Phoenyx: Flesh & Fire (40 page)

“I did something special for her when she came back to see me,” Johnny said. “Go on, show her.”

Honey leaned in between us and pulled apart the laces which held her purple PVC top together. Her cleavage was bigger and more defined than I remembered, and as she opened up the top further, I saw that her breasts had definitely been enlarged. She pulled one of them out and I gasped at the sight.

Tattooed around her nipple were three Kanji characters – the only piece of Japanese writing I had ever learned, and which I had last seen painted on my own body by an artist’s hand.

“You were always on my mind,” she explained, “so I just had to have you on my body, as well.”

I had never gotten around to having my second tattoo done as I had wanted. But now I didn’t have to. Honey’s skin, and mine, would soon be bound together again as one.

I leant in and kissed her breast, nibbled her nipple which had been pierced twice, with a bar and a big silver ring.

“Honey,” I sighed, “you’re wonderful.”

“I aim to please,” she giggled, and pushed the tit back out of sight again. “Although twenty paces into a wine glass is a little beyond my reach these days. Hormones have shrunk my balls to the size of peanuts, and I’m starting to wonder if I shouldn’t just go all the way now.

“But that big ol’ lump of erectile tissue still screams for action, y’know. That cute little French chick – what was her name, Petra? – had it right. I
am
a fuckin’ freak.”

After a respectful moment, Johnny turned back to me. “Wanna go somewhere nice for supper, Phoenyx?”

Still stunned by our sudden and unlikely reunion, I could only nod. Finally, “Yeah. I’d love to.”

“How about Paris?”

I just stared at him. “What?”

“Capital city of France, a large republic to the west of this fine democracy.”

I kept on staring. Johnny sighed at the pathetic idiot sitting beside him, her jaw hanging so loose that she was in danger of dropping drool all over his leather upholstery.

“Or Rome,” he went on. “Or if European isn’t your thing – we know this great place in Marrakesh.”

I gawked at them, my eyes darting from one to the other to see who would be the first to break up, and admit to having me on. Yet I knew Johnny and Honey well enough by now to know that they were both deadly serious.

Honey said, “Sure. You haven’t lived, Phoenyx dear, until you’ve seen the cock and balls of a camel at point-blank range, right above your head. Not that I’m into that, but when you’re out and about in the streets, you kind of can’t help it. You just
got
to look.”

“Ma... Marrakesh,” I repeated, slowly. I didn’t even know what country that was in, having been so useless and dreamy throughout all my years at school. Yet all those lessons and shouting and effort on the part of my teachers now seemed so totally worthless – for here I was, with no need for any of it. I’d somehow done it, yet again, and landed on my feet like a cat. I thought back to Boris and those cold, hungry, lonely nights in Mrs. Groenenberg’s apartment on Wilhelmsgasse, and the tears threatened to pour out of me. Yet I had nothing to cry over, for they had led me to this moment, this wonderful and unbelievable fulfillment of more than a dream or a desire, but the purpose of my life: to be with people who cared for me, and with whom I’d continue to have even more wonderful times. I’d probably never give my mother the grand-daughter she’d always wanted, but at least she had accepted my lifestyle and justified it all to me in the most unexpected way imaginable.

I grabbed Johnny by the collar of his jacket and kissed him full on the mouth.

“I don’t believe it,” I gasped, barely able to push the words out of my throat. “That you still remember me. That you still care, never mind want to be with me again. Take me
anywhere
. Even the coffee shop at the bottom of the road would be paradise with you two beside me.”

“Paris, then,” Johnny said. “We’ll work our way up to the exotic locations in good time. Camel cocks can wait.”

“Yeah,” Honey drawled. “Well, step on it then, Johnny. Time’s a-wasting, and you can suck tongues all you like later. Although, remember – I want a shot too. Okay?”

“Hmm,” Johnny mumbled through my mouth. “Would this be what’s known as a ménage à twat?”

She lowered her shades, slowly, deliberately, and transfixed him with the charming, almost pitying half-smirk that only her face was capable of painting.

“Johnny-san, leave the bladder-emptying wit to me. Please?”

I disengaged reluctantly and allowed him to return to the steering wheel, my inner cheeks and gums aflame with the tingling, lingering spice of passion. I wiped the slobber from my lower lip and wiggled back in my seat, stretching out, feeling myself unwind like a roll of ribbon.

And just then, a familiar figure came darting out of the shadows from the front of the Klub, agitated and looking anxiously around. As she charged into the light, arms fluttering beside her, I prodded Johnny to stop for a minute. Mel crashed up against my side of the car and I rolled down the window to receive a burst of breathless excitement in my ear.

“I got it,” she shrieked, her wonderful, melodious voice a broken, shrill discord in the small confines of the car. “The contract. And – and – the Klub.
Sold
. Well, joint ownership. Partnership deal. With, Whatsisname, Korean guy who isn’t Korean…”

Her hands flapped frantically as the words poured out of her mouth. She coughed, gurgled a bit, choked to a halt.

“That’s fantastic, Mel,” I squealed in delight, and she leant in to hug me and kiss me. As she pulled back, still delirious in her joy, Johnny stretched past me to raise a finger to her.

“You should wipe your chin,” he said, and sat back again with a dirty snigger.

She swept her hand across it, frowned, shrugged.

“Fucking cowboys,” she spat. “Can’t shoot straight.” She bent over again to take my hand in hers. “Come back sometime, Phoenyx,” she sobbed. “I meant what I said about us all staying in touch. Take care of yourself, whatever you do, you gorgeous firebird. And be happy.”

She kissed me on the lips and then broke free knowing, as I did, not to prolong the farewell.

“I will, Mel. And you too. Here’s to the start of the rest of our lives, babe.”

And she stepped back, content to leave it there, having now drawn a line underneath the best part of a century’s worth of decadent culture. As I turned to wave out the window, I saw her wipe her eyes on the back of her hand, her energy draining fast and barely able to summon the strength to wave back. It was, after all, a night that none of us would ever,
ever
, forget.

“Wow,” I sighed as I watched her stumble back to the Klub in her too-high silver sling backs, “Sometimes, I think, there
is
such a thing as a happy ending, after all.”

“Sure there is,” Honey said, “every time I slide my cock into your ass, dear.”

Johnny made boyish dimples in his cheeks as he tried to laugh, then gave up.

“If that’s an example of your wit which empties bladders, then I’ll be pissing all over it,” he groaned.

But I was laughing, laughing at the delightful and familiar tune of loving banter, the kind I had always cherished when in their company; which always held my spirits high, higher than they had ever been with anybody else.

And as we drove off down Freudlose Gasse and headed out of the Red Quarter, I felt no more sadness about leaving the Kitty Klub for ever. One day I would return to tie up the loose ends, but only after Johnny, Honey and I had celebrated our reunion in true decadent Berliner style and made up for all that lost time.

And so it is that I lie sprawled over silken sheets in the Marrakesh Hilton, writing the end of this little memoir as another flaming dawn begins to burn the dusty sky outside. My hair has faded to a pale ashen yellow, like a winter’s sun – no longer the summery blaze that once inflamed hearts and ignited the stage. Johnny’s vivid firebird still stretches across my shoulders but even she, too, is a pastel shade of what she once was.

The past might be unreachable, but like a beautiful distant horizon, I can still see it, admire it, and imagine myself there once again in my dreams. But dreams aren’t so important to me now, especially since my biggest ones all came true; not since I found the reality that I’d been longing for – my Paradise Regained, my three-cornered heaven with Honey St. Clair and the man who had tattooed us both with magical ink, and in so doing, brought us all back together again through the powers of divine cosmic destiny.

Or so
he
says.

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