I shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t want to offend anyone.’
They smiled and each held out a hand. Then they led me into a small and impeccably clean shower cubicle. As the door closed, I heard a distant clap of thunder and a gentle flow of water poured out from a ceiling full of holes. All around I could hear the hollow patter of raindrops falling onto tropical leaves. An exotic bird sang out. I felt the towel loosen. Suddenly there were hands all over my body. I closed my eyes.
And that’s how it continued. Between the two of them, they lathered and stroked and cleansed every ounce of tension from my body. So immersed was I, that when the ambient sounds finally died down and they led me from the cubicle, I felt disorientated. To finish off, I was gently towelled down, draped along a massage table and glazed over with fragrant crèmes. It needed a well-trained cough to rouse me once it was over. I sat up, dazed.
‘You have been chosen for a very special honour,’ the boy said.
‘Oh?’
‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘your presence has been requested in the upper tier.’
‘Upper tier?’
The girl held out a hand. ‘It is the highest plain of Elysium, a privilege bestowed only to a chosen few. Would you like to be elevated there?’
My reply didn’t take much thought. Right at that moment, I would’ve followed these two into a minefield.
The girl smiled and led me out of the room. We passed along a series of corridors, never once seeing another person, until we finally stopped at what seemed to me to be an arbitrary door. She stepped forward, knocked four times and then stood back alongside me. A short moment passed before it was opened by a man, built like a renaissance statue, complete with only a golden laurel headpiece.
‘Greetings, sire,’ he said softly. ‘I am here to escort you to the upper tier. Tonight you will know me as Hyperion. Should anyone ask, your name will be Thanatos.’
‘Thanatos,’ I repeated lamely back.
He nodded and turned to the girl. ‘Thank you. You may go about your duties now.’
The girl bowed and made her exit. I was feeling so self-conscious standing next to this chiselled marvel, that I almost forgot to watch her leave. When I turned back, Hyperion was looked down at me.
‘Now, sire, if you would just like to follow me.’
Behind him was a flight of stairs, which led to a dimly lit corridor. On the floor were scattered different shapes and shades of animal hide that tickled my bare feet, and dotted here and there across the scarlet walls were sepia photographs of deliberately vague erotic clinches. As we walked we passed a series of rooms on either side. They were open, with no doors and, from what I could tell, contained nothing more than a large sunken mattress, covered by a rich, brown silk sheet.
I was about to quiz Hyperion on what exactly occurred on this upper tier, when we reached our destination. Suddenly the question had become utterly redundant.
‘Welcome to the Plain of Elysium,’ he said, extending an arm.
Stretched out in front of me was a long and narrow room bustling with people. Sunken in the centre, underneath a colossal fan, was the largest mattress I had ever seen, as big as ten double beds pushed together. Splayed across it was what looked on first glance to be a single giant organism, but was, in fact, a heaving knot of naked people. They were probably fifty in number, though they appeared less due to so many of their heads being missing.
‘I’ll just take your towel now, if that’s alright,’ Hyperion said, breaking my trance. He held out an expectant hand. My last rat jumped ship.
‘Towel?’ I glanced down.
He nodded coolly.
As I pulled the towel away, I could already feel my pride retracting.
Hyperion raised his eyebrows. ‘Nice,’ he said, and then walked away, leaving me.
I stood there for the longest moment feeling singularly exposed, like a solitary ten pin left standing at the end of a bowling lane, nothing more a fat-bellied lump of battered and mottled whiteness praying to be missed. More than ever before, I needed somewhere to hide. I scanned the room.
A raised platform running around the edge of the mattress was acting as an observation post for those who, for whatever reason, preferred to sip Champagne and watch the goings-on below. At the far end of this platform, on the furthest side of the room, I saw what looked like a bar. No prizes for guessing where I was heading.
Keeping one eye on the action I shimmied through the crowd, making sure that physical contact, no matter how slight, was avoided. Until at last I found myself in familiar territory. With a flute of bubbly perched far too erectly in my hands, I leaned back on the corner of the bar and tried to blend in. Unfortunately, my ruse was soon blown by a young woman a few feet away. She was perched on a stool, with her back arched and a tuft of someone’s head just visible between her legs. Try as I might, I just couldn’t tear my eyes off her. Until, that was, I heard another woman’s voice.
‘Nice ink,’ she said.
Feeling like a child caught with its head wedged in the honey pot, I turned my guilty face towards her. She was standing alone, the only person with their back to the floorshow.
‘Thanks,’ I replied.
‘And who are you tonight?’
My mind was blank. “Thana–something or other, I think.’
‘Thanatos?’
‘Yeah, that’s it.’
The woman extended her gloved hand. ‘I am one of the Nereids,’ she said. ‘And tonight you will know me as Demeter.’ Then she waved her hands in faux wonderment.
The emaciated protrusion of hip bone, the darkened shading around the eyes and the streaks in her short layered hair were all in line with what I knew of the latest fashions, but the tell-tale signs around her neck belied the woman’s real age. Close to fifty if I had to guess. Still a looker though, and there was something familiar about her.
‘You’re new to the lifestyle, aren’t you?’ she said.
I nodded.
She glanced over at the couple who had been holding my attention so fixedly.
‘Why don’t you ask and see if you can join in? I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem.’
The two must’ve heard her comment, because they stopped what they were doing and looked over, the small crop of hair now raised to reveal the face of an impish looking girl with a studded ring through her nose.
My automatic reaction was to look apologetic. However, rather than take offence, they seemed pleased at the attention they had garnered. The open look on their faces confirmed the woman’s invitation.
‘No, thanks,’ I spluttered, sounding as uptight as an eighty-year-old colonel. ‘I’d love to, but I’ve...’
‘Only just eaten?’ Demeter offered.
The girls giggled at my discomfort, then continued where they left off.
‘There’s no pressure,’ Demeter said, coming forward. ‘Just take it all at your own pace and try and enjoy yourself.’
‘I’ll do that, erm, thanks,’ I replied, and drifted demurely away.
The intention was to find a quiet nook and work out where to go from there, but a short circuit of the locale and I soon realised that there was no such thing as an empty nook. In The Elysian Fields, every crevice was occupied by someone.
There was a surplus of champagne though. And so, with a view to sampling just a few glasses more before leaving, I settled alongside a low shelf and tried to keep my eyes to myself. I was just considering the bubbles in my glass, when I felt the soft touch of fabric on my waist and someone breathed in my ear.
‘You haven’t thanked me yet.’
Fearing the effects of the touch more than the shock of being surprised, I spun around to find it was Demeter. Once again she was basking in my discomfort.
‘Thank you? What have I got to thank you for?’
She passed in front of me, letting one hand stroke a trail across my lower stomach.
‘Your invitation.’
‘Invitation? You mean it was you that arranged for me t
o come up here?’
She nodded. ‘How else would I get to meet you?’
‘And why would you want that so badly?’
Leaving an arm around my waist, Demeter curled the other around my shoulders. She leaned forward and touched her lips to my ear.
‘I know what your tattoo means,’ she whispered.
My body twitched unconsciously. I played dumb.
‘Oh, really?’
‘Mm-hmm, but don’t worry, darling. Your secret’s safe with me.’ Then plucking the empty flute from my hand, she slunk over to the bar. I was duty bound to follow.
‘Tell me,’ she said, handing me a charged glass. ‘What made you do it?’
‘Do what?’ I teased. She couldn’t possibly know.
‘Oh come on, neither of us are here to play games.’
‘I’m not mucking about.’ I showed her my palms. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Demeter looked at me with assured expectation; like a detective who already has conclusive proof of the murder, yet craves the killers’s confession for their own peace of mind. She sighed.
‘OK. Fine. If that’s the way you want to play it.’
Click Click
‘What was it that made you walk away from the plane on Thursday?’
BANG
My smile might have remained, but inside I was clutching for the ropes.
‘What plane would that be?’ I said, glancing around to see if anyone was listening. That confirmed her suspicions in an instant.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ There was a schoolgirl’s delight in her voice. ‘I knew it, I bloody well knew it.’
At that moment I knew that the game was up. My scheme was irrevocably flawed. If a member of the public could work out who I was from a tattoo, then the trained professionals would have no trouble. I was done for.
I steadied myself against the bar. In my mind I could see the police sitting with my wife. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll turn up soon,’ one would say to her. But she wouldn’t be listening. The embarrassment would be too much.
My spirit was deflating so fast I could almost hear the air escaping. What the hell was I going to do now?
‘I… I didn’t blow it up,’ was all I could think to mutter.
Demeter quickly grasped how thinly my nerves were strung.
‘Of course not,’ she said, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder. ‘Sweetheart, I never imagined you had, I just wanted to hear your story, that was all.’
I gulped the champagne down. ‘How did you know?’
‘We’ve an apartment in Paris, I used that flight all the time. When I saw your tattoo, I immediately thought, “Who would do such a thing?” Then I remembered the article that I read in this mornings paper, and… well…’
‘You’ve not told anyone else that I’m alive, have you?’
‘Oh god no, I wouldn’t dare.’ She scanned the room disdainfully, then looked sharply back at me. ‘Hold on, you mean that people still think you’re dead?’
I nodded.
‘What, everyone?’
I turned away.
Demeter gasped. This was getting better and better.
‘Listen, do you want to get out of here? Go someplace quieter?’
‘Where?’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ she rolled her eight ball eyes. ‘There’s no one at my place, we could go there.’
I placed the glass on the table and necked another. ‘Fine, just get me out of here, this smell’s starting to turn my stomach.’
*
Like most people, and in a way that I could now truly appreciate, Demeter looked much better when she was dressed. However, unlike most people, this was not because she possessed a bad figure, she just had incredibly good taste in clothes. Hers was the kind of effortless style that is often described as classical, simply because it is so utterly beyond reproach. I soon understood that she had good taste in everything: the platinum diamond earrings, the black one-piece mini accentuated by the full-length dress gloves, and all of it wrapped up in a neat little Aston Martin.
‘So what should I call you?’ I asked, as we drove through the Chelsea streets.
‘Let’s just stick with Demeter, shall we? I think it’s far better that way.’
I shrugged. ‘Fair enough.’
‘But there is no need for you to remain anonymous.’ She laid a hand on my leg. ‘Not with me anyway.’
I looked down at it sprawled across my thigh. For a moment I contemplated lying to her, but I was all out of deceit. I didn’t have the energy to sustain the lies anymore. Not only that, she was a bit too close to my balls to risk being caught out.
‘Nice name,’ she said. ‘I used to be married to a guy called Felix.’
‘Really.’
‘Hmm, you would’ve liked him. You’ve a lot in common.’
‘Such as?’
Demeter lowered the window an inch and blew her smoke towards it.
‘He died as well.’
A few miles more and we turned into a quiet, well lit and leafy locale. A public highway it might be, but there was something not quite right about it. It was as though I was not worthy to be there. Hadn’t earned the right. A glance at the four-storey townhouse that she pulled up outside only served to heighten my insecurity.
‘So is yours the penthouse?’
‘Yes, darling,’ she said, humouring me. ‘Along with the rest of it.’
I stepped from the car. We were the only people on the street, but as we made our way to the front door, I counted five cameras turn and follow us. I tucked in close behind Demeter.
‘Oh, shit,’ I said.
She stood there holding the door open. ‘What is it?’
‘I didn’t pay. Back at the club, I never left any money in the locker.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that, silly boy. I’ll straighten it out when I see them next. In the meantime, we’ve far more important things to discuss. Come on in.’
I nodded. Let the door close behind me.
Demeter never broke her stride as her heels chip-chipped away at the red and white marble floor. She discarded her keys, bag and coat onto a chaise longues and disappeared through an open doorway, leaving me on the doormat like some sort of tradesman who was there to collect a pittance. I fumbled at my shoelaces, while in the background I could hear the rattling of glass on a fridge shelf.
Demeter reappeared holding two bottles of champagne.
‘Oh, darling, you don’t have to take those off.’
Just as well because I could no longer feel my fingertips. I stood up and ran my palms awkwardly down my thighs.
‘Throw your stuff anywhere,’ she said, wafting a hand at me. ‘Make yourself at home.’ Then she started up a nearby staircase.
I hung my coat on the vacant hat-stand next to the door.
The room she led me into was a sparsely decorated affair, with a u-shaped black leather sofa pointing towards an open, hearth-less fireplace. Above it hung a flat screen television so big that it almost filled the wall. A short, white grand piano lay to my right.
Demeter laid the bottles on a long white bar in the far corner of the room and tapped on a sheet of grey glass hanging on the wall.
‘Be a sweetheart and open that, won’t you?’ she said, directing me to the champagne. The dark bottles were sweating almost as much as I was.
I heard a beep and Demeter turned back to me.
‘So, what’ll it be?’
‘Ah, a VAT… please.’
‘And how do you take it?’
No one had ever asked me that before.
‘I don’t know, just stick an inch of vodka in the glass and let the tonic worry about the rest.’
Demeter nodded approvingly and started to fix my drink.
Pumm-dumm
Pumm-dumm
I became aware of a heart beating.
Pumm-dumm.
Pumm-dumm.
Muted at first, but over the next thirty secon
ds it grew progressively louder.
Pumm-dumm.
Pumm-dumm.
Panic set in. What the fuck was it?
Pumm-dumm.
Pumm-dumm.
Another seizure? My first heart attack?
I set the Champagne bottle down and leaned against the sofa.
Pumm-dumm.
Pumm-dumm
Here it comes. Any second now. Get ready. Get ready for the stab in your chest.
Hold on.
The pace. The pace was too slow. Too regular. My heart hadn’t beat that steadily for weeks.
A clock started ticking.
"I've been mad for fucking years, absolutely years... I've always been mad, I know I've been mad, like the most of us...very hard to explain why you're mad, even if you're not mad..."
‘Dark Side of the Moon,’ I blurted, taking the tumbler that Demeter was offering. My voice broke from the relief.
‘They don’t make them like this anymore,’ she said. ‘Back then music used to inspire serial killers. Cheers.’
We touched glasses and for a short moment all I could see of her in the swirl of my drink was the dark smear where her eyes were. Like the hollow sockets of a corpse.
‘So tell me,’ she said. ‘How does it feel to be dead?’
‘Look, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about–’
She laid a hand on my forearm. ‘Don’t be shy, I want to know how it feels. Come on, you simply must tell.’ There was a keenness to her insistence that struck me as more than just curiosity.
‘If you really want to know, right now, it doesn’t feel particularly good.’
She tilted her head. ‘What’s wrong, poppet? You in need of a pickup?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t mind, if there’s one on offer.’
Demeter smiled roguishly and I got the feeling she was pleased I’d asked. She walked away and sat on the sofa.
Nestled within it was a conceptual coffee table. The base was made of wrought iron, which had been sculpted to look like a tree branch. Perched impossibly on top of it was a sheet on oval glass and scattered across that was a varied assortment of chrome balls which, when set against the glass, looked as though they were somehow hanging from the branches beneath. The effect was deliberately disconcerting and I assumed they were part of the ensemble, nothing more than objets d’art. However, I soon realised they served a much more useful purpose. Demeter plucked one of the shiny orbs, seemingly at random, and carefully twisted it until it separated to reveal a cavity loaded with white powder.
Felix Shill Deserves to Die Page 31
