much I want you.” Her own voice.
They came into the view of the camera, she busily pulling off her clothes. The light was dim, and the focus was not precise, but no one could have doubted who they were and what they were doing. She threw herself on the bed and spread her legs. Angelo pulled down his slingshot underpants but did not take off his white T-shirt and he mounted her.
“Four years ago, that was. I’ve watched the tape a good many times,” muttered Number One. “You are a true slut, Betsy! I wish I’d known you fifty years ago.”
“Was Sally any better?” she asked.
“Sally—your grandmother—was a lady.”
“And you were a gentleman…”
The old man shook his head and grimaced. “Angelo Perino,” he grumbled.
“You and I are perfect together,” whispered Betsy’s image on the screen—whispered hoarsely enough for a hidden microphone to capture. She drank brandy and handed the snifter to Angelo. “There’s got to be more to it than this—more, I mean, than sneaking a night in this house. Oh, God! Leave her, Angelo! Give her a nice settlement and come to me.”
“The best is yet to come,” Number One interjected.
It was. After another minute or so of urgent, whispered conversation, Angelo rose on his hands and knees and presented his backside. Betsy buried her face in it and—though the camera had seen only the back of her head—it was obvious enough that her tongue was as deep in his anus as she could push it. Their grunts were further evidence of what she was doing.
“you can turn it off. That was the most interesting part. I do wish I’d known a woman of your ilk even forty years ago. No woman ever did that for me.”
“I can’t believe —”
“Would you like to see your father with Roberta?” asked Number One. “Would you like to see her tan his backside with his belt? She puts welts on his ass. Would you like to hear him tell her how great it is and beg for more? Surelyyou don’t believe, child, that I would allow people to plot and scheme and fuck and lick ass in my house and not make a record of it? Is that like me? How do you think I managed to live a hundred fuckin’ years and fuck every son of a bitch that—”
“I was going to call you an evil old man,” said Betsy. “You were evil before you became an old man. When did you become evil, Great-grandfather? Was it when you fucked my grandfather’s wife and fathered Anne? Or earlier?”
Number One smiled and shook his head. “I’ve fathered a brood, haven’t I? My son was a fairy and killed himself. My grandson … well, there’s hope for him. At least he’s devious and has the capacity to hate.”
“Why did you show me this?” she asked, nodding toward the tape machine.
“It will be handy as evidence against you if you try to break the new will my lawyers are drafting—which I’ll sign before the week is over. You’ve been calling your son Number Four. Dream on, you little slut. Your son will never so much as share in the control of Bethlehem Motors. I’m leaving everything I own to a trust. You and Anne will be trustees, but you’ll be outvoted by Loren and my other trustees.”
“You’ll have to fight Roberta.”
“I’ve made a deal with Roberta. I’ve already put a big chunk of cash in trust for her, and I’m getting rid of her. She manipulates Loren like a puppet master, and she’s gonna tell him he needs an heir and she can’t give him one. As soon as she can find the right girl for the purpose, she will divorce Loren, let him marry the girl, get her pregnant, and produce the real Number Four, who will be a Hardeman. When that happens, the trust pays out the money to Roberta.”
“Have it all figured out, don’t you, you old piece of shit?”
Number One grinned. “I take note that you begged Angelo four years ago to leave his wife and come to you. Since then he’s fathered two more children by her.”
“Got it all figured out…”
“I think so. The lawyers will be
They came into the view of the camera, she busily pulling off her clothes. The light was dim, and the focus was not precise, but no one could have doubted who they were and what they were doing. She threw herself on the bed and spread her legs. Angelo pulled down his slingshot underpants but did not take off his white T-shirt and he mounted her.
“Four years ago, that was. I’ve watched the tape a good many times,” muttered Number One. “You are a true slut, Betsy! I wish I’d known you fifty years ago.”
“Was Sally any better?” she asked.
“Sally—your grandmother—was a lady.”
“And you were a gentleman…”
The old man shook his head and grimaced. “Angelo Perino,” he grumbled.
“You and I are perfect together,” whispered Betsy’s image on the screen—whispered hoarsely enough for a hidden microphone to capture. She drank brandy and handed the snifter to Angelo. “There’s got to be more to it than this—more, I mean, than sneaking a night in this house. Oh, God! Leave her, Angelo! Give her a nice settlement and come to me.”
“The best is yet to come,” Number One interjected.
It was. After another minute or so of urgent, whispered conversation, Angelo rose on his hands and knees and presented his backside. Betsy buried her face in it and—though the camera had seen only the back of her head—it was obvious enough that her tongue was as deep in his anus as she could push it. Their grunts were further evidence of what she was doing.
“you can turn it off. That was the most interesting part. I do wish I’d known a woman of your ilk even forty years ago. No woman ever did that for me.”
“I can’t believe —”
“Would you like to see your father with Roberta?” asked Number One. “Would you like to see her tan his backside with his belt? She puts welts on his ass. Would you like to hear him tell her how great it is and beg for more? Surelyyou don’t believe, child, that I would allow people to plot and scheme and fuck and lick ass in my house and not make a record of it? Is that like me? How do you think I managed to live a hundred fuckin’ years and fuck every son of a bitch that—”
“I was going to call you an evil old man,” said Betsy. “You were evil before you became an old man. When did you become evil, Great-grandfather? Was it when you fucked my grandfather’s wife and fathered Anne? Or earlier?”
Number One smiled and shook his head. “I’ve fathered a brood, haven’t I? My son was a fairy and killed himself. My grandson … well, there’s hope for him. At least he’s devious and has the capacity to hate.”
“Why did you show me this?” she asked, nodding toward the tape machine.
“It will be handy as evidence against you if you try to break the new will my lawyers are drafting—which I’ll sign before the week is over. You’ve been calling your son Number Four. Dream on, you little slut. Your son will never so much as share in the control of Bethlehem Motors. I’m leaving everything I own to a trust. You and Anne will be trustees, but you’ll be outvoted by Loren and my other trustees.”
“You’ll have to fight Roberta.”
“I’ve made a deal with Roberta. I’ve already put a big chunk of cash in trust for her, and I’m getting rid of her. She manipulates Loren like a puppet master, and she’s gonna tell him he needs an heir and she can’t give him one. As soon as she can find the right girl for the purpose, she will divorce Loren, let him marry the girl, get her pregnant, and produce the real Number Four, who will be a Hardeman. When that happens, the trust pays out the money to Roberta.”
“Have it all figured out, don’t you, you old piece of shit?”
Number One grinned. “I take note that you begged Angelo four years ago to leave his wife and come to you. Since then he’s fathered two more children by her.”
“Got it all figured out…”
“I think so. The lawyers will be
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