THE POLITICS OF PLEASURE (8 page)

'Of course,' Michelle said coolly.

'Anyhow, to
impress
me, I'm sure, he took us to – '

'Ah, Carmen, he probably didn't know what to do with you guys, and felt he had to, you know ...
entertain
you.'

Carmen gave her friend a “you really don't know anything, do you?” look. 'Well he certainly tried to
entertain
me behind Paulo's back.'

The two young women stared at each other. 'Men,' they said at near the same time, the air between them laced with scorn.

'So' – and Carmen looked well pleased to have got the upper hand – 'Dominique took us on a tour of the grounds of this mansion next door. Princess Margaret's vacation home.'

'Who's that?'

'I don't know, some British royal apparently. Honestly, 'chelle, some of the beach houses there looked like Balinese tourist resorts. Anyhow, Dominique then took us to Brian and Jerri's place on the island. I mean, can you believe it? A few of the Black Roses were there partying and hanging out after recording ... how's that new song go again? ... da, da, da, something about she won't give it up ... anyhow we hung out with them till early morning, and I'm telling you it was
really cool
.'

'Wow, amazing.' Surprisingly Michelle didn't feel a pang of jealousy. 'Didn't you once work with Jerri at an Azzedine Alaia parade?'

'Uh-huh. About a year ago, but she said she didn't remember me.' Carmen tapped the last of her coke into her monogrammed silver spoon and snorted it.

Michelle looked at Paulo's Jr's initials tattooed on Carmen's lower leg, and wondered how Carmen could profess to love someone who lived in another country.

Carmen rubbed her pert nose and made a hawking sound from the back of throat. 'That's it, I'm out.' She skipped into the kitchen. A moment later she dropped her leggy frame into a Victorian seat opposite Michelle, pulling the ring-tab off a fresh can of Diet Coke.

Having watched her friend consume a worrisome amount of cocaine and cola, Michelle said with parental-like concern, 'I'm kinda worried about your coke habits, babe. I honestly think you're moving too fast. You're starting to get night circles under your eyes and – '

Carmen slapped her drink down on the table, her hard body ratcheting up like a fresh span of fencing wire. 'Oh please don't make me laugh. You're worried about
moi
? Take a look in the mirror, sweetheart – at that black eye of yours, for starters. I mean, you look so ... down-and-out.' She took a swig of cola, her piercing eyes advertising her anger. 'Anyway, you know I
never
use when I work.
Never
.' She looked down at the red and white can in her hand. 'And I certainly
work
, babe. Oh, yes I do ...' She lifted her head, her photogenic face a portrait of smug competitiveness. 'I mean, I've just rolled over a two-year contract with Klein, sweetheart. I'm twenty-two, I drive a new Beamer, and my annual interest could only make fun of your savings. Plus I own this apartment.'

'You just inherited it from your grandfather,' Michelle said defensively. She could hardly believe her friend's vitriolic response, but knew just the same Carmen had an obsessional fear of aging and didn't take kindly to any off the cuff comment about her looks. “And you only moved here to get way from that stalker in New York.'

'Nevertheless, I'll soon sell this place for a pretty tune before moving back to my Greenwich loft. Look at you 'chelle ... you're my best friend and I almost cry when I think about you. You look so drawn, so ... unemployed. How long's it been since you worked? I mean forget Europe. Have you got what it takes to start here again, to work the catwalks? Have you got the energy, the contacts? That parasite boyfriend is taking you down. For God's sake, wise up, babe. Before it's too late!'

'Okay, okay. So he thumped me and took my Alfa. It's no big deal. And by the way' –Michelle struck a confident pose and smirked – 'Alexis Models contacted me last week and offered me a
haute couture
shoot in Milan, and possibly parades to go with it.'

'Oh sure.'

'It's true, goddamn it! And on the way here I felt I was ready to work again. In fact, I can't wait.'

'I can't believe you actually
hitchhiked
here.'

'Well if you'd paid your goddamn phone bill before you traipsed off to the Caribbean, I could've called you to come and get me, or I could have at least talked to you. Why didn't you pay it? 

'Okay, okay, I forgot.' Carmen's raw-nerve anger dissipated as rapidly as it'd flared.

'And you've been back for days, so why isn't the phone back on?'

'There's some union dispute at Bell.' She took a sharp sip of her drink. 'They're guaranteeing it'll be on either tomorrow or Monday. God, I hope it's tomorrow.'

A silence fell between the women.

Michelle rubbed her knees and her eyes brightened from the prospect of future work. 'Hmm, I'm really confident about this new offer.' She saw the disbelieving look on her friend's face. 'Some new flavour-of-the-month designer saw me in an Alexis portfolio and, I don't know, got all fired up and said I just
had
to be part of his new inter-seasonal collection.'

'I still can't believe you
hitchhiked
here.' And Carmen in turn displayed parental-like concern.

However Michelle didn’t doubt such concern was a ploy to keep attention away from Carmen's growing excesses and the demands they were beginning to make on her money-making looks. 'Well I did.' Michelle rubbed her thighs and thought about Goldman and decided to use her time with him to steer the conversation in a more congenial direction. 'Anyhow, this really nice guy gave me a lift.'

'Oh, I'm sure ...' Carmen studied her long slender hands (which made her considerable money from hand-modelling assignments - most recently from a De Beers Diamonds contract). She looked up and blurted. 'Are you carrying, babe? Come on, please!'

'Just wait,' Michelle snapped, though she soon reached into the change pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a small bag of coke along with the folded dollar bill Goldman had given her. Toying with the two items, she said, 'Anyhow this cute guy gave me his phone number and offered me a lift back to DC on the weekend.'

Carmen sat anxiously on the edge of her seat and watched Michelle's play of hand. 'You've got two. More the merrier.' She reached for the folded dollar bill.

Michelle pulled back. 'No, Scott gave it to me.'

'Michelle, please!'

A part of Michelle took pleasure from Carmen acting like an agitated pup hungry for feed. Accordingly she took her own sweet time in handing over the coke. She then appraised the folded bill as if it were emblematic of her agreeable time with Goldman. 'Hmm, this is something else.'

'Like what?' Carmen hardly cared now she had what she wanted.

'I'm not sure exactly.' Michelle unfolded the dollar bill and put her finger to the grainy powder. 'Blah, that tastes bitter.'

Carmen took a feisty swig of her drink. 'Hey, you don't know what that crap is.'

'Don't worry. Scott said it's used by marriage counsellors in California. I told him about Terence and everything, and he suggested Terence and I take some together.'

'I can't believe that scuzz bucket actually hit you. Look at your damn eye, 'chelle. The next time I see him – '

'Screw Terence. Anyway, Scott said that – '

'So how much did he hit you for it?'

'Nothing. He gave it to me, Carmen. He was an okay dude. He was, you know, like, educated. He drove a new-model Saab.'

'Uh-huh, one only has to look at your limited track record to know you can't see past mens' charms.' Carmen didn't even grace her friend with a challenging look. She simply bowed her head and moved her heaped spoon from one nostril to the other.

Michelle was taken aback by her highly strung friend all but shovelling cocaine up her nose. Carmen must have partied hard in the Caribbean. Michelle's heart sagged.
God, please don't let her become an all-out junkie ...

But Michelle's time with Goldman came to mind and lifted her spirits. She remembered what he'd told her about the crystalline powder in her hands. It was used by marriage counsellors, something like that. So it would probably make her feel good. God knew she needed something to get her through this bust-up with Terence – and Carmen wasn’t proving any help. She took a deep breath and made up her mind there and then. 'Well, I'm going to try this stuff.'

Carmen looked up from her drug paraphernalia on the coffee table. The long-standing friends stared at each other in a contest of wills. Michelle trusted her impression of Goldman and had faith in what he'd given her on gratis. She was about to put that trust and faith to the test. 'So you want to try some with me?'

Carmen shook her head with the resolution of a vegan offered bacon rashers for breakfast, her long black hair swishing about her shoulders. She looked horrified by her friend's devil-may-care attitude. 'No way babe, and I advice you to flush that crap down the toilet.'

'Well, I'm gonna try it.' Michelle jumped up from her seat. Without a backward glance, she marched into the kitchen.

Haslow swallowed a sleeping tablet and brushed his teeth. He retired to the bedroom, slipping between the rumpled covers of his unmade bed. He checked the bedside clock: 9:58 pm. His mind still animated from his decision to leave work and travel; hence the need for a sleeping tablet.

He relaxed as more of the medication took hold. Time loosened its grip and his head sank deeper into the pillow. Worldly concerns fell away like unwanted baggage ... Before long his bedside phone beeped like the implacable trill of an alien insect. He grumbled at being disturbed and reached for the receiver.

'Hello?'

'Hi, Roderick.'

His brother Peter.

Now of all times? Haslow swallowed hard, the effect of the sleeping tablet weighing down on him like the debilitating gravity of a giant planet. He was too drowsy, too not himself by half, to have to deal with his brother. God, why now? If only he could slide down a wondrous tunnel to a world more of his liking, but of course no such fanciful escape presented itself. He sighed, and words tumbled from his mouth like an impetuous throw of dice on a craps table, 'My, my, Mr Miami. What a surprise.'

'I'm sure it is. Listen, I'm coming up to DC on the weekend and I thought we should get together on Saturday night and have a brotherly reunion over a few drinks.'

Haslow fought against the sedating medication, for fear of losing his grip on the situation, which was growing more dream-like by the minute. Of course Peter had proposed meeting before, but of all nights for him to it was this one – the same night Haslow decided to quit his job of fifteen years. Sweeping change was in the air, but could the middle-aged chemist, so set in his ways, take advantage of it? It seemed a big ask as he lay crumpled in his bed.

'Are you still there, Roderick?'

Haslow worked air into his lungs. With diminishing faculties, he decided to engage (at least in a cautious, partial manner) the unknown world of his brother – a world he'd kept at arm's length for most of his adult life. 'So where will you be staying?' He couldn't believe what he'd asked.

'I'm not sure yet. But I'll leave the number on your machine. You still have one?'

'No, um, Madeleine took it.' He pumped his rapidly deflating brain into action. 'Listen, I'll be out tomorrow night.'
And with a bit of romantic luck
, he mused, possibly the
whole goddamn night.
'And maybe Saturday night too,' he lied, now prepared to discourage.

'Okay, no problem. I'll leave my hotel number with Clarence McGuire. Remember him from the orphanage? I know you still see him. He owns that joint on Ninth and – '

'Yeah, I know where it is,' Haslow cut in. Clarence “Chubby” McGuire's insolent mouth had often got him in trouble with the orphanage brothers, not to mention in fights with fellow orphans. Haslow kept contact with McGuire by sometimes dropping in at the D.C. piano bar the balding Irishman had owned and operated for more than a decade.

'So ring me Saturday evening, around six.'

Haslow cringed as his mouth formed the following words, 'All right, I'll call you then.'

'Okay, I won't keep you any longer. Until then, Roderick.'

Haslow replaced the handset and dropped back on the pillow, his eyelids sliding shut like iron shutters. So, he mused groggily, a blind date at Goldman's tomorrow night, and a come what may with my brother the following evening. Hmm, it's shaping up to be one helluva weekend ...

Goldman sat cross-legged on his bed. The inclement weather outside hadn't let up. Ragged clouds scudded across the gray sky and light showers persisted alongside shifting winds. The chemist was thankful to be high and dry in his apartment. His ears pricked up when he heard a late-night movie presentation on the portable TV at the foot of his bed: “
... and now your Thursday night movie, the television premier of
Midnight Express.” He looked expectantly at the screen, then returned his attention to the MK-ULTRA synopsis:

In October 1955, the most promising drugs, notably LSD and Mescaline, were given to unwitting subjects in “normal social situations” through an informal arrangement between the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs (BNDD) and the CIA ...

The BNDD? It sounded familiar. Goldman stroked the underside of his chin as the wind outside blew louder. An old
Playboy
article came to mind. That's right, the BNDD had been transformed into the Drug Enforcement Agency in the early seventies. He twisted round, re-propped the pillows and continued reading:

MK-DELTA, acting as a functional sub-branch of MK-ULTRA, commenced a series of observational experiments on approximately one hundred and seventy civilians randomly selected from downtown San Francisco and the Bay Area. The experiments consisted of three categories of observation.

CLOSED HOUSE OBSERVATION: MK-DELTA funded a safe brothel house on Telegraph Hill (see appendix 6D: Operation Midnight Climax).