There, And Not There

My dreams were haunted by a girl
Who was not in my dreams.
Her absence was there in the whirl
As consciousness streams.

I dreamed of a time yet to come
Which was yet long ago,
The years adding nil to the sum
Of mortal man’s flow.

In-House Hooker

I don’t write long form fiction; not my thing. I do think about plots from time to time, mostly mystery stories. That’s what I read, so that’s what I would write if I did write. I got to thinking about the Agatha Christie-type story with a lots of people living in the same house. We don’t have manor houses here in the US, but some authors have adapted the idea. Rex Stout wrote a number of stories with a large casts attached to one house: captain of industry, wife, secretary cook, chauffeur, ne’er-do-well son-in-law, etc.

The captain of industry might have a bimbo mistress. He subsidizes the rent of an off-site apartment, gives the girl a job as assistant receptionist, and rewards her with a diamond bracelet from time to time. There is some sort of warm interpersonal relationship and an assumption of exclusivity, as least on her side.

One possible role that I have never come across either in fact or in fiction is the in-house hooker. I’m thinking that some rich man finds a girl who might otherwise be a call girl, has her live in his own house, and pays her a salary for her sexual services without any pretense of a personal relationship beyond the exchange of funds. And, in fact, the girl is expected to service one of the man’s friends or visitors from time to time for no additional pay.

Evidently, the in-house hooker arrangement is not viable, but I’m not sure of the reasons why. It could be awkward with a wife, but the man may not be married. It could be expensive, but the man could be fabulously rich. Perhaps it just doesn’t work to have cold-hearted sex with the same woman over time. Extended relationships require warmth; cold relationships require anonymity.

Departure

The man and the woman came out the motel room door
With blank faces
And no luggage
And did not speak
Or say good-bye.
They departed
In separate cars,
For places unknown.

Not by Agatha Christie

If Agatha Christie had written in a racier style, you might have gotten passages like this:

Dear Poirot,

Nothing much happened after you left. Dinner was very quiet. The atmosphere seemed somewhat strained, but the day had been hard on everyone’s nerves, and I didn’t think much of it. The evening was passed with reading and cards. Mr. and Mrs. Tyrone went up to bed about 11, and by midnight, the others followed.

I promised you that I would keep a close eye on things, so about an hour later, say one’o clock, I left my room to have a look around. As I first crept downstairs, everything seemed dark and deserted, but then my ear caught the slightest disturbance. It seemed to come from the den.

I thought not to look in through the door from the hall, but to go round to the door that connects from the sitting room. I made sure that room was completely dark, so there would be no crack of light at the door to give me away. I think I took five minutes turning the knob and opening the door just enough to give me peek.

The fire in the den had burnt to little more than coals, but I could see something whitish moving near the hearth. Then the image resolved and I could make out that it was a white ass rising and plunging between a pair of upraised legs! And just then sighs and groans confirmed what I was seeing.

I immediately tried to deduce the identity of these nocturnal lovers. The man was easy; of the men in the house, only Captain Wilberforce has the slim build and tight ass I saw before me. I was just think he might be taking the measure of one of the maids when the woman turned her face to the fire and I could see who it was.

Ellen Griffiths, the younger sister of Mrs. Tyrone! We were told she was in Paris buying art or something. I though they were rather over-emphatic on that point, didn’t you.

I went back to my room, but awaited alert by my door. Just a few minutes later, I heard footsteps in the hall. Just one person I think, Captain Wilberforce going back to his room.

That’s all for now. If I find out more, I’ll send another note by the second post.

(signed)
Hastings