“We’re just friends.” I say, dragging on my cigarette.
“So where’s the rest of the band tonight?” asks another girl.
“Don’t know,” I shrug. “Don’t want to know.”
“You should invite Dylan over,” says Clair. A few of the other girls nod in agreement. “We’d love to party with Dylan,” she adds.
I chuckle. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”
“Why not?” asks Clair.
“Well... Dylan doesn’t party with people. He parties at them.”
The girls all chirp and flutter at my comment. I’ve only made him sound more appealing.
One of the girls that was dancing in the living room appears at the balcony door and steps up to me.
“Jack, this is Carrie,” says Laurie, introducing her.
“Pleasure,” I say, shaking her hand.
“Pleasure,” smiles Carrie. “I really love your music.”
“Thanks.”
Carrie then says to Laurie, “Hey, come inside for a moment. I need to tell you something.”
Laurie glances at me, then replies to her, “In a minute. I can’t leave Jack here.”
“He’ll be alright!” says Clair. “We’re not going to bite.” A few of the other girls laugh.
“I don’t trust you, Clair!” smiles Laurie.
“Hey, I’ll be fine,” I say to Laurie. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
Laurie looks uncertain.
“C’mon,” says Carrie. “It’ll take a minute.”
“Okay,” says Laurie, reaching out and squeezing my hand. “I’ll be right back.” Laurie follows Carrie into the apartment.
Laurie’s gone for a few minutes. I take a seat amongst the girls on the balcony and chat to them. I take a long sip of my wine and light another cigarette. Many of them go to the same exclusive university as Laurie. Rich girls. Or at least girls with rich parents.
When Laurie returns, she makes an announcement. “Sorry, everyone. I need to borrow Jack. I promise I’ll bring him back.”
A few of the girls groan. “Laurie, he’s okay here.”
“I’ll bring him back!” says Laurie, again. She gives me an awkward look and takes my hand, pulling me from my chair and leading me back inside.
“Where are we going?” I ask, as I follow Laurie through the apartment, down the hallway.
“I don’t want to share you anymore,” says Laurie, holding my hand tightly.
We arrive at a door and Laurie pushes it open. It’s a bedroom and clearly hers. It’s coloured in shades of pink, culminating in a large four-poster bed that is draped with pieces of rose-coloured, sheer material. If this room were any more effeminate, it would have a vagina.
On the bed are two girls, sitting cross-legged. One of them is Carrie.
“This is Taylor,” says Laurie, gesturing to the girl I haven’t met.
“Pleasure,” I say, wandering to the side of the bed. In a rush of delirium I lie next to them, stretching out face down into the mattress.
Carrie says to Taylor, “Time to shoo now.”
“Aww, c’mon,” groans Taylor. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“No,” says Laurie. “One other person’s enough. I’ll show it to you after.”
“I want to watch!” whispers Taylor, before threatening, “I’ll tell everyone.”
Laurie huffs, relenting. “Fine. If you’re going to stay, then go and lock the door and sit over there,” whispers Laurie.
Taylor locks the bedroom door and then sits in a small, ornate seat that’s opposite the bed. On the back of the door is a tall poster of me. Almost to scale. It’s grainy black and white. My dark leather jacket hangs open to reveal my chiseled abdominal muscles and the sparse, inoffensive hair that spreads across my pectorals and descends in a thin line down my stomach. My jeans are dangerously low. I look sexual. There’s a dilapidated brick wall behind me. Industrial chic. I remember being quite hazy when the picture was taken and I think that comes across. I stare through the camera’s lens and down at myself lying on Laurie’s bed.
Turning my head, I see Laurie eye me with an unreadable expression, as if it’s a struggle for her to make eye contact. From beyond the door, someone returns the party’s music to a deafening level. I hear screams and cheers. The walls of the bedroom shake and hum.
“Wait,” I say, a little groggy. “Tell them to turn the music down...”
“It’s cool,” says Laurie, with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about that now.”
I sit up, propping myself against Laurie’s large, pink pillows like a rag doll, arms draped by my side. I don’t have much strength left. My brain buzzes and when I close my eyes for a moment I feel a sensuous burn radiate along my limbs. It feels different to the pill I swallowed in my apartment. When I open my eyes, Laurie is standing by the bed to my left. She lifts up the edges of her dress, finding the waistband of her underwear. She then slides the cotton panties down her creamy thighs and I notice that they have small love-hearts on them. On the right side of the bed Carrie is down on her knees, a digital camera aimed at Laurie and I. I try not to acknowledge that Carrie’s filming. Laurie is lightly biting her lower lip as she gazes down at me. When she has stepped out of her underwear, she lowers herself on to the bed and slowly unzips the fly of my jeans. Across the room, Taylor is sitting up in her chair, watching Laurie’s hands.
As Laurie strokes me with one hand and lightly grazes my testes with the fingernails of her other, I lean my head back and close my eyes. I feel Laurie’s warm tongue begin to knead the tip and then her mouth closes over me, forming suction. I slightly open my eyes and see that Carrie is now kneeling next to us on the bed, the digital camera much closer to my abdomen. Taylor has left her chair and is leaning on the end of the bed, her chin resting in her hands. She watches intently, her eyes shifting between Laurie’s head and my face. Although my mind is spinning, it doesn’t take long for me to be fully erect. Laurie strokes me slowly, admiring her handiwork.
Taylor is obscured from my vision when Laurie swings a leg over my pelvis and straddles me. She positions herself accordingly and slowly lowers herself on to my cock. Despite the relative tightness of her opening, she takes me in rather easily. Once she has descended to its base, she holds my face in her hands and kisses me on the mouth, forcing her tongue between my lips and against my teeth. Drunken and fervent. From the corner of my eye I see Carrie’s camera hovering, capturing the fumbling of our mouths. My arms remain draped by my side as Laurie begins to move herself on me. Her grinding motions search for the correct rotation of my fixed axis. Behind my eyelids I watch circles of colour dance and spin like rainbow constellations.
I hear Laurie say to Carrie, “Are you getting everything okay?”
“Yes,” says Carrie. “It looks so hot.”
“Is there still enough battery?” replies Laurie.
“One bar,” says Carrie.
“It should be enough,” whispers Laurie, as I feel her vagina contract around me. The mattress begins to vibrate beneath us, as if the music has swelled in volume. She slides her arms around my neck in an embrace and rests her cheek against mine.
“It’s alright, Jack,” she whispers in my ear, her voice now strained with heavy breathing. “You can come inside me. I want you to.”
I open my eyes and glance at Carrie. Her eyes are fixed intently on the camera’s view screen. Her lips part in concentration. She then moves behind Laurie toward the end of the bed, aiming the lens and focusing on the penetration.
My eyes fix on a toy that stands low against the wall. It’s slightly obscured by the bedside dresser. It’s a plush animal that sits on its hind legs and is striped black and orange like a tiger. The shape of its snout is more like a dog’s than a cat’s, but what I find the most disconcerting are its plastic eyes. They’re human-like, as if transplanted from a doll. Behind their lifeless translucency I feel like there is some cognition there. It knows who I am and what I am. I f
orce myself to look away.
Laurie starts bouncing on me with more force. This vigorous rhythm begins to build an orgasm in me. I close my eyes and focus as Laurie pushes her cheek harder against my own.
The dance music stops. Instantly. A residual ringing continues in my ears, but I know someone has turned the music off completely. I give it no more thought, because I feel myself climax. For the first time during our intercourse my hands move to Laurie’s body, grasping her soft buttocks. I come inside her, barely making any noise. She runs her hands through my hair, which is now matted and sweaty.
“Did he come?” I hear Taylor whisper.
“I think so,” replies Carrie.
My arms return to the mattress as Laurie continues to move on top of me, searching for her own orgasm. She cranes back, her hands holding on to my neck for support. I watch her face strain with pleasure and concentration. A strap of her dress has slipped from the shoulder, revealing a small white breast with an equally small, crimson-coloured areola. I cup it with my right hand, mindlessly studying it. Besides my ejaculate, it’s the most interest I’ve shown Laurie since she brought me to her room. A second later she collapses on me, releasing a moan into my neck.
I hear music again, though it’s much softer than before. So quiet I can’t make out the melody. Laurie kisses me again and I kiss her back. Past her ear the poster of Jack looks down at me and I notice the corners of my mouth in the image are threatening to smile.
“I’ve wanted that for so long,” she whispers.
I don’t reply.
Laurie’s hips rise and I slide out of her. She gets off the bed and pulls some tissues from a box on the bedside table, wiping between her legs.
“Did you get all of that?” Laurie asks Carrie. “Did the battery last?”
“Yeah, I got it all. It looked so great,” replies Carrie.
“Yeah, really hot,” adds Taylor.
“Did it feel really big?” asks Carrie.
Laurie nods. “Yeah. Massive.” She then smiles at me. “Thanks for the birthday present.”
I tuck my penis, which is in a flaccid, post-coital state of exhaustion, back into my jeans and zip them up. “Does it seem quiet out there to you?” I ask, realising I can’t hear any voices outside.
The girls all look at the door.
“I suppose it’s a bit quiet,” says Taylor. She reaches for the lock.
“Hang on a second,” says Laurie, as she pulls her underwear back on.
Taylor waits a moment and then opens the door. Looking past her, I can’t see anything beyond the bedroom. The apartment is in darkness.
“Hello?” calls Taylor. “Where is everyone?”
I get up from the bed and join Taylor in the doorway, peering into the hall. A song drifts towards us, creeping from the sound-system. It’s Blue Oyster Cult’s ‘Don’t Fear The Reaper’. But it’s not their version. It’s the recording I released with Big Bang Theory. I can hear my voice echo throughout the blackened apartment, dripping with the effects that our producer used on my voice.
I turn to Laurie. “Everyone is gone,” I say.
“They must have hit the town,” she shrugs. “I thought they were going to leave later. Or at least wait for us.”
I notice Carrie putting the digital camera in her purse. I look past her to the corner of the room where the bizarre tiger toy sat and it’s not there.
“Where did that big toy go?” I ask.
“What toy?” asks Laurie.
I point to the corner where I saw the striped, plush object with the unsettling eyes. “There was a toy... thing... sitting there.”
“Do you mean my teddy?” asks Laurie, pointing at a stuffed bear on a dresser on the other side of the room. “That’s Rufus.”
I pause, not answering. Carrie and Taylor give me an odd look. I then leave the bedroom, finding a light switch in the hallway. Being in a flipped version of my apartment makes me giddy. Everything is in reverse.
My voice croons from the speakers with husky resonance, singing a song about eternal love. A romance that transcends the physical existence of its owners. I wander towards the living room, in the direction of the music, finding light switches. They’re placed in the opposite position to where they are in my own apartment. The backing vocal sings and my voice echoes all around me.
As I get to the end of the hallway, I peer into the living room. The candles are nearly burnt out, but provide enough glow for me to see the shapes on the floor. Shapes everywhere. I squint, my eyes adjusting. They look like dresses. Scattered party dresses. One for every reveler who was here.
Laurie walks up behind me, peering over my shoulder into the living room.
“Why are everyone’s clothes still here?” I ask.
“They must have all gotten changed before they left,” replies Laurie, as if it’s not unusual that clothing litters her apartment.
“Or they evaporated,” I say, more to myself than Laurie.
Laurie wraps her arms around my waist and kisses my back. “I think you’re a little delirious, honey.”
“I’m going to head home,” I say. “I need to try and get some sleep. Do you have any pain killers?”
“Um, yeah, I think so.”
Laurie leads me into the darkened kitchen. Without switching the light on, she pushes me against the counter and kisses me again. I don’t fight her advance. She runs her hands beneath the back of my shirt, dragging her fingernails down my skin.
“Can I have you again?” she whispers.
“Not right now,” I say. “I... need to recharge.”
Laurie makes a huffing sound, like a child that’s been denied something it desires. She then releases me from her embrace and rifles through a cupboard above my right shoulder. She finds a box and switches on the kitchen light.
“Pain killers,” Laurie says, holding them out to me. She looks stern.
I smile, taking them from her. “You’re a life saver.”
She shrugs. I lean in and kiss her on the cheek, lingering for a moment on the scent of her hair. Then I kiss her earlobe.
“Don’t be a stranger,” she says, softly, as I close her apartment door behind me. The lights in the foyer are all turned off, except for one that flickers. It needs to be replaced. It lights my surroundings like a yellow strobe. Glancing to my left, my heart stops. I see Mr Roeg standing outside his apartment door, staring intently at me, his eyes unusually wide.
“Mr Roeg?” I call, hesitantly, squinting. In the dancing light I see he’s not there. I’m alone in the foyer. I really need some sleep.
After I swallow a bunch of painkillers I can feel myself slow down. I stretch out on the mattress, naked, limbs outstretched. I’m sweating a lot. For a second I wonder if I should invite Laurie over. Maybe her friends. My mind calms and my eyelids shut. Then my phone rings. It’s buried in the pile of clothes next to the bed. I ignore it and the ringing stops. I close my eyes. But the peace is broken by my phone again, chiming and buzzing. I groan loudly and roll to the edge of the mattress, reaching down to find it.
I answer. “Yeah?”
“Jack, sweetheart. It’s Amelia. Just checking on my favourite rock star.”
“I’m fine. Just... umm... you know.”
“You boys have been partying, I hear.”
“Sort of. A few quiet drinks. Nothing too hectic.”
“Right,” says our manager. “Well, Dylan had to have his stomach pumped last night.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well, you know Dylan. Crazy kid.”
“Yes, indeed,” says Amelia. “They wanted him to spend the night in hospital, but he checked himself out. He still wants to record tomorrow.”
“Well, Dylan would know if he’s ok. He gets his stomach pumped like most people use stationary. For... taking notes and stuff. Rough sketches...”
There’s a pause. “You sure you’re ok, Jack?”
“I’m fine,” I say, realising I just lost my shit for a second. “Just a little tired.” I’m fall
ing asleep.
“Will you be okay to record tomorrow? It would cost us a large amount of money if we had to cancel the studio, not to mention the orchestra.”
“No, I’ll be fine. Sleep will do me good.”
“A car will be outside your place at nine in the morning.”
“I’ll be in it.”
“And we also need to have that meeting about the news story. I’m handling everything with the record label, but I really need to brief all of you on what’s happening. I’ve spoken to Cohen and Emerson.”
“Well, it’s all nonsense. Kids run away from home all the time. Let them roam where they want to.”
“Ok, Jack. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bon voyage,” I say, dropping the phone.
While I’m asleep I dream about everything in my life. Vivid situations and relationships formulate and crush me with biblical importance. I’m always accused of something horrific. There’s always an accusation and inside the dream I know that I am to blame. I am certain punishment will find me. My back is to the wall and my accusers circle. But when I wake up I remember nothing. The details vanish. Perhaps one small moment remains, but it has no context. I have nothing to tie it to. No explanation. The one thing I always wonder is if my dreams are taking place on Earth or here. Does it even make a difference?
I sit on my balcony and watch the suns rise, two orbs appearing behind the city’s skyline. I light a cigarette and sip on a black coffee that I’ve made. Next to it is a rum and cola that I’ll knock back after the coffee. I don’t have an appetite for any solid food. My hands shake and I still feel scattered from the drugs. The top joints of my jaw, just next to my ears, ache with varying levels of pain when I open my mouth. My lips are lacerated from my constant biting and licking and there’s an ulcer on the inner wall of my cheek that I tongue every so often. For a while, I sing to myself. I keep singing an Ocean Colour Scene song called ‘The Circle’.
Then I suddenly have an urge to call Jemima, so I pick up my phone and speed dial her.
She answers. “I don’t want you to call me,” says Jemima.
“You don’t have to answer. You could block my number.”
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