A Glittering Chaos

by de Nikolits, Lisa

  Gunther stands behind Melusine, his hands around her waist and he leans down and whispers in her ear. She runs her hand up behind his head and tilts her face back. She is smiling and her eyes are closed and she does not see Hans who is standing half a dozen steps away.

  10.

  HANS CANNOT BELIEVE what he is seeing. He stares at his wife, seeing her the way he left her the previous night; lying on her back, her legs still spread wide, her breasts flopping outwards and that big bushy cunt shouting all kinds of hatred at him, her eyes wide open in horror.

  He hates her pubic hair. He has asked her a thousand times to shave it, trim it, shape it but she will not, she refuses, most uncharacteristically for she usually acquiesces to his requests. He wants her pure and childlike, surely she can understand that?

  He knows his thoughts are crazy, he knows he should be thinking about Melusine’s infidelity, and the man with her, not about her ridiculous pelt of pubic hair.

  He looks over at her again, and then he doubles over as if he has been punched and vomit rises in his throat.

  He sees her as he left her; she was shocked and horrified by his assault and now, here she is, laughing with a complete stranger, a stranger who has his hand up her dress.

  How did this happen? And when did this happen?

  He stares at the man. He recognizes him now; he saw him at breakfast a day or so ago, and after breakfast, the man had waited behind him in line, waiting to see the chatty concierge, the one on the diet, who was drinking ten calorie blue Gatorade and telling everyone how bad it tasted.

  The man had met his wife on the trip. The trip that Hans had pictured her innocently enjoying.

  But how had things evolved from that trip to this?

  Hans had seen her only last night; it was only last night that they had tried to make exciting love with terrible consequence.

  And now today, this very afternoon, here she was, having an affair.

  He could not understand it at all. It didn’t make any sense whatsoever. Melusine was a good woman, a good wife.

  The shock. The betrayal. Her happiness, her freedom and her all too apparent joy.

  He tries to think back. Could Melusine have known the man even as they stood in line but managed to hide it from him?

  He did not believe it was possible. No, she could not have known him then.

  But what was going on with her? He recalls the big black dildo in the bottom drawer and his wife’s insistence that he book Zumanity for her. Perhaps he did not know her as well as he thought he did.

  He looks at the man who is shorter than him and stockier. He carries quite the belly too and Hans notes this with satisfaction. Then he remembers that the man is fucking his wife and there really is not too much to feel satisfied about.

  That man, inside Melusine. Inside Melusine’s hairy bush. He cannot bear to think about it.

  His thoughts whir in crazy circles.

  The man is whispering in Melusine’s ear and whatever it is that he has to say, she is loving it.

  Hans turns to a potted plant nearby and throws up what is left of his lunch; the lunch that is rancid in his mouth, vile with digestive fluids and poisoning his mouth with a bitter aftertaste.

  He heaves and retches, oblivious to passersby, none of whom stop to ask him if he is all right.

  When he looks up again, Melusine and the man have vanished.

  He is tempted to run after them but he asks himself what that would achieve.

  Nothing.

  Besides, he has a second appointment with Juditha Estima, the Intuit of the Ascended Masters who specializes in past life therapy and he has faith that she can find Kateri. Juditha will find the key to unlock the mystery of Kateri’s disappearance.

  And he is glad Melusine has gone because he hates her now, hates her with all his heart. He never wants to see her again. She is defiled, soiled; she has proven herself to be the worst kind of liar.

  He tries to push her from his thoughts but he does wonder if she will be there, waiting for him as if nothing happened, come the end of their trip.

  But he is not even sure if he cares.

  He has a little time before he needs to meet the psychic and he decides to go and phone his son and see how Mimi is faring.

  At least, he thinks, viciously, he can always rely on the loyalty of his dog.

  11.

  MELUSINE AND GUNTHER soon tire of the Fremont. “It’s too late to take our passion wagon back now,” he says, unlocking the car door. “I’ll take it back tomorrow. But I wouldn’t mind going back to the hotel and lying down for a while. I hope you won’t think me a lesser man for it, but I’m tired out. You tired me out, lady.”

  She laughs and reaches for her seat belt. “Yes, I could certainly have a nap too.” Then she stops, with the belt pulled halfway across her. “Can I come back to your room with you? I don’t want to go to mine.”

  “Of course you can. Won’t Hans be worried though?”

  She shrugs. “I doubt it.”

  She thinks for a moment. “Can I tell you something?”

  “Anything. And I’m not just saying that.”

  She hesitates. “It’s very awkward really. But I just don’t know what to think…”

  He takes the keys out of the ignition, turns to her and strokes her hair.

  “You can tell me anything,” he says.

  “I think Hans may have tried to strangle me last night while we were making love — oh, I shouldn’t be telling you this … it’s entirely inappropriate…”

  “Just tell me. He’s your husband, what did you think? That I thought you were celibate? Tell me what happened.”

  “He covered my mouth and my nose and I couldn’t breathe which seemed to excite him. He also had his hand on my throat and it really hurt. I hit him hard across the head and he fell on the floor.” She looks away. “Why would he do that?”

  Gunther takes her hand. “A lot of men think that holding a woman by the throat is very erotic. It must tie into some kind of fantasy he has. He’s never done anything like that before?”

  She shakes her head. “No. He is usually very conservative and straightforward about it all, to put it bluntly.” A thought occurs to her. “He’s also incredibly silent and maybe he was trying to shut me up because I was making too much noise. We’d both had a lot to drink and I…” She blushed a dark red. “And I was thinking about how it had felt to hold you in that tent and I’m sorry because there I was, aroused at a time when you had been so upset, I was thinking about you and trying not to of course and I was being much more enthusiastic than I usually am. And maybe he didn’t like that.”

  “You were thinking about me! Melu, I couldn’t stop thinking about you either. I don’t know what to say about Hans except that Vegas does weird things to people. I’m sure he just got carried away. Did it feel abusive to you?”

  She shakes her head again. “No, it was more like he was getting off on it as if I wasn’t even there, it was like I was some kind of sex prop or something.” She shrugs. “Let’s not talk about it any more. Okay?”

  He looks at her and puts his hand on her knee. “Absolutely.”

  “But thank you for listening.”

  They drive up through the Strip and pass the novelty store with the curved black windows and the bucking bronco with the mannequin strapped to it. Melusine is relieved to see that the little girl isn’t there. The day, the whole Las Vegas experience, is so surreal that nothing would surprise her. The tawdry storefront sparkles with the reflection of the city lights and even the ‘nude strippers daily’ sign doesn’t look as worn and dirty.

  Melusine thinks that Vegas forgives all sins at night.

  They pass the row of wedding chapels, come up to the Stratosphere, followed by Circus Circus with its giant neon clown. They drive up towards the Wynn and past the now-familiar sights of Treasure Island, the Bellagio, Paris, The Venetian, Harrah’s and the Pink Flamingo.

  They stop at the traffic lights next to the Excal
ibur and Melusine thinks back to her cravings and wild longings. She looks at the man next to her, thinking that she’d never have figured him to be her fix. Her unlikely suitor looks exhausted while she feels high, crazy and free like she did when she used speed; she’s all-powerful and her energy is electric and without end. She had only said she was tired because she wants to lie down beside him and be with him.

  They turn towards Hooters and into the resort parking lot.

  She wonders for a moment if they will bump into Hans at the hotel but she thinks it is unlikely. She feels as if her husband is a million miles away.

  They take the elevator up to the second floor and Gunther opens the door to his room.

  The place is littered with old pizza boxes, beer bottles, vodka bottles and orange juice cartons. The remnants of Chinese takeout sit on the counter along with crumpled napkins and half-empty coffee cups.

  “Housekeeping doesn’t do the kitchen area,” he explains, unnecessarily.

  He leads her through to the bedroom, where his open suitcase is on the floor, spilling clothes. The bed is perfectly made and he immediately falls on it, kicking off his shoes and making groaning noises of happiness.

  Melusine pulls the bedding out from its strong tucking on her side of the bed and rearranges the pillows. Then she lies down next to him on top of the coverlet, not sure whether he wants her to touch him. Perhaps he just wants to sleep. Maybe he is not the cuddling kind. God knows she is not, not usually. He solves her dilemma by turning towards her and pulling her close, tucking her in to him.

  He strokes her head and her hair and she closes her eyes and soon falls asleep with her hand resting on his waist.

  When she wakes, it is because she needs to go to the toilet. She fumbles her way in the dark, trying to be soundless, embarrassed by the ordinariness of her bodily needs. He stays sound asleep, oblivious.

  She is wide-awake though. She lies down again. He snores now and then, and turns over. She feels restless but doesn’t want to leave.

  She looks at the clock, it’s two a.m. It’s always two a.m., she thinks. The universal hour of insomniac torment.

  Despite her earlier avowals to Gunther about never washing off the dust and passion of their day, she is longing to have a deep hot bath and get into some clean clothes.

  She wonders what to do. She cannot leave because then she will not be able to get back in to the room without waking him. But she cannot stay either. She stands up quietly. They forgot to draw the curtains and the pink lights from the Tropicana hotel shine brightly into their room along with the beam from the pyramidal Luxor.

  She picks her way through the debris of the living room and sees that he left the key card on the table when they came in. She takes it and lets herself out, padding down the corridor to the elevator.

  She stands outside the door to her room, reluctant to open it. Will Hans be there? What on earth will she say to him if he is?

  She inserts her card quietly and the green light flashes. She turns the handle and slowly pushes the door open.

  But it is quiet inside. She goes in and turns on the lights. It is exactly like it was when she left. It does not look as if Hans has returned to the room either, not since he rushed out into the night, to god knows where.

  She is not worried about him. She is increasingly convinced that there is something going on with him, the truth of which she might never know. She is beginning to wonder if he has had some agenda for this trip all along, and that while he tried to accommodate her being there with him, it had not worked out. She shrugs. She is just glad he’s not there.

  She runs a hot bath and luxuriates in it, marveling at her body and the pleasures she has enjoyed. She soaps herself gently, wishing she had a better quality soap than the small cheap bar from the hotel.

  She washes her hair, sorrowful to lose the touch of Gunther’s hands, but she wants to be clean and fresh.

  She dries herself and rubs lotion on her legs, her breasts and her arms.

  How wonderful to be appreciated. All these years without being caressed. Oh arms, legs, how did you survive, all this time?

  She puts on bright yellow underwear and a new dress and leaves the room. She cannot wait to be back with Gunter and the elevator seems frustratingly slow.

  She inserts his key card and is relieved when the door opens.

  She thinks he is fast asleep but when she lies down next to him, he pulls her close, almost grabbing her.

  He burrows into her neck, turning her body so he can spoon into her back and he rubs her thighs, her buttocks and her stomach.

  “You smell nice,” he says and he yawns. “What’s the time?”

  “Five a.m.”

  “I’m going to have a shower,” he says. “You smell too good, I have to catch up with you. You stay right there.”

  “I’m going to get under the covers,” Melusine says and she strips her dress over her head. She hears Gunther give a sound of appreciation that makes her laugh with joy.

  “You undo me, Melu, you undo me. I hope the underwear’s also coming off?”

  “Of course,” she says primly and steps out of her panties and unclasps her bra.

  “Magnificent. Good god, your breasts, Melu. I love your breasts. And your legs and all the rest.”

  He is sporting a gigantic erection, his cock is dark and his balls are full and heavy and she longs to lick them and take them in her mouth.

  He sees what she is thinking. “Let me get him all cleaned up first and then we can have more fun.”

  She nods and slides under the covers. The sheets are deliciously soft and clean and the bed is heavenly. She doesn’t mean to but she falls asleep, a dreamless, beautiful sleep.

  She wakes later to find him gone. She sits up and her heart is pounding quickly, it’s too quiet. Where is he?

  He has left her a note. Oh, right, he had to take the car back.

  She looks at the clock. She has no idea when he left.

  She dresses and leaves him a note. Meet me at the swimming pool. She leaves the note half-sticking out from under the door and goes back to her room to get her swimsuit.

  Gunther had explained, when she had told him about her odd non-conversation with the man in the elevator who had pointed to her breasts, that the towels for swimming were kept in the drawers under the television set. She pulls out a blue and white striped towel and smiles, thinking back to that day, and how the world had been so different. She had been so alone then.

  Poolside, she is far from alone but again she’s the only one swimming — the others find the water far too cold. She dives in and swims the length of the pool underwater. She swims a few laps and then goes over to the heated round spa pool and turns on the jets.

  She sits on the concrete step with the water up to her chin, surveying her world. It is a beautiful world, with a view of the crystal-clear kidney-shaped swimming pool, a large palm tree, the stucco resort and a heavenly blue sky. But it is not the view that makes her world beautiful and she knows it. It’s the prospect of her lover returning, and it’s the knowledge that her starved limbs and heart will be loved and fulfilled. There is the certainty of love in her future.

  She thinks of Ingeborg’s Ich in Malina, and Ich’s desperate, all-consuming love for Ivan.

  I’m sorry. I judged you, Ich. I didn’t understand. And now I have this man. Can I say that I’m in love with him after so short a time? Certainly I cannot wait for his return. I ask only that he be at my side. And Ingeborg, your work was so focused on how women repeatedly fall victim to Bluebeards, fascists and colonizers and are smothered and destroyed by the patriarchal society as much in marriage as by murder. So I ask myself, what am I doing with this man? Ach, I think too much!

  She sees him coming; he opens the tall wrought-iron gate and looks around for her.

  She waves him over, banishing the ghosts of Ingeborg and Ich and their illfated lives and forsaken loves. While she shares their philosophical angst, she does not want to share their fate
but does she have a choice?

  He dips his foot in the spa tub. “Wow, it’s hot.”

  “It’s nice after the big pool,” Melusine says, “go and try it. The others won’t go in but I did.”

  He walks over to the pool and wades down the steps. She can tell he thinks it’s too cold but he won’t admit it. He swims a quick lap and then joins her in the hot tub, laughing.

  “Yes,” he says, “this is quite delicious now.”

  He sits close to her and slips his hand inside her thigh. She rubs him; his arm, his shoulder and his back. She is trying to memorize every freckle on his body. But there are a lot of them.

  “You’ve got a lot of freckles,” she says and he agrees.

  “Hated them when I was a kid,” he says. “There’s a lot of red to my hair and there was more when I was younger. So freckles come with the territory.”

  “Were you a hell-raiser as a child?” she asks and he nods.

  “Pretty much. Always breaking windows with soccer balls, or breaking bones, or coming home covered in bruises and scrapes. But I never really got into anything bad like drugs or stuff like that. You?”

  She thinks about her love of speed and amphetamines and her narrow escape from that way of life.

  “Nothing to talk about,” she says. “I fulfilled my parent’s wishes of a successful and happy life and that’s important to me.”

  He laughs. “I far exceeded my parents’ expectations. But I think they set the bar pretty low. And now they’re not going to be happy because I can’t see me and my wife staying together and they love her.”

  “Do they live in London too?”

  “Yes. In the same neighbourhood.”

  “Have you thought about adopting?” she asks. “Or having the baby carried by a surrogate? If you’ve got the money, there’re all kinds of options, these days.”

  He thinks for a moment. “We never thought of a surrogate. But that would make my wife feel like she failed.”