Araluen

by Judy Nunn

  He left, quietly closing the door behind him, and Emma couldn’t help smiling. The Stanley Grahame arrogance was back and it was very attractive.

  Over the next fortnight, as the premiere drew near, there wasn’t much time for Stanley to press his suit, but there was a special feeling between the two of them and he was content not to force the issue.

  Everything was set for the big night. And the big night didn’t disappoint. Michael’s publicists had gone mad setting the stage. Red carpets and searchlights abounded and, in the foyer of the theatre, a sixteen-piece orchestra played the haunting theme music from Earth Man. Michael’s special police contact, once more in the form of Captain Matthew ‘Mac’ Macfarlane, closed whole inner-city blocks to all traffic apart from the stretch limos and the Rolls-Royce limousines which arrived bearing the star guests. Thousands of fans lined the pavements and screamed their approval as their favourites alighted, waving to the cameras and shielding their eyes from the glare of the flashlights.

  Inside the theatre, when the guests were finally seated, Michael made his introductory speech. It was perfect. A touching tribute to Marcel Gireaux. ‘What you are about to see tonight is a timeless record of one man’s commitment to the planet and his fellow man. And we, as a team,’ he looked at Emma and Stanley and Derek and Mandy, ‘are proud that this film is proof of the fact that Marcel Gireaux did not die in vain and that, indeed, he and his ideals will live forever.’

  He didn’t acknowledge the applause as he returned to his seat - the applause was, after all, for Marcel Gireaux. Michael was pleased with himself. He hadn’t built up to a high before the screening; the ecstasy and coke in his top pocket were for the all-night celebrations which would follow. Yes, he thought with satisfaction, his speech had gone down very well, with just the right degree of humility. He did indeed feel deeply grateful to Marcel.

  As the lights dimmed, he caught Franklin’s eye. The old man gave a curt nod of approval but Michael knew he’d found the speech hypocritical. So what? he thought. Too bad - the crowd had loved it.

  The titles rolled, the theme music swelled to a crescendo and the audience sat, spellbound, for the following two hours. There was a hushed silence in the build-up to the assassination scene and an audible gasp when the gunshot rang out.

  The final credits were rolled in silence and, at the end of them, a tribute to Marcel Gireaux appeared on the screen. When the houselights were finally brought up, people were weeping. Some unashamedly, others surreptitiously, trying to repair their make-up. Silence continued to reign for a full minute, and then the applause began. It went on and on. People rose to their feet. And, finally, the entire audience was standing in tribute.

  The reverence and awe didn’t last long, of course. In the foyer, as they mingled, the guests once more reverted to their standard premiere behaviour. ‘A masterpiece, my darling.’ ‘Brilliant, bound to carry off best film.’ ‘Got your Academy Award speech ready, Michael?’

  He basked in it. He’d popped an ecstasy halfway through the screening and he was floating on a wonderful cloud. Life couldn’t possibly be better.

  He continued to bask in his glory all through the festivities that followed. A crowd of them went on to Au Bar and then Doubles. Then it was four o’clock in the morning and still the pace was furious. By this time it was mostly the hard-core film crowd. Those who’d worked on the movie were all on a high. It was their night. Most of them had taken ecstasy. Even Emma had been persuaded.

  ‘Come on, Emma,’ Mandy had urged, ‘it’s that sort of night.’ Mandy had been as high as a kite from the outset of the evening. ‘The sort of night that might only happen once in your life.’

  ‘But I’ve never taken one before - what’s it like?’ The champagne had gone to Emma’s head and she was wondering whether she should go home before she made a fool of herself.

  ‘Like coke, only it’s gentler,’ Mandy said. ‘It’ll keep you going all night - stop you getting drunk too.’

  ‘Oh.’ That sounded tempting.

  ‘Come on, just a half’ll do you.’ Emma looked at Derek who was nodding his approval. Derek had surprised himself by accepting an ecstasy from Michael two hours ago and he was feeling no pain. Hell, Mandy was right, this was a once-in-a-life-time occasion.

  It worked. Just half a pill and, an hour later, Emma wanted to dance until dawn. And she loved the feeling of Stanley’s arms around her.

  Stanley was enjoying the sensation too but he was getting tired of dancing. Emma was being so unashamedly sensual. He wanted to kiss her, to feel her, to make love to her. Was tonight the night? But then, he thought, he was pretty drunk -it was probably just wishful thinking.

  ‘Let’s go outside and get some fresh air,’ he said.

  ‘No, no, I want to dance,’ she insisted. ‘Listen to the music - it’s sensational.’

  ‘But I want to kiss you,’ he murmured in her ear, smelling her hair and feeling her body close to his.

  Then kiss me here,’ she said, offering her mouth to his.

  He looked at her. Her eyes looked distant, and it finally occurred to him. ‘Have you taken something, Emma?’

  ‘Just a little half a pill, that’s all. It’s wonderful.’

  Stanley decided he’d better lay off the booze for a while, she might need some looking after. ‘Oh well,’ he shrugged, ‘I guess I’m the only one here who hasn’t. And I might as well take advantage of you while you’re bombed.’

  They swayed to the music and he kissed her. And the kiss to Emma was delicious. It went on and on and on. His tongue gently explored her mouth and his lips moved on hers, sometimes engulfing her upper lip, sometimes her lower, then his whole mouth, open on hers, as their bodies seemed to meld into one. Everything was in unison with the music, she thought. It was a dream, a wonderful dream where every sensation was perfectly matched.

  Both she and Stanley were oblivious to the fact that Michael was staring at them through the crowd, his euphoria fading into thin air as he watched them. No, his mind screamed to him, this can’t be happening. He’d danced with Emma himself earlier and he’d been aware of her sensuality. He knew she’d popped a pill; he’d told Mandy to give her one. But her sensuality had been for him. Not Stanley. He made his way through the crowd.

  ‘Mind if a brother cuts in, Stan?’ he asked, his voice like ice.

  ‘Oh. Sure.’ Stanley stepped aside, feeling a little foolish, aware that they must have been making quite a spectacle of themselves. He looked about self-consciously but nobody was taking any notice, so he watched Michael and Emma whirl about the dance floor. The tempo of the music had quickened and Emma was laughing and enjoying the pace of the dance. Michael was forcing a smile but Stanley could tell he was displeased. Christ, the man was possessive, he thought. Poor Emma. It was sick.

  ‘Want to party on?’ Michael asked. ‘I’ve laid in crates of champagne and we’re all going back to my place.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Emma laughed, ‘I want to party on all night.’

  At least twenty people ended up back at Michael’s. He wasn’t too happy to find Stanley amongst them. He deliberately hadn’t extended him a personal invitation and he was irritated beyond measure when Emma refused the offer of a lift. ‘No, it’s okay thanks, Michael,’ she said. ‘I’ll go with Stanley and Derek. You can drive some of the others and we’ll meet you there.’

  The music was loud and most of the gang seemed still to be on a high. But Michael needed a boost. Half a dozen people gathered around him as he put the glass board on the coffee table and started cutting the coke.

  They passed the board from one to the other, ceremoniously snorting a line each, even Derek. Derek had decided to be in anything that was going that night. He’d worry about tomorrow when tomorrow came, he told himself, Mandy was right, this was the night of a lifetime.

  ‘Emma.’ Michael called her over. He wanted to get her away from the crowd in the corner which included Stanley. ‘Your turn,’ he said. ‘Come on,’ he urged when she hesi
tated, ‘this is our big night. Share in it.’

  Why not, she thought, as she accepted the tightly rolled hundred dollar bill. She remembered the one and only time she’d snorted coke before. She’d been with Michael then too. They’d been working on Halley’s and it had been a buzz. She snorted deeply and then fought the desire to sneeze. Yes, he was right, this was their big night, she must share in it.

  Stanley watched from the sidelines. It was mad to snort coke on top of the pills they’d taken, he thought, and he was angry with Michael for leading Emma astray. There was nothing he could do, though, Emma was too far gone to listen to him. Besides, he himself was too drunk to tell anyone what to do. He avoided the champagne and had another beer.

  It was Mandy’s idea to take the party to the basement. ‘The pool!’ she shrieked, and started stripping off her clothes. ‘Hey, everybody! The pool!’

  In minutes, clothes were flying everywhere. Naked and semi-naked people were running down the stairs and throwing themselves into the pool with gay abandon. The music was turned up even louder, two crates of champagne were carted downstairs and the party continued.

  Not a bad way to sober up, Stanley thought as he stripped down to his underpants and prepared to join the throng. In the middle of the pool, Mandy climbed aboard Derek’s shoulders and together they called for a battle to the death. ‘Fight! Fight!’ Mandy yelled and Derek, between her thighs, was laughing so much he could hardly stay upright.

  Stanley grabbed the half-naked Emma and heaved her onto his shoulders. ‘We’ll take you on,’ he said, and Emma squealed with delight. Stanley wasn’t sure whether he’d joined in the horseplay merely to feel Emma’s thighs about his neck or whether he’d wanted to avoid the possibility of them ending up around any other man’s neck, but he threw himself into the fray and soon he and Emma were the champions, beating every couple who took them on.

  Michael was the only person not joining in the fun. Nobody noticed him standing fully clothed by one of the marble columns looking down at the frolics below. He studied Emma’s breasts. He studied her buttocks which clearly showed through the wet lace panties which clung to her body. And he studied her thighs, locked either side of Stanley’s face, and her ankles hooked behind his back for leverage.

  Michael was sweating. Were they lovers? Had Stanley been possessing Emma all the while without Michael’s knowledge? He thought of the gun in the dressing-table drawer upstairs. Maybe the gun wasn’t meant for Karol Mankowski after all, he thought. Maybe it was meant for Stanley.

  No, he told himself, that was madness, insanity. Calm down, calm down. Emma was uninhibited because of the drugs she’d taken - she wasn’t used to drugs. Michael had been aware of the sexuality in her when he’d danced with her. She could be anybody’s tonight. But not Stanley’s, he thought. Not Stanley’s. Not anyone else’s either. He made a promise to himself. Mine. Mine.

  He downed his champagne and poured himself another from the bottle on the railing. Then he turned his back on the gleeful squeals and shrieks and poolside frolics and crossed to the coffee table. Meticulously, he cut two more lines of coke and snorted them.

  He sat back for a minute, waiting for the extra buzz. The music stopped but no one came upstairs to put on another CD - they were too busy splashing and giggling below.

  Michael got up, went to the kitchen and took a bottle of Bollinger from the refrigerator. He put it in an ice bucket on a tray with two fresh glasses, and carried it up to his bedroom. He put it on the table by the window, then he set out another two lines of coke. She might want an extra lift by the time she came upstairs, he thought.

  And, when he was sure that everything was in order, he turned the video on. High in the wall, behind the air vent, it started to quietly whirr.

  He sat for several minutes planning his attack. Somebody downstairs put on another CD, the theme music from Once Upon a Time in America. One of his favourite CDs, one of his favourite movies. Haunting. ‘Amapola.’ The party was starting to quieten down a little. Good, he thought, she’d be getting mellow. Not sleepy. Oh no, still on a high. But playtime was over. Now she’d want the real thing. She’d want the feel of flesh upon flesh. She’d want the moment she’d been waiting for, the moment he’d been waiting for. Yes, they were meant to be one.

  Michael could have laughed as he walked downstairs. There was no competition. Just Stan. Poor stuntie Stan. How had Stanley ever thought he’d get a look in? Michael was the only person in Emma’s class. Emma was a creator, just like he was. And he was the creator of Earth Man. It was his invention. If they only knew to what degree he’d manipulated its success. Oh yes, Michael had the power. And Emma responded to power. Every woman responded to power.

  There was no one in the living room. Whoever had changed the CD had returned to the pool. Good, they could all stay there while he and Emma went upstairs.

  From the ground-floor landing, he looked down at the pool. Several people were still splashing about, but in a desultory fashion; others were sitting around, some half-naked, some wrapped in towelling robes, sipping champagne and talking. The party had mellowed. Emma was in a corner talking avidly to Derek who was raving back, neither of them really listening to each other.

  Out of the corner of his eye Michael could see Stanley in the opposite corner trying to help one of the film crew follow ‘Amapola’ on the guitar. Michael loathed guitars and he loathed people who brought guitars to parties. But it was a welcome sight. He was sure that Emma loathed guitar players too. His eyes were on Emma as he slowly descended the stairs.

  ‘Hello, Derek,’ he said. ‘Having a good time?’

  Derek halted mid-conversation and swivelled eyes that were completely out of focus somewhere in Michael’s direction. ‘The best, the best, the best,’ he said. The man was off the planet. Michael turned towards Emma.

  But to his utter astonishment, before he could say anything, her mouth was on his and her body was pressing insistently against him.

  ‘Michael,’ she murmured and he could feel her tongue flicking across his teeth.

  The room vanished as he held her to him. ‘Let’s go upstairs,’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she said.

  Nobody seemed to notice them go, not that Michael would have cared if they had. Derek’s glassy eyes were still focused on nothing and the splashing in the pool, the buzz of conversation and the strains of ‘Amapola’ continued, oblivious.

  In the master bedroom, he closed the door and she snorted another line. ‘Music,’ she whispered, ‘let’s have music’

  He took a perfunctory snort himself, he certainly didn’t need any more and, as he ripped his clothes off, he grabbed the first CD he could lay his hands on and put it in the player built into the bedhead. It was a remaster of an old Donna Summer recording.

  He poured the Bollinger but they only downed half a glass before they attacked each other’s bodies. She was as ready as he was.

  Donna Summer was moaning ‘Ooh, love to love you baby, ooh love to love you baby, ooh love to love you baby … ’

  Then they were on the bed, naked, and he was driving himself into her. It was everything that Michael had hoped for, lived for. Her skin upon his skin. Their flesh mingling into one. This was no videoed fantasy that he would relive tomorrow. This was real. This was Emma. He was possessing his own Emma. And she was clinging to him, begging for more. She was his flesh and blood. And now she was his. Finally his.

  He felt good. Strong. Powerful. And although her passion was exciting him, he knew he could go all night. His own pleasure was of no importance. He wanted to drive her into a frenzy. It didn’t take long. Her answering thrusts quickened and she started to cry out. He drew back. Only fractionally. Just enough to tease. Enough to keep her on the knife edge of ecstasy. Any moment now, he told himself, any moment now … ‘Ooh, love to love you baby, ooh, love to love you baby, ooh, love to … ’

  Suddenly she stopped crying out. He could feel she was on the threshold. The time had come. He would
give her the greatest pleasure of her life. Yes, my darling, he thought. Yes. Now. He placed his right hand on her neck, positioning his fingers over her carotid arteries and he started to squeeze.

  It was a game he’d played before. He would release the pressure at her moment of orgasm and the sudden rush of blood to her brain would intensify her pleasure. He squeezed, gently at first, then gradually applying more pressure.

  She gasped in ecstacy, her eyes rolling back in her head. She started to writhe but he refused to let go. Then she was bucking wildly and he was bucking with her, the two of them rivetted together. He loved her. He had loved her for years and now they were one. Forever one. He wanted to die at that moment. He wanted to die for the sheer love of her. And he wanted her to die with him. In ecstacy. Together. ‘Ooh, love to love you baby, ooh, love to love you baby … ’

  He could feel her climax. There was no need for his own pleasure. His energy was spent, in any case. He lay gasping for air. He looked at her, and she looked back at him. But there was something wrong.

  A glimmer of light found its way through Michael’s fogged brain. She wasn’t looking at him, she was staring at him. That was what was wrong, she was staring. And her mouth was open. And she was terrifyingly still.

  ‘Oh God, no!’ He smacked her face but still she stared back at him. ‘For Christ’s sake, no!’ He felt for her pulse. ‘Oh Jesus,’ he panted, ‘sweet Jesus! Emma! Emma!’

  Help. He had to get help. ‘Emma, Emma,’ he whimpered as he pulled on his trousers.

  ‘Ooh, love to love you baby, ooh love to love you baby, ooh love to love you … .’

  Stanley was in the living room. Still half-naked, he was squatting beside the stereo in his damp underpants ferreting through the CDs when Michael appeared on the upper landing. ‘Get real, Toddie,’ he was calling downstairs, ‘ "Duelling Banjos" is a bit out of your league right now. What else?’

  ‘Help me,’ Michael panted, and he grabbed the railing for support.