Cocaine Nights

by J. G. Ballard

  I returned to Frank's apartment, trying to guess at the significance of his decision. By refusing to see me, or any of his friends and colleagues at the Club Nautico, he had drawn a line under the case, accepting the blame for the Hollingers' deaths in the way a government minister might resign after the misconduct of a subordinate. At the same time he was shielding me from any memories of the remorse we had shared after our mother's death. We had tried too hard to keep her alive, steadying her on the staircase and sweeping up the glass of the shattered whisky tumblers on the bathroom floor.

  I felt a rush of affection for Frank, remembering the determined eight-year-old polishing the smeary cutlery in the kitchen drawers. Only now could I accept that this stricken, lonely woman had probably not even noticed her young sons, and had been scarcely more aware of herself, staring into the mirrors around the house as if trying to remember her own reflection.

  Curiously, at Estrella de Mar any residues of remorse had almost vanished, evaporating in the benevolent sunlight like the morning mists over the swimming pools. I rang Paula's answering machine at the Clinic and arranged to lunch with her at the Club Nautico before our drive to Malaga. After my shower I stood on the balcony and watched the tennis players knocking up at the courts, as always devotedly supervised by Bobby Crawford.

  Frank's tennis rackets lay in the equipment cupboard, and I was tempted to set out for the courts and challenge Crawford to a set. He would easily beat me, but I was curious to know by what margin. There would be the first stinging aces, and a high kicker aimed at my head, but then he would lower his game, losing a few points as he drew me deeper into the rivalry between us. If I deliberately fumbled my own play he might leave me with too great a lead and be tempted into one or two reckless net rushes…

  In the car park his Ponche sat in the centre of the black-rimmed halo that the burning Renault had seared into the asphalt. Crawford always parked here, either to remind me of the blaze or in some perverse show of solidarity. Earlier that morning I had tested the lost car keys in the Porsche's door locks. Looking down at the back numbers of the Economist, the carton of Turkish cigarettes and the amber-lensed aviator glasses on the glove shelf, I felt a sharp sense of relief when the keys failed to match.

  While I waited for Paula I packed a fresh set of clothes for Frank. Searching the wardrobe for clean shirts, I came across the lace shawl passed on to us by our grandmother. The yellowing fabric lay like a shroud among the mohair sweaters, and I remembered placing the shawl around my mother's shoulders as she sat at her dressing-table, and how the scent of her skin blended so inseparably with the tang of whisky.

  Paula's BMW turned into the car park and stopped beside the Porsche. Recognizing the sports car, she pinched her nose in a show of irritation and backed away into another space. She took an orange from a hamper of fruit on the passenger seat, stepped from the car and strode briskly to the entrance. As always, I was delighted to see her. In her white trouser suit and high heels, silk scarf floating from her throat, she looked less like a doctor than one of the style-setting yacht-guests at Puerto Banus.

  'Paula…? Is that you?'

  'It better be.' She closed the apartment door behind her and stepped on to the balcony. Lightly tossing the orange in one hand, she pointed to the circle of scorched asphalt. 'I wish they'd clear that up. Have a word with David Hennessy. Thank God you weren't inside the car.'

  'I was sound asleep. It was after midnight.'

  'You might have been dozing off at the wheel, or spying on a copulating couple. Some people like having sex in cars, though heaven knows why.' She lobbed the orange to me and leaned against the rail. 'So, how are you? For someone who's been attacked by hang-gliders and half-strangled to death you look remarkably well.'

  'I am. I feel almost lightheaded. It's the thought of seeing Frank.'

  'Of course it is.' Smiling, she walked up to me and embraced my shoulders, pressing her cheek against mine. 'We've worried ourselves sick over the poor man. At last we'll know what's been going on inside his head.'

  'Let's hope so. Something must have changed his mind, though heaven knows what.'

  'Does it matter?' She ran her fingers over the bruises on my neck. 'The main thing is that we're making contact. You do want to see Frank?'

  'Absolutely. It's just that… I'm not sure what to say to him. It's so out of the blue and may not mean all that much. Cabrera will have told him about the attacks on me. I dare say Frank wants me to go back to London.'

  'And you? Do you want to go back?'

  'Not exactly. Estrella de Mar is a lot more interesting than I thought at first. Besides The tennis school had broken up for lunch and the players were making their way back to the changing rooms. Crawford moved around the silent serving machine, returning the scattered balls to the hopper. He sprinted after the players, challenging them to race him back to the showers. Admiring his energy, I was about to wave to him, but Paula held my elbow.

  'Charles…'

  'What is it?'

  'Control yourself. You're more concerned with Bobby Crawford than you are with your own brother.'

  'That's not true.' I followed Paula into the bedroom, where she began to re-pack the case filled with Frank's clothes. 'But Crawford is interesting. He and Estrella de Mar are the same thing. I talked to Sanger the other day – he thinks we're the prototype of all the leisure communities of the future.'

  'And you agree with him?'

  'I may do. He's an odd man, with his taste for young girls that he tries to hide from himself. But he's very shrewd. According to him the engine that drives Estrella de Mar is crime. Crime and what Sanger calls transgressive behaviour. You're not surprised, Paula?'

  She shrugged, and closed the catches of the suitcase. 'No one ever reports any crime.'

  'And that's the most perfect crime of all – when the victims are either willing, or aren't aware that they are victims.'

  'And Frank is one of those victims?'

  'Perhaps. There's a very curious logic at work here. My guess is that Frank was aware of it.'

  'You can ask him yourself this afternoon. Get changed and we'll have lunch.'

  She stood by the door, waiting as I took my passport and wallet from the bureau drawer and counted out twenty 1000-peseta notes.

  'What are those for? Don't tell me David Hennessy charges you for lunch?'

  'Not yet. They're to soften the palm of any prison official who might be of help to Frank. I'd call them a bribe, but that sounds so ungenerous.'

  'Good.' Paula nodded approvingly as she re-tied her scarf and adjusted her cleavage in the mirror. 'Don't forget your car keys.'

  'They're… a spare set.' The keys that I had found in the orchard lay on the bureau. I had said nothing to Paula about them, deciding to wait until I had tested them against the locks of her BMW. 'Paula 'What is it? You're flitting about like a moth around a flame.' She came up to me, inspecting my pupils. 'Have you taken something?'

  'Not the sort of thing you mean.' I turned to face her. 'Look, I'm not sure I can cope with Frank this afternoon.'

  'Why not? Charles?'

  'You go on alone. Believe me, it's not the right day. Too much has happened.'

  'But he asked for you.' Paula tried to read my face. 'What on earth can I tell him? He'll be shocked when he hears that you've refused to come.'

  'He won't. I know Frank. He made his decision to plead guilty and nothing will change that.'

  'Something new may have cropped up. What do I say to Cabrera? You're not going to leave Estrella de Mar?'

  'No.' I put my hands on her shoulders to calm her. 'Look, I want to see Frank, but not today, and not to talk about the trial. All that has slipped to the back of my mind. There are other things I have to do here.'

  'Things that involve Bobby Crawford?'

  'I suppose so. He's the key to everything. Getting closer to Bobby Crawford is the only way I can help Frank, not going to Zarzuella jail.'

  'All right.' She relaxed, and place
d her hands over mine. Her over-prompt agreement made me sense that she was following a route of her own. She was leading me through the outer corridors of a maze, guiding me to another door whenever I seemed to falter. She waited as I stared at her breasts, deliberately exposed by the low lapels of her jacket.

  'Paula, you're too glamorous for those prison guards.' I moved the lapels together. 'Or is this how you keep your elderly patients going?'

  'The breasts are for Frank. I wanted to cheer him up. Do you think they'll work?'

  'I'm sure they will. If you're not certain you could always test them first on someone else.'

  'A sort of trial run? Maybe… but where could I do that? The Clinic?'

  'That wouldn't be ethical.'

  'I hate being ethical. Still, it's an idea…'

  I pushed Frank's case across the bed and sat beside it. Paula stood in front of me, hands on my shoulders, watching as I unbuttoned her jacket. I felt the mattress yield under my weight, and imagined Frank undressing this handsome young doctor, his hands between her thighs as mine were now. The regret I felt at taking advantage of Frank's absence, and having sex with his former lover on his own bed, was eased by the thought that I had begun to replace him in Estrella de Mar. I had never seen Frank make love, but I guessed that he had kissed Paula's hips and navel as I did, running my tongue around its knotted crater with its scent of oysters, as if she had come to me naked from the sea. He had raised her breasts and kissed the moist skin still bruised by the wired cups of her brassiere, he had drawn out her nipples between his lips. I pressed my cheeks to her pubis, inhaling the same heady scent that Frank had drawn through his nostrils, parting the silky labia that he had touched a hundred times.

  However briefly I had known Paula, my brother's months of intimacy with her body seemed to welcome me to her, urging me on as I caressed her vulva and felt the scent glands around her anus. I kissed her knees, and then drew her to the bed, pressing my tongue to her armpits and tasting the sweet gullies with their soft underdown. Feeling not only lust but an almost fraternal affection for her, my imagined memories of her embracing Frank, I held her to my chest.

  'Paula, I…'

  She cupped her palm over my mouth. 'No… don't say you love me. You'll spoil it. Here, Frank liked my left nipple She raised the breast and pressed it to my mouth, smiling at me like an intelligent eight-year-old conducting an experiment with a younger sibling. Her own pleasure was an emotion she observed from a distance, as if she and I were strangers who had agreed to an hour's practice at the nets. Yet as I lay between her legs, her knees against my shoulders, she watched me come with the first real warmth for me that I had seen her express. She pulled me into her arms and embraced me tightly, hands at first searching for Frank's bones but then happy to hold me. Taking my penis in one hand, she began to masturbate herself, eyes fixed on my still-leaking glans, forefinger parting her labia.

  'Paula, let me I tried to slip my hand below hers, but she pushed me away.

  'No, I'll come more quickly on my own.'

  When she came she stiffened fiercely, hand pressed against her furrow, then allowed herself to breathe. She kissed me on the mouth and nestled against me, glad to put aside the cynicism she showed to the world.

  Fond of her, I ran a finger lightly along her lips and drew a sleepy smile on to her mouth, but she stopped me when I placed my hand on her pubis.

  'No, not now 'Paula, why can't I stroke you?'

  'Later. It's my Pandora's box. Open it and all the ills of Dr Hamilton might escape.'

  'Ills…? Are there any? I bet Frank didn't believe that.' I took her palm and held her fingers to my nose, inhaling the rose-damp scent of her vulva. 'For the first time I really envy him.'

  'Frank's very sweet. Not as romantic as you, though.'

  'Really? That amazes me – I thought he was the romantic one. What about you, Paula? Was it a good idea to become a doctor?'

  'I never had much choice.' With a fingertip she gently touched the bruises on my neck. 'At fourteen I already knew that I had to be just like my aunt. I did think of becoming a nun.'

  'For religious reasons?'

  'No, sexual-all those masturbating sisters mind-fucking Jesus. What could be more erotic? I was such a mess when my mother left us. There were all those emotions I couldn't control, so much hate and anger. My aunt showed me the way out. She was so realistic about people, no one ever hurt or surprised her. Medicine was the best training for all that.'

  'And the acid humour? Be honest, Paula, you're rather amused by most people.'

  'Well… most people are rather odd, when you stand back and look at them. I like them, on the whole. I don't despise people.'

  'What about yourself? You're pretty hard on your own feelings.'

  'I'm just… realistic. I suppose I do have a low estimate of myself, but most of us probably should. Human beings aren't all that wonderful.'

  'Not the sort of human beings you find on the Costa del Sol. Is that why you stay here?'

  'Among all the alcoholics in the sun, groping each other like ancient lobsters?' Laughing, she lay against my shoulder. 'Never get a suntan, Charles, or I'll stop loving you. The people here are all right, in their way.'

  I kissed her forehead. 'Your turn will come, Paula. And mine.'

  'Don't say that. Last year I spent a week in the Virgin Islands -it was just like Estrella de Mar. Endless apartment blocks, satellite TV, no-questions sex. You wake up in the morning and can't remember if you fucked anyone the previous day.' She raised one knee, watching the shadows of the plastic blind wrap themselves around her thigh. 'It looks like a bar code. How much am I worth?'

  'A lot, Paula. More than you think. Put a higher value on yourself. Being hyper-realistic about everything is too simple a get-out.'

  'Easy to say-I spend my time with senile accountants and alcoholic airline pilots, bringing them back from the dead…'

  'That's a rare talent. The rarest of all. Save a little for me.'

  'Poor chap. Do you need resuscitating?' She rolled on to her elbows and put a hand on my forehead. 'Still warm, there's a pulse there somewhere. You seem pretty content to me, Charles. Roaming around the world without a care 'That's the problem – I ought to have more cares. All this travelling is just an excuse not to put down roots. Unhappy parents teach you a lesson that lasts a lifetime. Frank got over it somehow, but I'm still stuck in Riyadh at the age of twelve.'

  'And now you're in Estrella de Mar. Perhaps it's your first real home?'

  'I think it is… I've stopped feeling depressed here.'

  She smiled like a contented child when I moved her on to her back and kissed her eyes. I began to caress her, stroking her clitoris until she parted her thighs and steered my fingers into her vagina.

  'That's nice… don't forget my anus. Do you want to bugger me?'

  She turned on to her side, forced some spit on to her fingers and pressed them between her parted buttocks. I looked down at the silky cleft, at the fine hair that covered the base of her spine. As I caressed her hips my fingers touched what seemed to be a contour line drawn across the smooth skin. A ridge of tissue curved across her hip to the small of her back, the faint trace of a long-healed surgical scar.

  'Charles, leave it alone. You can't unzip me.'

  'The scar's almost gone. How old were you?'

  'Sixteen. My right kidney wasn't working. They resectioned the pelvis, quite a tricky piece of surgery. Frank never even noticed it.' She held my penis. 'You're going soft. Think about my bum for a minute.'

  I lay back and looked down at the scar, realizing that I had seen it before, in the closing moments of the porno-film. The faint crescent of hardened skin had been reflected in the mirrored bedroom door, almost certainly in Bobby Crawford's apartment. Gently stroking Paula's back, I remembered the same high rib-cage, narrow waist and broad swimmer's hips. She had held the camcorder, with the battery pack hanging from her shoulder, and filmed the bridesmaids fondling the bride in her wedding gown,
and the bride's willing sex with the unknown stud. She had shared Anne Hollinger's panic as she was raped by the two men who had burst into the bedroom, but the camera had continued to turn, recording the brave smile that marked the film's end.

  'Charles, are you still here? You've gone for a walk inside your head.'

  'I'm here, I think…'

  I raised myself on one elbow as I tried to smooth away the scar. In many ways the sex that had taken place between us was part of another film. I had imagined myself in Frank's role, and Paula playing his lover, as if only the pornographic image of ourselves could really bring us together and draw out the affection we felt for each other.

  'Charles, if I'm going to see Frank I'll have to leave soon.'

  'I know. I'll come quickly. By the way, do you know where Bobby Crawford's apartment is?'

  'Why do you ask…? It's on the high corniche road.'

  'Have you ever been there?'

  'Once or twice. I try to keep away from him. Why are we talking about Bobby Crawford?'

  'I followed him there the other day. I got into the empty apartment next to his.'

  'On the top floor? It's quite a view.'

  'It certainly is. It's amazing what you can see there. Hold on, I'll get some cream I opened the top drawer of the wardrobe and drew out the lace shawl. Holding one corner, I laid the yellowing lace across Paula's waist and shoulders.

  'What's this?' She peered at the ancient lace. 'It's a Victorian baby shawl…?'

  'Frank and I were swaddled in it. It belonged to my mother. It's just a game, Paula.'

  'All right.' She looked up at me, puzzled by my calm manner. 'I'm ready for most things. What do you want me to do?'

  'Nothing. Just lie there for a moment.'

  I knelt across Paula and turned her on to her back, wrapping the shawl around her chest so that her nipples forced themselves through the fine mesh of this temporary bodice.

  'Charles? Are you okay?'

  'I'm fine. I used to wrap my mother in this shawl.'

  'Your mother?' Paula winced as she eased the pressure on her breasts. 'Charles, I don't think I can play your mother.'