Enormity

by Nick Milligan

  “Loose bastard,” says Dylan, watching him scamper. Then he suggests to our three new friends, “Let’s get some more fluid. My charity.”

  The rest of the night slips into a blur and passes me by. I was there the whole time, but in some ways I wasn’t. I just watched it all happen in fast forward, picking up plot points without sound. This person took that drug. This person kissed that person. At some point the suns rise and we’re out on my balcony. Soon after, in my bedroom, the curtains are closed and a woman is doing things to me. Then a second woman takes her place. But it could be the same woman. Then once the narrative has resolved itself, the story ends and I press stop.

  Chapter Two

  When I wake up, the suns have set. There’s a moment of confusion as I ascertain where I am. I’m on my sofa. There’s a faint glow outside, but only enough to create dark shapes. No texture or colour. I reach out for the wine bottle on the coffee table and then remember it’s empty. I’m shirtless, wearing only a pair of unbuttoned black jeans. My skull feels like it’s packed with ice. The come down. I don’t normally have a come down from pills, but I had been awake for forty hours, unable to sleep. I check my phone. I’ve been passed out for over ten hours.

  In the near distance is the sound of music. Droning bass. Electronic samples. The machine-gun jackhammering of dance beats. Deep, throbbing bass grinding back and forth like numb teeth. The music could be a ringing in my ears. I did pass through many nightclubs.

  I step across to the balcony and slide open the glass doors. On the outdoor table are a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. I inhale wistfully on a dart, slowly releasing the smoke through my nostrils. I put my feet on the table, reclining, unable to focus on anything. My thoughts chatter to me like a room full of people. I then stand and approach the balcony’s railing. Dozens of storeys are crammed below me, each with their own tale to tell. I glance around the neighbouring skyscrapers looking for something interesting. An open window. Couples making love. A glimpse of glistening nudity, fresh from a shower’s steam. Nothing. Darkened windows everywhere. A city with nothing to offer unless you forcefully take it. To my right is a new billboard that takes up almost the entire east-facing wall of an office block, lit-up with wide plumes of white spotlight. It features a young actress called Jennifer Fox. Barely nineteen. She’s the face of a brand of lingerie. Not that her face is really the focus of the billboard. But she stares at me and I stare back, her giant blue eyes the size of Cadillacs. Her long, teased hair erupts around her seductive face like black magma. Jennifer’s wearing black lace and as I study her breasts, wondering if they’ve been digitally enhanced, I remember that she emailed me last week and that I really should reply. I then work out that the billboard is approximately one hundred and five metres high. That’s in Earth measurement.

  I decide that I’d like to come down some more and try to sleep, so I venture to the kitchen to look for some painkillers. I have a box of super strength downers that fell off the back of an ambulance. I rifle through my kitchen, but I can’t find them. The box isn’t in the bedroom or the bathroom either. My frustration simmers beneath the surface, but never amounts to anything. Caring would require too much exertion. I find a bag of pills in my kitchen and take one. Not that it will do much. My body has just about given everything it can, so the entactogen will have little effect.

  I wander to my door and put my ear against it. The music is coming from my floor. Hard and fast. There’s only four penthouses, so it’s not hard to narrow down where it’s coming from. When I pull my apartment door ajar, I deduce that there’s a party taking place directly across the foyer from me, in apartment 3801. I can hear the occasional excited scream. Female voices yelling. Lying in front of the door is a single tattered streamer, like a long yellow snake on the tiles. Apartment 3801 belongs to a middle-aged couple with a teenage daughter. Her name’s Laurie. She knocked on my door one day to get a photo with me and to sign a poster. That was about three years ago, not long after I moved into my penthouse. Every so often I bump into her in the building. We sometimes ride the elevator together. She’s an attractive young thing. Laurie often gives me a cheeky grin and suggests that we hang out more often. Like, “properly hang out”, as she puts it.

  On one occasion, I found a note slipped under my door. I’d just gotten home from tour. It read, “Hey Jack, it’s Laurie. My parents have gone away for a week. Got the place to myself. Please come visit when you’re back in town. xx.” Dylan would later curse me for not accepting the invitation.

  Before I close the door, I hear the tap of footsteps. I spot one of my neighbours, Mr Roeg, marching across the foyer toward the party. He has an incredibly stern look on his face. Mr Roeg is a midget and besides his small stature, he has a rather unsettling appearance. Not only is he vertically challenged, but he also suffers from a form of alopecia. He has no eyelashes, eyebrows or cranial hair of any kind. He is the sort of fellow that people joke about when his miniscule back is turned, but I get along with him quite well. He can be a little intense. Mr Roeg is independently very wealthy, though he rarely speaks about his profession. He’s away a lot on business. Someone once told me he has something to do with art. An art dealer perhaps? I’m also not aware of his first name. He’s never offered it. Mr Roeg is also a fan of my band, which is nice.

  Mr Roeg spots me peering from behind my apartment door. “Jack!” he says, in his small, nasal voice.

  “Hi, Mr Roeg,” I reply, warmly.

  “Can you believe how loud this music is? I can’t hear myself think. The walls of my apartment are shaking!”

  “Yeah, they’ve got some serious equipment in there.”

  “Well, I’ve had enough. Just because her parents are away doesn’t mean she can disrupt the peace.”

  “Well, that’s what you kids do, isn’t it?” I ask. “Have a giant party when you’ve got the place to yourself?”

  I’ve inadvertently said that Mr Roeg is a child but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Laurie’s parents told me she was going to have a small get-together for her twentieth birthday. But they didn’t warn me that all hell was going to break loose.”

  Mr Roeg marches up to the door of Laurie’s apartment and pounds his small, pale fist on its surface. He generates a remarkable volume for a small man. I push my door till it’s almost shut, peering from the darkness. Mr Roeg knocks a second time. After a small pause the door is flung open. Two girls, both young, caked in make-up and wearing short party dresses, scream when they see Mr Roeg and immediately slam the door. He turns and looks in my direction, embarrassment and disgust already formed on his small, pointy features. He knocks again. This time a third girl opens the door and squeals.

  “Oh my god,” she yells, drunkenly. “What are you? Go away!”

  “Turn that music down!” Mr Roeg yells, in his high nasal tone. “I will call the police!”

  The girl stares at him for a moment and then slams the door.

  Mr Roeg turns to me again, his pale features now stained pink with anger. He storms across the foyer to my door, which I open.

  “Can you believe that?” he asks, puffing.

  “Rude little bitches,” I say. “They’re just drunk.”

  “I just don’t expect to be treated like that in my own building.”

  “No,” I reply. “It’s... uncalled for.”

  “Would you go and speak to them?” he asks, softening his tone. It’s a plea for help, rather than a demand. “They’ll listen to you.”

  “That’s not necessarily a good thing,” I say, unsure of whether I want to be dragged into a penthouse party of drunken, young girls. It would be a very hectic situation for me in my current mental state.

  “Well, if they don’t listen to you, I’m going to have the whole family evicted.”

  I know that Mr Roeg is somehow involved with body corporate. He has friends in high places. Well, most of his friends are in a higher place than him. I don’t doubt that there is weight to his threat.
r />   “Okay,” I say. “Leave it with me.”

  Mr Roeg smiles, relieved. “Thank you, Jack. I won’t forget it.”

  “That’s fine,” I reply. “You just enjoy the rest of your evening. Fix yourself a stiff drink.”

  Mr Roeg sighs and returns across the wide foyer to his apartment.

  I find a t-shirt and a jacket in my bedroom. I then grab the cigarettes and lighter from the balcony. Barefooted, I walk quietly across the foyer, as if in danger of being caught. The bass of the party’s music is making the door shake. I can feel it buzz and vibrate beneath my knuckles as I knock loudly on apartment 3801. From within, melted against the sound of the music, are excited female voices. Then the door swings open.

  Laurie yells, “Listen you little sh-” Surprise transforms her face as she sees me. “Oh... Jack,” she hesitates, drunkenly. “I thought you were Mr...”

  “That’s okay,” I smile. “Mr Roeg sent me about the noise. A few of your guests were rude to him.”

  “Oh... yeah,” says Laurie, slightly embarrassed. She’s wearing a short black dress. Her dark brown hair is up in a ponytail, allowing her cute round face enough room to be assessed on its own merits. Her figure is accentuated with rather attractive regions of puppy fat. Laurie’s very pretty and obviously intoxicated. She’s the kind of girl I would have gazed at in university lectures, undoubtedly the subject of one of my insufferable crushes. I would never have told her she’s gorgeous, despite spending much time thinking about it. Right now, Earth Jack would politely ask for the music to be turned down, offer her a small amount of charm and then promptly return to the cold, dark solitude of his apartment. But Earth Jack died somewhere in space.

  Over Laurie’s shoulder I can see a number of girls, staring at me with shocked expressions. As if I’m not real.

  “They were a bit freaked out,” says Laurie. “It’s a bit to take in if you haven’t met him before. My parents told him that I was having my birthday party.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a serious sound-system in there,” I say.

  “Yeah, my friend’s boyfriend brought it over for me and set it up. He’s in a band...” she says.

  “Cool,” I say.

  “But they’re not very well known. Not like you guys.”

  “I see.”

  Laurie is turning pink. “Sorry, I’m a bit drunk,” she says.

  “That’s okay,” I smile. “You’re the birthday girl. You’re allowed to be drunk.”

  Laurie sees that her friends are staring at us, so she steps outside the door and pulls it shut behind her. Now she’s much closer.

  “When are you going to invite me over to your apartment?” asks Laurie. “I know you got my note.”

  Her breath smells like butterscotch liqueur. It’s a fragrance that immediately takes me to a barbeque seventeen years ago. In a suburban backyard. The first and last time I drank butterscotch anything. Underneath I can smell perfume. Hints of either citrus or mango.

  “I’ve been real busy.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet,” says Laurie. Her lips look incredibly soft.

  “I haven’t been home much.”

  “You were home last night. This morning I saw girls leave your apartment.”

  “Have you been watching me?”

  “I heard girls’ voices,” shrugs Laurie. “So I opened the door and two redheads were waiting for the elevator.”

  “Well... I suppose it’s quicker than the stairs.”

  Laurie smiles. “I’m only telling you this because I’m really drunk,” she says, gazing up at me. Her face is now dangerously close to my own. “But... I am madly in love with you.”

  “Is that right?” I reply, lost for words. My frail state of mind offers me very little. “But you don’t know me, Laurie. I’m just your neighbour that is way too old for you.”

  “Age is a state of mind.”

  “Well then, my current age is seriously cloudy. I was up for two days.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have redheads over.”

  “Should I stick to brunettes?”

  Laurie pushes her face into mine and for a moment I kiss her back.

  “Hang on a second,” I say, after my delayed withdrawal. “Ah... I should let you get back to your guests.”

  Laurie’s holding her arms around my waist and is reluctant to let go. “Jack, I think about you. I think about you visiting me.” For the second time in the conversation, words are my enemy. They elude me. “I imagine you coming to visit me when I’m home alone,” she adds, her voice now twisted with calculated innocence. Deliberate coquettishness. She pushes herself against me and the sensation of her soft flesh and the cocktail of aromas that pour from her arouse me. I’m betrayed by the release of dopamine in my brain.

  “That’s... nice of you to say.”

  Laurie tries to kiss me again and I pull away. “I should let you get back to your party.”

  “Aren’t you coming in for a drink?” she asks.

  “No,” I say. “I shouldn’t...”

  “But it’s my birthday,” she probes. “I promise I’ll protect you from my friends.”

  I pause. She takes me by the hands. “One drink,” she says.

  “Alright,” I say. “But only if you turn the damn music down.”

  Laurie looks at me with quiet triumph. She opens the door and leads me inside. Around the apartment girls are chatting and dancing, squealing and spilling drinks. They’re in party dresses. Laurie introduces me to three girls in the kitchen who are shocked to meet me. Girls dancing in the living room all stop and stare at me. Laurie leaves to turn the music down. Groans erupt from the adjoining room and I hear Laurie say there have been noise complaints. The music then drops to a merciful volume.

  “Laurie said you lived across the hall, but we didn’t believe her,” says one of the girls in the kitchen with me.

  “She speaks the truth,” I smile.

  “We went with Laurie to see you guys at Bradfield Arena,” says another girl. “You were really awesome.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What was that song you played where you howled like a wolf?” asks the first girl.

  “That’s a new song,” I reply. “It’s called ‘Fresh Blood’.”

  “Wow,” says the third girl. “It was pretty sexy.”

  “That’s the idea,” I chuckle. “Glad you like it.”

  “Isn’t Fresh Blood the name of that Mercy Beau Coup record?” asks the first girl.

  I think for a moment, slightly panicked. “I’m not sure. Is it?”

  “Yeah, it’s got a blonde woman on the cover. Dressed in red.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “I really liked that first song you played for the encore,” says the third girl. “Was it a new one as well?”

  “Yes,” I say, trying to remember. “I think so...”

  “It had a man’s name in it,” she says.

  “Oh, yeah,” I say, remembering. “That was ‘Kevin Carter’.”

  “Who’s that?” asks the second girl.

  “Uh... just a guy I know. No one in particular,” I reply, unable to give any explanation of who the photographer Kevin Carter is, or who the Manic Street Preachers are.

  From behind me I hear a girl yell, “Oh my god, is this the stripper?”

  I spin around, a little jumpy. The girl recognises me. “Oh... I didn’t...”

  “Sarah!” yells Laurie at the girl, appearing behind her in the kitchen’s doorway. “Leave him alone! He’s just visiting. You’re going to scare him away.”

  Laurie brushes past Sarah into the room. “Do you want a drink?” she offers. “Wine?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  Laurie opens the fridge and pours me a glass of Cristalli sparkling wine, her back turned to me. The fridge is overflowing with expensive alcohol. Laurie turns around with an unreadable smile, handing me the beverage. She then leads me from the kitchen, through the candlelit living room to the balcony. Despite the music’s lowered volum
e, girls continue to dance and laugh. They stare at me intently as I step past, transfixed. Glancing around the apartment, I surmise that this residence is the same size as my own. In fact, its layout is identical. Except it’s all in reverse. It’s an exact mirror image of my home.

  The girls on the balcony are equally amazed by my appearance. One girl, without saying anything, rushes and throws her arms around me. Laurie gently tries to pry her away. The girl reluctantly lets go, almost in tears.

  “It’s fine,” I say to Laurie. I extend my hand to the girl. “Hi, I’m Jack.”

  She shakes my hand, “Maddy,” she says softly, her eyes glazed with intoxication. “I love you. I love your music...”

  “Thank you. Pleasure.” I pull a cigarette from my shirt pocket and light it.

  Laurie introduces the half dozen girls in front of me, but I don’t remember their names. I raise a polite hand in greeting. I lean on the rail and glance out at the city skyline. It’s the reverse view of my own balcony, but it’s much of the same. Just more skyscrapers shooting out of streams of neon signage and headlights. You can’t see the harbour very well from this side. I conclude that I have a superior view.

  “If this music’s bothering you, we could put on something else?” offers one girl.

  “No, that’s fine. I like it.”

  “You like synthetic music?” asks the girl.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “So what are you guys doing at the moment?” asks another girl. “When are you going to play live again?”

  “We’re planning another tour,” I say. “Just doing some recording at the moment. Once that’s out of the way we’ll get back on the road.”

  “Is it true that you guys are fighting with the Known Associates?” asks another girl.

  “Clair!” spits Laurie. “Don’t ask him personal questions like that.”

  “We’re not fighting,” I say, with a smile. “That’s just some media bullshit.”

  “I also heard you were hooking up with Jennifer Fox?” asks Clair, with a sly grin.

  Laurie doesn’t cut her off this time. Instead she waits for my answer.