man. I'm looking at it right now. You want me to f**k it, huh?" I'm bracing myself, gazing intently up at Bobby, who is expressionless, and I'm not sure how many fingers are in my ass right now and his hand starts moving in a circular motion, fingers moving deeper until I have to grab his wrist, whispering "Easy, man, easy" and with his other hand he keeps twisting my ni**les until they're sore and burning and my head's lodged in Jamie's armpit and I have to strain my muscles to keep from coming too soon...

"Wait," I groan, lifting my head up. "Do you have a condom?"

"What?" he asks. "Oh man, do you care?"

"It's okay." I lean back.

"You want me to f**k you?" he's asking.

"Yeah, it's okay."

"You want me to f**k you with this cock?" he's asking, hoisting my legs up over his shoulders.

"Yeah, f**k me."

Jamie watches carefully as Bobby slides his long, thick c**k in and out of my ass**le and then starts increasing the length and depth of his thrusts, pulling his prick almost all the way out and then slamming it in again, his c**k pumping my prostate, and I'm looking up at him and shouting out and his abs are straining with each thrust and he tries to steady himself by holding on to my shoulders, the muscles in his arms bulging with the effort, and his eyebrows are furrowed and his face-usually impassive-now scowls briefly with pleasure. "Yeah, f**k him, f**k him harder," Jamie's chanting. Bobby keeps slipping his c**k in and out of me, both of us groaning with relief, intensity rising, and then I'm yelling out, convulsing uncontrollably, both of us bucking wildly as I start ejaculating, shooting up onto my shoulders and then my chest as Bobby keeps f**king me, my anus contracting around his thrusting cock. "Yeah, that's it, that's it, man," Bobby groans, coming, collapsing on top of me...

Chapter Fifteen

Afterwards, back in the shower by myself, water spraying over me, I'm delicately touching my ass**le, which seems distended, tender, slick with lotion and Bobby's se**n, the flesh feeling pierced. Stepping out of the shower, I dry off, avoiding my reflection in a giant mirror, afraid of what I might see in it. I scan the counter for a comb, deodorant, aspirin. I peer into a medicine cabinet but it's empty. I start opening drawers: a Breitling watch, two Cartier tank rings (one citrine, one amethyst), a pair of diamond-studded sunglasses, a bottle of cologne called Ambush, a container of Shiseido moisturizer. In another drawer: dozens of Chanel lipsticks, an issue of Harper's Bazaar with Tammy on the cover, a few dried roses and-in a clear plastic bag in the bottom drawer of the bathroom Jamie and Bobby share-a large black hat, folded over.

I hesitate before taking the bag out of the drawer, because something in me says not to. Instinct says not to.

I'm holding the bag up in front of my face, averting my eyes.

The sound of a fly whirring around my head causes me to look at the bag.

In the bag is the hat Lauren Hynde gave me in New York.

The hat Palakon told me to bring with me on the QE2.

Its entire inner flap has been removed.

A large, gaping hole exists where the small red rose was.

One side of the hat is dotted with pink and green confetti.

I can't even touch the bag anymore. I just keep swallowing involuntarily until I carefully place it back in the drawer and then I slowly close the drawer. But this is a dream, this is a movie-repeating that calms me down but in the back of my mind, faintly, darkly, is the sound of laughter and it's coming from a grave and it's whispery, blaming.

Naked, clutching a towel, I slowly move into the bedroom where Jamie and Bobby are sleeping deeply, gracefully, on a flat sheet soaked with our sweat even though it's so cold in this room

the room is a trap. The question about the hat will never be asked. The question about the hat is a big black mountain and the room is a trap. A photo of your expressionless face is on the cover of a magazine, a gun lies on top of an icy nightstand. It's winter in this room and this room is a trap