12 Bliss Street (6 page)

“Mine the cup, and mine the wine of life,” Davette chanted. “Drink deep!”

They were quiet for a moment. The circle was done. Nicola pulled at the tape on her hands again, mostly just out of habit. Then she heard Dave say, “Now.”

Still, it took her a second to realize they were looking at her. Dave came over to the desk chair and knelt down. For a moment he said nothing. Nicola could hear him breathing beside her.

She sat very still. He touched the duct tape over her mouth then traced his fingers along her face, feeling the soft down on her cheek. His hand was cool and firm.

“So,” he said to her. “You know this game, right?”

*   *   *

The girl was
lying on the bed wearing a dark red nylon camisole that Chorizo had given her. He had taken off her blindfold. Her wrist was tied by a rope to the bed frame.

“I feel funny,” she said.

“You feel good,” he told her.

He was sitting on the side of the bed, stroking her hair. She was very pretty and feminine lying there all tied up. Getting her to agree to the rope was easy. He knew it would be. All he did was tell her the first principle of Shambhala: Don’t be afraid of who you are. Then he held up the rope.

It’s a game, he had said. The rope is a game in a night in a thrill with a stranger. Don’t be afraid of the thrill, he had said. Don’t be afraid of who you are.

And she wasn’t. Chorizo touched her bangs. Frankly it was astonishing to him how unresisting they were, these women. How trusting. Of course, the drugs helped.

“So what’s Shambhala anyway, a religion?” she asked now. She yawned, then giggled. “Maybe you can convert me.”

Chorizo smiled. “Maybe I can.”

“What do I have to do?”

He stroked her hair and she stretched a little, a slight arching of the back, then a smile. A cat, he thought.

“It’s all about waking up,” he said.

The girl yawned again. “Then you won’t convert me.”

Chorizo stopped touching her hair. That annoyed him—why? It was a game to her, just a game. It was supposed to be a game. But his beliefs, what he believed—well that was important, that wasn’t part of the game. Maybe it was his fault for mentioning Shambhala in the first place. Chorizo looked at his watch, then turned and lifted the video camera out from under the bed.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“I’m just going to take a few pictures,” he told her.

*   *   *

Game, Nicola wondered?
She opened her eyes under the blindfold and thought, Stay calm. The smell of sulfur was still in the room.

“We’re not supposed to talk to her,” Davette told him again. She was standing with her legs spread, still holding the cup.

“You know this game,” Dave said again, ignoring her. “You had your turn. And now it’s his.”

His?
What is this? Oh my God, Nicola thought. They think I’m someone else.

“Oh whatever, it’s your own sick game,” Dave went on. “But just so you know I think it stinks. Because some kids tied
me
up once. And let me tell you when it happens for real it’s not a game.”

Nicola thought: But they looked at my wallet, my IDs. They know my name. They should know it’s not me that they want.

Davette put the cup on the floor. “I didn’t know this,” she said.

“It was like seventh grade. They roped me into a chair in the science lab and then just left me. At first I was all, what’d I do? I was nice enough to those guys, I don’t know. But they were just mean, I guess; it wasn’t like you and me where we needed the money. They were just mean.”

So they’re doing this for money? Nicola needed to scratch her face but settled for rubbing her cheek with her shoulder.

“Here,” Dave said. His raspy voice was brittle, kind of mean. He scratched Nicola’s face roughly, and Nicola pulled her head back.

“Hey, I’m trying to be nice,” he said in the same voice.

“Dave,” Davette said.

“Okay, okay. Well anyway, after that experience I went out and bought an Israeli M-15 gas mask. And then, boom, full-on survivalist mode. Food purification and storage. Scavenging techniques. And water, there’s a lot to that subject alone. Like, for instance, if you get really desperate you can break the water heater and drink out of that.”

“What about the toilet tank?” Davette asked.

“The tank is okay. The tank, the heater, any self-contained unit. What you don’t want to do is drink out of the toilet bowl. But back to my point, which is that even though this is just a game to you, it can actually hurt someone. Like us. Remember we’re just the what, the referees or whatever, me and Dave.”

“More like the lackeys. The hired help.”

“The hired help, okay. So no more karate or whatever it was you did back there on the street. So he’s getting you back; too bad, but don’t take it out on us. Accept the situation, this is like what Buddha teaches, right?”

Nicola moved her head to the side, noncommittal. She had no idea what he was talking about. She was really very hungry now, and the phrase
chocolate milkshake
kept coming into her mind.

“We set on that?” Dave asked. “We friendly again?”

What is this, is he trying to bond with me now? This is the worst kind of torture, Nicola thought.

“That’s good,” Davette said. She came over to where Dave was kneeling. Nicola rubbed her cheek again with her shoulder and Davette touched Nicola’s face gently, scratching the itch. “So maybe now we should untape her for a minute.”

“What?” Dave asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Untape her mouth.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Just the mouth.”

“We can’t do that.”

“Why not just her mouth?”

“So she can what? Talk?”

“It just seems like we should do something positive,” Davette said. “One positive thing. Otherwise what was the point of the circle?”

“Forget it. We stick to the script.”

“Well, then, what were you just doing now? The little lecture there?”

“It’s called setting the rules.”

“Let’s just untape her mouth, that’s all,” Davette said. “For just like a minute. For like five minutes. Just the mouth.”

“Christ,” Dave said.

“Otherwise the circle was pretty much pointless.”

“But I mean, how stupid can you get?”

“WWJD.”

“DBAL!”

“WWJD.”

“Oh Christ,” Dave said. “Listen. If this fucks us up I’ll blame you.”

Davette knelt down in front of the desk chair. Her long spiky hair fell into her face.

“You okay?” she asked Nicola. “This’ll hurt,” she told her.

Nicola nodded.

“Let me do it,” Dave said.

He worked his fingers under the tape and when he loosened the edge and pulled away the feeling was, in fact, very painful. Nicola opened her mouth and closed it. The hairs above her lip felt as though they were standing straight up.

“That better?” Davette asked.

Nicola had to clear her throat to speak. Then she said, “You have the wrong person.”

“Yeah, he said you would say that,” Davette said.

“What? Hold on,” Dave said. “I thought he said not to talk to her?”

Nicola tried to face Davette. Where was she exactly? Her blindfold was beginning to get damp from sweat. “I don’t know who
he
is,” she told her. “I don’t know about a game. I didn’t take a turn with
any
one. You have the wrong person.”

“I can check the script, but this is pretty much like what he said.”

Dave opened his mouth. “There’s an actual script?”

“But it’s true,” Nicola said. “I’m in the dark here.”

“Hey, you’re funny,” Davette told her. She stood up and looked around for her backpack. “You’re like punning, right?”

Nicola closed her mouth. This was getting nowhere.

“I need some food,” she tried.

“This was a total mistake,” Dave said.

Davette had begun putting her circle supplies away. “What, so she’s talking, that’s all right. You can’t have any food,” Davette told Nicola. “Not until after.”

“After what?”

“Okay, I’m putting the tape back on,” Dave said.

“Chill out. Christ,” Davette said. “She can ask whatever she wants; that doesn’t mean we tell her.”

“This is nuts. We should stick to the script. Where
is
the script?”

“Dave. Settle. And, you, never mind after what,” Davette said, zipping her backpack.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Nicola told them.

She could feel them looking at her and she waited out the silence feeling like a starchy English actress.

“Well, we can’t have her peeing on the floor,” Davette finally said.

Nicola felt a small sense of victory, the first of the day. Davette came over and began to unwind the bungee cord. “Can I have my blindfold off?” Nicola asked.

“Negatory,” Davette said.

They led her to a small, cold bathroom where she was directed around a freestanding shower stall to the toilet. Nicola could smell something moldy and damp and she thought of her mother: bath towels and guests only keep for three days.

“You can do your skirt, right?” Davette asked.

“Not without hands.”

“Oh, right.”

“Wait,” Dave said. “You’re untying her hands now?”

“Well, I’m not going to, you know, and all. She’s okay as long as she doesn’t have her eyes.”

A breeze came in from somewhere and Nicola felt her skin pinch and resist like the rough hide of an animal. She leaned off-balance slightly while Dave knelt behind her. “And so,” he said as he ripped the tape off her hands again.

“I think you’re enjoying that,” Davette said.

“I feel there’s a technique to be learned.”

Nicola lifted her hands to her blindfold.

“Ah-ah,” Davette said. “None of that. Hands at your sides. Stand here. Okay, okay, now do your skirt.”

“What about him?” Nicola asked.

Dave said, “I’m staying.”

She maneuvered her underwear under her skirt. When she was done Nicola held out her hand. Dave opened the cupboard door under the sink then pushed something aside.

“Huh,” he said. “Looks like we’re out of t.p.”

“You were supposed to go through the place!”

“I guess I didn’t have to go then.”

Nicola could not believe it. Who were these kids? How could they possibly be the ones in control? They were too stupid to check out this place (should she call it a hideout?) and too stupid to hide the fact that someone else was involved, someone who called this a game. Earlier, at the ATM, they had to stand out of camera range and worry about someone seeing them because they didn’t think to buy wigs and sunglasses beforehand. They were young, nearly half her age. She would have planned this much better.

She tried to be patient while the Daves looked at each other uncertainly, hoping something would come to them. The heat came on but again it did no good—probably they had forgotten to open the wall vents.

This was ridiculous.

“There’s some Kleenex in my purse,” Nicola finally said.

Seven

Downstairs Chorizo could
hear Marlina shriek and laugh. She was always so loud with her customers. He sat on the bed and willed himself to focus, to let go of the irritation, and found himself rubbing the tip of his thumbnail.

The girl opened her eyes for a moment. She was even sleepier now, and wasn’t talking so much—he was glad of that, actually. She didn’t bring up Shambhala again.

She pulled her leg out from under the thin bedspread. “I feel so warm,” she said. “Kind of mushy.”

Chorizo nodded. “That’s right.” Marlina shrieked again and he adjusted the bedspread over the girl’s exposed leg, then took hold of her hand. Inhaled to a count of four. There is no good and bad, he told himself; free yourself from judgment. He wasn’t sure if he was thinking about the girl or Marlina. Or himself.

He touched the bangs on the girl’s forehead, which were wet with sweat. He stood up, pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket, and wiped his fingers. Was the camera in focus? He checked it again, carefully bending over the table where it was propped and aimed.

Good. She looked good.

He adjusted the window shade again, then walked back to the foot of the bed and sat down by her feet, careful to stay out of the camera’s range. The girl closed her eyes, but he noticed the color of her face had not yet changed. Marlina shrieked again.

He had some time. He looked at his thumbnail again, which still needed shaping, but he didn’t have anything with him.

So he said, “I’m going to tell you a story.”

*   *   *

The Daves spent
the next hour playing two-handed spades while Nicola counted off the minutes by keeping track of the heat. Neither Dave nor Davette took off their jackets, and Nicola could tell whenever Davette moved by the soft puffy sound of her coat.

She was so hungry now she could hardly stand it. And with her hunger came a percolating annoyance. Her feet were cold, her hands were cold. The skin underneath the blindfold felt clammy, and possibly she was developing a headache.

But when a noise rang out Nicola was momentarily so startled that she did not at first recognize it. It was a phone.

Dave fumbled around in his coat pocket. “Yeah?” he answered. He paused. “Yeah we did. Yeah. Okay. Cool.”

He hung up. Now what, Nicola wondered.

“It’s midnight,” Dave said.

*   *   *

This was his
favorite story, the one about the crocodile and the monkey.

“Once upon a time a mother crocodile lived with her son on a great, wide river,” Chorizo began. He adjusted the girl’s blanket again and paused for effect. He loved the sound of his voice.

“One day,” he continued, “the mother crocodile told her son that she wanted the heart of a monkey for supper. ‘But how will I get one?’ asked the son. ‘Monkeys don’t go into the water, and crocodiles don’t climb trees.’ The mother said, ‘Use your wits.’

“So the crocodile came up with a plan. He swam out to the tallest tree on the riverbank and looked up to where a large, fat monkey was playing in its branches.

“‘Oh monkey,’ sang the crocodile. ‘The fruit on the tree on the island behind me is perfectly ripe and ready to eat. I’m going there myself. Climb on my back and I’ll take you, too.’ Now the monkey had always wanted to taste the fruit on this particular tree, and when the crocodile offered him a ride he didn’t think twice, but just jumped on the crocodile’s back and off they went.