'Let's you and I not call it an auction, Kester,' Farrell said. 'You're making yourself sound like a slave.'
Kester raised an eyebrow at her.
'Why won't you tell me? It's a man isn't it?'
'No, it's not a man. Can you just –' Alexis bit her lip. 'Stop.'
Kester took in her expression. It was complicated, many expressions fighting one another, resulting in nothing understandable. He didn't like seeing it on Alexis' normally straightforward face, her lewd smirking beautiful face. It made her look weak. It didn't suit her.
'So is it a woman?' He would try to joke her out of it.
'What? No. I'm not telling you. Just calm down, Kester. You need to be a good boy.' Alexis narrowed her eyes. 'Shut up and put out. Keep Chen happy, remember?'
'Yes, Miss!' Kester said.
Keep Chen happy. Lex was really going to take the screens to Chen? She was? She was – why mention it like that when she didn't have to. Buoyed up, his excitement became real.
Kester acknowledged Gaunt's presence in the doorway. 'But just…if you were supposed to be sleeping with someone in an hour's time, wouldn't you want to know who it was?'
'Kester, she never knows who she'll be sleeping with in an hour's time – you know that,' Gaunt said. 'I'll give you a clue, young prince: your fairytale ascendency will be complete.'
Kester shook his head at Gaunt, drew a blank. Whoever it was, it sounded promising. He felt a little twinge of excitement.
'Come on boy, what would any fairytale be incomplete without?'
Alexis looked from Gaunt to Kester and gave a small sigh.
'I'll see you at the helipad in 30 minutes,' she said. 'We're taking the chopper.'
'We have a helipad?' Kester asked. Now he was excited.
'Just underneath that bloody great X on the roof where we did your photoshoot,' said Gaunt, nodding to Alexis as she left the room. 'Now come on, you didn't get it yet. What would a fairytale be incomplete without?'
Kester paused. What sort of a question was that? A dragon? He thought. A happy ending? Yes, that could be it. He looked at Gaunt, bemused.
'A happy ending?'
'Close enough.' Gaunt smirked. He handed Kester a set of dog tags. 'Keep these on. There's a panic button in the centre of each, just in case. Now, if you come up with me I'll introduce you to Terrence. He'll be your bodyguard for all external visits.'
-o-
Kester nodded off in the helicopter. When he woke they were landing on a stretch of baize-perfect grass. It was getting dark, but the grass was well lit. A football pitch? was his first thought. Could it be a footballer? A footballer's spouse? He lifted his head and looked out of one window then the other. He nearly choked.
'It's fucking Buckingham Palace!' he shouted to Alexis, who was sitting across from him, cold pride on her face. She snapped back to attention and smiled.
'Well spotted,' she said into her mouthpiece. 'You don't need to shout.'
'You knew we were coming here?'
'Of course. Why did you think I was coming along for the ride? It's not every day you get to come here on business.'
There were six internal security guards on the lawn to meet them. Four of them flanked Kester and two Alexis as they walked up the lawn towards the palace. Kester glanced over his shoulder anxiously every now and again, wishing the guards would let them walk together. Kester's bodyguard Terrence brought up the rear, a beast of a man, a bear crossed with a fridge, radio constantly to his chin, eyes darting back and forth.
Inside, they were taken up some back stairs to an exquisite waiting room. This was the real deal. Kester thought of his mock baroque bedroom. It was pathetic compared to this. Royalty would laugh if they could see his room – his half a room – if they knew how proud he was of it and how much it had made him feel like royalty until now. The guards seated Kester on a love seat with thick red and gold stripes woven into the fabric. Alexis and Terrence flanked him officially until the guards had left the room. They all heard the key turn in the lock.
Alexis sat down next to Kester on the love seat. She was about to start talking when a bell rang and the tall gold doors before them began to open with ostentatious reserve. Alexis shot back to her feet and retook her position at his left hand side. Kester smoothed the collar of his labcoat and planted a hand on each knee to stop himself from fidgeting. He felt ludicrous, as if he had turned up at a fancy dress party wearing the wrong theme, but Yule had assured him that the client would like it if he looked like he'd just walked out of the lab.
Two footmen, wigged and dressed in white, appeared from behind the doors. The doors had opened slowly because they were so heavy, Kester realised. This could be tolerable. The footmen stepped out in perfect time, stopped at the threshold of the door and nodded simultaneously to Kester, who found himself on his feet and walking towards them. This could be OK. They guided him into the room. This could even be good. He was at the top of a rollercoaster, about to tip over into gravity's clutches. He couldn't help the excitement.
'The Princess will be with you momentarily,' one of the footmen said. 'Please make ready.'
The footmen stepped out of the room in time, pulling the doors behind them, shutting out Alexis' face, skin pale, eyes burning.
The Princess. A rush of adrenaline sent a shudder up Kester's neck. He looked at the sweeping marks the doors had left on the thick-pile carpet. Make ready. He looked up and took in the room. It was a large bedroom, decorated like a Viennese music box in gold and scrollwork. The curtains were drawn and the room was lit by soft lamplight which emphasised the luxurious finishes of the rose-coloured textiles. Kester walked over to the bed and slid a hand up one of its barley-twist poles. He thought of his own four-poster and laughed. It would fit inside this one twice over. The bed was curtained with heavy silk which was gathered in a pleated canopy up at the level of the chandelier. The chandelier; it looked oddly understated.
Make ready. The Princess wasn't one for messing about then. Kester looked around for somewhere to put his clothes, humming himself a dramatic theme. There was a chair by the bed, presumably for this purpose. He started to strip off, fingers jittering over buttons and zips. He didn't want to be still undressing when she came in. He piled his clothes on the chair and folded his labcoat on top. Or should he be wearing it? No, that would look too porno, he decided. His heart was racing now. Where should he be? Standing? Lying on the bed? He tittered. On the bed, under the covers – best to be demure.
Kester could hear someone coming. He leapt onto the bed and wrestled the hotel-tight covers loose enough to slip underneath. Their weight – the gold spun through them must be real. It would be disrespectful to look like he was lounging. He sat up, covers to the waist, and ruffled a hand through his hair. With each heartbeat his dog tags gave a small clink and he became more ready. The door was opening. This was it.
The Princess walked through the door between the bed and the window, just a few feet away. She continued across the room without looking over at Kester. She wore a tailored old-gold coloured lace jumpsuit, with elegantly flared legs – no logos. So, he would have the pleasure of undressing her himself. Her dark hair was straight and neat as a dressage mare's. It was rude to speak first; Kester waited to be addressed. The Princess turned.
Her expression was a punch in the stomach. Horror, disgust. Kester panicked. He had made a mistake. She wasn't expecting him to be in the bed.
'They said to ready myself,' he said. 'I'm Doctor Lowe.'
She stared at him open-mouthed. Of course this wasn't what they had meant. She started to back away towards the dressing table, her expression less of shock now than disbelief. Kester caught sight of his reflection in the dressing table mirror behind her – pale, scruffy-looking against the elegant backdrop of silk damask, an intruder. Then she snorted. She snorted as if she had come in and found a pig in her bed, and she began to laugh cruelly, covering her mouth with her manicured hand.
'I know who you are, Doctor Lowe. I boug
ht you, after all.' Her face was harsh. She was talking to a staff member who had got out of line. 'But let's get one thing absolutely clear: I am not going to sleep with you.'
Kester felt naked in a bad way, naked in a recurring nightmare way.
'But you won the auction,' Kester said. There was no point in putting on airs and graces now. His words sounded small in the big room, his voice common. 'Your majesty,' he added.
'Of course I won it. I wanted to have your virus first.'
'But I'm here to infect you…that's what you bought at the auction…not the virus, you bought me.'
That cruel laugh again. This was not Alexis-style cruelty, this was centuries of inbreeding and class segregation cruelty, this was cruelty handed down through generations of royals; this was guillotine.
'You seriously think I would sleep with you? You think I would pay to sleep with you. I'm sorry, my darling. You may be a high-class shag to the other bidders, those…celebrities,' she said the word with distaste, 'but I just want the virus. I don't want to have to touch you, or anybody else for that matter.'
'But why…' Kester pulled the sheets higher up his chest. 'Why bring me here?'
'They need to think I've screwed you. I want them to think that I got what they couldn't afford. I may see that you're just V's jumped-up little rent boy, but the public will go all frog-prince over it, the celebrities will be jealous and I get a lovely slice of homepage headlines for the next week.
'But I don't need to explain myself to you. All you need to know is that you are to give no details of our appointment to the press. You will remain here for three hours and then you will return to V. You are permitted to exhibit a knowing and satisfied smile when questioned by the press, friends and colleagues, but I draw the line at smugness. I want to inject the virus myself. Send over a package for me as soon as you get back to V. And it needs to be fast-acting. I don't want that dog-woman showing up wearing her virus before me.'
Kester felt skinny, dirty, small. He wanted to say that the virus would present when it presented, he couldn't make it work any faster than normal, wanted to tell her that only royalty would be vain enough to think that nature would make an exception for them. He glanced over desperately at his clothes. The Princess was standing there staring at him, examining him. She looked simultaneously amused and nauseated by his presence. After what seemed like an age, she flicked her eyes away from him and strode back towards the door.
'I'd hoped to have this conversation in a civilised fashion,' she said as she walked, 'but it makes no difference. I trust you have embarrassed yourself enough never to speak of this.' It wasn't a question. 'That will be all, Doctor Lowe.'
She opened the door, a skill Kester was surprised she had mastered.
'Princess, I'm a scientist…' Kester began, but he couldn't think how to continue.
She ignored him and exited the room, closing the door behind her.
Kester drew his knees up in front of him and rested his forehead on their bony plinth. The back of his neck felt exposed, as if waiting for the blade to fall. Three hours. He lifted his head again, avoiding his own eye in the mirror, shuffled to the edge of the bed and began to dress. What an idiot. He looked around the room. It was a great golden sneer. Three hours. What was he supposed to do in here, alone, for three hours?
-o-
'Well?' Farrell said. She was standing in Kester's apartment, fixing herself what looked like her third or fourth drink. 'How was it?'
She was plainly dressed, no logos, nothing, hair tied back in an impossibly smooth pony tail. Her skin was clear, makeup-less. It looked almost translucent. She wasn't wearing. The way the pinched waist of her green dress held her body should have aroused a pang of want in Kester, but he was numb.
'How was what?'
'Your royal opening.'
'You didn't wait for me.'
'You were taking your time. I had other things to attend to. So, did you enjoy it?'
Kester sighed and closed his eyes. He flopped down on the couch. This was one of those questions – one he could get so immensely wrong. The truth would crack him open. He wasn't good enough for the Princess; it would enrage Alexis, would make her doubt his worth. He would make a fantasy for her.
'What's better? What would make you happier – if I did enjoy it or I didn't?'
Alexis ignored his question and added a couple of ice cubes to her drink.
'This is what you wanted for me, isn't it?' he asked her. 'Superstardom? I thought it would make you happy.'
'Me too. But this isn't quite what I had in mind.'
Alexis took up her drink and perched on the edge of the dentist's chair. Kester's mind flashed a flick-book of images of her on the chair, tied up, tied down, blindfolded, painted. She hadn't asked to wear his next set of viruses. Not yet.
'Well?' Alexis probed again.
'She's a princess – you saw the setting – it was like being in a Mills and Boon, sort of. That was enjoyable, to start with. Who wouldn't enjoy that on some level?' His fantasy was faltering. He changed the subject. 'It's not like I haven't done it before. It was just like being in a bigger booth. One with gold fittings.'
'That was different. Things are different now.'
'It didn't feel that different,' Kester lied. 'I mean it wasn't like she handed me a wad of grubby tenners. Like you said, it's only a week, then I'm off the menu.' He tried to sound convinced.
'It felt different to me.' Alexis took a gulp of her drink, then clattered the glass down on the side table next to her.
Kester pushed himself up off the couch and walked over to where she sat. The Princess didn't want me. She thinks I'm a dirty little prostitute. What would he normally do? He put a hand to her cheek. She pushed it away. Kester took her shoulders in his hands and laid her back on the chair. He took a long look at her body, revealed by the liquid fabric of her v-neck dress, willed it to arouse him, reached in and put a hand to her breast. She slapped him in the face. He squeezed and she slapped him again. He put his other hand on her waist. Slap. Slid it down between her legs. Slap.
'You've got to be gentle with me, Lex,' he said, leaning in and biting her neck. As he came back up – slap. 'I'm expensive goods.' He unzipped the front of her dress fully and put his face down to her belly, breathing in the familiar scent of her skin. He wanted to just lie there, cry.
'Wash,' Alexis said, eventually.
'I washed already.'
'Wash again.' There was the glimmer of a smile on her lips.
Kester undressed and got in the shower, leaving Alexis in his living room. He stood there, fingers pruning, until his door monitor beeped. He wished there was something for Alexis to slam on her way out, to close the scene properly. He closed his eyes. There was no way he could rise to the occasion tonight.
-o-
Saturday night came thundering around like a pack of wild animals in heat. Kester started to cry. He couldn't stop himself. His penis was sore. The nurse who had injected him before the show seemed to have limited experience handling a syringe. It didn't feel erect; it felt as if it was swollen, hard with infection, like it was wrapped in nettle leaves. He wondered if she had got the dosage right. Gaunt hadn't said anything about the injection causing him pain – just that it would solve his little problem. Kester prayed for his pain killers to kick in.
Pera Pera was barking through her latest hit in front of the curtain and here he was behind it, ready to play his part. She would sing the song, Kester would appear on stage then disappear behind a curtain with her. Silhouettes were all the audience would see; Yule had been clear about it. Yet here Kester was, naked, on all fours, gagged and chained up in a giant Perspex box. They'd tied him up without him really realising what was going on, distracted by the pain in his penis and by Pera Pera's explanation that there had been a change of plan and he was to play the part of a character from her new video. Before he knew it he was gagged and stripped and by the time he'd remembered about his dog tags, he was unable to reach them. Th
is wasn't part of the agreement.
Kester shuddered. The music had stopped and Pera Pera's voice was honking away front of stage, no doubt giving him an unfit introduction. In a minute he was going to have to look like he was enjoying this. He would have to brazen it out. He surveyed the rack of sex toys on the wall of the box, then closed his eyes. It was only one song, he reminded himself. Nobody really wanted to watch the two of them at it for any longer than one song. And he was playing a part – it was just acting. People would appreciate that. How bad could it be?
-o-
Alexis' head was thumping, pulsing from the inside out. She kept going over what Yule had told her: it was fine, the fans loved it, they could ride out all the other stuff. He was right, no doubt, but that didn't stop her feeling sick. Kester wasn't built for this. Kester the superstar was a cardboard cut-out, would blow over too easily in the storm. She needed to keep him with her so that she could prop him up, but she knew he would be mad at her, or worse. She had done the deals with the clients, set up the appointments. It had all happened at her hand. If she had grown a pair, spoken to Chen already…
'Happy Birthday, Lex.'
Kester's voice made Farrell start; it was quiet, accusatory. She looked up from her desk to see him walking slowly through her door, tense, as if he might break if he moved too sharply. Her seat was suddenly uncomfortable. The room was hot. Her glass desk misted up beneath where her hand was sitting.
'Kester, I'm busy.' She avoided his stare. If she looked at him his pain would be her pain too.
'What are we going to do about this?' He was holding out his Book, one of the news sites loaded with the Sunday headlines.
Farrell stood and turned to the window. She didn't want to look at him. It was all wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She had thought she could take a week of it – the reward would be great enough at the end – but this was brutal. Pera Pera was nuts. But what was done was done.
'What's done is done.' She gazed out over the City, looking up at the sky and inviting its cool emptiness in.
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