Phoenyx: Flesh & Fire

by Morgana Blackrose

  Josh started up with a tinkling run on the piano with what I recognized to be Life is a Cabaret, but in a melancholy minor key. Trixie raised her face back to the audience with a silver sheen in her eye and looked very alone, very distant, and very, very sad.

  Then she opened her mouth, and the most raw, moving, near-whisper of a voice joined in with those famous words which suddenly seemed so poignant. I think Josh was playing in free time because he went meandering and experimenting all over the keys while Trixie alternately trilled and sighed, punctuating her lines with ad lib scat that was pure Sinatra, pure theatre, and pure Kitty Klub, echoing and celebrating the spirit of that old place even into its final hours.

  I don’t think there was a dry eye anywhere in the house by the time she reached the end of the first verse.

  Then Mel entered, chased by a brash red spotlight, and the rest of the band kicked in to the more familiar upbeat rhythm. Mel took over the boisterous second section, and then the pair of them united for a beautiful finale, Trixie’s huskier tones counterpointing Mel’s mezzo. I’d never heard Mel sing so hard, so beautifully, so passionately – so professionally. As if she’d been saving up everything for this one last night. What the hell could she have been if she’d stepped away from the Klub and gotten into music seriously? The woman had power, range, and near-perfect pitch which had never been appreciated in her made-up parody numbers in the past. Sure, she had a raw natural ability – that was always clear. But this was almost Broadway. I could barely draw a breath through her whole performance for fear of missing some wonderful, subtle nuance of phrasing or technique. When she hit the final note, she held it – and held it – without a single waver or tremble. The guys in the band kept glancing at her, looking for the cue to wrap up, but it looked as though it just wasn’t coming. Mel was having too much fun showing us just what an awe-inspiring pair of lungs she had, as that single syllable dominated the entire hall, like a victory cry, an orgasm and the climax to a religious service, all combined.

  And when she at last ripped the last remnants of the note out of her throat and flung the mike aside to a waiting stage-hand, the entire place was on its feet. Even Trixie was looking stunned, and I didn’t hesitate to join the others, waiting in the wings, in a furious wave of applause.

  “Unbelievable,” Gloria said.

  “Holy fucking wow,” Olivia gasped in my ear. “That just smoked Ute Lemper.”

  Svetlana just nodded, her lips parted in wordless astonishment. Coming from her, that was serious praise indeed. And I kept on clapping until my hands hurt.

  Trixie stepped back and allowed Mel to take her spot, for the final time, as our Mistress of Ceremonies.

  “Thank you, thank you all. I’m here all night. And hereafter, available for parties, weddings, and bar mitzvahs. Ladies, gentlemen, perverts, stowaways and honored visitors. As much as it pains me to say these words to you for what I know will be the last time, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many faces here, and for such a worthy cause. For those of you who were lucky enough to have seen, and remember, Petra, we’re honored that you saw fit to show your appreciation for her. She was one of us. She was a Kit, dedicated to fun. To pleasure. To getting all of you hot and hard and wet and horny throughout her short but unforgettable career. Well, she remains as you see her…” she indicated the photos around the walls; “…frozen in time, as we knew her, forever young and vital. It’s for the rest of us now to get older, fatter, uglier and saggier, problems and fears which fate has spared her, and inflicted upon all of us instead.” That got some hearty laughs. “Which is why we’re saying ‘farewell’ to you all tonight, and getting naked for the last time – ‘cos we don’t want to be putting any of you fine folks off your champagne in years to come. And now for the best news you’re gonna hear all night – I’ll now shut up, and join my girlfriends here in an exhibition of naked female flesh unparalleled in the anal – sorry, annals of exhibitionism. But just before I do, I want to introduce you all to a bunch of guys who have contributed so much to our little evenings of intimacy here. So step forward, Mr. Odo Kahn, a sweet and lovely man who’s been our musical arranger here for three decades. We thought he had stayed with us so long because he loved the ambience and the subversive culture here at the Klub. Turns out, in the end, that he’s really just into butts and boobs.” Odo stepped out of the shadow with a beaming grin on his face, and bowed to the audience.

  “No, seriously - this man turned down a personal invitation from Barenboim to remain here with us and help me sound good, and create the live, real soundtracks to everything we did for you.” Odo went a bit red in response to Mel’s lavish praise, but he lapped up the appreciation nonetheless.

  Then she went on to introduce the band – Chuck, Rudey, Mack, Josh and all the others. Finally, they all got their moment in the spotlight, and the applause they deserved.

  As they went back to their positions, Mel returned her mike to its stand and stepped back, arms outstretched, beckoning on the rest of us. And so it was time for the Kits to make their entrance; Gloria, Olivia on one side, Svetlana and I on the other, Mel and Trixie in the middle.

  “I’m going to miss this,” I heard the Russian mutter behind me. “So much.”

  “I’m sure you could make a great career as a dominatrix,” I said.

  “I already do, dear. But it just isn’t the same, one on one. It’s the public arena that does it for me.”

  “I can understand that,” I said, only to have my words swept away by the torrent of cheers as we arrived.

  And so it started: the last great Kitty Klub striptease.

  It was nearly an hour of meticulously-choreographed sleaze and seduction. Three weeks it took us all to work out those moves, routines and sequences, ensuring that everyone got a fair shot and nobody got upstaged, with Trixie’s unannounced return hastily worked in as a mirrored version of Mel’s routine.

  As the band slithered into their last crashing, blaring finale, we ended our group set by throwing our pants into the audience. I’ve never seen so much underwear go airborne in my life before. We all lined up, stark naked, arms around each other as we soaked up the applause that one final time. I prayed that it would never end, for that moment to linger in eternity, infinitely repeating, the climactic apex of everything I had ever wanted to be; my whole life held in a frozen snapshot of time. So, I never made it in movies, or as a singer, or a leather-clad Suzi Quatro biker babe, and I didn’t end up marrying a racing driver. But I lived a dream and even managed to get my mother’s approval, which was in itself a fantasy made flesh.

  The sweat and the tears and the emotion dripped off us, mingling in the crucible of hot flesh, the raw earthy soup which bound us all together and made us all Kits to the very end – those of us still standing, those absent friends, and those who fell tragically by the wayside.

  I had no idea how long we stood there, waving and smiling until our arms and faces hurt, a line of animated nudes, glowing with pride and relief as we saw and heard the proof that we were still loved, wanted, and appreciated. The house lights remained on us, covering us with the colors of peaches and cream while the old boards creaked and groaned beneath our feet and the perspiration sparkled over us like a million sequins.

  Beside me, Svetlana unlaced her trademark pigtails and shook out a shimmering curtain of hair down her back, swirls of flax tumbling around her like an aura of gold. Her ribcage swelled and broadened, pushing her pneumatic bust up to the height of my chin, and her head tilted to face the lights above. It was the first time I’d ever seen her with her hair down, and it softened, even blurred, her usually sharp features; her diamond-shaped face no longer so rough-cut. I had never seen her so relaxed, so warm, so feminine, a stark contrast to the hard-edged musculature which carved deep, dark outlines across her torso, thighs, and shoulders.

  Then I felt something grab my hair at the back of my neck, and my cheek was right there in her face.

  Her bursts of shallow breath warmed my lips,
tingling and dancing across my nerve-endings. This, I thought, was where she got her revenge on me, forcing me into public submission, humiliation, whatever. But the grip relaxed and I felt fingers crawling over my skin and onto my shoulder as she pulled me tight.

  “This is the greatest and best moment of my life,” she hissed. “Nothing will ever feel better than this. The juice is running down my leg.”

  “Yes,” I mumbled in reply, humoring her.

  “Kiss me,” she snarled, and I did, for I had no choice. Her lips grabbed mine and sucked, drawing me tighter to her, plunging her tongue past mine and into my tonsils. I almost gagged. I could taste the salt of her tears, but blended with something else: the familiar but unique flavor of sexual discharge, Svetlana’s own, licked from a finger or a slippery hand, deliciously savoring herself in full public view.

  I felt it rise inside me, the hot, volcanic rush from the pit of my crotch. I squirmed against her, that unyielding slab of female flesh, and as her fingers stroked me between the shoulder blades, my body screamed and I surrendered completely. I would have done anything for her, submitted to any demand, for I was completely owned by Mistress Svetlana in that moment. The rest of the world no longer existed, much like the afternoon in WOW with Olivia when my whole universe was a small, rose-scented changing room. Now all I knew was the body of the molten Ice-Queen, writhing against mine, her nipples rubbing hard and ticklish against my cheek, making me wish she would carry me off upstairs, throw me across the bed and lay total waste to me like a Siberian tigress with its prey.

  Her fist drew my head aside, pulling me off her by the hair. She looked down at me, and she smiled – it was a smile not unlike Honey’s – and I smiled back. Her tongue slithered across her lips and her narrow eyes squinted further, denying me that final look into her soul. She was a true bitch, to the very end.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and released me, my purpose served.

  Somewhat stunned, and shaking off a dizzying head rush, I stepped back and tried to return my attention to reality. I blinked, twice, cleared my vision.

  And at the front of the audience, I saw him. Clapping and whistling his appreciation, although I couldn’t believe my eyes. Not as shocking as the sight of my mother after the Wall came down, but still a jarring kick to my senses which knocked me out of my little daze.

  It was Johnny, looking not a day older than when I last saw him in Tokyo. Still with his spiky hair, his headband, but dressed in a loose unstructured suit rather than his usual sleeveless tee shirt and jeans.

  “Johnny!” I screamed, and leapt off the stage, forgetting that I was wearing heels. I skidded, flipped and landed flat on my ass on the floor, which provoked laughter, cheering and gasps in equal measure. Thankfully I hadn’t managed to do anything inconvenient like break an ankle, with only my pride (and my backside) hurting as I sat there, sitting with my legs wide open and my hair flopped over my face, smirking like an idiot as he hurried towards me.

  “Nice move,” he said, crouching down and offering me his hand.

  “Yeah, well – you were supposed to catch me in your arms, dammit,” I shot back as I wriggled to my feet. “Mind if I slip into something a little less comfortable?”

  “I don’t know, I’m enjoying this outfit immensely,” he said, running his eyes all over me. “It suits you. You should wear it more often.”

  “Back in a minute,” I said, and tweaked his cheek as I dashed past him to the backstage area.

  “Hey, Phoenyx,” I heard Melissa call after me as I went, “Who’s the cute li’l Asian fellow?”

  “Just someone I met in Tokyo,” I answered. “Well, someone very special, actually. He’s the guy who gave me my tattoo. Guess you could call him an old flame, eh.”

  Mel didn’t get my joke, but it was a tiny one, almost microscopic, so I forgave her. “Oh, wow.” She caught me up and followed me into the dressing area. “D’you think if I asked him...?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “you’d have to ask him. I’m not psychic. Besides, I thought you hated needles?”

  “Hm. Well, perhaps sometimes our fears are only obstacles that we need to conquer in order to prove ourselves, and become stronger. Is it really clever to go through your whole life scared?” She stood behind me and studied Johnny’s ink work as I tugged a brush through my hair in the mirror. I stopped my attack on the hairballs as I considered her philosophy for a moment. “It still blows me away, that,” she sighed. “How it seems to shimmer in the light – almost like real flames crawling up your back.”

  “Yeah, well he did tell me the ink was magical,” I laughed. “The little joker.”

  “Maybe he was right,” Mel said.

  I turned around to ask her what she meant by that, but she had already departed.

  I had always hated it when people said things that made me think they knew more than they ought to.

  “So how are you?” Johnny asked me as I sat with him afterwards at the bar, having changed into my black satin evening dress and tidied myself up a little.

  “Just as you see,” I said. “Older, a bit wiser. Otherwise, much the same.”

  “Older? No, I don’t see that. Still terrifyingly gorgeous. I assume you’re with someone else these days.”

  “No,” I said, “I’m not. I’ve had encounters, of course. Nothing lasting. Now here I am, hurtling headlong towards forty, with my job gone, my home going, and wondering where the hell I’m supposed to go from here.” I looked up at the mock-classical statues and the thick velvet drapes behind us. “I loved this place,” I sobbed, feeling my face crumple as the tears broke. “And Johnny, I’m so glad to see you. You’ve no idea how much this means.” I reached out and grabbed his hand in mine, a little desperate gesture which nonetheless was meaningful. I had let so much slip through my hands in the past; I had to have something to hang onto now. Even if only for one night, or as long as Johnny was staying in Berlin.

  I was throwing out my anchor, hoping it would hold firm.

  “I knew that you were special when I first saw you.”

  I sniffed, and smiled. “Thanks.”

  “And I knew you were worth travelling to the other side of the world to see again. I’m sorry it took me so long. I had so much work in Tokyo, so many customers.” He shrugged with that cheeky grin of his. “I got really good, you see. So busy all the time.”

  “You were always really good, Johnny. In so many ways.”

  “Yeah, but then I realized that I wanted other things out of life as well. Not just drawing skulls and wolves and dragons on bikers and hip kids all my days. And then, I remembered about this very sexy woman I inked a beautiful firebird on once. I made it my mission to track her down, like a ninja.” He sniggered, showing those delightful little dimples in his cheeks which had always made me smile, and I felt my tears dispersing. Maybe, just maybe... But no, I couldn’t bring myself to hope too much, not yet. Go with the flow, I told myself. And savor every moment while you do so.

  “And did you find her?” I asked.

  “Well, she was flat out on her bare ass and I guess I took pity on her,” he said into his wine. “And it did prove one thing: she really was worth it.”

  “How the hell did you manage it?” I asked, “Turning up on tonight of all nights? How did you know?”

  “I didn’t. It just felt right. Maybe it’s the magic, eh.” He scanned the sea of faces in the bar. “Why are you closing? Looks like a packed house to me.”

  “Our days are numbered,” I sighed. “I’m thirty-seven now, Johnny. I know that’s not such a big deal. Toni Basil was older than me when she made the video for Hey Mickey. But some of our other ladies are forty plus. And we can’t hold on to any of the younger ones who sign up. They come and go so quick, we don’t even get to learn their names sometimes.”

  “That’s okay. I always loved the ‘yummy mommy’ look.”

  “Thanks, Johnny,” I sighed.

  “No, I didn’t mean it that way—”

  �
��I know you didn’t. Just fooling. But really, we all decided it would be best to go out on a high note. And tonight’s also in celebration of one of our past girls who’s no longer with us.”

  “I’m very sorry. That’ll be her picture that’s all around then? She looked lovely.”

  I pulled myself closer to him. “So how long are you in Berlin for?”

  “How long’s a bit of rope? I come and go as I please. I sold the shop back in Tokyo, made enough to retire for a few years. Currently roaming the world as a kind of half-assed, dicking-around playboy, until I run out of funds, or ideas.”

  “And then what?” I asked.

  “Then, I go back to drawing skulls and wolves and dragons on bikers and hip kids. There’s an old Chinese proverb: ‘He who can hold a pen, need never beg’. I say, there’s also a good Japanese proverb: ‘He who can hold a tattoo gun, can always afford a Subaru’.”

  “Johnny, you crack me up,” I laughed from behind my hands. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “I was hoping you might tell me. I’m open to suggestion.”

  I leant closer and twirled a stray strand of hair between my fingers. “Well, this is actually my home – until the sad day comes soon when I have to sell up and go. I’ve lived in the rooms above us for nearly fifteen years. You can see why I’m kind of emotional about it all.”

  “Yes, of course. Maybe we should move on somewhere else a little quieter for the rest of the evening?”

  “I’ll leave the destination to you. Let me run around and do the farewell tour first – I’ll even introduce you to my yummy mommy friends.”

  “Good, yes. Gives me a chance to relieve myself.”

  As he headed off to the door marked Gentlemen I stood up and moved towards the stage. I hadn’t gone two paces when I walked slap-bang into an unyielding body, as though it had deliberately planted itself there just to get in my way.

  I held back on mouthing off any unkind objections in recognition of the occasion. But even if I’d started, I would have been very quickly invited to shut up.