Pleasure Thieves

Harry found Phillip in the library, kneeling over a canvas, a magnifying glass in his hand, scrutinizing a painting. Harry stood silently at the door and looked from one covered wall to the other. In the midst of the magnificence was Phillip.

"When you die, Phillip," Harry said bitterly, "they should put a few painting and a magnifying glass in your pyramid, and the god will withhold his curses."

Phillip got to his feet. "Yes," he agreed, "that's all I want now. It's strange how a man narrows down his needs, his expressions. All I want is a fine new canvas to study and to know it's mine."

Harry couldn't speak; his muteness a residue of the fear that had clutched him in the long hallway. He wanted to hear Phillip speak, to embrace the reality Phillip gave him, and then leave. Get away fast before all the doors were locked and the ghosts came back to the uninhabited rooms.

"That's all I have to say. No man can tell you more than his purpose in living, " Phillip imparted.

"Yes, you can," Harry shouted. "You can tell me what the hell this is all about. What we're doing here, why I am here, what this Mr.

Gregory bit is. I want a lot of pay for playing the fool, Phillip!"

"You're not playing the fool. Why are you and Carol so bitterly concerned about your tiny, insignificant appearances?" He poured a drink for Harry and one for himself. "What's the matter with the younger generation?" he scoffed. "They have to be told everything.

They hate surprises. Why, when I was a boy…" he continued sentimentally.

"Yes Phillip, that's what I want to know about. When you were a boy, in short pants, all the way up to when you were a boy in striped pants, to now. Do you understand? To this minute! To Harry Hatch!

And what the hell I have to do with this masquerade."

"I'll explain everything to you, Harry," Phillip said calmly. "That's why I've brought you here."

"What is this 'that's why I've brought you here' line? Give me my part to read, Phillip. I don't want to fuck up the plot. There must be something for me to say like, 'Thank you Daddy. Please be kind.'"

"Harry, give me a moment."

"Well, you're calling me by my real name. Shall I pinch myself?"

"I thought you had grown to trust me enough that I could bring you here and tell you these things. I'm fond of you Harry, but I'm not fond of these hysterics." Phillip was collected now, the sitting master in his house. "Listen to me Harry; I admire you. I can understand being a man like you, rather than me. I've thought that of very few men.

You're pure, Harry," he laughed softly. "You're a beautiful pure young heathen. But you're pure, an artist in yourself. You should put the art somewhere else, somewhere outside of you, or you're going to become perfect and die. It's all going to lead to your death."

"Are you going to kill me?"

"You're off, Harry, way off. You don't know who I am, or who you are. You're going to kill yourself, my friend. That's going to be the only thing left to do. That's what happens when there's nothing out there, out in the world."

"Have you brought me here," he mocked, "to introduce me to a few hobbies?"

"In a way. I thought I might introduce you to living. Living outside the dream."

"Just finding nice, homey comforts."

"Perhaps."

"Like what?" Harry leaned forward. "Like tennis and chess and fucking Carol?"

Phillip looked serious. "Leave my daughter out of this."

Harry didn't say anything. He drank deeply as if Phillip hadn't spoken. When there was nothing but ice left in the glass he spoke quietly. "Your daughter?"

"I'll let you have it all, Harry, and straight. This is my house. This is where my daughter Carol grew up. I assume by now you've seen the portrait on the first landing? Rather fine, don't you think? My wife, Claire, Carol's mother." He let the slow surprising words reach Harry, and poured two more drinks.

"The house belonged to my wife. It was rather an elevating marriage for me, but not out of the question. I came from a good family and all that. But we were poor and I didn't like that at all. As a matter of fact, I liked my wife very much. At first I liked her for not being poor. That was enough. Then, when I got used to being rich, I liked her for being just like me, just as rich as me. That's when it all began. Wealth can be an oppressive habit, particularly for those who haven't been born with it. Claire thought it might be good sport not to have money. But I knew, knew very well what a bore it actually was."

"You can't stand boredom, can you Phillip?"

"Nor can you, Harry. That's what's attractive about you. Am I boring you now?"

"No, go on."

"When the crash came, I was at more of a loss than she was. After all, she had known wealth all her life. And she hated boredom too. So, to save the day, I stole her jewels. And then, to reassure the insurance boss, to make certain it didn't appear to be one of those proverbial