“He has, however”, Simon continues, leaning forward earnestly, “literally just come out of hospital after two weeks recovering from quite a serious car crash.” (Have I?) “Please don’t be alarmed though,” he adds quickly, “he is absolutely fine and completely recovered, no major harm done, it’s just he’s a little tired and asked me to do most of the talking”.
“Now, as you say, this will change everything.” He’s speaking slowly and quietly now, building up the expectation. “This is a true moment, a rare moment, that we must take the time to recognise and celebrate. In years to come people will talk of this moment. And I, Simon Hart, am so happy, so... proud, to be able to share it with you, and with my colleagues, Miss Jenny Pierce and,” and he stands up, resting his hands on my shoulders, “the man who made it all happen, Mr John Paris”. I notice him discreetly pressing a button under the table, there’s a noise behind us; a nervous looking waiter shuffles in and places champagne glasses in front of all of us. It takes him hours to get to the other end of the table. He pauses by Simon and hands him a very old, very dusty bottle.
Simon clears his throat. “But first, before we celebrate, we must demonstrate. John,” he says, turning to me, “would you please stand up.” (I do). He motions at Jenny, who stands too, and steps towards me, close, so that I can feel her dark, sensuous breath on my face as she looks at me with those strange impenetrable eyes. At the same time her hands are reaching down and unbuttoning my black silk shirt, and I am wondering what’s happening here. She gently lifts my shirt off my shoulders, folds it neatly and places it on the table, leaving me bare chested. I shiver involuntarily.
“Now”, says Simon, “would you like to inspect?”
The three men all get up and come towards me, standing there, half naked; one of them, I notice, is holding a black wooden box, which he puts down close to me on the table. To add, I guess, to the sense of occasion, I feel myself drenched in light from a spot lamp, I’m guessing, from high above.
Then they all start running their hands around my body, my chest and my back, ruffling my greying chest hair (I must get it dyed, I note) and caressing my body. I feel like some gay porn icon as they rub their hands up and down, approvingly, and then step back.
The second Chinese man puts his hand on the box as Simon lifts the bottle, dusts it down and opens it with a flourish. “This champagne is sixty eight years old. A true vintage.” He pours just one glass and hands it to me. “I think we should allow John the honour first”. Gratefully I sip the drink as I watch the man quietly open the box and bring out what looks like a silver hand gun. A W-68, I think, approvingly, very rare, very powerful. As he caresses it in his hands, he looks questioningly at Simon, who nods ever so slightly.
The man then raises the gun, aims it at my chest, and fires.
Chapter 11
[Look at him now. He stands on the cliff top and all he can see is light. His naked body glistens in the morning sun; he reaches out and steps into it, forsaking anything else. The darkness is all behind him. He exists there too, standing drunk, pathetic, bleeding, holding a microphone on a stage in a dive bar, reading out the emotional excesses of his destroyed mind to an audience that is too stoned to care.]
Chapter 12
I can feel the sweat trickle down my forehead as I enter the bathroom, the heat is intense as I watch her, kneeling by the ivory bathtub, her fingers loosely held in the running water as she watches me, smiling slightly. As I take a sip of my gin and tonic, I notice that she’s stripped down to her bra and panties, the steam surrounding her in a mist, making her skin almost glow as she holds out her hand and guides me towards her, into her arms, into the bath, allowing the pain in my body to recede as she joins me
“Elena”, I whisper but she covers my mouth with hers and I don’t wonder where she’s come from, only where she will take me now
Chapter 13
The water’s cold and Elena’s gone. I’m trying to work out why I’m still there when the doorbell rings (again?). I heave myself out of the bath, ignoring the pains in my neck and chest, throw a silk bathrobe on and stumble towards the door, pausing to pick up the martini that seems to have been left there for me. I take a sip, then slide the door open. A hand claps around my neck and another on my shoulder as Simon pushes himself in, his wavy hair brushing against my face. “Come on my man,” he half shouts, “time to go out and celebrate. Get your gladrags on!”, pulling at my robe, which I have to rescue quickly.
I rush to my room, slamming the door behind me and then I realise where Elena is, lying naked, provocative on my bed, a cigarette between her lips, she sighs seductively when I enter. Just a couple of minutes, and then I’m ready, throwing my clothes on and out the door to where Simon is finishing my drink. We head out into the night.
The darkness of the bar dazzles me, in our booth, Simon’s leaning forward conspiratorially though I’m distracted by the girl next to him, who seems to be swaying. I can’t quite remember who she is or how long she’s been with us. He chinks his glass with mine and we both throw back our drinks, I have no idea what’s in there but it feels good, mixed with the cocaine.
“Well congratulations my friend” and he can’t help himself as he breaks out into a huge grin. He has a really lovely smile. “We are so fucking rich. You are talking” and he grabs my head, pulls me close so our foreheads touch and our hair interlocks, “to the first trillionaire on this planet. And you... well, you. How’s your chest, by the way?” but he doesn’t bother waiting for an answer. “I loved it, that was so dramatic. Didn’t you love their faces? They were so excited. I bet you know they can’t stop talking about it, they’re probably putting their plans into action right now. It’ll be quick, I bet, you look at the television, we’ll see it, in days, I bet, just days. What do you think, you agree, right, just days. God, I’m so powerful.”
“You and I” he throws his hands out suddenly, his left hand clipping the girl, hard; she falls suddenly, her head lolling on the table. For a split second I stare at her dull eyes; she doesn’t move.
“You and I” Simon repeats, “are everything, and we can do anything.” My drink tastes really good. “Amazing, isn’t it. But what I want to know” he whispers, “is whether we’ll carry on. Will you carry on, John, with the new project?”
“Is there any point?” I ask, my voice dry and husky, though I’m not quite sure what he means. He looks at me for the longest time, his eyes shining. “No, I guess not, there’s no point now is there”
“On the other hand” he says quietly, “why not? Not for the money, not anymore, but just... to see what would happen.” He grips my hands in his. “Can you not see what we are? We are the givers, the creators, we make the rules now. You make it possible, John, and I make the rules. Think what we could achieve. Think how much we could change.”
We stay like that for at least an hour, staring at each other, contemplating his words, seeing the light. I don’t quite remember how I get home, but I do remember getting into bed so so tired, my head spinning, my hand caressing Elena’s thigh but it leads to nothing.
Chapter 14
She looks really resplendent. For a washed up druggie pro, you would never guess. Her eyes really scatter the light and there’s a momentary hush as she enters the room, on my arm. I struggle to walk on these damn shoes, I need to look the part as we make our way towards our table, the crowds parting. I grab a swift glass of champagne, and remember to take one for her, she holds it delicately between those nimble fingers and stunning nails, the pentagram still evident if slightly blurred now. I can see someone, Jenny I think, she waves us over and I take my place next to her with Elena on my left. I scan the canapés, they look very inviting but not quite as much as the full bottle of Jack’s, I pour myself a generous measure and use it as a chaser. Now we can start.
There’s a cough to my left, it breaks my reverie, I notice a woman, no, a lady, in fact, trying to catch my attention, she must be over fifty years old judging by her
grey hair and wrinkles; perhaps two hundred. But she’s wearing a pretty dress. I smile at her, and reach out my hand to cover Elena’s, then I realise Elena’s gone.
“Good evening, my name is Sarah. Sarah Jacob.”
Shit. I will have to make conversation now. “John” I mutter
“Nice to meet you, John. And what do you do?”
I am completely and utterly speechless, and start pouring myself another Jack’s just to make up time, when someone starts speaking. I look round – Jenny; thank God.
She starts with a soft purr. “I’m so sorry, John isn’t allowed to say anything about what he does. Top secret, you know” and she winks at me. Great. What a line.
“How disappointing, but how exciting”, the lady’s leaning forward, I can hardly believe it, she looks excited.
“Yes, isn’t it” Jenny purrs. “But don’t worry, he’s making the keynote speech in about half an hour and he’ll certainly give you some clues then.”
What?
“Oh my goodness, me. You do look worried” and she actually puts her old, wrinkled hand over mine and gives it a squeeze. Unbelievable, I try to pull my hand back, afraid I'll catch something, but her grip is surprisingly powerful.
“I design dresses” begins Sarah. “Lovely floral patterns, roses are my favourite, or maybe, no, daffodils. Mixed with beautiful colours and swirls, sometimes I add the faintest touch of a maiden, lying in the grass with that faint glow of fulfilled love on her lips”.
Why am I here?
“I also fit them, make to measure, they can be really wonderful. I get so close to the girls, one really needs to feel them, all their curves and contours, to understand exactly what suits them best, how the dress will fit perfectly on them, just like, well just like a second skin. That’s what they are, really.” She pauses and takes a delicate sip of her champagne. “ I could make you one if you like” I look up, and yes she is looking at me. I take a huge slug of my whisky, Jenny grabs my arm and lifts me.
“Lovely to meet you, Sarah, but I have to get John here ready for proceedings” and she drags me away, fortunately I just manage to get hold of the rest of the bottle before we go. I catch a glimpse of Sarah Jacob, and I am sure she is mouthing “call me” to me, as we disappear behind a curtain.
“Now, “ starts Jenny, serious and business like, “now you’re on in 5 minutes, so let’s assume you’re ready. You know what you’re going to say, I take it?”; she asks me this without glancing up, as she tidies my shirt and jacket. Before I can say anything, she hands me a slip of paper, “well just in case, here’s a backup speech that we used last year” and with that she’s gone. I sit, perched on a broken chair hidden behind a curtain, and manage to get through a fair bit more of the bottle, at least, before unseen hands grab me and pull me towards the stage. I see a woman standing in the centre of the stage, wearing a lovely floral dress, just starting to talk...
“And it gives me great pleasure to introduce our guest speaker for tonight. He is one part of Hart Industries, our co-sponsors for this wonderful evening. Most of you will know Hart, a small but highly influential organisation, who drive our most advanced scientific thinking and policy. Notwithstanding their extremely busy schedule, the leaders of Hart have made time to support the planning of tonight’s event, just showing how important it has become in the annual cycle. I am also so pleased to be able to say that our speaker has again made time not only to be here, but to speak here again. I know him well, I have heard him speak many times, and I can confidently say that we are in for something that will be thought provoking and far sighted. And now, can I please hear your appreciation for Mr John Paris!”
There is a reasonable amount of applause as the woman comes towards me, grabs my hand and pulls me on stage, she gives me a huge hug and a kiss and then I’m there, on my own, in front of some intense lights and a lot of people. Maybe this will be difficult, perhaps I shouldn’t have screwed up Jenny’s speech earlier. It’s when I am scanning the podium, desperate for a drink, that I see it, a little note saying good luck, and joy of joys, a yellow happy pill! Straight down with water (that’s all that’s here) and magically I feel the fog of the last days (weeks? months?) lift and I can see clearly, at least for now. And this is what I see
“God” I say “is at the centre of everything.”
Silence
“Man” I continue “has achieved so much through destruction” OK, I’m dealing with this
“We are coming towards the end of a cycle. The paradigm needs to change”
“But who will do it – us... or God?”
“Will we allow ourselves to be the victims of history and the future, or will we take control?”
“We have the skill, we have the knowledge, we have the power, to do that,” I say resolutely, gripping the podium and leaning forward, “and we have given ourselves the power to change. We can end the cycle of uncontrolled annihilation”
“Death...can be controlled. The power of the gun, the power of the sword can be taken away as well as given, as I will show you. Someone, please, come up here with a gun.”
Nothing happens. “Come on”, louder, “that’s what you’re here for, after all, ”someone pick up one of those brand new shiny handguns from the stands, load it with bullets and join me on stage” there are flutters of uncertainty going around the crowd but eventually someone stands, a big man, muscle bursting out of his dinner jacket, he doesn’t have any curves, his head is almost a cube, but he has a vicious grin and slicked back black hair. People get out of his way as he walks straight up on stage, next to me, close enough so I can feel the warmth of his breath, the sting of his eyes, but hey I’m on happy land, so it’s easy to stand my ground as I ask “don’t you need a gun?”
The grin comes back as he reaches into his jacket and withdraws a mean looking piece, it’s a Weber 4, probably the most powerful handgun in existence, gold plated, plutonium barrel, designed to cause maximum destruction (and also rumoured to be able to kill vampires without the use of silver bullets, though I’ve never seen this). He holds it easily in his hand as I carefully remove my jacket, and fold it on the stand. I then slowly unbutton my shirt, remove it and fold it with great care, putting it on the jacket.
“Give it your best shot” I say, indicating my muscled stomach. The man stares at me. “Shoot me”, I whisper and yet still he does nothing, a flicker of nervousness in his eyes.
“Go on”. Unsteadily he lifts his piece and points it at me, his hand is shaking now and I can tell he doesn’t have the guts. We wait there, for what seems like a hour. Sweat is trickling down his forehead and he still hasn’t moved. I start to tell him to sit down. Suddenly there’s an explosion, behind me and I feel a huge force hurl me forward, into the man who throws his arms out to catch me, stop me but I knock him down, off the stage. On my knees, I haul myself up and turn round. Ms Sarah Jacob is standing there, in her floral dress, a huge grin on her face and a smoking gun in her hand and she says, “oh my, Mr Paris, you’re immune to bullets.” She comes up to me, plants a huge kiss on my lips and leaves.
I'm kneeling on stage, getting my breath back, a couple of people from the audience have started to rise, to help me, but I raise my hand. My voice is a whisper.
"This is just the next step. It hasn't ended."
What did I mean by that?
I turn and leave to absolute silence, rather than the rapturous applause I was expecting, but maybe, probably they are too stunned to react.
The men’s toilets here are huge, so large in fact that you can hardly see the urinals from the door. They actually have travelators, built into the marble floor, that discreetly bring you towards them in case you’re not able to manage yourself. Of course, I am. I’ve put my shirt back on but haven’t managed to do it properly, it gives me quite a handsome, rugged appearance. I finally arrive and am about to start relieving myself when there’s a clap on my left shoulder, and I turn to see Simon; I give him a big grin, pull him towards me in
a hug but he pushes me away, and steps back. He’s looking dishevelled, very unlike him, tie half done, a stain on his million dollar shirt. But he’s holding two glasses brimming with whisky and gratefully I accept one.
“What the fuck do you think you were doing?” he’s slurring his words as he shouts them.
“What?”
“What... the fuck... do you think... you were doing?” Now I get it.
“Erm?"
“What on earth possessed you, John” and he grabs my neck, pulls me close to him, “to start talking, no, not just talking, to actually – fucking – demonstrate – the most, the secretest... secret, I mean that secret was so secret that even the secret fucking squirrels didn’t know about it, I mean do you know how much security we put on to get that to our Chinese colleagues without anyone knowing anything about it? I mean, do you really?”
He throws back all of his drink in one gulp, and, in a gesture of solidarity I feel I must do the same
“And then, you, in front of this enormous crowd, decide that you will just, what, tell the fucking world? I mean, John, what the hell possessed you?”
He has his arm round me now, “I know, listen mate, I know you’ve been having a bit of a rough time recently, but do you know how much trouble we are in now? I mean, really, do you know how much your life is worth?” he’s shaking his head, pulling his hair out, I think he may actually be sobbing
“You know they’ll know, don’t you? You know how much we promised them that this was theirs, this was exclusive, this was top top top top, I mean top fucking top, secret? You know what they’ll do to you, don’t you? You’ve seen the films, right, I mean we’ve all watched the films, we watched them together didn’t we? I mean, look mate, I will do what I can to protect you but it is going to be tough. Fuck fuck fuck. Listen, Shaun will call you in the morning, OK, yeah, he’ll sort what he can, but fuck, I need a drink, I’ll drink to your life”
And with that, he’s gone.
I really don’t know what to make of this, but luckily they’ve put a bar in the toilets, so I go over and help myself to another bottle. As I pour myself a large measure, there’s a noise behind me, a slight cough. Simon? No, not the right sound
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