by AnonYMous
I didn’t care that the double equated to an eight—I was trying to dislodge his competitiveness so I could win the game.
As the afternoon burned slowly into dusk we both got up, leaving the game so we could turn on the lamps and light the candles. Ben changed the music to an upbeat Black Eyed Peas track, and said he would duck down to the wet markets and pick up some fish and lemons.
I closed the front door behind him and walked over to the bookshelf where some of the origami figures were placed. The butterfly he had designed with me in mind was perched on the top shelf. I slid my hand behind it and picked up Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. I began to read the words I knew so well—‘Who is John Galt?’ Now, almost twenty-five years since I first read this book, I felt the weight of my own world on my shoulders. Could I just shrug and see what would happen?
I suddenly remembered the 6 p.m. Skype link I had agreed to with Emma. Damn, I thought, when I realised my battery was completely flat and I had left the power plug for my laptop back at the house. I walked through into Ben’s office and moved the mouse next to his iMac to activate the screen. There was a curious website in front of me, but I dropped the window to a minimised state without investigating it further. As Skype was not yet common technology, Ben had not installed the application on his iMac. I downloaded the free application, signed in and initiated a video call to Emma.
‘What’s up, girlfriend?’ she asked. ‘Where are you? Is that Ben’s place? I can see some origami pieces behind you.’
‘Hey, Em. Yep, here at Ben’s. How’s your new cottage?’
She was cooking a late meal and had placed ‘me’ on the kitchen table, so I could see her in entirety as she moved around the island bench in her kitchen. Even in such a mundane setting, she looked as gorgeous as ever—statuesque (she’s 1.75 metres tall), with long natural blonde hair. A male friend of mine had once described her as being ‘God’s creation’ and I knew that view was shared by many.
Emma and I had met in our early twenties at the Australian Film, Television and Radio School in Sydney, where she was studying production while I was studying design. She and I had worked together on a number of television productions before she took some time off to have kids. Her humour made me laugh out loud and her own laughter was infectious. These days, when she spoke her accent was unique—a mixture of British, American and her native Australian, resulting from the time she spent in Europe and the States when she was still working as a television producer.
In reply to my question, Emma picked ‘me’ up and walked me through each room of her cottage. She opened the back door so I could see her garden, and the crashing sound of the waves of the ocean beyond reminded me how much I missed the beaches in Australia. Then ‘I’ was returned to the kitchen and we continued our conversation.
‘So what’s happening in your lust life?’ I asked, winking at her as I tried to keep my tone light.
Emma had been married for fifteen years to a man many years her senior, whom she loved a great deal. When he died he bequeathed a small fortune to her, a modest part of which she now spent on men who were at least fifteen years younger than she was.
Now she walked to the side of the island bench opposite me. Grabbing it with both hands, she slowly pushed her body backwards and down through her hips while she raised her left eyebrow and turned her head sideways at me. She whispered, ‘Let’s just say, men who are thirty-something have a certain energy, which is all I need.’
I laughed and it felt good. It was so typical of her—somehow we all adored Em for her questionable love life.
‘So tell me what’s happening in Chinatown. Any cuties I can visit when I come back to Shanghai and stay with you and Mr Boring?’
‘I’ve left him, Em, and I’ve moved in with Ben for a little while.’
‘What? When did this happen? Are you okay?’ The concern was in her voice, all over her face.
I tried to keep my face neutral when I replied. ‘Thursday, but it feels like a lifetime ago and, yes, I’m okay. Found out he’s been screwing Chrystal for at least two years, and god knows who else. I wouldn’t care so much if it was someone I didn’t know but . . .’
‘Unbelievable. Or actually, sorry to say, probably it is believable. He tried it on me soon after you got together. Prick!’
I sat there in shock. ‘You never told me that. What did he do?’
‘He had the audacity to drop in to my place when you were working on that series in Indonesia. He apparently wanted to show me some earrings he’d bought for your birthday, but his real intent was to ask me to spend the weekend on his boat before you got back. I told him to leave. He did, thank god!
‘Probably makes sense to you now, why I’ve always been so caustic towards him,’ she continued. ‘Sorry, Eve, but you were just starting out with him and I thought it might have just been a hiccup in his persona. I probably should have told you then or, better still, warned you.’
I didn’t have anything to say, so I didn’t. She came over to the screen and apologised again. ‘Sorry, Evie, I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
Looking her straight in the eyes, I smiled as reassuringly as I could. ‘Hey, Em, don’t worry. It’s doesn’t matter anymore. Why don’t we hook up again in a couple of days, when I’ve figured out my moves? Ben’s going to be home soon and I need to get dinner started.’
‘Okay,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘You are okay, aren’t you? Don’t want to chat further?’
Strangely, at that moment the connection dropped out and her moving picture disappeared from the screen. I didn’t want to reconnect just yet so I changed my status to ‘invisible’.
I scarcely heard Ben return an hour later. I was sitting on the couch, buried in the pages of Atlas Shrugged when he walked through the door. I smiled at his thoughtfulness as he handed me a bunch of my favourite flowers—yellow tulips—and kissed me on my forehead. I stood and walked with him to the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase.
‘Would you ever fall in love with a character like John Galt?’ I asked, holding up the book as reference.
‘Of course. Anyone who can force autocracy and corruption into surrender is my kind of guy, for sure. Why?’
‘I wish I could have been more like him in my thirteen years with Henry.’ My voice had become tiny. I started slicing the bottom of the stems off the tulips.
‘Well, Papi, Henry was your nightmare and you’ve just woken up. Now’s the time to be yourself again and not have the burden of a repressive relationship weighing on your shoulders.’
I touched his shoulder and said, ‘I guess.’
That repressive feeling was one I was becoming increasingly familiar with. When Henry and I first came to live in Shanghai, we were invited to a cocktail party hosted by the Australian Embassy. I was pleased I went because I met Josie, the Chinese wife of one of Henry’s colleagues. One day we were walking through a park on the outskirts of the city after visiting an art gallery, and our discussion changed swiftly into a soliloquy spoken by her. She was espousing Chairman Mao’s greatness and I was confused, as I had never heard her speak like this before. It wasn’t until we reached the other side of the park and were back on the footpath that she turned to me and said, ‘Sorry, Eve, there are lots of microphones in that park, and I wanted to throw off any suspicion that you might be corrupting me or, even worse, spying for your country.’
This constant feeling of repression was always with me in China, so I would regularly escape to Hong Kong. At the same time I would also be escaping from Henry’s own form of control—Hong Kong had always seemed to restore my sense of freedom.
After dinner Ben and I continued playing backgammon until very late, when we drifted into his living room to read. There, eventually feeling my eyelids droop, I stretched out on the sofa and fell asleep.
Tomas
You had travelled on tour for a long time and we had no contact in the four years after the last day of school. I always thought about you, especially towards the end of the
year, on Ezra’s birthday. When we had last seen each other, neither of us knew that we had created a life, our son. You didn’t know, and I wondered if there would ever be the right occasion to tell you.
It was by chance that we saw each other again on that Friday afternoon on a street in Rushcutters Bay, Sydney. I was walking home and you were walking on the other side of the avenue with some guy. Remember? We spotted each other immediately and came together in the middle of the road.
As the traffic sped by on either side, you tried to stop us even before we could start again. You told me you were engaged to someone in Queensland, but your face could not disguise your pain and your angled excuses made blunt punctures on my skin.
We knew we were still in love and, although our lives seemed separated by bordered waters, the bridge formed once again between us.
Later, while you were sleeping, I couldn’t hear you breathe, even though the contours of your body showed slight movement. The exertions of our lovemaking always stilled you like this, yet the tempest of emotions must have been a roar inside your head.
Because it was in mine.
I woke early, initially unsure of where I was, but faintly aware that I was safe in the darkness. The first thing I saw was the origami butterfly and then everything came flooding back.
Ben had placed under my head a pillow and over my body his favourite angora rug, which he had purchased in Nepal. I stretched my body, wiggled my toes and stretched my arms above my head before I sat up. It was strange being here, knowing that this would be my home for an indeterminate period.
I glanced at my phone and saw a text message from Lili, asking if I had received her email.
Down the hallway I peeked into Ben’s bedroom. Seeing his body motionless in a deep sleep, I closed his door softly and continued to the kitchen to get a drink of water. On my way back I stepped into his office, switched on the lamp and sat down at the iMac.
The curious looking website had been re-opened. I dismissed it, opened another tab and logged into gmail.
The first was an email from Henry. The subject read ‘Your things’. I nearly hit delete, but I knew I had to read it.
‘I have had your things packed up and put in the spare bedroom. Please remove the boxes and your artwork over the next 10 weeks while I’m in Europe. I have changed the locks so you will need to contact my secretary Maxie to get access.
‘Your behaviour at Face Bar was insulting and how dare you try to embarrass me in front of a work colleague. You didn’t succeed as per usual.
‘By the way, Chrystal wasn’t my only comfort although the sex was some of the best I’ve had. There have been many over the years because you could never give me what I wanted.
‘That’s it. I want no more communication with you. Neither does my family.
‘My lawyer will be in touch.’
I was surprised at the level of anger I felt as I printed the email. This last piece of cruelty was typical of the toxin Henry had contaminated our relationship with for years. Good riddance.
I scrolled down to find Lili’s email for light relief. I always looked forward to reading her words, with their crisp vitality and astounding wit. Except this email was serious. Lili had suspected Will’s infidelity for a long time, but she had just discovered his affair with a Russian girl whom she had nicknamed Slutski. My sister’s black humour always made me laugh. As I read about a scene at Heathrow Airport where she dressed in a hijab to spy on her husband, I gasped at the lengths she was prepared to go to.
‘Outstanding, darling,’ I replied, ‘but heartbreaking all the same.’
I felt the depth of grief in her words and made sure my own emotions were invisible in my reply, promising a longer email in the next few days.
I thought about Zara, Lili and me, and how much our worlds were intertwined. I always relied on their resilience when I was going through a dark time. Except right now I didn’t want to say a thing. Didn’t know what to say, actually; or, more accurately, I felt I had lost my voice.
Closing the email tab, I was back looking at the strange website Ben must have been reading when I was sleeping last night. It took a minute or two for me to understand what I was looking at. There was a male figure in leather gear holding a whip and standing in front of a chair. The photograph was angled to show part of another male body sitting on the chair with a chain wound around one ankle and attached to the leg of the table.
I glanced at the address line and saw a bunch of numbers and letters. I clicked the ‘back’ button a couple of times until the Home page displayed a masked woman holding a leash overhead, almost in a frozen pose. The words Dominatrix and Submissive flashed around the page, intermixed with black and white pictures of men and women in various poses of restraint. I had always been curious about this sexual world, and rather than repulse me I knew deep down that it was enticing to me. I zoomed the screen to enlarge the photos.
Ben touched my shoulder and I jumped, feeling as if I had intruded on his personal life.
‘Oops,’ he said. ‘Not quite the website you would normally be looking at, hey?’
I thought he sounded annoyed. I turned and spluttered that I had just emailed Lili, and had returned to this site as it was already open. I apologised.
Ben giggled. ‘This is probably not the way I would have wanted you to discover my other life, Papi. But, now that you have, this is my relationship with the BDSM world. You either dominate or be dominated. It’s a game, and a rather powerful one at that.’
He lifted the hard copy of the email off the laser printer. ‘What’s this?’
‘Read it,’ I said as I drew my knees up to my chest.
‘Jesus, he’s a jerk. Throw it away, Eve—you don’t need this kind of crap in your life. Why did you print it out?’
‘It’s called ammunition, Ben,’ I replied, but really I wanted to change the subject. ‘Anyway, tell me more about this other world of yours.’ I grinned. ‘I’m guessing you would want to be the one in control.’ I felt a slight increase in my pulse and shifted my body in the chair to get more comfortable.
‘You know me well,’ he said and laughed. ‘Yes, I am the Dominant. I get to choose what my submissive can and can’t do for me. In fact, I’ve discovered a whole universe of people right here and all over the world who play this game, and make it very much a part of their lives. Are you shocked? Come on, let me enlighten you.’
I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Did I want to be educated in this field? I felt uncomfortable thinking about Ben in this light. However, curiosity got the better of me and I followed him into his walk-in wardrobe. He opened a door at the end of the passageway and we entered a space of leather and chains.
Ben’s mobile rang. As he walked out, I heard him talking to Alice. I picked up a strange-looking chain with two small metal clamps on either end; wandering out with it, I sat on the sofa, waiting for him to end the phone call. My interest in this world, I began to realise, was becoming more attractive to me, in a sexual way.
‘Good news!’ he cried. ‘Alice hasn’t got anyone covering the art exhibition in Beijing and she’s keen for you to write a piece. It’s only a small job, but at least it’ll be your first for her magazine. I’ve invited her over for dinner tonight so you two can discuss what you need to do.’
Then he saw what I was holding. ‘Ah, I see you’ve found one of my toys.’
‘What is it?’ I asked as I stretched the chain to its full length.
‘They’re nipple clamps. I think you and I should pay a visit to one of the clubs off Huaihai Lu. You’ll get a better idea of how the whole thing works, if you want. It’s pretty full-on, but maybe you need to step out of your comfort zone and get something that Henry was never able to give you.’
All of a sudden my anxiety returned. It was something in Ben’s words.
‘Hey, Eve. You’ve gone white. Are you okay?’
‘Oh my god, I’ve just remembered something. Chrystal confided in me once that she had contracted
herpes when she was twenty. Fuck! And I bet they didn’t have safe sex.’
Caged in my own mental space, I stood up and started to pace. I felt like a wild cat waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey.
‘Jesus! Look, I’m sure you’ll be fine. It’s Monday tomorrow. We’ll go down to that clinic across the park from Xintiandi first thing in the morning.’
‘Do you know what? Damn her. I’m going to call her now and ask if they had unsafe sex. This is unforgiveable.’
It would be night-time in Australia and no doubt she would be putting her son to bed. I didn’t care anymore. It could have been two o’clock in the morning and I would still make her wake up—to herself.
I picked up the phone, found her number and punched ‘call’. Ben was watching me carefully. I hit ‘speaker’ so he could hear the conversation.
When she picked up, her voice was hesitant. ‘Eve, is that you?’ I knew instantly that Henry had updated her on our use-by date. I wanted to throw the phone across the room.
‘Not interested in having a conversation with you. I just need to know one thing and you’d better be honest, for once in your life. Did you practise safe sex with Henry or not?’
She started to try and apologise.
‘Stop it! Just say yes or no.’
‘No, but . . .’
I hung up, and Ben and I stared at each other. Hot tears were forming and I quickly blinked them out.
The trouble with the truth is, when it is laid out bare, it becomes impossible to lose sight of what lies beneath. And there were many lies.
‘When I think about it, his filthy escapades certainly didn’t foul my body before we arrived, because we had to take a medical test to get our visas validated. I was okay then, but that was two years ago.’
‘Shows how resistant you are, Papi. I think it’s improbable that you have herpes but you will need to get tested just in case. I have to get tested every year, regardless that I was virus-free seven years ago, when I arrived.’
Ben, dear sweet Ben. I had forgotten that he’d had to live with HIV every day of his life for the past three years. Feeling selfish, I walked over to him and put my arms around him. ‘I’m sorry, darling. It’s been all about me, and now we should stop about me. Because you are so energetic and healthy, I always forget that you have to live with this solicitude. You are okay, aren’t you?’