Enormity

by Nick Milligan

  “I don’t smile a lot,” I say.

  “Well, with all your money and sex, I suppose you don’t have much to be happy about.”

  “No,” I say.

  “Poor baby,” says Jennifer, with mock sympathy. She then wades over to the pool’s edge, leaning on her elbows and typing on her phone.

  “So are you going to fill me in?” I ask.

  “I’m just logging on to my Banta,” says Jennifer. Banta is a worldwide social communication website. People around the world, including celebrities, post comments and images. It’s a simple and safe way to speak with your fans and make them feel special. Not that you can hear their replies. It’s like talking at them, rather than with them. Jennifer hands me her phone and shows me what she’s posted. It says, “Just hanging out by the pool at Magnolia Mountain with my friend Jack.” Beneath the comment is an image. It’s of me and Jennifer in a pool. The famous resort at Magnolia Mountain is on the other side of the world. Genius. The millions of people that follow Jennifer will see the image on their Banta accounts.

  “Think everyone will believe you?” I ask.

  “I’m a celebrity,” she smiles.

  We return to my apartment. I glance into my bedroom and see that Rose is still asleep. In the living room I cycle through the channels on the television until I find my building’s security camera system. Every apartment has access to the camera outside the main entrance, main foyer and then the foyer of our level. The surging horde of people remains outside, waving banners and signs. One of them says, ‘Jack, please have my children’. It’s held by a man. Maybe he wants me to sire some children with his girlfriend so that he can raise them. It occurs to me that if you live in the same town for two decades and remain quite promiscuous, there’s an increased risk of sleeping with one of your own offspring.

  “Look,” says Jennifer, who’s standing in the middle of the room with me. “That couple over there are leaving.”

  She points at two people who are pushing their way through the crowd, away from the building. Behind them a few more fans are following. Over the next twenty minutes, in dribs and drabs, the mass begins to trickle away. Like melting ice.

  “Nice work,” I say.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’ve clearly mastered the art of deception.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” she grins, poking me in the ribs.

  Rose emerges from the bedroom, her hair dishevelled. She’s wearing one of my pinstripe shirts and her cotton underwear.

  “Hey,” she says, still waking up. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing much,” I say. “Would you like a coffee or something?”

  “Sure,” says Rose. She walks over to the couch.

  “Morning, Rose,” smiles Jennifer.

  “Morning,” replies Rose with a sheepish grin. Then, looking at the television, she asks, “What’s that?”

  “That’s a camera facing the front of my building,” I say from the kitchen.

  “Who… are all those people…?” asks Rose, sitting next to Jennifer.

  “Fans,” sighs Jennifer. “It’s okay, they’re all leaving now. They’re booking flights to Magnolia Mountain.”

  “Okay…” says Rose, clearly confused, but perhaps too hung over to really question the situation any further. Then she asks me, “So are you still going to go to the police?”

  “Sure, why not,” I say.

  “You promised…” pushes Rose.

  “And I’m a man of my word,” I smile, bringing her the coffee. “I hope you like a little sugar.”

  Rose doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me warily.

  Jennifer picks up the remote control from the coffee table and flicks back through the normal channels. Then she sees something that makes her stop. “Hey, Jack… isn’t that…?”

  I look at the screen. It’s on another news network and there’s a live news bulletin. The words ‘breaking news’ flash in the top right corner of the screen. It’s a little distracting. The camera is pointed at some kind of live press conference. There’s a podium in front of a man dressed like a police chief. Next to him are two relieved-looking middle-aged people. Between them is Britney.

  “That’s one of the missing girls,” says Rose.

  “She’s not missing anymore…” I mutter.

  There is a female voice over. Someone reporting on the situation from the news studio before crossing to the live audio feed of the press conference. “This is obviously… a very bizarre and strange turn of events. If you are just joining us, all of the missing girls who disappeared in mysterious circumstances over the past three months have all reappeared this morning… returned to their families, seemingly of their own free will. We believe police are questioning all of the girls as we speak. The parents of Britney DeLeo are now going to make a statement with police commander Matthew McGuire…”

  While I’ve remained very casual throughout this ordeal and managed to, for the most part, detach myself emotionally from it, it has felt like lying on the beach in the blistering sun. I’ve watched the breakers suck out from the shore, retreating into the ocean. I’ve known a tsunami is coming. The ocean’s deep inhalation before unleashing its fury. But rather than crash and torment, the sea has simply taken a deep, calming breath. No terror is coming my way. Life returns to its normal state of abnormality.

  Britney. Her smiling, cherub face looks out at the crowded press conference. Her parents have their arms around her shoulders, reluctant to detach themselves.

  “You told them to let the girls go,” says Rose. “Now the girls are back.”

  “Well… maybe I scared them,” I say.

  “This is wild,” says Jennifer, staring at the screen. “We should have a party to celebrate.”

  I don’t respond. I just stare at the screen. When the press conference begins, reporters start throwing questions at the parents, who mostly reiterate just “how happy” they are “to have Britney home”. Britney answers a few questions. One of the reporters brings up the fact that I was seen at the beach with Britney not long before she disappeared.

  “I love Big Bang Theory, they’re my favourite band,” she smiles. “I did meet Jack at the beach and he gave me a lift in his taxi so I could get home. He was very nice to me and didn’t do anything inappropriate. He was charming.” She gives a cute little grin and everybody seems to buy it. It’s such a deliciously plausible story and she deceives so effortlessly. Watching her speak chills me in the depths of my soul, as if the unseen evil that managed to coax these girls is creeping up through the ground and speaking through Britney’s rosebud lips.

  My mobile phone rings. It’s Amelia’s number. I’ve been ignoring her lately. Now might be the time to answer.

  “Amelia, how are you?” I say in a warm voice.

  “You’ve decided to answer your phone,” she says, flatly.

  “Why wouldn’t I? I have nothing to hide.”

  “Fuck you, Jack. I’ve aged ten years trying to reach you. Don’t you ever pull shit like this again.”

  “Sorry if you think I’ve been avoiding you, Amelia. I just needed some alone time.”

  “What’s this about you being at Magnolia Mountain with Jennifer Fox?”

  “A diversion,” I say.

  “Oh,” says Amelia, “well done. Are you watching the press conference?”

  “Yes.”

  “That girl said she did meet you.”

  “Alright,” I admit. “She might be telling the truth. She looks semi-familiar.”

  “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Just so you know, we’ll be asking the police to make a public apology to you.”

  “It’s no big deal. Sometimes dogs bark up the wrong tree.”

  “I’ve got every media outlet in the world breaking down my doors for an interview with you.”

  “Good,” I say. “Let’s start with the biggest and work our way down. It’s all about circulation
, baby, and I want my blood flowing to the right organs.”

  “Okay, Jack,” says Amelia. It’s the tone my manager uses during a just-smile-and-nod moment. Which she often has around me. “I’ll call you tomorrow with a schedule. Will you answer your phone?”

  “Of course!” I say, boisterously. “I fucking love answering my phone!”

  “Okay, bye honey,” she says, and hangs up.

  On the television, a reporter asks police commander McGuire if he thinks it’s suspicious that all of the girls reappeared at the same time.

  “Yes, it is very unusual and I’d like to ensure everyone that we will investigate this situation to try and have a better understanding of what has taken place,” he says in a deep, booming voice. “Right now we have to allow the parents of these girls to spend some time with their daughters. But we will be doing everything we can to ascertain why these girls left and why they’ve reappeared. Many hours of police time and many resources have been used in this investigation and we need to make sure this confusion does not reoccur.”

  “We should tell them what we know,” says Rose.

  “No chance,” I say. “What’s the point?”

  “Because, these people are still out there. The people who sent me the letters and the video.”

  “You should find that Stephanie girl,” says Jennifer. “The one in the video. The one you brought back to life.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I say.

  “You should let the police speak to her,” pushes Rose.

  I kneel in front of Rose and take one of her hands in my own. “Rose, there are certain… revelations here, regarding… me… that I’d prefer not to be made public. I’m going to look into this on my own. You need to trust me, okay?”

  She looks into my eyes for many seconds before replying, reluctantly, “I suppose so.”

  “Excellent,” I say. Then I stand to announce, “Now don’t be alarmed, but it’s not safe here. We need to go to my bedroom immediately.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  A man in a headset appears at the door.

  “Five minutes,” he says.

  I nod, looking at him in the bathroom mirror. I lean over the sink and splash some cold water on my face. A vain attempt to calm myself. Somewhere in the muffled distance a crowd is cheering. A deep male voice is blasting over a loud speaker, riling the giant mass of people outside. Working the audience. My stomach is in knots. Anticipation. Adrenaline.

  I’m led up a corridor, through a security door. Two large guards with headsets walk on either side of me. Up another corridor we arrive at a large double door. The guards push these open and I’m outside. The bright sun hits me in the face.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I’ve been lying on my bed for a few hours now, naked, flipping through an issue of Distortion that I bought a few months back but never read. I’m the cover story. A close-up of my face adorns the front. Twelve-page feature. Some choice pull quotes. I occasionally glance at myself in the mirrored wall of my bedroom.

  Tomorrow we leave to tour. My bags are packed. I travel light, especially now that the missing girls are no longer a weight around my neck. There is investigation necessary, but first I need to make it through these touring commitments. I owe it to the fans.

  As I finish with the magazine and toss it on the floor, my mobile phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognise, but I answer it anyway.

  “Jack, hi,” says a purring female voice. “I hoped you would answer.”

  “Glad I could oblige,” I say, eyes closing from the sedatives I’ve digested. It’s Natalie.

  “I’ve been thinking about you. Fuck, I really need to see you. Are you busy?”

  “Not really,” I say, glancing around my sparse, empty room. “You may as well drop over.”

  “We can toast to your freedom,” says Natalie. “It must feel good to be off the hook.”

  “Off one hook and on to another,” I say.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you hanging,” she says before disconnecting.

  I drag myself from the mattress and walk lightly across the thin carpet to the curtains, which I pull open, allowing the day’s remaining light into the room. I move to the ensuite, where I stand in front of the mirror and basin, and trim away my pubic hair with a small pair of metallic scissors. I have a hot shower, scrubbing my entire body with textured, exfoliating gloves. I then kill the water. Drying myself, I wrap the towel around my waist and go to the kitchen where I cut up two lines of cane on the bench. This should counter the sedatives. As I feel an amazing numbness travel from my face and around the back of my head, my apartment’s buzzer goes off.

  Pressing the intercom I hear the security guard say, “Jack, I’m with a woman who says she’s here to see you. Her name’s Natalie.”

  “Send her up,” I say.

  When Natalie knocks a minute later, I’m still only wearing the towel. As a valid reason to get dressed isn’t presenting itself, I don’t bother. Opening the door, Natalie smiles with her full red lips, her seductive green eyes running down my torso from beneath her perfect brown fringe. Every caramel coloured curve of her body is like a siren’s song. Running your ship on to her reef suddenly seems like such a great idea.

  Natalie is wearing a black shirt, with the sleeves rolled up past her elbow. Enough buttons are undone to reveal her lacy, black bra and the considerable cleavage contained within. Her grey pleated skirt hangs high above her knee.

  “Hi,” she smiles. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  Natalie steps forward, rips the towel from my body and slams the apartment door behind her. Feeling a sudden rush from the cane I push Natalie against the closed door and she gasps. Her hands grip my buttocks, raking them with her manicured talons, pulling me against her. In return I put my hands under her skirt and discover she’s not wearing any underwear. I quickly form the opinion that this was intentional. Taking her by the hand, I lead her to the bedroom where I push her down on to the mattress. I pull her skirt above her waist, spread her legs and push my tongue inside her. As I lick and suck on her pubic folds, I see that she’s watching us in the reflection of the mirrored wall. Her moaning becomes incredibly loud and I realise she’s already close to orgasm. Her wave of climax has barely had time to travel across the firm, divine contours of her body before she grabs the sides of my head and forces me to stand next to the bed. Natalie takes my stiffening cock in her mouth, grasping my balls with her spare hand.

  I make Natalie take off her shirt and bra. Returning to the mattress, she straddles my chest and we begin simultaneous oral sex. I take in the view of Natalie’s intimate places, sliding the tip of a teasing finger into her anus. Her muffled moans indicate she’s approaching a second orgasm and I know she’s reached it when she stops sucking on me and cries out, her thighs locked around my face. I quickly spin her around and position her over my waist. Sliding on to my aching erection, she lets out a shrill note. As I begin to move her hips up and down, she yells the word “fuck” repeatedly. I take her breasts in my hands and mouth.

  I watch Natalie, who’s naked except for her skirt, moving on top of me in the mirrored wall. Our reflections make eye contact and we stare into each other’s faces in the mirror’s surface. Then she turns to me and says in a low, serious voice, “I want you to cum inside me.”

  Needing no further encouragement, I begin to orgasm and Natalie forces her perfect breasts down on to my face, stifling my groan. She then lays on top of me, both of our chests heaving, our bodies lathered in sweat. My cock remains inside her, still fully erect. Once she has composed herself, Natalie begins to move on me again. I roll over so that I’m now on top of her, maintaining our coital connection. I then push against her groin in a circular motion. We fuck for a few more minutes and I don’t reach a second orgasm. Between heavy breaths Natalie asks if I have any drugs. I tell her that is a silly question. She smiles and suggests that we do some.

  I find a few small bags of gas and cane
in my bedside dresser. I rack two lines on Natalie’s stomach and she squirms as the rolled note I’m using as a straw touches her skin. She then racks two lines from my chest. Any powder we’ve missed we simply lick up with our tongue. Natalie then lies back on the mattress, closing her eyes. Removing her skirt so that she’s completely naked, I sprinkle some of the remaining gas down the length of her body. It cascades through the air like weightless snow and she smiles. The length of her torso dusted with the powder is an amazing sight. As I begin to lick it from her skin, she moans softly, a smile never leaving her lips. My tongue grazes across the firm mounds of flesh on her chest and then down her stomach. She gasps as my tongue eventually returns to her pussy. Lying parallel to me, she turns her head and again takes my cock in her mouth.

  Though we never fall asleep, time moves so quickly. When I eventually glance at the digital clock next to my bed, five hours have passed. Then six, seven and eight. The drugs course through our systems as we lie on the bed, side by side, silent. Natalie occasionally lights up a cigarette and we share it, ashing on the carpet. Every so often we’ll start kissing and touching each other, and more often than not I’m looking at Natalie in the mirror, my head propped on a pillow.

  Eventually I suggest that we have a shower and we do. We sit on the white tiles, not talking. Natalie’s head rests on my shoulder as the water crashes down on us. She occasionally remarks at how fucked up she is and I concur.

  “I feel connected to you… somehow,” says Natalie, her eyes closed.

  “I feel the same,” I say, bathing in euphoria. “You’re perfect. Everything I need.”

  We leave the shower and I find us each a clean towel. I watch Natalie in the bathroom mirror as she dries her naked body and then towels her short, brown hair. I walk out to the balcony for a cigarette. Natalie wanders into the bedroom and gets dressed. My guest then joins me on the balcony, standing next to my chair. I reach out a hand and caress the side of her thigh.

  “I have to go,” she says. “Have fun on tour.”

  “I’ll try,” I reply. “But I’d rather stay here with you.”