Phoenyx: Flesh & Fire (27 page)

“Good afternoon, madam,” she said sourly, as if she’d never met me before. “I can’t stay long. I’m afraid I need to give you this, and felt I ought to deliver it in person.”

She handed me an envelope, which I shredded open with growing disquiet. I unbundled the sheet of heavy vellum within and got as far as the Gothic script at the top which stated
Pfeifenfeffer, Pfeiffenberger and von der Vogelveide: Civil Lawyers. Specialists in divorce, property and business
.

“What?” I gasped, not understanding. Surely I’d done nothing wrong? She couldn’t possibly be trying to take me to court? I couldn’t even bear to look at the rest of the letter to see what it contained, I was shuddering so much.

“My soon-to-be ex-husband is suing me for everything,” she went on. “I can’t afford to keep any of my property any longer. You’ve got two weeks to find somewhere else. Your lease will be null and void after that time. The letter makes this a formal and legal request, and Mr. Pfeifenfeffer here is my witness.”

She turned away and the tall thin man tipped his hat to me, throwing me a lop-sided smile. As the pair of them moved on to ascend the stairs to spread the horrible news to those living above me, she turned and caught me with a sideways glance.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, and then she was gone. I knew that she meant it, and that her life was in a turmoil ten times greater and more destructive than mine, but that didn’t make me feel any better. She had just thrown a can of kerosene onto the fire in my heart which had been reduced to glowing embers of late.

I just stood there with the letter in one cold, sweating hand, and the handle of the door in the other, staring out into the stairwell as though it were the path to the scaffold, the stairwell I would walk for the last time before the end of the month. Now all those little things – the freedom and space of my own place, where I could come and go as I pleased, Mrs. G’s dirty nasty little games, for which I’d ended up losing Honey and everything else which I had been offered on a silver plate – were being ripped out from beneath my feet as well.

I hurled the door shut with a devastating slam that must have echoed around the entire block. I threw myself through to the living room, angry at everything. I was angry at the noise the door made and how it prickled inside my ears; angry at my old faded, wrinkled carpet; angry at the jutting rusty nails which threatened to gash my feet and give me blood poisoning every time I dared to cross the hall barefoot.

I was angry with the apartment around me, for having lulled me into a false sense of security all these years. Angry at Mrs. G for lifting me up, only to dash me back to the ground again like an out-of-favor doll. Angry at Honey, for having flown off and left me without even a proper goodbye, a final last-ditch attempt to coax a young and uncertain woman into making her first proper commitment. I was angry – or downright furious – at Mrs. G’s bastard ass of a soon-to-be ex-husband, who was clearly far crueler and more twisted than his wife had ever wished she could be in all her savage fantasies.

But really, I was only angry with myself for my complacency, my lack of foresight, my inability to take life by the scruff of the neck and
do
things. I had done so once, when I first summoned the spirit to believe that I could ever become a stripper – but was that enough? I was in such a routine, almost a
rut
now at the Klub that it seemed I could never even think about doing anything else.

Like falling in love (properly), moving in with someone, stretching my limits, making sacrifices, plans, contingencies.

I had taken just one step over the living room threshold when my foot crunched on something soft and yielding. I must have dropped a gingerbread biscuit, I thought as I looked down, and then I screamed.

I was staring at a dead mouse, which Boris had thoughtfully left in my path. Now I was angry with him as well, angry enough to want to grab him by the tail and fling him through the window without even bothering to open it first.

“Aaargh,” I howled in disgust, and looking up, I saw his eyes – the blue and the green – flare up like tiny light bulbs at the other end of the room. “You little shit. Did you do that just to piss me off even more?”

He replied by jumping down off the chair and whizzing past me into the hall, his work seemingly done. I was growing more convinced that Boris had been left for me by an evil gypsy, to curse my life with misfortune and sorrow.

“Fuck you, Boris!” I screeched as he disappeared, becoming a noiseless shadow. I battered the door shut with my heel and the impact made the windows rattle, and cracked one of the old panes which had probably survived the war. I hoped Mrs. G wasn’t being sued for a huge sum, because it seemed the value of her property – or certainly, this one apartment at least – was diminishing by the minute.

I threw myself over the sofa and lay there in a bubbling, shuddering heap until the sun went down and I was forced to move to put on lights.

I drifted through the rest of that dull and miserable week in a kind of trance.

I took no notice of what the weather was doing, or what was happening anywhere other than inside my own head and heart, as though the rest of the universe had ceased to exist. I had no desire, no stomach for anything any more. I couldn’t even find the energy to be angry now.

I didn’t want to be looked at, or spoken to, or complimented, or whistled after. I ran out to the shops wearing a headscarf and sunglasses and the most boring coat I owned, just to blend into the background in the hope that I wouldn’t have to interact with anyone beyond the essential exchange of money for food. I’d been given one shot at total happiness and I’d blown it. Even in the midst of it all, I wasn’t melodramatic enough to believe that Honey and I would have lasted forever and that I’d never be given another chance, but how long would I have to wait? Until I was thirty? Mrs. Groenenberg’s age? Older? All through that week I wanted to call up Bruno and tell him that I was finished, as well. Several times I went as far as standing in the phone booth at the end of the street, thinking about what I was about to say. I couldn’t figure out anything that didn’t sound like the weakest, most pathetic self-pitying nonsense, so it didn’t happen which meant that I’d have to return to the Klub after all, and get on with the rest of my life. I would never know now if my action (or lack of it) was what pushed Honey away. She might have flown off regardless, in her fluttery butterfly way. Or perhaps, the hope of keeping me had been the only thing anchoring her to Old Berlin, and I cursed the very nature of time for being a one-way street with no room to turn, or reverse.

Bored, tired and really not looking forward to the evening ahead, I turned up at the Klub on Friday afternoon having spent a fruitless morning searching for some reasonably-priced lodgings. I found Bruno sitting at the bar, nursing a small beer.

“Hey,” he said as I moped up to his side. “What are you having?”

“Water.”

“Very funny. What are you
having
? This is my treat.”

“Water. You can put some squash in it if you want. But it doesn’t really matter.”

“For God’s sake, Phoenyx – what’s bugging you now? You’re not still missing Honey, are you?”

“Yes. And I’ve now got a week to find a new apartment, because I’ve just been kicked out of mine. My landlady’s up in court and I’m
this
close to going back home to my mother.”

He sighed heavily. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. I didn’t want to talk, period.”

He pushed my juice in front of me and dropped a straw into the glass. And then some ice cubes. A slice of lemon, and then an umbrella. I wanted to smile at the sight, but it just wasn’t coming.

“Well, I don’t want to have to lose you as well. Do you need a break?”

I shook my head. “I’ll have to save up for a deposit. Need all the cash I can get. Overtime, if there’s any going. I’ll do three sets a night if need be.”

“If you need somewhere urgently, there are rooms here, you know. Upstairs. They haven’t been used in years but you’re welcome to have a look around sometime.”

“Could I really?”

“Of course. They’re nothing much, and they would probably need a damn good dusting and a clean. But come back tomorrow afternoon and I’ll show you around.”

“That would be fantastic, Bruno. Thank you, so much.”

“Hey, if you’d come to me earlier, you could have been moved in by now. Forget this ‘deposit’ crap. Stay here until you’re ready to move on. No rent to pay, apart from the electric and the usual expenses.”

I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Thanks. You probably just saved my life. And my cat.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m not a charity, but for you I’ll make an exception. And your pussy was always worth saving.”

And so with Honey gone, the only option left to me was to throw myself wholly into my job, and hope that I attracted the attention of someone who could happily distract me again. I had no idea who that kind of someone might be – Honey had straddled the line between male and female so fully that I realized I was, in a way, just like Olivia. I could see beauty in men as much as in women, or even in a strange, unique hybrid of the two.

That night and the following Saturday didn’t go so badly. I managed to put a face on things, and with one less worry off my mind, I began to feel quite excited about living above the Klub and all the conveniences it would bring. There’d be no more transport problems, no fear of getting there and back in one piece. A handy telephone at the bar. Perhaps the Groenenberg thing was a blessing in disguise, after all.

I also finally got to unveil the firebird tattoo that Saturday night – having decided to keep her fully under wraps to all eyes until I hit the stage. When the time came to lose my leather top, I slid it off my shoulders and turned my back on the crowd. Dropped my head forward, hair tumbling over my face, and then let the satin slip slither to the stage, unmasking my flaming skin to them all. I’d specifically asked the lighting boys for a yellow spot to hit me at that moment and they didn’t let me down – I felt the blaze of color flood all around me as I waited there, frozen, hearing the cheers and whistles of appreciation from behind.

I had done it, I realized at that moment with a tear in my eye. I had survived, come through all my recent trials, and was now stronger – more independent – and facing a new and exciting future. The past was gone, and there was still everything yet to play for. I was still young, and fitter, more vital, and in better physical shape than I’d ever been in. I’d lost the last traces of my puppy fat and was rapidly toughening myself up.

I had just unveiled a new persona to the Klub, and one day soon, I decided, I would be their star attraction. Johnny’s firebird gave me a unique talking point, and I expected that before long, the word on the street would be, ‘You got to come and see
the girl with the golden tattoo
’.

Mr. Iko’s ink had been magical after all, it seemed: the Phoenyx had arisen from the ashes of her pyre. And in the second half of my set, with my firebird now revealed, I turned to face the crowd as a new person, someone they had never seen before – someone who was going to give them a different, memorable performance every time; never predictable, and always pushing herself to the limit.

The band might have been playing my old tune, but it was Irene Cara’s words which were in my head now:

Take your passion

And make it happen

Pictures come alive

You can dance right through your life

The sweat flew from me as I stampeded through the most furious, stormy routine I’d ever done, as though I was physically flinging away from me, along with the rest of my clothes, all of the bad vibes, the guilt, the fears, the sorrow that had been gathering over me since Tokyo. The old movements were gone, replaced by semi-improvised sequences of kicks, pirouettes and gymnastics which felt like I was back in school PE class again, showing off my flexibility and fitness to the whole school at the end-of-term exhibition. (If only I’d thought of invoking memories of
that
– my physical prowess, rather than my lack of the theatrical – I would have gotten off to a much more confident start at the Klub!) I got naked much quicker than usual, stripping off everything like the shedding of an old skin. The new one glowed and glistened and my focus was total and complete. It was a strange power which possessed me – more than mere inspiration or passion, beyond determination and commitment to being the best I could be: I was going to take myself to the heavens on the wings of Johnny’s bird. Although I knew that I’d always carry a little bit of Honey with me, as it was she who had helped to make me what I now was, and would soon become.

And as it all ended, with my back to the crowd again, both arms raised in victory and my inked spine burning with sweat and fulfillment, I soaked in the warmth and the response of the crowd, my own personal phoenix pulsing with power and energy.

“Thanks, Honey,” I said aloud as the cheers elevated my heart to the level of the divine.

When I came off after my set, I found all eyes staring at my back as I passed them by.

“Wow,” Gloria gasped. “Phoenyx, that’s amazing.”

“Move your big hair, I can’t see a damn thing,” Olivia complained, and stretched past her to lay a hand on my shoulder. “Oh my God...that must have hurt so much.”

“Not at all,” I said, smiling, as I sat down at the mirror. “This hot little Japanese guy did it in Tokyo. He said his ink was magical, so maybe he was right.”

“I could never go through that,” Mel pondered. “I hate needles so much.”

“Is that why your clothes are starting to fall apart, darling?” Olivia asked with a tug at Mel’s cuff, which was coming away from the sleeve.

“No, she’s just expanding and bursting her seams,” Svetlana offered as she passed by. Mel turned and made a two-finger gesture aimed at the Russian’s backside. I laughed as the conversation behind me drifted back into bitchy trivia, my glorious firebird forgotten. Nobody had yet noticed the change which was coming over me. The distraction of the tattoo had been too much, but they would soon see the new me. I leant over the dressing table to catch my breath – it was only then I realized just how hard I pushed it back there on the stage, and how good I felt about it now. If I’d tried that even six months ago, they would have been carrying me out in an oxygen tent.