Poisonous Kiss (17 page)

     No one notices them when they finally join the end of the line. Arany is still blushing as he looks around carefully, but Celia is not embarrassed at all. She's beaming charm. Her stylish summer outfit stands out in this crowd. Arany gently puts his arm around her, as if protecting her, and they start whispering to each other.

     "Was it good?"

     "Amazing! But …"

     "Is something bothering you?"

     They hear the rumbling noise of the bass and the drums from inside. Someone is laughing far away.

     "No. Nothing …I just wouldn't have thought …"

     Celia grabs his hand and squeezes it tightly.

     Arany left his guns in the car, and now he feel naked without them. He lets the bouncers search him. It's strange to be on the other end of this transaction. The hands move fast, touch the inside of the ankles too, for a second. They are thorough.

     The volume of the music, the sight of the bodies crowded together and the smell of perspiration slap them in the face as soon as they step inside. Arany, holding Celia's hand tightly, pushes through the crowd toward one of the bar counters. He orders a whisky, and to his surprise, she orders the same. The tired-looking young woman on the other side of the counter smiles at him vaguely.

     "Are you looking for someone here?"

     Arany shrugs. He doesn't want to talk about it. It's strange. At first he had completely opened up for this woman. He had discussed his fears, the dizzy spells, the attacks of aggressiveness. They had analyzed his feelings in detail: How he felt when the gun was pointed at him and Carl in the urine-stained staircase, and how he felt when he went into that bar to find Gladys Ferrow. He hadn't felt shame, he hadn't wanted to withhold anything. Celia had seemed like someone who'd understand and accept everything. But now, he doesn't even want to talk about his investigation.

     "Maybe," he says finally.

     He knows this answer is insufficient, but he finds it hard to explain his intuition, the fact that he is here on a hunch, sniffing around like a dog seeking a trail. You can't analyze this sort of thing.

     Fortunately the music is loud and rumbling. They can hardly hear each other, so Celia makes do with his answer. She leans against Arany, and he can feel the slight trembling of her body.

     The bad whiskey grates against his throat, he's hot and sweating. The air conditioner doesn't seem to work. Celia draws away from him. They're quiet, Arany is watching the people. He's looking at the dancing crowd, his eyes stop briefly at the prettiest or the most provoking girls, and at the obviously most self-assured guys. They look like ghosts in the changing light. Clothes are glittering, and unless you focus on one person, the whole scene is like a messy colorful wave. It's almost beautiful. Arany spots a pair of dark, muscular shoulders moving with agility and his body becomes tense. Frost, he thinks, and he is immediately filled with some kind of strange satisfaction. His palms sweat, his pulse beats faster, but he's not afraid. He thinks about meeting Frost and experiences pleasure. But it's not Frost. His pulse slows down to normal, he sips at his drink and, as if looking for encouragement, he grabs Celia's hand.

     "What's your husband working on now?" he asks.

     She looks at him, confused. She says something, but it's impossible to hear, she repeats it into Arany's ears, her lips touching his earlobes for a second. He shivers with pleasure.

     "He's doing research on aggression," Celia shouts.

     Arany thinks of the laboratory where they took his blood, the strange maze, the white mice, Celia's embarrassment.

     "Do you really think he'll find the virus he's written about?" he can't help sounding cynical "It would be the most amazing medical discovery ever."

     "Yes", Celia says, and it's hard to decide whether she's answering his question or agreeing with the statement that followed.

     Arany suddenly feels uncertain. He has an unexplained sense of foreboding.

     "What do you do for him?"

     The DJ jabbers something that Arany can only hear parts of, but it doesn't seem like he's missed out on a lot. She catches the barmaid's eyes, and orders another round. The young woman nods, pushes a beer in front of another patron, and then reaches up for the whisky bottle. As she puts two glasses in front of Arany she has a smile for him, then a quick, studious glance at Celia.

     Celia pretends not to notice.

     "Well?" Arany puts one of the glasses in her hand.

     "I study aggressive behavior. Innate aggressiveness, aggressiveness provoked by circumstance, and to what extent one or the other encourages violent behavior."

     "I must be a good guinea pig."

     The glass trembles in Celia's hand for a second. She closes her eyes and nods.

     A man pushes up to the bar. He ignores Arany, just shoves past, spilling Arany's drink. The guy leans on the counter, his face is red from the heat, the drinks and the dancing. He's a foot taller than Arany and has at least sixty pounds more muscle.

     Arany feels a soft palm touching his shoulder.

     "A typical case of aggressiveness triggered by the circumstances," says Celia, smiling.

     Arany takes another look at the giant, shakes his head and smiles back at her hesitantly.

     "I love you," she says.

     Looking into Celia's eyes, he dissolves. He leans towards her, a delicious soft kiss meets his lips.

     "I love you," Celia says when they draw apart.

     Arany doesn't feel the jostling, can't hear the noise. The Star disappears, he forgets about Frost, aggressiveness, his questions. A wonderful feeling of tranquility sweeps over him.

     Celia breaks the spell.

     "Do you know that girl?"

     Arany has to turn around.

     "Which one?"

     "At the other end of the bar. She's been staring at you." It's sweet how jealous Celia sounds as she says this.

     Arany slowly turns his head in the other direction. A pair of blue eyes, long blond hair, a slim elastic body, huge breasts, a tight, provoking dress, and thick sensual lips.

     "She is very beautiful," says Celia, envy and appreciation mingling in her voice.

     Patricia Simmons. They look into each other's eyes for a second, and then the girl turns away. There's a slim brunette standing next to her, sipping some turquoise drink. She's almost as beautiful as Patricia. Or maybe even more beautiful.

     "Do you know her?"

     He turns back towards Celia. He nods, and with his free hand he strokes her face.

     "You're more beautiful!"

     He leans toward her and kisses her.

     "Let's trade places!"

     Celia hesitates for a second, and then moves. Arany pulls her to himself and watches the girls above her shoulder.

     "This is why we came here?" asks Celia, and her warm breath tickles Arany's ear.

     "Maybe. The blonde used to be Frost's girlfriend. He picked her up here, in this club."

     "You think they'll meet here again?"

     "No. I won't be that lucky."

     The blonde leans toward her friend and says something. The other woman holds Arany's gaze with her beautiful, almond-shaped eyes. Then some slick-looking fashion plate, his hair combed back and moussed, appears out of the crowd and puts arms around both women's shoulders. He flashes a dazzling set of teeth.

     "How can some people always smile?" Arany grumbles.

     "What?" Celia looks up into his face.

     Slick turns toward Arany for a moment, his smile replaced by a look of contempt. He only gives Arany a second and doesn't find him worthy of more attention. Then the man withdraws into the crowd dragging Pat with him. Arany tries to follow them with his eyes, but it becomes more difficult as they drift deeper into the middle of the crowd. Soon, only Pat's blond hair gleams occasionally in the mass of heads, shoulders and arms. Finally he loses sight of them completely.

     Arany feels dizzy, he holds on to Celia. Then his eyes clear again. The girl with the almond-shaped eyes is still standing by the counter. She's alone, mysterious, sipping her turquoise drink. Arany's stomach trembles. What did Celia say? Aggression triggered by the circumstances?

     He puts his drink down on the counter, and lets go of her hand.

     "I'll be back in a minute," he grumbles.

     He doesn't wait for an answer, he breaks through the crowd using his elbows and arms. No one is polite here, no one apologizes. You just push the person aside and he'll push you back if he doesn't have enough room.

     The almond-eyed young woman watches him approach, but the second he gets there, she turns away. Arany is aware of Celia's stare from the other end of the counter. He feels foolish. The young woman wears a thin T-shirt that lets her back show. Her skin is magnificent. Arany hesitantly reaches out and touches her bare shoulder.

     "You're Simone, right?"

     The skin on her shoulder nearly scorches his palm. The girl turns towards him, and there's hatred shining from her beautiful eyes.

     "Fuck off!"

     "I have to talk to you! You used to be Patricia Simmons' roommate, right?"

     "So what?"

     "Why did you move?"

     "Does it matter?"

     "It does."

     "We had an argument."

     "About a man?"

The girl shrugs. Her face twitches into a sneer, a bored, contemptuous look.

     Arany leans on the counter. The woman is nearly as tall as he is, and their eyes are at the same level now.

     "You did fight over a man, didn't you? What attracts you to a thief and a murderer?" Arany asks in a hostile voice. "What turns you on, anyway? A good beating?" He leans closer to her, and notices little golden spots in her brown eyes. "You silly little girl!" he whispers "You think the world is at your feet? You got some bad news coming your way. You're wasting your beauty on third class guys—and you know why? Because you're worth as much as they are. You're shit just like them—that's why. And it'll show in a couple years. Your beautiful complexion is going to sag and wrinkle. Your great figure is going to start drooping. You're going to look like shit in a hurry, because that's all you've got inside: Shit."

     "Nice …very friendly. Do you always come on with this kind of charm? I've been called a slut before, but it usually doesn't happen until I reject the guy."

     There is something dazzling in those almond-shaped golden brown eyes. Arany leans back.

     "Where do you live?"

     "Will you get me a drink?" Simone waves the barmaid over. "What is your girlfriend going to say about you trying to pick me up? That is your girlfriend—or did you come here with your mom?"

     Arany grabs her shoulder. The beautiful features of her face twist into a mocking sneer. Her perfect skin seems soft under Arany's grip. Holding her flesh and skin between his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger, he pinches her. Either he's imagining it, or her look is sensuous, teasing. He pinches harder, and the sensuality is gone, the smirk disappears too. In the middle of the shoulder muscles there is a nerve. That's what he's pinching, not too hard, just hard enough to hurt.

     "Where do you live?" he asks in a soft voice.

     "On Derrom Avenue. Near the park. In a big brown brick building."

     Arany loosens the grip.

     "Bastard," Simone hisses. Arany instinctively strokes the aching spot with his finger. The woman looks up—not at Arany, but behind him.

     He realizes that the world around him had seemed to disappear for a moment. He hadn't heard anything except Simone's voice, hadn't seen anything except Simone's face. Now Arany can feel a the splash of warm breath on the nape of his neck. He hears noise: the deafening house music, the clink of glasses, women's laughter, and from right behind him, some inarticulate insults.

     He slowly takes his hand off Simone's shoulder and turns around. A young, widefaced flat-nosed guy, maybe twenty-five, stands in front of him. A loose T-shirt with something written on it, hair combed to the side and sticky with gel, a dark and dazed expression in the eyes.

     "I'll beat the shit out of you, asshole!"

     The man's head moves from side to side threateningly. Arany makes a practically unnoticeable move to turn aside so he can avoid a head-butt if one comes. Arany can't see the man's hands. He just hopes there is nothing in them.

"What's your problem? Isn't the beer cold enough?"

     "What kind of asshole are you? You're bothering my girlfriend. I'll bust your fuckin' head open!"

     Arany can't resist glancing at Simone and saying. "This is your boyfriend, huh? Congratulations!"

     Simone says something, but Arany can't hear it. He's watching the guy whose hand is moving, as if he's about to take a swing. Something inside Arany responds before he even thinks about what to do. He throws his shoulder forward, to feint a punch, and the young man pulls his head back, out of range. He's waiting for the punch, expecting Arany throw his fist out and spin, leaving the back of his neck exposed to a quick painful blow. But the punch never comes. The young man waits for a very long half second as Arany drops his shoulders, raises his hips and pushes upward with his hands. He catches the young man in the shoulders with his open palms and the man staggers back.