Pornopsychedelica

by Chris Johnson

  'Why number three?' asked Teja.

  ''Cos it doesn't mean anything.' He sniffed and pulled at his pants. 'Nice outfit, 'bout the only thing in this place worth looking at.'

  He laughed to himself, hand shaking slightly as he brushed a clump of tangled hair from his eyes.

  'Do you like it?'

  'I like it. I'm just not in any state of health to get over-excited.'

  Teja took his arm.

  'I could do with a hand to keep me steady,' he said. 'I was shot, you know.' He tapped his fingers to his chest. 'I got a plastic bone here now and a few organs kindly donated by some sims. Drugs keepin' me light though.'

  'Do you know Fernandez?'

  'No. My boss is somewhere here. I came with him. Never been in a limo before.'

  'Let's go find him.'

  'Sure. I wanna go soon anyways, get back to the hospital.'

  The man who'd been talking about Fernandez touched her hand, trying to get her attention. She gave him her empty glass.

  Holding the man's arm, they passed through a doorway. Guards with automatic weapons watching but not moving.

  'My boss's just trying to perk me up since I got shot,' he said. 'Thought I might wanna see an exhibition and have a few drinks. He's been good enough to fix all the hospital bills. I was out cold for two days. Got me in one of those private rooms. You push a button and a nurse comes in right away.'

  'Who's your boss?'

  'That dude there with the pretty lady.'

  'The one with the yellow dress?'

  'One next to her. The Asian chick.'

  'I see. Who is he?'

  'Mr. Yang.'

  Teja said, 'So that's Peter Yang.' The man scratched his forearm like he had something irritating him under his skin. 'He must know Fernandez.'

  'Man knows everybody,' he said. Then he did a little dance to the music coming from the floor above, shaking his head and twitching his scrawny shoulders.

  'I want to meet this Peter Yang.'

  He followed her when she started walking, going straight for Peter Yang, but keeping it slow. She could see he was watching her approach, raising a cigar to his mouth and giving her a curious look, not too sure if she was walking toward him or to somebody else close by. He had an arm in a sling and a Band-Aid on his cheek.

  'Dooley.' Peter Yang was looking past Teja to the man with the bandage on his head approaching behind her. 'Where have you been? I told you to stay with the exhibition.'

  'I got bored, man. I seen all this stuff and the music up there sounded better. Besides, all these fruitcakes looking at me funny.'

  Teja didn't realise Peter Yang was talking to her until he raised his voice slightly, asking who she was.

  'I'm Teja,' she said, like it was obvious. 'And you're Peter Yang. I've heard so much about you.'

  'And I know nothing about you. Maybe you'd like to tell me something about yourself.'

  There was something familiar about the woman standing next to him, the way her dark eyes glanced around the room. She looked about twenty-six, Japanese perhaps.

  'You might have seen my picture,' Teja said, 'in the Hong Kong Post. I was involved in the takeover of Lumbroc and Pope just before they shipped out.' It was a good lie. She'd read enough in the papers to be familiar with the real estate company that had sold up and moved Off World, there been little else to do when she was stuck in the apartment while Tomoko was away. Watch TV, peek at the kids down on the street, avoid the mirrors in the bathroom. 'We bought prime HK real estate for six-hundred million dollars,' she said.

  Peter Yang was nodding his head and blowing smoke, either agreeing with her, or liking the sound of that much money.

  'Property's dead.'

  'The company is looking at the short-term investment.'

  'This is where the money is now, in history that can be moved.'

  'In art?' asked Teja.

  'Not just art.'

  Teja wanted Peter Yang's wife to look at her again, so she could see her eyes. The man called Dooley didn't seem to know what to do with himself, so he just stood alongside her. She gave Peter Yang a cute smile, saying, 'I'd give you my card, but I'm not carrying any,' making a motion to indicate the smart fluid dress, and casually moved over to one of the displays.

  A wooden pedestal supported a large monitor, set at an angle so it could be viewed from above. It ran a six-second scene in a loop. A close-up of a penis penetrating a girl's ass, accompanied by a shuddering, almost painful cry, repeating over and over.

  A man appeared at the other side of the exhibit, palms held together in front of him, like a happy monk.

  'You like this one?' he said. 'It's cool, yeah? I had a couple this morning, little fat man from the Philippines with his French wife, and they stood there for sixteen minutes. Didn't move an inch. He was like this, you know.' He did an impression of the guy standing there, staring with his mouth open. 'I think after they went home and had a good time.'

  'You think so?' said Teja.

  'Sure. Well, what does it say to you?'

  Teja didn't look up when she said, 'It speaks of many things.'

  'Tell me.'

  'It says more about purity than the others.' She glanced up, recognised Fernandez. The sound of the girl moaning between them.

  'There is no purity. It's just about fucking, okay?'

  'I like the woman's shape,' said Teja.

  He was a small guy, black hair that had been sprayed with some stuff to make it glisten. He was clean shaven, apart from a very thin line of beard that went down the middle of his chin. Loose pants, a baggy shirt with billowing sleeves.

  'Not a woman. A girl.' The cries from the screen's speakers repeated, panting gasps, then a high-pitched squeal. 'For this piece the girl had to be a virgin. You know why? Otherwise when I penetrated her anus how could I capture the true power of the moment? I think the purity you refer to is like innocence. This is innocence. One moment it's there, the next I take it away.' He walked around the exhibit to be at Teja's side. 'Of course, after the act there is no innocence. This piece keeps that one moment between innocence and non-innocence alive for all time, preserved. It's my favourite piece in the whole collection. You like it?'

  'Yes.' She was thinking as she spoke that he looked more like a boy than a man. She moved closer to him, glancing down at the monitor now and then with her lips slightly parted. Then she laughed, looking away from Fernandez to Dooley, his little finger poking his ear.

  'Why do you laugh?'

  'I just can't believe I'm standing here talking to you. The man who sacrifices everything for his ideas.'

  He nodded, signing a brochure for a woman before he answered. 'Art is consuming. I want to be consumed by it. I want people to look at this exhibition and feel that my art is like a drug, you know, addictive. I want people to be aroused. You feel that?'

  He was staring at her, and Teja stared back, thinking how she could convince this man to take her with him to wherever he was going next. Her eyes lowered to the image on the screen, saying, 'If you want me to say I'm aroused, I'm not.'

  He waved his hand to the picture on the wall to his left. 'This doesn't arouse you?'

  Playing it cool, but hoping not to go too far, she said, 'The girl's got a nice pussy.'

  'That all?'

  'I've seen one before.'

  'This one is sepia toned and the model was photographed riding in a glass elevator.'

  'That I've never seen. But I'm sure you've got more to show me.'

  'I have. A new creation. My last work before I leave.' He offered her his arm and they moved to the next room. 'A gift for the ambassador's daughter. Hey, look at this.'

  The canvas was white, reaching to the ceiling and stretching out by maybe ten feet across the floor. Teja stood next to Peter Yang. Drop your card into my office, he'd said to Teja, just before Fernandez took centre stage in front of the canvas.

  Fernandez bowed. 'This piece is only made possible by the generosity of my friend and sponsor, Mr
. Peter Yang. Please, Mr. Dooley.'

  The man called Dooley appeared from the middle of the crowd, looking bewildered but going along with it, like he'd been chosen to help with a magician's trick. He stood where Fernandez positioned him in front of the canvas, making a pose with his head sideways and his arms making squares, Egyptian hieroglyph-style.

  'Man, I gotta stand like this for long?' Dooley flicked his head to get his hair away from his face.

  'Not for long,' said Fernandez, stepping back to view the canvas, then making a few adjustments to Dooley's pose. 'Perfect.'

  A couple of light bars started to flicker, changing from gold to blue. A woman sat, a synthesizer played a repetitive string of whining notes.

  The crack of sound didn't make Teja jump, but it did make her hold her breath for a few seconds. Something had exploded inside Dooley's left wrist and blown open his radial artery.

  Dooley screamed and tried to stem the steady flow of blood, looking frantically at the crowd as if they might have an answer. Blood made spots and lines across the canvas, smudged in places by his feet. 'Shit, I'm fucking bleeding. Oh, man, this is seriously fucked up.'

  A small chunk of flesh exploded from his neck. He twisted and yelped, hand coming to his throat, blood shooting up over his head when he pressed his hand to the wound. Fernandez pointed a remote control at Dooley, using it to activate more of the tiny devices implanted under his skin.

  One exploded on Dooley's thigh with a puff of smoke, bringing him to his knees. He was wailing now, a panting cry, the woman on the synthesizer trying her best to match the sounds.

  Fernandez rushed onto the canvas and pushed Dooley's head down, leaping back and prodding a button on the remote. There was a louder bang this time that brought screams from the artist's audience and the explosion ripped apart Dooley's head, splattering blood, bone and chunks of brain across the canvas. An eyeball had made a red line across the canvas and stopped at Teja's feet.

  Peter Yang took the Asian woman's hand and started walking to the exit. Four men and two women followed behind him.

  'Not exactly what I was hoping for,' said Fernandez, studying what remained of Dooley painted across the canvas, 'but still workable.'

  The applause was coming to an end when Teja went to the artist's side, whispering into his ear.

  23

  The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife

  From a bar with a canopy of fake banana leaves, Fernandez dropped broken ice into three glasses, saying, 'Are you thinking I wouldn't have an apartment like this? The Japanese Ambassador's daughter stayed a few nights ago, she couldn't believe I did my own cooking. I like this place, high up, I feel free.'

  He was still talking, saying something about how he loved the view out of the forty-fourth floor window, the lights and all that, though Teja was barely listening. She was looking at the girl called Poppy Jay sat at the other end of the sofa. She had a birthmark on her arm and a graze on her knee.

  'You have a nice apartment,' said Teja, looking from Poppy to Fernandez. He was stirring the drinks with a long glass rod. 'Those ready? We're getting really thirsty over here. Come and join us so we can have some fun.'

  'Take your time,' said Poppy.

  'I bought tall glasses just to make Petronas Towers. I mean, how could you possibly drink a cocktail named after such a tall building out of a short glass?' He twisted the top on a bottle of something and poured out equal measures. 'But some people do. It should be illegal. They should be fucking killed. I apologise for the wait, ladies. One of the glasses wasn't perfectly clean so I boiled it in the washer. To kill all the bacteria.'

  'Bacteria?' said Poppy.

  He said, 'You can never be too careful.'

  Teja was wondering what kind of situation she'd got herself into. If Fernandez had more than one apartment there was the chance that Tomoko might go to the wrong one. Teja was trying not to think how Tomoko would be able to find the apartment even if she could find the building. I'll be right behind you, Tomoko had said, but you'll never see me. It was already 1.22a.m.

  She saw everything play out in her head. They'd finish their drinks and make small talk, which would move onto Poppy saying something that would lead to kissing and the loosening of clothes. The sofa was big and soft, so maybe they wouldn't move to the bedroom. It all depended on what Fernandez had in mind, or what he was used to.

  Teja had carefully questioned Poppy in the limo, finding out that she was the daughter of a wealthy American actor, and she'd been to Fernandez's apartment several times before. It seemed logical that if he wanted to experiment privately like he did with his art, Poppy wouldn't be returning. She looked about nineteen.

  Fernandez was singing to himself in Spanish. He said, 'Put some music on. Just hit the button.'

  Poppy crawled to the hifi, her skirt pulled tight around the curve of her ass. 'Which one? Oh, wait. I got it.'

  Music thumped from the speakers, filling the room. Poppy found the volume control and turned it down as Fernandez walked toward them with a glass in each hand. He gave one to Teja, the other to Poppy when she jumped back onto the sofa.

  He said, 'You like it?'

  Teja drank some more through the straw. Ice cubes made it cold. 'Delicious. It's spicy.'

  'A touch of spices to add flavour.'

  'Orange and pineapple.'

  'Your sense of taste is amazing.'

  'I could drink these all night,' said Poppy. 'Are you making more?'

  He went to the bar to get his own drink and squeezed between them when he came back. 'This is how it should be, a beautiful girl at either side of me.'

  He had his hand on Poppy's thigh.

  'I think you spend every night like this,' said Teja.

  He placed the cocktail on the glass coffee table. 'I wish I did. I'm too busy. I have to produce new pieces for clients, I have to socialise and go to those dreadful parties. It never ends.'

  'You find beauty in the strangest things.' Teja was leaning closer to him now, getting comfortable, sitting sideways on the sofa with one leg tucked underneath her. She felt the smart fluid dress following the contours of her body as she moved.

  'Death is beautiful,' said Fernandez. 'Love is beautiful.'

  'Hoyte said your art was extreme and the work of a child.' Teja remembered what the man at the gallery had told her. She watched Fernandez over the rim of her glass. Poppy was smiling at her.

  Fernandez said, 'Critics. I'll tell you what they know.' He leaned forward quickly, took a drink from his cocktail, and sat back between Poppy and Teja. 'Pornopsychedelic art expresses the intricate relationships between flesh and mind. I can find beauty in almost anything, in death, in violence, but especially in women.'

  She thought about Poppy leaning over Fernandez. She saw herself moving closer. Her hand reaching under her top. Teja stirred the drink, ice rattling, Poppy staring straight back at her, said to Fernandez, 'When do you leave?'

  'Day after tomorrow.'

  'From HK?'

  'From Japan.'

  'Aren't you concerned about the riots?'

  'Forty people were killed,' said Poppy.

  'It was forty-two. No, I'm not concerned. I'll have my own security, and the protection of Mr. Yang.'

  'Let's not talk about that,' said Poppy. 'What have you got for me?'

  'Something special,' said Fernandez. He got up and wandered to the other side of the room behind them, into the semi-darkness. Teja heard him opening a drawer. He came back holding a little box, and sat between them like he had before. 'This is something I prepared a few days ago just for you, Poppy. Remember saying you wished the marine park was still open?'

  'Is it nasty?' said Poppy. She took one of the ampoules from the case and pulled off the cap at the end. 'What is it? Is it bake?'

  'Designed just for you.'

  Teja watched them kiss, Poppy's fingers working at the buttons on his shirt.

  'You want it?' he said. 'Let me hear what you want. Tell me what you came back for.'
/>   She whispered, 'You know what I want. What I always want.'

  Poppy opened his shirt. He had a triangular patch of black hair on his chest. She squeezed the ampoule into his shoulder, leaning back as she threw the spent ampoule across the room.

  Teja moved closer, her hand on the artist's chest, caressing his neck as she kissed his cheek. Doing what felt natural, what Poppy might do. She raised her leg and rested it over his lap, Poppy feeling the smoothness of her calf. She kissed the top of her naked foot. Poppy pricked an ampoule into Teja's thigh. Fernandez sank low on the sofa, saying, 'Listen carefully. Watch what the fish do. Those crazy fish.'

  'You came back for this,' he said.

  'Yes,' Poppy said. The girl was undoing his pants.

  Teja slid her hand inside, heard him say, this is what you came back for. He had his hand between Teja's legs, circling her thigh, round her hip, trying to get his fingers under the smart fluid dress.

  She watched Poppy working her mouth up and down his penis, sliding her hand around him, slick with saliva. She'd done this for a man she'd met at the company gym before Mr. Tito transferred him to Hong Kong. She saw herself picking up the small tin soldiers he'd had in his apartment and the pictures he'd had of his mother and father, two nieces and a sister. Family, he'd said.

  He hadn't said much else and had seemed nervous being alone with her. She'd been curious, had to know how it would feel if he lifted her skirt. When she had returned she'd look at those family pictures for a long time. Mother and father. Genes supplied by only two donors. They must have been so weak, she'd thought. She felt the drug altering sensory processing. She heard the sea, waves lapping a pebble beach.

  He squeezed her ass, trying to pull the material away. She felt it pressing against her as it liquified and reformed under his fingers.

  Teja sat up, giggling for no reason.

  She felt strange. The room seemed to be breathing. The digital clock said 2.12, and the numbers were undulating, circling, like the grass skirt hanging off the hips of an Hawaiian dancer. She wondered how much time had passed, it only felt like a few minutes.