Sequela (28 page)

'Like makeup, body paint.'

'Better than makeup – it's textured, it won't run, it won't sweat off or smudge. Of course the best way to test whether it's the real thing or not is to make someone sweat. And did you enjoy that?'

Alexis turned and kissed him. She smiled, satisfied, and then turned to look at her back. On her buttock, where she had expected more of the same exotic motif, was a childish scrawl –
Kester is my
favourite
.

'Kester!' she shrieked, hurled out of her trance, cold water thrown on her warm satisfaction. 'What if someone sees that?'

'I've got to mark my territory somehow.'

Alexis snorted a laugh and gave him a gentle slap. She wasn't sure whether she wanted it to hurt or not.

'Touché baby.'

'Touché.' Kester smiled and stroked the markings on her front.

The plane banked subtly, as if trying to tip its passengers out onto the vast bed of cloud that stretched beneath them. Kester allowed the falling feeling to take him. The clouds were luminous white as if lit from inside, soft and solid at the same time, perfectly walk-on-able. They weren't flying high; they were flying low to an unformed, unpainted landscape.

Travelling on a private jet wasn't something that Kester had ever expected to do. Even during the planning for their trip he had imagined that he and Alexis would travel on a commercial service. In business class, perhaps, maybe even first, but this? He grinned and took it all in.

Classical music filled the cabin: Peer Gynt. Everything was shades of beige. Even the smell was beige – soft milky air-conditioned tannins. It was a calming environment for someone so used to being barraged with logos and ads. Past Kester's raised feet, about two metres in front of him, was the door to the pilot's cabin. On either side of the door, the wall was given over to screen space. His side currently showed a live feed from the nose of the plane with a large-scale map of their route superimposed. The plane was moving swiftly, intersecting the dotted lines of other services from time to time, skiffing across the North Sea and heading towards the south-west coast of Sweden. Alexis' side was on silent, but showed a montage of news channels.

Their two mesh fully-reclining chairs were the main fittings in the spacious cabin. Each was served with a decent sized
swivelling
table and by a central table that rose up out of the floor when required, allowing them to turn their chairs to face one another to eat or share papers. At the back of the cabin, a semi-circle of banquette seating was interrupted by the door to the kitchens and staff areas. The two unused seats between them and the back of the cabin were folded up to the side, creating extra space for…Kester wasn't sure what for. For dancing. He smirked to himself and glanced up at the ceiling to check that there wasn't a rack of disco lights. There wasn't. Still, with enough alcohol at high altitude, who needed lights to dance?

He and Alexis were the only passengers, but they were accompanied by a small staff: a hostess to take care of their safety and comfort needs, a chef, who was behind the scenes somewhere tidying away their lunch things, and a beauty therapist who was working on Alexis as they flew. Alexis looked asleep. Her chair was fully reclined. The beautician was performing a slow facial massage and Kester could see that Alexis' head was giving to every push and pull. Her arm was resting just on the edge of the seat, perilously close to falling and shattering her rest.

Kester reached out to his table and picked up his Book. Flicking it to widescreen he brought up their itinerary again. Flight times, destinations, hotel names, meeting times – boringly straightforward. He tried to see in the lines of times and names the
colour
and luxury and excitement that Alexis had promised him.

'Cabin crew: ten minutes to landing.' The Captain's voice was beige.

The beauty therapist stepped back from Alexis and the two chairs
manoeuvred
themselves into upright positions in synch. Alexis stirred. Kester looked away. Waking was such a personal moment. It was one thing watching it occur when you were in bed with the person; elsewhere it seemed like an intrusion. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Alexis stretching her neck back and forth.

'There already?' she asked, eventually.

When Kester looked round the therapist had gone. Alexis was rooting in her bag for her makeup.

'Ten minutes,' he said.

By the time Alexis had touched up her makeup and smoothed her hair, they had landed. Her preening left Kester feeling unprepared. He checked his tie and ruffled his hair.

'OK?' he asked Alexis.

'Gorgeous,' she replied with a fresh blood smile, unclipping her seatbelt.

Picking up the small black case that sat next to her legs, she handed it to Kester. As she did so, there was a clank. Hanging down one side, clipped to the handle, was a pair of handcuffs.

'You're to carry this,' she said. 'Every arrival from now on. Cuff it to your wrist.'

Kester took it from her. It had a pleasing weight to it.

'What is it?'

'It's a little piece of theatre. Gaunt's idea. Give the press something to talk about. Let's go.'

Kester stood up and pulled his clothes back into order, then walked to the exit which had just been opened by the flight attendant. Stepping out onto the open-air staircase, Kester was hit with the cold. He pulled his collar up. Looking down, he was surprised to see just tarmac, a man in a yellow jacket, a small trailer onto which their bags were already being loaded. All the talk of the press had left him expecting a sea of cordoned-off fans, flashbulbs and trench coats. Of course security would never allow it. He laughed to himself. Waiting for Alexis at the bottom of the stairs, he offered her an arm in a gesture that made him think of Gerald. She reached over and grasped it with her far hand, slid the other up his back to squeeze his shoulder, then let it settle between his shoulder blades, propelling him forward towards the entrance to the gate. In seconds she transformed herself from his glamorous date into his security detail.

'Don't worry.' She leaned in close as they walked. 'They'll be waiting at arrivals.'

-o-

'This compensate for the meetings?' Alexis shouted.

Their engagement at V Stockholm had been short. A meet-and-greet affair as they'd been promised. The invitation to
Rysa
had come through a conversation at dinner later in the evening. Somebody knew somebody knew somebody – they always did. Alexis looked over at Kester. His form was picked out in shifting brightly coloured lights and disco-ball pinpricks, tiny diamonds shivering across his bare skin. He caught her eye. He had heard her speak, but showed no sign of understanding what she had said, just grinned. Laid back, propped up on both elbows by the side of the Jacuzzi-sized lube pit, he looked like he was lounging by the pool. That would make Will, the young man working Kester's groin, an overenthusiastic pool boy. And the naked woman in the lube pit? Alexis smirked to herself.

She turned away and shuffled forward on her knees to the large two-way mirror that fronted the suite, allowing a private view of the scene unfolding on the dance floor below: self-conscious writhing and grinding, joyful bobbing, arms punching the air on and off beat, more flesh than cloth, all glistening with sweat. This was where the journey through
Rysa
ended. Customers sated their appetites in the sparse Michelin-starred restaurant on the first floor, loosened their bodies in the brown velveteen lounge bar on the ground floor, and then laid bare their intentions on the dance floor in the basement. But it was here, in the private exchange suites, that the real dance began.

Alexis put her forearms up against the cooled glass. The heat left her skin and then the flesh below. She forced herself to ride out the nip of the cold. The cooled blood from her wrists would flow on, ice crystals forming in a wake through her body as it branched on and out through her veins. Closing her eyes, she let the shifting lights become the aurora borealis and the warm air enveloping her body a fur.

Then, something that didn't fit: a golem hand slithering up her heel, grabbing round her ankle. Alexis looked round. It was the girl in the lube pit. She couldn't remember her name – some acquaintance of Will's. Alexis watched as the girl slid her hand up and down the back of her calf, focused on the insistent pressure and let its effect roll up through her body, dispelling the cool in her blood. The girl was beautiful – short slicked black hair, classic hour-glass figure, wasp waist. Alexis looked up at Kester. Will had come up for air and they were both watching the girl hungrily as Will pounded away at him with one hand. A sudden heat flushed up over Alexis' shoulders to the top of her head. She kicked out at the girl, just managing to hold back, make it playful, then turned and slid down into the pit with her. Leaning in close to the girl's ear she opened her mouth and bit the lobe, pressing until she felt the girl flinch.

'You in it to catch something?' Alexis said in her ear.

The girl leaned back from her and smiled a "yes" in a pathetically staged way, then looked over at Kester. How many times a night did she practise that in the mirror? Every time she visited the toilets to pop one for another desperate exchange. Alexis leaned in again.

'You cut yourself?' she asked, sitting back in time to see the girl's face spasm as if she had bitten a caper.

Alexis tried to smile, felt that she was snarling and laughed. She put a hand to the girl's chin and pulled her over towards Kester and Will. When they were close enough, she took control. So the little bitch wanted to catch something. Well, Alexis was the gatekeeper. Access to Kester for this tail-chaser was through her only.

Alexis performed the transfer with a savage impersonal smile. In her head she toyed with the reality of what she was doing, ignored the sensations she would normally revel in and turned it to pure transaction: extraction of fluids, preparation of infection site, application. She was porn flick, paper cup, hook, speculum and syringe: a one-woman service.

Transaction complete, she withdrew from the girl to kneel at the edge of the pit, knees wide, hands on hips, and watched as the girl recovered from her prone position, moving tentatively. Reaching forward, Alexis stroked a stray lock of the girl's hair back into place and gave her chin a little lift with the hook of her index finger. Then there were hands around her ankles again, strong this time. She found herself pulled backwards into the pit and into Kester's arms. She leaned her head backwards so it rested on his shoulder, her mouth close to his ear.

'I said does this compensate for the meetings?' she said again, watching the girl as she sat up on the edge of the pit opposite.

The girl's face was in conflict, trying to ease herself back into the mood. She was wondering perhaps if this was common in London, if she would catch something worthwhile, what the damage was.

'Just a scratch,' Alexis mouthed at her with a wink, running her hands along Kester's arms where they encircled her.

'Definitely,' Kester said.

His voice was hot. Alexis pressed her head against his. They would go back to the hotel soon, wash together, dry each other and feel skin properly – soft resistance, the tickle of a touch on near-invisible hair, friction and grip.

-o-

'Did you rip that girl?' Kester asked as he held out Alexis' coat for her. 'Did you ask her permission?'

Alexis raised her eyebrows. He hadn't shown any concern at the time. She smirked and shrugged. It wasn't something she had done before but the girl wasn't to know that – it was common enough in more extreme circles. And the girl didn't know they weren't carrying, so she needn't suspect Alexis' motives.

'More theatre?' Kester asked.

Alexis shrugged again. She thought for a minute.

'Word'll get around we've brought something interesting with us.'

'And when we've fucked the other half of Europe and nobody's caught anything?'

Alexis laughed. It was supposed to be an off-hand laugh, a
who cares, we're having fun
laugh. Its cruelty sent a shudder through her. She watched his eyes to see if he had heard it too.

'They won't care,' she said. 'And they'll be prime customers when we take the show on tour.'

'On tour?'

'Yule will want to do it.' Yule had already spoken to her about it. 'If not after the first show, after the second when we've got a good product range. Let's go.'

Their taxi was waiting outside. They stepped out of the front doors, should have frozen instantly. The air was cold, clean, blank. This was where air was made – breathe it and you would be clean again. Alexis drew a long slow breath through her nose, felt it cool her windpipe and swell her overworked lungs. She would carry it with her, this breath; use it when she needed to exercise control.

-o-

'Wow, that's so amazing. You know you should give a talk on this – here in New York. The wearing public would find it fascinating.'

The young man standing next to Kester drew in closer. He was wearing a dinner jacket and a white mesh shirt that showed the raised purplish patches on his pectorals. His tight formal trousers made his legs look like piping bags, green patent loafers squirting out of the bottom. The rest of the group drew closer too, not to be left out in the cold: two more young men in similar garb and two young women, twins, in superhero-style catsuits, one red, one yellow, eyes running and wearing thick coloured eyeliner to
emphasise
the effect.