He fiddles with his silk fuchsia scarf as he enters the bar. He scans the room. Nothing much happening yet. He’ll wait; play it cool. He lays the scarf and his vintage tailcoat on a stool – too close to the floor, he’ll have to check for stains later – and sits on top of them, ready for some liquid courage. Red wine or bourbon. Something manly and mysterious. He leaves his top hat on. Always wear something weird and flashy to stand out, Jay said. You’ll be the first thing they spot. Keep them guessing. Women are like children. They like the flash and the fireworks. Dazzle them. Make them laugh. Push their buttons, neg a little, smile even less. Ask them dumb little questions and keep your answers short. Watch their gears spin while they’re trying to figure you out. When you’re ready to go for the kill, it’s time for the magic trick, just like we practised. Pack of cards; shuffle fast. Pick one, any one. You know the drill. They don’t need a complicated wine and dine and song and dance. Just fry their minds and fuck their brains out. Pump and dump. Move on. Don’t look back. Don’t be a pussy.
He nods at the bartender with a knowing glance. She looks right through him and takes someone else’s order. He waits; plays it cool. Later – so much later – he catches her eye and orders a large glass of the house red. It’s too bitter for his taste, but he gulps it down, wincing. He adopts the coolest pose he can muster. One finger on the rim of his glass, legs crossed, surveying his surroundings. Nothing’s happening. He orders a second glass. It tastes a bit better. He tries to tune into the conversations around him. He’s too nervous to focus. He puts his hand in his back pocket to feel the familiar pack of cards. His superpower. No one’s looking over. No one cares. He starts sweating. The drinks keep coming. The music’s too loud. He saw someone pretty walk up to the counter, but when he turned to talk to her all he could think to say was “Nice night for it, huh?”.
“Nice night for what?”, she asks.
“You know, drinking and stuff.”
She’s gone. He breathes on his palm, checks his breath. The whole place smells. He briefly entertains the idea of dancing. That won’t do. Can’t stay cool while gyrating like a fool.
“Nice night for it, huh?”, someone says. She leans close and speaks right into his ear. There’s a pleasant jolt down his back.
“Nice night for what?”, he asks.
“You know, drinking and stuff.”
She grins and he feels his cock stir from its shameful slumber as if to say, I’m still here. Don’t forget about me. He’s trying not to think about why he mentally defaulted to a high-pitched voice for his dick and grins back in what he hopes is a winsome manner.
“You’ve been watching me”, he says.
“I can’t help it. I can never resist a dapper gentleman. That hat suits you. Is there a rabbit hiding somewhere in there?”
“Nope, no rabbit. If you like magic though, wait till you see this!”
He pulls out the cards, ready to roll. Too soon, Jay yells in his head. I don’t care, he thinks. Look at her. Red curls, green eyes, tight black t-shirt with some band’s name that doesn’t matter. He can’t look away.
She lights up and squeals, “A magic trick, show me!”.
He goes through the steps – pick one, any one, which one did you pick, well what do you know – and she laughs delightedly.
“You’re a grade-A magic man! My magic man. How’d you even do that?”
“A master magician never reveals his secrets”, he gloats.
“Master magician! Are you sure you’re not a stand-up comedian too? You’re funny.”
Alarm bells ring. Is she making fun of me? Here comes the sweat again. Don’t be a wimp, he scolds himself. She’s into it. Go for the kill.
“So, uh, do you like music?”
She’s suddenly silent and appraising. It’s like she’s seeing him for the first time. I blew it, I knew it, what am I doing, he thinks in a rising panic. Her playful grin returns.
“Hey, do you want some more wine? I’ve got some of the good stuff back at my place, if you’re up for it.”
He didn’t hear her right, did he? Is this happening? Game on! Jay’s gonna be so proud! Time to slay!
“Yeah, that sounds great, actually, if it’s cool.”
“Oh, it’s cool. Maybe you can show me some more tricks while we’re at it.”
They walk in the dark. The pavement seems closer than it should be. How much did he drink? Come on, man, keep it together. This is what it’s all about. We’re fucking tonight, son! Premature triumph gives way to anxiety. What if he’s too drunk? Too nervous? What if it’s like the last time with Hannah? They were both drunk, but that didn’t stop her from blaming him. He tried so hard to stay hard. To get hard. In vain. Hard. Everything’s so hard except the one thing that counts. Drop it, this is happening, get it going. How many turns did they take?
“Hey, do you live far? Do we need a bus or something?”
In lieu of an answer, she takes his hand in hers. He hopes his is not too clammy. They keep walking. He’s not quite sure where they are now. Which part of town is this? Maybe he should act. Do something spontaneous. He pulls her closer and goes for the kiss. She kisses him back, jamming her tongue in his mouth, eager for more. He grabs her ass to distract himself from thinking how fast it’s all going. She pulls away, but not before whispering “Not long, now, my magic man”. He follows her until they finally reach the front of an entirely unremarkable building.
He starts to say “Do you live alone” and stops when he sees what’s behind her door. First there’s the hallway with the decadently soft carpet and the series of portraits of wild-haired women bearing the same playful grin as her. Her. What’s her name? Does it matter? Then there’s the living room with the lit fireplace, the chandelier, the luxurious leather sofas and more paintings of the women swimming in lakes bathed in crimson light and dancing in forests at night.
She walks up behind him and interrupts his slack-jawed gawping by placing a startlingly cold glass in his hand with something shimmering and vaguely green inside.
“Have a taste of this”, she tells him. “It’s a family recipe. I promise it will change your world.”
He sips, lost for words. She takes him by the elbow and leads him through a series of rooms towards the back of the house. The drink is delicious and it makes him feel even thirstier, so down it goes.
“Ain’t that a libation for the ages?”, she croons.
He doesn’t understand how there can be so much space in here. Didn’t the house look much smaller from the outside? They cross something like a kitchen or a pantry where peculiar pieces of gleaming white are hanging from threads fixed to the ceiling. As they wade through them, he tries in vain to steady his swirling sight.
“I always want them to see these first. Come”, she beckons.
As they begin to descend some poorly-lit steps his thoughts scatter away from him like frightened rabbits. Rabbits inside hats that wave at him while towering magicians sway like spindly willows in the wind. Sparkling constellations of inscrutable patterns are shifting in and out of view.
“What’s next?”, he mutters.
“Stand here”, she says. “Right here, in the middle of the circle.”
He barely registers the chalk-drawn outline. There’s a smell of rotting wood and the room creaks and groans all around him. He wonders if he’s found himself in the galley of an old ship in stormy seas. Is that why everything’s in motion? He reaches for her hand. There’s no one there.
The short-lived silence is pierced by a throaty thrum that sets his teeth on edge. He’s encased in a wall of searing unending sound. He covers his ears to no avail. His skin is too tight, his bones and muscles too frail. He collapses while his insides coil and swell and threaten to spill out and the thumping pain grows until he forgets there was ever a life beyond it. He’s on the floor, or the ceiling, or suspended somewhere in between. He’s screaming, he’s crying, he’s silent, he fades.
He scrambles awake. The terrible sounds are gone, yet his body still somehow feels deeply wrong. It’s slimy and scaly with the same shade of murky green as his drink. His surroundings are slippery and vast and he squints at the dim outlines of enormous shapes. His mind boggles at the scale of this new-found prison. He discovers that he can only move in darting leaps and he helplessly hops with no direction in mind. He’s already starving and exhausted. Specks of dirt are falling like snowflakes. Time flies in a jumbled blur. The floor is sticky, the air is thick, and his bloating belly drags him down.
There’s a sudden flash of light and a blast of earth-shattering footsteps. He croaks in fright as her hands snap around him. She’s looking down on him, a mountain of malice. He begs her to let him slide far away where he can be a good boy and nestle into a safe little hidey hole where he is never going to bother anyone ever again. All that comes out is a choked little chirp. She holds him over her candle’s flame while he wriggles and squirms. She sniffs at him and puts her mouth on his boiling flesh: a kiss before the bite. His tongue hangs helplessly while she tears into him.
Her voice is a volcanic rumble: “How’s that for magic, my magic man?”
His world is torment and terror and there’s nowhere left to crawl.
Once she’s done with him, she softly sings to herself as she scrubs his brittle, blood-flecked skull until it’s gleaming white. She hangs it on its brand-new thread where it remains, dangling along with its eyeless companions.
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