AC05 - Death Mask (8 page)

‘Liam McKenzie’s upstairs. If you’d like I can get him to sign this too.’ Pete rubbed the boy’s hair and promised to return the book very soon.

‘We have to go do some business, but we won’t be long.’

Kirsten decided this
was
the best night of her life.

They rode the lift to the thirty-second floor, then he led her along a corridor and around the corner. Rows of trays from room service were lined up outside the doors. It looked like an army had been fed. Janson used his key, took off his jacket and told her to chill. He rang his agent, who said he’d be right over, then he propped open the door with the folding lock. Kirsten could barely contain her excitement. She was about to pitch the idea of a clothing range in Janson’s name, something her boss had been unable to pull off. She pulled the notes from her bag, straightened her dress and sat on the edge of the chair, careful to show as little leg as possible. Janson disappeared into the bathroom.

A minute later he returned. She glanced up from her notes and gasped. He had removed his pants and had an erection. This had to be some kind of bad joke.

‘Oh, you don’t understand.’ She stood, grabbed her things and headed for the door. ‘I didn’t come here for that. I’ll just wait outside.’

He blocked her path and touched her breasts through her dress. ‘No need to play hard to get, honey.’

Panic filled her. ‘I want to go,’ she stammered. ‘I’m sorry, this was not what I intended. I have to leave now.’

Before she could resist, she was on her back on the bed and the weight of him on top of her had forced the air from her lungs. She tried to push him off, but he was too large and strong.

Suddenly pain ripped through her lower body. He grunted and thrusted. The contents of her stomach rushed to her mouth and she wanted to vomit. Just as the room darkened and she was about to pass out, he moaned and rolled off.

Seizing the opportunity, she tumbled off the bed, holding her dress to her waist. She rushed to the door and slammed straight into a human wall. Thank God! Someone had come to help her.

Instinctively, she grabbed him by the arms, like a drowning victim clinging to a lifebuoy.

‘Help. Please help me,’ she begged in a hysterical voice she hardly recognised as her own.

This giant man pushed her back and placed warm, protective hands on her shoulders.

‘What the hell’s going on?’

Janson just laughed. ‘We all know you don’t like the slops but you took your time. Come on, Liam, what’s a guy to do?’

Kirsten tried to pull the man to the door. She needed to get away. This man had no idea what Janson was capable of.

Someone else entered the room, this man smaller than the others, then a dark-haired man followed by an even larger African-American man. They must have come to help, thank God.

‘Please don’t let him touch me again,’ she cried.

Janson stood and she heard laughter from behind.

‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ her protector said. ‘He’s had his turn.’

Without warning, he clutched her around the waist and threw her back on the bed, like a discarded towel. Before she could react, he had rolled her on to her stomach, her face shoved into a pillow. She struggled to breathe. Then more pain tore through her, screams smothered by the pillow. She didn’t see the faces of the other men as they took turns raping her.

The phone in her bag rang and she hoped someone would come and save her. The little boy’s father knew where she was. Eyes slowly easing to the side, she saw the scrapbook on the side table.

The phone went silent.

O
utside the Hyde Hotel ballroom, a man in a suit introduced himself as the day’s master of ceremonies. Ethan had stepped to the side to take a call. He had told Anya he would be in and out during the day, depending on his other commitments.

‘Just let me know if you need any extra audiovisual equipment.’

The emcee was around six foot two and stocky, with a noticeably expanded waistline. He handed Anya a clip-on microphone, which she attached to her jacket lapel. The battery pack hooked into her skirt waistband.

Ensuring the unit was turned off, Anya thanked him and took a seat at the back of the function room. The man, whose name had already slipped her mind, greeted the audience and explained the day’s timetable, repeating the title and time of each session. The day covered a number of serious topics, along with ‘How to handle an interview’, ‘Why charities are some of our most important work’, and advice on ‘Dressing to kill’ from a stylist.

Anya noted the irony of a fashion session in a seminar on conduct. Still jet-lagged, she downed her second coffee, hoping the caffeine would kick in quickly. After heading straight to the hotel to check-in, she had had time for a quick nap and shower before starting work.

She knew this audience would be difficult to connect with. Young male athletes were not used to sitting and listening for long periods unless it involved game strategies with their coach.

From the number and distribution of coloured jerseys in the audience, all the teams had sent players to the summit. A larger proportion of gold, purple and green suggested to Anya that they were the colours of the New Jersey Bombers, who were in greater numbers because of their exhibition match against the celebrity All-Stars. A quick scan suggested ten or so players had been chosen from each club. The other audience members could have been administrators, trainers or team psychologists, for all Anya knew. The room was at maximum capacity.

The amount of murmuring, groaning and shifting in seats made her think of high school students being told there was a test at the end of the lesson. Except that these few hundred men had left school and college behind them, and this course was for their benefit.

‘Settle down!’ A man with
COACH
emblazoned across his jersey stood from behind his front-row seat.

‘It won’t kill you to listen to what the speakers have to say. They tell me you might learn something useful.’

Amid the mutterings, someone called out, ‘How come you don’t have to stay, Coach?’

‘Because I have real work to do,’ he responded, and left via a side door.

Anya took a breath. Without support from men the players respected, the task ahead was made that much more challenging. The least the coach could have done was stayed for the first session, even if he was feigning support for the programme. His life would have to be easier if fewer of his players were arrested and charged with violent offences.

‘Our first speaker is a world-renowned pathologist and forensic physician who is going to talk to you about safe sex, an important aspect of sexual behaviour,’ the emcee announced. ‘Please welcome from Australia, Doctor Anya Crichton.’

A cheer went out within the group and a number of the
men hooted like adolescents. She wondered if they were expecting a stereotypical Australian woman – blonde, suntanned and long-legged.

Anya took to the makeshift stage to more cheers and wolf-whistles. Without responding, she plugged in her PowerPoint presentation and pulled up the slide of a pustulating, ulcerated lesion on a barely recognisable penis.

She switched on the microphone.

‘What you see here is a result of unsafe sex.’

The contorted faces and grimaces in the first few rows showed the image had the desired effect, until someone further towards the back called out, ‘I thought safe sex meant locking the car doors and making sure the handbrake’s on?’

Chuckling spread like a wave across the group.

‘Or the girl’s father doesn’t have a shotgun.’

Raucous laughter continued. Anya changed slides and, as the crowd snickered, she identified one of the comedians, who was still being slapped on the back by surrounding admirers.

Tall, broad shoulders, slumped in the chair, one elbow leaning on the shoulder of the player to his right. Wavy blond hair and blue eyes.

‘You are?’

‘Pistol Pete Janson. At your service.’

‘Mr Janson, if you value your career, it’s worth taking this lecture seriously. Sexually transmitted infections could prevent you from playing, or worse. And they can also infect your wives and girlfriends.’ She paused. ‘How many of you think about that after a game?’

One player tentatively raised a hand and was met with a slap to the side of his head by his neighbour.

She had the group’s attention again. ‘I’m guessing a lot of you get the chance to meet women who are interested in hooking up after a game, especially when you’re on the road.’

Shoulders shrugged and heads nodded – some proudly, others sheepishly.

‘Did you know that one in four American women has a
sexually transmitted infection, and could have multiple infections? That is
one
in
four
women, wherever you go.’

The words hung in the air. They were difficult to ignore.

A voice came from the back. ‘Maybe Rocket ought to get checked after last night. She was jail-bait if I’ve ever seen it.’

‘Shut up, man, she was eighteen,’ boomed a deep bass.

Janson had a suggestion. ‘Maybe you should let the doctor check you out here and now.’

The group laughed again, only more nervously than before. Anya knew she was beginning to get through to some of them.

‘How do you know if you’ve been with one of those women?’ Rocket sounded concerned.

She presented a graphic of the female genital organs. ‘Symptoms and signs vary according to the type of infection. One of the most common is called chlamydia and it may not cause any symptoms at all. It’s actually the main preventable reason for infertility, and one of the reasons why so many more women today are unable to have children than in the past. If it goes untreated, ten to forty percent of infected women will develop painful symptoms of pelvic inflammatory disease. This can damage the fallopian tubes and dramatically increase the chances of having a pregnancy in the tube.’ She pointed to the graphic. ‘If that happens, it’s called an ectopic pregnancy.’

Janson still appeared unimpressed. ‘So now you’re telling us how dangerous pregnancy is. In case you hadn’t noticed, we all have dicks. Some of us, a lot larger than others.’ He made a V shape with his hands aimed at his groin.

A few sniggered.

‘Hey, Janson, take time out and give the little lady a chance.’

Anya appreciated the attempt at chivalry but it still came with a patronising edge. Seeing women in positions of authority was not something these players were accustomed to.

Over the next hour she discussed syphilis, gonorrhoea, herpes, genital warts, hepatitis A and B and trichomonas, amongst other diseases. The talk covered anal sex as well, and Anya showed slides of severe infections in the throat following oral sex. She
explained that the human papilloma virus was associated with almost every case of cervical cancer, the second most common cancer in women.

Judging by the quiet, she wondered whether many had paid this much attention in sexual education courses at school. Much of the information seemed new to the group.

She discussed the main syndromes, including penile discharge, ulcers, groin and scrotal swellings, all with accompanying slides.

‘What are you?’ someone called out. ‘The fun police? You’re going to tell us who we can and can’t sleep with, when, how and where? This is bull.’

Anya had suspected that some players would resent being told the truth.

‘No, that isn’t the message at all. Sex is a normal part of life. There are certain inherent risks when you are high profile, though.’

Judging by the numbers of heads nodding, they conceded at least that point.

‘Each one of you values your physical health. You train hard, work out, eat carbohydrate loads before games, rehydrate with special electrolyte solutions during every game. You and the team doctors look after you as much as possible. Safe sex is just another way of staying fit and healthy.’

There was silence, which she took as encouragement to continue.

‘It’s a concern that up to seventy percent of women and a large number of men infected with gonorrhoea or chlamydia can have no symptoms and be totally unaware they’re carrying or passing on the infections to sexual partners. You don’t have to have symptoms to develop complications either.’

She fielded some questions about condoms and explained, ‘They don’t guarantee you won’t pick up infections, like pubic lice, scabies or even herpes at the base of the penis. But when used properly, condoms are one of the most effective ways of protecting you and your partner from infections, including HIV.’

‘Oh man.’ Janson shifted in his seat. ‘Now you’re doing the grim-reaper crap all over again. We all know faggots get HIV and there are no faggots here. Am I right?’ He stood and raised both hands above this head.

The crowd let out a resounding ‘Yes’, which took Anya by surprise.

‘See, no faggots here,’ said a dark-haired man on the other side of Janson.

Anya looked around the room. No one disagreed.

‘HIV doesn’t discriminate. And it spreads more easily if certain other genital infections are present. Does it ever occur to you that a woman you have casual sex with could be carrying a potentially fatal infection such as HIV?’

Some of the men shook their heads. Others looked stunned.

An African-American from the front row, wearing a navy shirt and dress trousers, turned to the players.

‘What about Magic Johnson? He got it from having sex with lots of women. He was as hetero as they come, and had a wife and unborn baby he could have infected before he found out.’

‘Backdoor Benny got it at college,’ Janson retorted, ‘only he had bets both ways. You tell me you know for sure about Magic?’

Some of the players were either ignorant or in extreme denial about HIV. Anya wondered if homophobia blinded them to the facts.

‘Come on.’ The man in the front row did not seem fazed. ‘During hospital visits I’ve met haemophiliacs who’ve had blood transfusions, even drug users who caught HIV. The doctor’s right. Unsafe sex is like playing Russian roulette.’

Another hand rose. ‘Ma’am, why are men the ones who have to wear condoms? Why don’t women protect themselves?’