“In a custodian closet downstairs, on the bottom storey,” says Roy. “He was in a close space. It jumped at me and sliced itself in half on my wand. Then I had to destroy all the eggs and fumigate the closet. Nasty little suckers.”
“So is it safe to be in this building… at all?” I ask.
“Probably not,” says Roy. “At least not until they’re all killed.”
So much for sleeping here tonight. “I suppose they can’t sneak under doors can they?”
“No, not the big ones,” chuckles Roy.
“Well, thank you for the warning.”
“Pleasure,” says Roy. “I heard some of that last song you were playing. You’re very good.”
“Thank you,” I reply. “I’m thinking about performing some of them.”
“Really? You should definitely speak with my friend Emerson. He’s an excellent musician and loves to meet new players and writers. He would like what you do.”
“Could you write his phone number down for me?”
“No problem,” says Roy. Then, lifting up the severed arm, adds, “Just let me put this down somewhere.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Our plane landed about an hour ago, marking the end of the first major section of our world tour. I’m in the backseat of a black sedan that is taking me to my apartment. The world rolls by in its midday fashion. It’s equal parts comforting and tedious to be back in Easton.
I attempt to phone Natalie on one of the numbers she has used to contact me in the past. I try four sets of digits and they all ring out. I realise I won’t see her again until she wants to see me.
I tell the driver to take me via Zunge Bohne before he drops me off at my building. If Rose is working, I’d like to pay her a visit. We slow down as we reach the block, the adjacent stretch of beach unfolding beneath an overcast sky. My driver finds a park in front of the café’s glass entry. I only have to cross the footpath without being noticed.
“I’ll be five minutes,” I say to the driver.
“Take as long as you like, sir.”
“You’re too kind,” I reply.
“I get paid by the hour.”
I put on my dark sunglasses and exit the car. Inside, the café isn’t inundated with the usual number of lunchtime patrons. The slow trade suits me fine. I recognise a girl carrying a tray of coffees out to a table. She doesn’t see me. Another staff member, facing away, is pouring things into a blender. I recognise the back of Rose’s head. She turns and opens a milk container, adding a large quantity of the white liquid to the concoction she’s making.
“Excuse me, do you make milkshakes here?” I ask across the counter.
Rose turns with a quick glance and doesn’t recognise me. It’s been four months since I was last in town. She might not be expecting me.
“We sure do,” says Rose, sounding a little agitated.
“Are they any good?” I ask, leaning on the counter with my elbows.
Rose turns and looks at me. Surprise crosses her face. I’ve got a little more stubble than when she last saw me and my hair has been allowed to grow out again. I’m getting closer to my trademark dog-eared style. When she recognises me, Rose smiles. Beams, in fact.
“Hi stranger,” she says.
“Hi gorgeous.”
“Aren’t you meant to be on tour?”
“I’ve got a week off. I’m home.”
“Oh,” she says. “Great.”
“What time do you sign off?”
Rose checks her watch. “In about four hours.”
“Do you have plans?”
“Just some study… but nothing I couldn’t do later.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“I’ll pick you up in four hours.”
“But I’ll be all gross from work.”
“I’m sure you won’t be.”
“I’ll be too gross to go out somewhere…”
I hadn’t considered this. But an idea comes to me. “Okay, then. Do you know where Racquel Chatterley’s studio is?”
“Uh, you mean that expensive day spa?”
“It’s a fashion and beauty studio. Racquel does the clothes and make-up for our promo shoots.”
“Yeah, I think I know where it is.”
“It’s only ten minutes from here. Head there when you finish work and she’ll look after you.”
“In what sense?”
“She’ll make you feel less gross.”
Rose smiles. “If you say so.”
“I’ll pick you up from her spa in five hours.”
I head back out to my vehicle and the driver takes me home.
I call Racquel from my balcony. She’s out of town on a shoot, but she organises for one of her most trusted assistants to look after Rose when she arrives. I tell her to spare no expense.
I manage to sleep in bed for an hour and then I stretch out on the couch and doze for another. My body is battered and bruised from the excesses of touring. I feel disjointed. Adrift. I’m always a little tattered after being dragged around the globe.
I have a shower. I brush my teeth. I trim my facial hair so that it looks less like the materials a bird might use to build its nest. On the bathroom vanity I rack a few lines of cane. Something to clear the cobwebs.
In the living room, I dress in front of the television. A black pair of jeans and a shirt. On the current channel is a broadcast of a beauty pageant. Big production. A flushed, overwhelmed winner is being handed a crown and a sash. The stunning blonde girl steps to the microphone, clearly on the brink of tears. “Oh… wow…,” she says. “I have so many people to thank. Firstly, I need to thank my amazing boyfriend for entering me…”
I hear a knock at the door. I walk over and look through the peephole. It’s Laurie.
“Hey there,” I smile, opening my apartment. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Laurie looks relieved and lunges forward wrapping her arms around me. Her hair is up and she’s wearing a casual yellow dress.
“I’ve missed you,” she says into my chest.
“I’ve missed you too,” I reply, realising it’s the truth. Or possibly the cane. “Come inside.”
When I close the door, Laurie kisses me, holding me against her.
“How did you know I was home?” I ask.
“I just got home from a friend’s place and my mother said she heard your door shut a few hours ago. Then I checked your tour dates and saw that there was a week break.”
“Well done,” I say.
“Would you have come over to say hi?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say. “You’re my favourite neighbour.” Laurie smiles, though she looks slightly incredulous. “Would you like some wine?” I offer. “I was thinking about opening a bottle.”
“I shouldn’t,” says Laurie.
“You sure? It’s not a school night is it? What day is this?”
“I just don’t think I should,” says Laurie. She looks flushed. “I’ll have water though.”
“Water, sure,” I say and retrieve the urn of chilled water from the fridge and pour her a glassful. Then I open a bottle of white wine, pouring myself a large bulbous measure. “Hey, come over and watch this beauty pageant with me,” I say. “The winner is speaking in double entendre.”
Laurie and I sit on the couch. She looks at me and I look back. I notice she’s not wearing a bra, which is a conniving move on her part. Her cherub face looks exceptionally cute. While she’s a young woman, and definitely not a child, I can’t help but feel a little like Humbert Humbert.
“Are you going out somewhere?” she asks. A simple question sprinkled with accusation.
“Yeah, I’m going out to dinner with a friend, but not for a few more hours yet.”
“Girlfriend?”
“A lady friend, yes. A friend who is female.”
“Okay. When will you take me out to dinner?”
“I don’t know. Whenever. Tomorrow? I’m easy.”
“
Okay,” smiles Laurie.
We sit and watch some television. I put my arm around Laurie’s shoulders and she nestles into my side. She’s very soft and smells nice. I wish I were her age. Perhaps through some anomaly in timespace I’m actually younger than her. Age is a state of time.
An advert appears on the television for a fast food chain with a new series of burgers that don’t have buns. They’re just patties. You can choose from an assortment of meats with which to sandwich layers of bacon, cheese and sauce.
“Wow, they are like, post-modern burgers. Post-burgers,” I say.
“I don’t know what that means,” says Laurie.
“Oh, well, you know… what does it sound like I mean?”
“It sounds like you’re trying to be clever.”
“I try very hard.”
“You write beautiful songs. You don’t need anything else in life.”
“Writing songs is clever, isn’t it?”
“Yes. So stop trying so hard.”
“Okay.”
“What’s your lady friend’s name?”
“Why? What does it matter?”
“I might know her.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“Is it the girl from the café?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“Because me and my friends go there sometimes too. I saw her leaving your apartment one night.”
“Were you snooping around?”
“No, I was just getting ready to go out one night. I heard voices in the foyer and I looked out through our spyhole. I saw her and you outside your door.”
“Are you jealous?”
“No,” says Laurie, defiantly.
“You told me you were in love with me.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“So you don’t feel anything for me?”
“I think I’m just infatuated with you. I just desire you.”
“But not love?”
“No.”
I take a gulp from my wine glass. “Laurie, in your life people will try to tell you the difference between infatuation, lust and love. But there’s no difference.”
“What do you feel for me?”
“Lust,” I smile.
“So you love me too?”
“Let’s stop trying to label these things.”
“I’d just like to know where I stand,” says Laurie.
“I care about you,” I say. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Not for me.”
“I’m only here for a week before I leave again. Let’s just enjoy our time together.”
Laurie forces a smile, but she’s forlorn. I kiss her temple, lingering against her skin, smelling the edge of her hair. She turns her head and kisses my mouth. Then she begins moving on to me, pushing me down on to the sofa. Laurie straddles me as we continue to kiss. The straps of her cotton dress fall down over her shoulders and the material droops forward, exposing the softness of her chest. I run my hands up her thighs and under her dress, feeling the smooth skin of her hips. When I find her waist I realise she’s not wearing underwear. Laurie desperately wants me to penetrate her. While that is a definite turn-on, I’m not sure. I’m uneasy. But, like in every situation such as this, I remember that I’m here to have an immersive experience. I can’t say no.
My driver chauffeurs me back to the beach area, to the classy location of Racquel Chatterley’s studio. I relax into the backseat, feeling tipsy and buzzing from the cane. I sniff my armpits to make sure I smell okay. The only scent is expensive cologne, which fills me with relief. But when I put a hand to my face to brush away a strand of hair, I realise that my fingers still smell like Laurie.
There’s a lot of people outside Racquel’s studio, so the driver heads inside to fetch Rose. I remain in the tinted safety of the shiny, robust black sedan. People in cutting edge fashion are milling around on the footpath, drinking sparkling wine. Inside, the studio is lit in blinding light, as if there’s some sort of fashion parade. Maybe an art show. The front of the building is often used as an exhibition space.
When Rose emerges from the flock of loitering scenesters, following the driver, I’m taken aback by how stunning she looks. Like a supermodel. Her hair flows, radiant and blonde, occasionally revealing the two dangling diamonds hanging from her earlobes. She’s wearing tasteful makeup and her eyelashes look exceptionally long. Her teeth are white, as always, and her lips are crimson, matching her equally red dress with its plunging V–shaped neckline. The driver opens the door for her and she slides into the backseat.
“Wow,” I say, as she sits down. “You look… you look, like, mind-blowing. You look scary hot. I’m seriously intimidated right now.”
Rose laughs, blushing. “Racquel’s assistant, Marley, looked after me. She was really nice.”
“I like her work. What’s all that in there?” I say, pointing through the window.
“Oh, there was a fashion parade in the front room. Now there’s a band playing. Someone called Gash?”
“Fruity,” I say.
“To the restaurant, Jack?” asks the driver, from beneath his flat, black hat.
“Indeed,” I say.
We are led to a table in a back area of the restaurant that is reserved for special patrons. Specifically, rich ones. The maître d’ practically asks to see your shares portfolio before you’re allowed to look at the menu. Luckily for me, I’m the biggest celebrity that’s ever stepped foot inside this establishment.
I like this place because it reminds me of some restaurants I used to go to on Earth. The colours are rich and deep. Dark red walls, dim candlelight, and furniture that’s heavy and the hue of mahogany. It feels almost medieval, which I sense is completely unintentional, as this planet’s dark-ages seem to have been very different to those on Earth. No stone castles, draw bridges and kings that beheaded all their wives. This planet instead had a cold, monotone sterility. Patches of violence here and there, but nothing as bloodthirsty as my home species. Cultural vibrancy and debauchery seem to be a current movement on this planet. A revolution that’s sweeping the globe. Perhaps the devil is among us.
We’re seated and I order us a bottle from the wine menu. I look at Rose, whose eyes are scanning the room. She tucks some of her long blonde hair behind her left ear. Without looking, I know that diners in the restaurant are looking at us. Rose catches me smiling at her and she smiles back.
“People are looking at us,” says Rose, quietly.
“Maybe they’re just admiring you,” I reply.
She raises her thin eyebrows. “Is this you being charming?”
“I’m doing my best,” I say. “There’s people watching, so I can’t afford to get slapped.”
The waiter brings our wine, filling our glasses and leaving the rest in an ice bucket that sits on a tripod next to our table.
“I should slap you,” says Rose.
“Why?” I ask.
“For just taking off on your tour and not going to the police about what happened.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well, everything seemed to work itself out.”
“The girls came back, but we both know that there was something else going on,” says Rose in a low voice, despite the fact that no one can hear us above the cacophony of chatter and chinking. “They were going to kidnap me…”
“They didn’t kidnap anyone,” I smile. “It’s unusual to kidnap a relatively large number of young women and then release them all again. None of them claimed to have been kidnapped or harmed in any way.”
Rose is not impressed by my seemingly nonchalant attitude toward the situation. She deserves to be angry. I’m sure she’d go to the police herself if she didn’t care about me. But if I don’t want to risk blowing my cover, I need to bide my time and hope that everyone forgets about this bizarre situation.
I can admit to myself that there was a nefarious force at work. This group of people was painting me as a religious figure. That means they have questionable intentions. But the
smiling faces of the reappeared girls are compelling. I have too much to lose by drawing any more attention to this conspiracy. Besides, I doubt many of this planet’s inhabitants are capable of anything truly heinous. Heaven harbours a race of saints compared to what I’m accustomed to. It was probably all just a foolish game. Some hardcore fans whose admiration has transformed into something more powerful and binding, yet ultimately unthreatening.
“What if girls start disappearing again?” asks Rose.
“I don’t know,” I reply.
“You should have told the police everything.”
“I agree.”
“Aren’t you angry that they were manipulating your fame to trick innocent people?”
I take a sip of my wine. “The thing is,” I say, “when you become famous, especially as famous as me, you realise that you’re not really in control. Gears are always in motion and they’re out of sight. I’m just a name and I will always be someone’s justification for doing something. I’m a flesh and blood person but my name and my brand… they become something that a thousand people have more control of than me.”
“I’m afraid,” says Rose. “Did that occur to you? It would be nice if you thought about someone other than yourself.”
“Afraid of what?” I ask.
“Afraid that those people are going to contact me again. Afraid of being dragged into a white van by masked men.”
“Oh,” I say.
“I can’t walk home from work when the suns have set. I’m looking over my shoulder whenever I’m alone. I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m even afraid to check my mail in case there’s a letter from them.”
My stomach tightens with guilt. “I’m sorry,” I say. “That should have occurred to me. I should have realised you’d be anxious.”
“You can shift the blame as much as you like and try to suggest that you’re not in control. But you could be in a lot more control than you are at the moment.”
“That’s fair,” I say.
“I’d like it if you looked into what happened,” says Rose. “I would like some peace of mind.”
I take a long gulp of my wine. “Alright,” I say.
“Alright?” asks Rose.
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