Party Time_Raving Arizona

by Shaun Attwood

  Eventually, she says, ‘Untie me. I want more X.’

  After I free her, she uses the reservoir of energy in her arms to wrestle me down. ‘Stay still, motherfucker, or else you’ll be sorry!’ she says, the warning in her eyes echoing her instructions. She ties my wrists to the bed. Sitting almost on my chin, she tests the knots. I attempt to bite her.

  ‘Asshole! Don’t make me hurt you!’

  She pinches a nipple until I yell for her to stop. She slides down my body and stops at my pubic mound. For a while, her hips flick and my eyes roll. In the second hour, I enjoy a sensation between my legs, warm, wet and blissful, that runs over my scrotum. For about a minute, her rhythm becomes spasmodic, almost violent. I don’t say a word. Internally, I take credit for what I interpret as a mighty gushing orgasm.

  After two noise complaints from other guests, Kimberly delicately frees my wrists, a feminine touch that warms my heart. After she is done, she sashays towards the bathroom naked, and without even turning her head to look in my direction, says, ‘By the way, I peed on you when I was fucking your brains out.’

  Kimberly calls my office every few days. She enjoys sex in a variety of places. Car parks. Roof tops. Elevators. Cemeteries. In the desert.

  ‘I’ve got an apartment you can visit me at now,’ she says.

  ‘Where is it?’

  She gives directions. ‘You should come right now.’

  ‘But the stock market’s not closed yet.’

  ‘There’s someone I really want you to meet.’

  ‘Who?’ I ask, curious.

  ‘My girlfriend Star. I’ve told her all about you. She wants to get to know you better.’

  ‘I’ll be right there.’

  ‘I thought so.’

  Wearing only transparent-pink thigh-high boots, a slender woman with a bob of red hair, and a tattoo of a star on her stomach, answers the door, points a cat-o’-nine-tails and says in a bossy way, ‘I’m Star. If I decide to let you in, are you going to be a good boy?’

  ‘I’m always a good boy,’ I say, getting turned on.

  ‘That’s what Kimberly said. But I don’t know you, see. Is that your car?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I like your car, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you in. What I want to know is: are you going to be a good boy?’

  ‘I’ll try my best.’

  ‘Trying your best isn’t good enough!’

  Not wanting to say a wrong word, I respond, ‘I’ll be a good boy. I promise.’ I pray she lets me in.

  ‘That’s more like it. You can come in now, but remember if you don’t behave yourself, you’ll have to answer to me.’

  ‘Got it,’ I say, relieved.

  In the living room, we snort crystal meth. Star asks questions about my background and instructs us to join her in the bedroom.

  ‘Sit down in the chair!’ Star says. ‘You’re not allowed to join in or to take your clothes off yet!’

  Star dominates Kimberly. Sex toys are used. Dizzy with desire, I’m too afraid to speak in case I get kicked out. I sit still like a good little boy.

  ‘Now get naked and lay on the bed!’

  I’m delighted and terrified. Facing each other, they mount me and kiss. They slither around, causing warm wet waves of bliss to travel across my body. Eventually, Kimberly goes to work, leaving me at the mercy of Star, whose blowjob lasts for so long that my penis can’t take it anymore and starts to shrink. On the weekends, I pick them up when they get off work and we go to raves.

  Chapter 25

  Before setting off for the stockbrokerage, I put on an olive business suit, extract an ounce of crystal meth from my safe and tell my two jetlagged visitors from England to help themselves. Bored at the office, I leave early, excited to see how my friends are doing. Pulling in at my building, I press a remote control to access the subterranean parking lot. I take the elevator to the 18th floor. Inside, I find Wild Man’s cousin, Hammy, unable to stop talking, the corners of his mouth secreting foam. His drinking partner, Stu, is rearranging Budweiser cans on the floor next to a five-gallon trash bin stuffed to overflowing with them. I put my briefcase on a counter top and remove my sunglasses. ‘How’re you guys feeling?’

  There is a crazy glint in Hammy’s hazel eyes. Wearing a sports shirt and tight Levi’s, he’s tall with short brown hair and a broad chest and shoulders. ‘We snorted grams of crystal meth.’

  ‘Grams! Holy shit!’ I throw up my arms. ‘You don’t do a gram of meth like you do with English speed. It’s way too strong. You’re only supposed to do small lines.’

  They exchange worried glances. The circles around their eyes seem to darken.

  ‘We tried to drink ourselves normal sitting on the balcony,’ says mild-mannered Stu, giving the cans a rest to scratch his dark wavy hair.

  ‘We don’t know whether it’s New York or New Year,’ Hammy says. ‘With all the travel and partying, we haven’t slept for three nights.’

  ‘Instead of you paying to rent a car for the month you’re here, why don’t I just buy you one?’

  ‘How’ll that work?’ Hammy asks.

  ‘We’ll put it in your name. I’ll pay cash. Then when you leave, I’ll use it.’

  ‘Use it for international crime, like you’ve already siphoned the blood money of Iraq and Iran in stock accounts in my name?’

  ‘Exactly. The RX7’s way too noticeable. I want a regular-looking white car – half the cars on the road here are white – so it’ll just blend in with all the other cars.’

  ‘What if the car gets busted and it’s in my name?’

  ‘You’ll be in England. Untouchable. It’s the perfect alibi.’

  ‘What’s in it for me?’

  ‘This time you’ve got a lot more credit available in your name. So, buy whatever you want in the malls and I’ll take care of the bills.’

  ‘I’ll get some jewellery and a watch,’ Hammy said, grinning greedily.

  I provide sunglasses to hide their bulging, bloodshot eyes. Inside a limo, we sit under the glow of pink and purple neon strip lights. I pop a bottle of champagne, fill three flutes, toast their arrival and brief Hammy on what to say to the dealership. Hammy is wary. I produce a credit card in his name that I applied for a year ago.

  ‘You can spend up to two thousand on it. The bill’s never going to get paid.’

  Smiling, Hammy falls silent, as if imagining his future purchases. His eyes descend to the glass disco floor and linger on its changing coloured lights. Moments later, his eyes latch onto the mini bar. ‘Ah, whisky shots …’

  We leave Camelback Ford with a white Toyota Corolla that blends in with all of the anaemic cars in the desert.

  ‘Fancy going to LA?’ I ask, driving back to the condo, fired up by the prospect of showing them California and having an adventure on the West Coast.

  ‘I’d love to see LA,’ Stu says.

  ‘Cool!’ I say, delighted. ‘We’ll go tomorrow. My friends Kimberly and Star have moved to LA to strip dance at Crazy Girls.’

  ‘I like the sound of Crazy Girls,’ Hammy says. ‘Can we go there?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The next morning, I find them high on meth and still conversing. To increase my alertness and to make the drive go by fast, I snort a line of meth. In the new car, I set off for LA with my nose burning, eyes watering and pulse climbing.

  Travelling across the Sonoran Desert, Hammy and Stu gasp at a whirlwind of sand, as broad as a bus at its base, churning up pinkish-golden plumes, its spinning funnel stretching a few hundred feet into a clear sky, meandering across beige barren land dotted with cacti, slowing down every few seconds as if to catch its breath and darting again.

  ‘What the bloody hell’s that?’ Hammy asks.

  ‘A dust devil,’ I say. ‘According to the Navajos, if it spins clockwise, it’s a good spirit; counter-clockwise, it’s a bad one.’

  As I speed along a road hewn into the Dome Rock Mountains at Quartzsite, a tiny town near Arizona’s we
stern border, Stu’s expression darkens. Entering California, he yells, ‘What are we getting into here?’

  ‘Hopefully a good fucking piss-up at Crazy Girls,’ Hammy says.

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ Stu says, staring out of the back window. ‘I mean what’s in the boot of this car he’s just put in your name?’

  I hope he’s just joking, but his face looks serious.

  Hammy turns to me. ‘You haven’t forgotten the whisky, have you?’

  ‘I think we’re being followed because of whatever’s in the boot,’ Stu says.

  ‘Like brick-size blocks of crystal meth?’ Hammy laughs.

  ‘Exactly!’ Stu says.

  ‘Don’t talk shite, mate,’ Hammy says.

  ‘There’s nothing in the boot,’ I say, worried about Stu.

  ‘I told him,’ Hammy says.

  Stu appears to think the situation through. He whispers to Hammy. They swivel their heads, scanning the surrounding cars.

  ‘What’s wrong with you two?’ I ask.

  ‘We’re being followed,’ Stu says.

  ‘I think he’s right,’ Hammy says.

  ‘No, we’re not,’ I say firmly, hoping to snap them out of it.

  ‘It’s that car with the wood panelling on the side,’ Stu says.

  ‘You’ve got to start deploying tactics to lose cars,’ Hammy says. ‘Escape and evade.’

  ‘But there’s no one following us,’ I say.

  ‘Yes, there is, and you’d only say there’s not if you’re in on it!’ Stu yells.

  Taken aback, I stifle the urge to argue. ‘Which cars are following us?’

  ‘The one with the wood on its side,’ Stu says.

  ‘If I go in the slow lane and let it pass, will you two chill?’

  ‘Do it,’ Hammy says.

  After dozens of cars overtake us, I speed up. They seem satisfied. Other than occasional whispering, they remain quiet.

  Near Palm Springs, Stu says, ‘Did you see him flash his lights at that van?’

  ‘I did, but the helicopter isn’t necessarily after us,’ Hammy says.

  ‘Who flashed his lights at what van?’ I ask.

  ‘You did,’ Stu says.

  I sigh. ‘Look, you’ve both been doing grams of crystal and you’ve become paranoid. Try and—’

  Stu grips my shoulder. ‘Pull off the fucking freeway!’ he yells as if he has spotted a roadside bomb.

  ‘Why?’ I ask.

  ‘Remember when you slowed down to let the car with the wood on its side pass us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It pulled off the freeway, waited for us to pass and it’s behind us again.’

  ‘Hammy, will you talk some sense into him?’ I ask, shaking my head.

  ‘He’s right,’ Hammy says.

  I frown. ‘Not more paranoia?’

  ‘It’s not paranoia, Shaun,’ Hammy says. ‘The car with the wood on its side has been following us for miles.’

  ‘No, it hasn’t.’

  ‘And there’s three other cars with it,’ Stu says.

  ‘At least three,’ Hammy says.

  ‘You’ve got to pull off,’ Stu says.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’ I pull off the freeway at Palm Springs and coast along a dusty road. Spotting a square building with a McDonald’s sign next to a palm tree, I park and take my friends inside, hoping they’ll cool off.

  Wearing a red baseball cap, a young lady behind the counter smiles and gazes expectantly. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘What do you guys want?’ I ask.

  ‘Strawberry shake,’ Hammy says.

  ‘Chocolate shake,’ Stu says.

  ‘Three shakes,’ I say. ‘Two strawberry. One chocolate.’

  Sitting at a table, sucking on a straw, I relish the moisture in my meth-dried mouth and the cool sensation of the iced milk against my tongue and the clumps sliding down my throat. I’m pleased to see my friends finally calm.

  Back on the freeway, we admire a display of concrete dinosaurs taller than palm trees, including a T-Rex. But a few miles later, the whispering and head-rotating resume. I decide to play it safe and remain silent. Every now and then I hear ‘helicopter’, ‘wood panelling’, ‘undercover cops’ and ‘being followed’. They keep insisting that I slow down and pull off the freeway to allow the cars following us to pass, including cars that have passed us but have slowed down until we have caught up with them and have resumed following us. Playing along, I fume over the prolongation of the drive. This goes on for hours, wearing me down. Darkness arrives.

  ‘That’s a hell of a meteor shower,’ Hammy says.

  Searching the sky, I see nothing. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Stu says. ‘Thank God you saw it as well.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Hammy says. ‘Don’t worry, it’s real. Did you see that, Shaun?’

  Reluctant to provoke them, I say, ‘I’ve had my eyes on the road the whole time, but I bet it was a good one.’

  As the freeway widens into six lanes in both directions, the proximity to LA is a relief. On Sunset Boulevard, I spot a shabby pink hotel, an old L-shaped two-storey building with so many night people coming and going, I figure we’ll blend in. Inside a lobby the size of a jail cell, I ask a man hidden behind a protective screen for a three-bedroom suite – that way I can monitor my friends’ behaviour. In a Chinese accent, he quotes a price. I pass dollars into a slot and a key emerges.

  Entering the room, Stu says, ‘I think you got this room because you’re setting the pair of us up.’

  ‘Should I get my own room then, Stu, and leave you two to calm down for a bit?’ I ask.

  ‘Good idea,’ Hammy says.

  I rent an adjacent room and call Hammy, ‘How’re you feeling?’

  ‘He thinks you’ve brought us here to set us up for a drug deal.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘You’re thinking that because of the meth.’

  ‘That makes sense, but then what Stu says makes sense, too. Are you sure you’ve not brought us out here to set us up?’

  ‘I swear there’s no set-up.’

  ‘Thank fuck for that. I just can’t help taking paranoia over fact right now. I’ll try and convince Stu.’

  Hearing Stu whisper, I ask Hammy what Stu’s saying.

  ‘Now he thinks I’m in on it because you’re calling me,’ Hammy says.

  ‘Should I come over and speak to you both in person?’

  ‘It’s definitely not a good idea.’ Hammy whispers, ‘He’s developed a facial twitch. He’s probably seeing pterodactyls by now.’

  ‘We’re in LA to have a good time. What do you guys want to do?’

  ‘Can we go for a perv at Crazy Girls?’ Hammy asks.

  ‘I can do better than that. I’ll call Kimberly over and she’ll do a live show for us right here,’ I say.

  An hour later, blonde, freckly Kimberly sashays in as if she owns the place, accentuating every move, oozing sexuality and fruity perfume, mesmerising Hammy and Stu.

  ‘What’s in the sports bag?’ I ask.

  ‘My outfits,’ Kimberly says.

  I swap smiles with my friends and play a mix by DJ Pete Tong. We take Ecstasy. Kimberly puts on a show. We sit in a row on the bed, upright, clapping like obedient children.

  ‘We love your outfits,’ I say, watching Hammy and Stu out of the corner of my eye to see their reaction. ‘Especially the hot pants.’

  ‘I like the G-string,’ Stu says.

  ‘It’s gotta be the nipple tassels,’ Hammy says. ‘How can we be in hell and heaven at the same time?’

  ‘Why don’t we all go to my club, Crazy Girls?’ Kimberly asks.

  ‘Good idea,’ I say, confident that Crazy Girls will crush their delusions about helicopters and wood-panelled cars.

  In the dark club, dancers with glossy red smiles are strutting and swaying in heels on raised platforms and a main stage, syphoning dollars from middle-aged men, expandi
ng the wads stashed in the sides of their thongs. Rock music is shaking the building, vibrating my bones and rendering it hard to hear my friends. In a voice gushing with enthusiasm, a DJ is announcing names like Paris and Savannah, urging people to tip and promoting the benefits of private dances.

  Watching Star dance, Kimberly says, ‘I really like Star. She gives the best oral. Some guys have no freaking clue about how to go down on a woman.’

  Stu and Hammy’s eyebrows leap, quickly joined by mine.

  ‘Why don’t both of you come over for us tonight? We’ll do more Ecstasy.’

  After finishing dancing, Star joins us. ‘Yes, we’ll come over tonight provided that you are all good boys. Kimberly said that you were all very well behaved in the hotel room today.’

  ‘For sure, we’ll be good boys,’ I say.

  ‘What about you two?’ Star says.

  ‘I’m always a good boy,’ Hammy says.

  ‘I’ll try my best,’ Stu says.

  ‘In that case, it’s on,’ Star says.

  By the time we get back to the hotel, my friends seem relaxed. Hammy announces that they’re going to take a nap.

  ‘I’m glad you and Stu are feeling better,’ I say, delighted that normality has returned and anticipating kinky antics with Kimberly and Star. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  An hour later, Hammy shows up at my room, agitated. My stomach sinks. ‘I dozed off for fifteen minutes. I don’t know if I was asleep or just unconsciously high. I woke up, and Stu was sat on the bed staring at my face, poking me. He said, “It’s happened.” I said, “What the fuck’s happened?” He said, “Shaun’s been arrested. There’s helicopters and everything everywhere.”’

  ‘Oh no!’ I say, frowning.

  ‘So, I said, “You’re shitting me, aren’t you?” I get up. I feel like the Vampire of Brooklyn – my legs don’t bend. I just floated out of bed. And Stu’s got this massive pair of black eyes that are just staring at me. He starts screaming, “Don’t go out there! It’ll be full of the Old Bill [police], helicopters and everything!” So I told him I’d come check on your room.’