Easter City

CHAPTER 6

 

  I wandered until I found the bathroom; though the usher uniform blended me with the crowd, I wasn’t comfortable asking Wealthy Devils directions—or, for that matter, any adult. I crossed the lobby a bunch of times, climbing staircases and poking my head through any door that would open.

    A man bent over two escorts. “The fuck man?” He cursed at me some more and threw a pillow. It hit the frame and exploded in a feathery cloud. I jammed the door shut.

    Back down the hall, down the stairs, up again. At the end of the lavish sheep-hair-carpeted corridor was a small door with no window. A bunch of people were coughing behind it. I cracked it, and caught a face full of smoke. I staggered back, echoing the smokers, and turned.

    Another flight of stairs, another corridor, another door—this one bigger than the last two—with heavy grunting guttural groaning behind it. Someone’s shitting their brain out. I grinned, turned the knob and found myself standing in a huge room with drapery and Egyptian-looking patterns in gold leafing on the walls. Again, someone was bent over the bed but, when my eyes adjusted to the candlelight, I saw that it was a man. Another, bald, man who looked like a baby with glasses was making himself welcomed in his partner’s crapper. The guy with the glasses was so into his business, he didn’t notice me. His partner spotted me after sustaining a particularly violent, head-jerking thrust. His voice was muffled and he had to wriggle a little to get the man-baby’s attention. The glasses guy turned, saw me, smiled and spread his arms. “Here you are! We called room service an hour ago. Get over here! Quick, kid, I still have some left—”

  I slammed the door and bolted back to the staircase. I went down a few more corridors and up a few more flights, listening intently before I opened each door. Soon, I found myself on the top floor. There were a lot of two-doored rooms and some really expensive-looking furniture against the wall, and abstract paintings that looked like the work of a blind artist with Parkinson’s. At the end of the hall there was a window with a cityscape view. Main Street glowed like a tar pit set ablaze under rolling clouds. It was beautiful in a ‘the world is your ignoble oyster’ way and I would have been captivated, but my groin was aching.  

    I tried a promising chrome door and found myself in a lounge with four chairs and a poker propped up against the hearth of a crackling fire. The chairs were occupied by four men with the same girth as Cranston’s movie director buddy and there was an escort kneeling on a leopard skin rug at the center. They were all fully dressed and didn’t notice me when I came in so I opened the bathroom door, which was to my immediate right I rushed in.

    I don’t remember taking a better piss. All the edge—the fear of what lay in my future swirled down the gold-rimmed bowl. I didn’t bother washing my hands. I stood there, staring at my better half in the spotless mirror, until I heard the men in the lounge shouting about something.

    There was a muffled scream.

    “Julia is my sister, you know. I will have her inform Mr. El of your willfulness. You know him, I’m sure. The gentleman with the handlebar mustache. He owns La Rouge.”

    I cracked the door, thankful that it was one of the fancy ones with air-cushioned hinges. When I stepped into the lounge I saw that the men were hunched over. It looked like they were clawing at the carpet. What a bunch of weird geezers. I thought.

    One of the men flung a ripped dress over his shoulder and the others followed suit. A pair of frilly underwear—stockings—stilettoes; obviously, the escort wasn’t wearing much. Usually I’d chalk up the behavior as an aggressive fetish but like I said, these men were grossly huge and they were all huddled on, suffocating her. And she was screaming.

    I edged toward the fireplace heart pounding in my throat, and reached for the poker. I looked at them. They were snorting like pigs slopping up a trough-full.

    The heat from the fire scorched my back. The room got brighter, like I was looking at the sun through a filter.

    Now or not at all.