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| Stories Bingo’s Home Bingo’s Lair |
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| Part
One, Chapter 11
Bring wore just her sandals when she got into the van. The collection and devices boxes were in the rear. She fastened her seat belt and stared ahead. "I've studied the game for months. I knew every card. I planned what I would do. I spent almost every free hour planning costumes, creating my collection, and gathering devices. We haven't even used any devices." Peter started the van, backed out of the space, drove out of the parking lot. "I played the game with myself, imagining what would happen, what that would feel like, what this would do, how it would feel to go from blue to yellow to orange and finally to red. Red would be fantastic. Orange looked easy." Bring glanced over at Peter. "It's not been anything like I imagined." Peter nodded, the light turned to green, the van picked up speed. "I thought the man I played with would be . . . would be . . ." "I'm sorry," Peter said. "I'm terribly sorry." "I thought he would be . . ." Bring started to cry. "Let's stop this, we can go back. We can get your things, I can take you home." Bring shook her head. "I thought he would be fantastic. I thought he would enjoy doing what I wanted to do. I thought he would like me." "I . . ." Peter started. "Don't say it," Bring said. She wiped her hand across her face. "I still will, even if I don't say it," Peter said. Bring said, "I thought he would like me, and would like doing the game with me. I thought we'd be special together like in all the books and magazines." Peter wondered what books and magazines she had used for her research. He turned into Screwy Louie's. "We're here." Peter parked the van. Bring glared at Peter. "All right. I'm going in. I don't want you near me. I'm not one of the women you fuck. You come in after me, five minutes at least after me." Bring opened the door. "Okay," Peter said, he sat back in his seat. "I still will." Bring shut the van door, walked naked across the lot, and went through the bar door. Peter thought she appeared unbearably beautiful in the wan light. Even that stupid "Steve's Slut" thing on her rear looked beautiful. She was so young and he was feeling so old today. Peter waited ten minutes, quietly stepped out of the van and went to the bar door. As he got close, he could hear music. Not the jukebox. It was Strauss' Blue Danube. Perfect, he thought. He pushed the door open and walked inside. This is crazy, he thought. The room was almost empty. Jimmy had left two beers on the bar for them. The tables and chairs had been moved from the center of the room. In their place was a double bed set under a light. The bed had a burgundy-colored sheet. On the bed was a woman tied up like Bring last night, her ankles to her wrists, her wrists to her neck. Her hands held her legs against her chest. A beer bottled jutted from her. Her body glowed in the light. Bring stood at the foot of the bed. She was saying something, Peter could not hear what. He sat down in a booth by the door. He felt as if his wind had been knocked from him. Bring talked, walking back and forth. She stood still at the foot of the bed, touched the bottle stuck in the woman, stuck in Alice, Peter realized. Peter stood; he seemed heavy, as if a great weight were pressing on his shoulders. He started to walk to the bed. He saw Bring bend and pick something up. She squatted slightly and slid one end into herself, she buckled the harness around her legs and pelvis. She climbed onto the bed. She handled the beer bottle. As Peter got closer, he could see Alice's head shaking slowly from side to side. He thought he could see tears on her face. Bring removed the beer bottle and climbed over Alice, positioning the dildo. Peter said, "No Bring. Stop." It was not loud enough. Bring started to fuck Alice. Bring continually spoke to Alice. Peter reached the end of the bed. He reached out to Bring, grabbed her ankle. "Stop," he said. Bring glared back at him. "I've changed my mind. Fuck my ass while I fuck her." Peter tried to pull her leg. "No. Stop, Bring." He climbed on the bed. "That's right. Fuck my ass." "Stop, Bring." Peter tried to pull her up from Alice. "Fuck my ass, you sissy." Peter pulled again at her; she ignored him. "Dear god, stop, Bring." He pulled harder. There was a loud crashing sound. He looked up and saw people. The music stopped. "Belinda, it's time to end this. The game is over," Martha said. Bring shook her head and kept thrusting. "It's over, Belinda," Jimmy said. "Please stop, Bring," Peter said. He held her, he knelt on the bed and held her close to him. She stilled. Peter looked up again, "Please help me." Larry and two others came over and spoke softly to Bring, touched her, lifted her from Alice. Bring was crying. They helped her off the bed while a woman freed Alice. Peter unbuckled the harness and removed the dildo from Bring. He laid it on the ground, turning to Alice, then Bring, then Martha, then Jimmy. Peter, Alice and Bring were asked to sit on the bed. Several people, they appeared a little older than Bring and looked like they were her friends, sat by her. The air felt heavy to Peter. A group of people sat on the floor around them. Peter started to speak, Martha's voice came from one side. "Peter wants to know why." Martha stood, walked closer and sat down in front of the bed. She held up a pale block. "This is Jennifer's cheese. You had some Friday night. You know what cheese is, I know what cheese is. We can even say cheese in different languages and know what it is. The problem we face is that when we show cheese to someone who doesn't know what cheese is, has never seen a cow, has never experienced milk or butter; how do they learn what cheese is?" Martha paused. "They taste it." She stood and sat on the bed. "The game was created to help participants understand the range of experience in the outside world. Peter, your world has tenderness and a heightened aesthetic sense, along with a commerce which parodies that tenderness and sensibility. Love, Peter. We are not so different from you for we love, too; there is love and rape in your world. Red is war, Peter. The game is an exercise in economics." Martha stood again, she sat next to Bring. "Systems need to be examined, not according to the attractiveness of their promises or benefit to a few, but rather how they affect people. If people are injured by a system, it is wrong. If they are impoverished, killed, wounded in soul, then it is wrong. The game is a parable. A hard one in this case." Martha touched Bring. "Belinda, my dear love, Belinda, you are exceptionally intelligent. One problem that intelligent people like you sometimes have is that systems enamor you. The subtle intricacy or extravagant promise of a system beguiles you so that you fail to see what it is doing to people around you, even those you care about, Belinda, like Peter. You fail to see how the system harms your own being, Belinda." Martha stood and moved to the side of the bed. "Peter, I say these things as spokesperson, not leader." She sat down. "Because of the form the game took here, I hope the fact that we are the same as the people who do bad things to us becomes plainer with time. Forgiveness starts with that knowledge. "We all need to think about whether we should continue using the game. We have an idea of Alice's feelings; maybe this weekend has changed or solidified these feelings for her." Martha looked to Alice, then looked to Peter. "We all need to talk more about this. You three will have important parts in this discussion. "I don't expect what I'm saying tonight will make sense to you now, we'll talk more with each of you, you too, Peter, we hope." She stood and backed away from the bed. "Thank you for your patience. You three are exhausted. People will see you to your respective homes, stay with you if you like." Martha approached Peter. "I'd like to go back to your motel with you, Peter, if that is acceptable?" Peter nodded, he stood slowly. He turned to Bring who sat crying on the bed. Bring's head was bent, her hands were fragile in her lap. He knelt by her. "I still love you, Bring," he said. He wanted to touch her, felt he should not. Peter started to stand, decided it was easiest to crawl the few steps to Alice who sat shivering. "Okay?" he asked raising his hand over her leg. She nodded tentatively. He put his hand on her knee. "I'm sorry, Alice." She nodded. She stretched her lips briefly, it was not a smile. He leaned to her and kissed her cheek. "I love you, too." She nodded, a tear fell off her nose. He kissed her again and stood. Martha took his hand and led him out to the van. "Can you drive or shall I?" "I can drive." Peter got in and sat. "Give me a minute." Martha got into the passenger seat, fastened her seatbelt and waited. A paper bag sat in her lap. Peter started the van and backed out of his place. "I have a little more to say, if that acceptable to you," she said. Peter nodded, made a left and headed back to the motel. "Thank you for your humanity, Peter. Your attempts to alter the direction and deal with Belinda's obsession with the game have been appreciated by all of us. Thank you for being here this weekend. We hope to spend more time with you later this week. Respecting your needs for your research, we think you will enjoy a home cooked meal or two." Peter nodded and gave a brief smile. "I'd like that. Thank you." "The game is especially rigorous," Martha said, "for those of us who must go out in the world, to be a student like Belinda, for example. We live in a different world than you. Those of us who go out and come back, and not all come back, must work as translators and as shields, for want of a better term, protecting our way of life. Most people here literally cannot imagine Alice's experiences nine years ago. They cannot conceive of wanting to inflict physical pain on someone, or keeping someone in economic or physical slavery. They have no idea how money works. Some of us must go into a world where all of these things are known and accepted." Martha studied at Peter as he stopped the van. She smiled then became serious. "Maybe you can appreciate now the scale of my problems in understanding a saint's life like St. Margaret's. It was not just the language, it was what the language represented." Martha laughed. "I am talking my head off as usual. I get chosen as spokesperson because I would be talking anyway." She looked closely at Peter. "Will you be all right alone?" Peter nodded. "Yes. I have a lot to think about. I worry about Bring." He looked at her. "Did it have to be so hard on her?" Martha sat for a minute. "I don't know. She is the one to tell us. Tonight, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, she will be the one to tell us and guide us." Martha watched Peter. "What you did all along was good for her." She moved the bag on her lap. "But you may never be able to see her again. It is up to her." She lifted the bag and handed it to Peter and said, "Food, of course. Maybe it will help. I can walk from here." She opened the door, got out, and stood looking at him. "Thank you, Peter." She shut the door. Peter sat in the van. He decided finally it was time to go into his room. Bring's things were gone. It felt empty without her. He sat on the bed and cried.
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