The Rage Room Page 5

  “Yeah, I’ve heard the comp before,” I said, trying to think of something fascinating to say. I was losing her. Her averted gaze had a vacant, dead-eyed look, the kind I saw in Ava’s eyes whenever I started speaking.

  Why did I even care what the glitter battleship thought? I cared because I was lonely and tired of being alone. I’d tried to convince myself that I was used to it. Sure I was, I worked out while streaming or I planned strategies for work or I tried to get Mother to return my flash comms or I talked to Betsy, my FurryFurlong avatar hedgehog. Yeah, I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m a hedgehog man. Betsy’s the cutest thing! Her little tummy! But even with all of that, along with my ever-present, increasing preoccupation that I would be fired from work and fulfil my inevitable destiny as a Blowfly, I was lonely. Deep pockets of loneliness cemented my neatly sandwiched packages of time. That was how I saw time, boxes in a day, with each box having its allotted content, and you either filled the content neatly or you failed. I graded every box as a success or a fail. Mother said I needed to loosen up. She said I was getting worse, but I told her that the very thought of loosening up increased my anxiety.

  Mother also said that I was too extreme, either cleaning things to high gloss or destroying them and creating a terrible mess. She added that she was getting unspeakably weary of having the same conversations with me. She said we both knew I had obsessive compulsive disorder, regardless of whatever kinder psych label was being bandied about. She urged me to return to therapy, but I ignored her. I told her that I had the rage rooms, and she replied that smashing things wasn’t the same as addressing them. I retorted that I simply needed to clean more, which was the tipping point. Her interest in me started to wane as surely as the tides on my virtual seaside vacays pulled back and slipped away.

  And, in the very same way, I watched Celeste embark on the great sail of her departure. Just as she was about to turn away, her father reappeared. “Say,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath, “you kids want tickets to the hockey game?”

  We both sprang to attention, beaming. Hockey tickets were hen’s teeth in a barnyard of ducks.

  “Pick me up at six,” Celeste said, flashing her address to my CP. “We’ll go early. I love hockey so much!”

  She was all smiles, ear to ear, and in that moment, I was my travel avatar self, SmashingSablink007 carving through a big wave, power surfing. So much for Ava! I was the man! I was the chosen one! I had a date with Mr. Williamson’s daughter!

  7. GETTING HITCHED

  OUR HOCKEY DATE WAS A GIGANTIC SUCCESS. Celeste was an animal, pounding on the glass, drinking beer, swearing like a sailor. She was a powerhouse, and all I had to do was be there.

  She annoyed the people around us, blocking their view and spilling drinks on them, but I made her feel loved no matter what. I had, miraculously, got one foot in the door. I had to make this work.

  What exactly did I mean by “make it work?” Marry her? Yes. Exactly. She could make my fantasy come true. I wanted to prove to my loser father that I could be the man he’d never been, and I wanted to show Mother I was a winner. I could already see the family Christmas Flashcard, Celeste and the kids in white, a silver-and-blue crystal Christmas tree in the background, me in a pale blue suit, grinning. Happy Christmas from the Barkley Family! Plus, marrying Celeste would secure me a lifetime office in Sky The Tower, Jazza or no Jazza. I’d be promoted to the hundred and fiftieth floor at least, and I’d be okay with that, being a middle-man, interviewing the interns that I had once been. I could put my feet up on my white Lego desk, or no, maybe not actually put my feet up, because I’d leave scuff marks, but I’d metaphorically put my feet up and enjoy the view.

  So when Celeste spilled half of her fifth beer on me, I just laughed. No worries! Har har! I laughed just like her father did, with my head thrown back. We were having so much fun! Weren’t we having fun?

  “Oh baby,” she said later, in the bubble limo Daddy had sent for us, “you’re the best! Sweetie, I’m so glad I met you. I wasn’t even going to come to that awful drinks thing, but I’m so glad I did! Listen, you wanna go to church with us on Sunday?”

  Church? Celeste was one of Mama and Minnie’s NewCats? I thought they were passé. I must have looked startled because she grabbed my hand and held it tight. “Yeah sweetie, we go every week. Mummy, Daddy, and me. And then we have brunch after. You’ll come, right? I’ve never asked anybody before! Well, actually, yeah, no, I did but that was years ago.” A sad look crossed her face, and I brushed the hair out of her eyes. I hadn’t realized she used that much hair spray. I wanted to wipe my fingers on the car seat, but I didn’t want her to notice.

  “Yeah, we’re NewCats. Mama’s still around, still fighting for Jesus, and we have to too! Jesus would never give up on us, right? Come on, sweetie, and then we have brunch after—Mimosas and hot chocolate and eggs benny!”

  “I’m not super religious,” I said, not wanting to admit the extent of my atheism but trying for some level of honesty.

  “Sweetie, you don’t have to be.” She was earnest. “Just come. Okay? It’s only an hour and then food to die for! And you’ll meet Mummy!”

  “What must I wear?”

  She thought this was hilarious, but I was serious. What did one wear to church?

  “Seriously, Cee, what must I wear? I worry about stuff like that.”

  “And that’s what makes you the gentleman you are, baby! Okay, specifics: no running shoes, loafers are good; a linen shirt, two buttons open, not more; no jewellery, not that you wear any; a blazer is good, blue is always in style.”

  I sighed with relief. “Thank you. It’s the little things that get to me,” I said, and I pulled her closer. “Keep me up at night. I worry, you know. I try to do things right. I want to do things right but sometimes the details are so vague.”

  “I’ll always be specific with you, honey-pie,” she said, and she snuggled in. “Like right now, I want your tongue in my mouth, nice and deep.”

  I did what she said, and I must have been okay at it because she moaned and groaned and I swear she had an orgasm in the back of the limo just from me kissing her and rubbing my hand on her crotch. I was worried she’d want to come home with me, but she had the limo drop me off and she blew kisses as I watched her being driven away.

  The next day, she flashed me to say that Mummy and Daddy were so excited I was coming to church! She added I that could wear a tie but Daddy never did. I spent all Friday watching my bitch boss Ava, grinning, and knowing I had the ace up my sleeve. I just had to play it right.

  It turned out that I loved church. I’d only seen the buildings from the outside, white-washed Dutch-style barns with a small gable at each end and a high-pitched red corrugated roof with ornamental rooster weathervanes.

  The NewCat flag was clearly still flying high, with the parking lot spreading for miles and the service well attended. The church interior was a shock. The place was a neon carnival with white pews and white leatherette cushions. The Stages of The Cross flanked the walls while Jesus hung from a giant white neon cross at the front. He was surrounded by fluttering cherubs and angels while blood flowed convincingly from his face and side in a fluid neon movement. Jesus was a good-looking surfer fellow, and I was momentarily taken aback by his likeness to the ever-popular Chris Hemsworth avatar. Big blond Thor was the new Jesus? No wonder attendance was so high. No wonder Celeste was such a fan. The seats were comfy too. Memory foam, I bet. Once you sat your ass down, it was hard to get up.

  Celeste’s mother was thrilled to see me, and she kept showering me with double-wide smiles. Mummy’s teeth were replacements of course, but they seemed weirdly small, which was odd since dentures were measured with such precision. Mummy’d had the work: implants, botox, facelifts, and dyed hair, with extensions filling out her thinning thatch. Mummy was a Swarovski waterfall of diamonds, clad in Chanel and her Wolverine manicure looked deadly.
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  But what amazed me was how much I loved church. It was so organized and clean and white and shiny with not so much as a dustmote daring to float on a sunbeam. The Williamsons were right to be NewCats. I wished I had joined a church before. I’d tell Jazza, maybe get him to come, but I quickly stopped myself. No. No Jazza. Ever.

  And the songs! Gone were the ancient dirge-like laments, replaced by happy ditties. We sang “She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain” and “If You’re Happy And You Know It” and “Jesus Loves Me, This I Know.” I joined in, cautiously at first but with increasing gusto. Daddy and Mummy and Celeste were amused by my enthusiasm, and I soon lost my self-consciousness.

  “There’s a side to you I never knew,” Mr. Williamson commented as we were leaving and I blushed. Had I let myself lose control? I was about to apologize when Celeste grabbed my hand and shushed her father.

  “We’re looking for men to join our choir,” the priest appeared at my side. “I couldn’t help but hear your wonderful tenor.

  I nodded, close to tears with joy. His kindness hit me hard, and I just nodded. To be wanted!

  The priest said he’d flash me the details, and, as we walked to the limo, I thought that even if things ended with Celeste, that I’d be okay. At the very least, I’d got the church choir out of it. I wished I’d thought of it before.

  We arrived at brunch and left the girls, as Mr. Williamson called them, to their first round of drinkies in the main lounge. We headed for the men’s bar.

  “Wanted to chat to you man to man,” Daddy said, tapping the side of his nose like an old-fashioned British spy. “Celly is a bit fragile. Likes to tipple a wee bit, but it’s because she struggles in life. Mummy found a place in life with her charities, but Celly has always been a bit lost. We wanted an ordinary life for her, as much as one can have one—you know, kiddies and family traditions. Celly is an only child and getting on in years, and we’d both like grandkiddies, me in particular. I love the little chaps. I don’t know why I never thought of you and Celly before. There you were, right under my nose and I never saw it!”

  He beamed at me, and I was starting to wilt under the hot-house stare of his pale general’s eyes. I was backed up against the bar, and the edge cut into my spine. I worked to maintain my grin while I nodded.

  “Marriage and kiddies would make Celly happy. How old are you, son?”

  “Forty-four.” I forced the answer through clenched teeth. My back couldn’t take much more.

  “Perfect. Celly’s thirty-eight. And we can get you help if she can’t conceive.”

  Conceive? We hadn’t been on a second date! Regardless, everything I’d ever wanted was all coming my way, albeit it somewhat like a freight train.

  “Don’t shoot blanks do you, son?” Daddy lost his good cheer, and the edge of the bar bit deeper into my spine.

  “No, sir. At least I don’t think so.”

  “We’ll have you tested,” he said. “Celly’s fertile. We’ve had to get her out of sticky situations more than once. Losers she met in rehab and brought home. Those places weren’t cheap either! Not sure how they let people like that in; they were practically Blowfly level! It took a while, but we learned our lesson and sent her to a private clinic, women only. She still makes friends—that’s just who she is—and she’s getting better every day. Listen son, to segue, be careful of Ava. She’s in line for my title when I move up the ladder, but I’m going to throw your hat in the ring instead of hers. You’ve been the dark horse all this time, and I sense a winner in you. Plus, I don’t like Ava one bit.”

  By now, I was bent over backwards and my back was ready to snap in two. I was going down two vertebrae at least. I was beginning to have my doubts about the whole thing. Take on Ava? Not a chance in hell. I was struggling as it was. And Celeste sounded like harder work than I cared for. Rehab? Sticky situations? Daddy must have seen the fear in my eyes because he gripped my arm and yanked me close, patting me on the back so hard I nearly choked.

  “Don’t worry son,” he said soothingly. “One thing at a time. We’ll get your swimmers checked out and take it from there. No point in putting the cart before the horse. Let’s go and join the girls for eggs benny! Finest in town!”

  He was right. The eggs benny were delicious. Daddy talked constantly, and all I had to do was smile. And luckily for me, I didn’t shoot blanks. Celeste and I got married in the virtual Bahamas as soon as we heard the good news, but we had yet to consummate our carnal selves. I kept Jazza right out of the picture, only telling him once the contract was lodged in court and assuring him it had all been spur of the moment.

  I didn’t tell Jazza that Mummy and Daddy and Celeste and I were collectively panic-stricken that the bubble of goodwill might burst at any moment so we moved as quickly as possible.

  To my surprise, Jazza wasn’t angry with me, nor did he feel betrayed. He laughed like it was the funniest thing. “Takes the pressure off us for a bit,” he said, chortling. “Yeah, baby, life insurance. Great thinking, Sharps buddy! Just one thing. When you move up, you’d better take me or I’ll you kill you, man! Did you move in with her or her, you? Does she know how obsessed you are with cleaning? Have you actually done the horizontal rhumba?”

  He was full of questions, but I brushed them off. “That’s classified,” I told him. “But Daddy’s buying us a house.”

  “Daddy! You call Mr. Williamson The Great, the Fourth and the Righteous-Up-Your-Ass, Daddy!” That had Jazza laughing the rest of the day. I gave up.

  What he also didn’t know, and what I’d never tell him, was that the prospect of sex had freaked me out to the point where I’d been honest with CeeCee. There was no way I’d be able to get it up so I had to come clean.

  8. THE HOLE IN THE WALL

  “I’M NOT MUCH GOOD AT IT,” I TOLD HER. “Not face to face. I have to tell you, Cee, so you know. I haven’t had sex with a woman in years. I go to the Lucky Hole bar, and I stick my dick through a wall and the woman on the other side talks dirty to me and jerks me off.”

  Instead of laughing at me or being furious and wanting to smash up the room, or calling me a liar and having the marriage annulled, Celeste was fascinated. And, more importantly, she was kind. She said it didn’t matter, we’d figure it out. She wanted me to take her to the Lucky Hole and show her.

  “The concept’s old,” I explained before we went to the club. “It was popular in Japan in 1980. Oh gosh, I don’t know about taking you here. You’re so innocent—I don’t want to orrupt you.”

  She gave a deep throaty laugh. “Sweetie, I’m not going to tell you all my dirty secrets—not that there are many, mind you, but still. But innocent, I am not. And up for adventure, I most certainly am. And besides, there needs to be a level of honesty between us, always.”

  She turned me towards her, her hands on my shoulders. “Sharps, honey, we have a chance here, I can feel it. We both need something, and it seems we can help each other out. Don’t ask me how I know, but I feel like we’d be better together than apart. And so if you need me to have sex with you through a plank or whatever, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  I was moved by her honesty. I bent my head forward to touch hers. “I feel the same. Come on then, I’ll show you.”

  The Lucky Hole wasn’t a place for women, and I had to do some persuading with the madam. The madam insisted, in broken phrases—meanwhile I’d heard her speaking the King’s English—that women weren’t allowed. In the end, CeeCee charmed her and lined her pocket, and by the time we got to the hole in the wall, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get it up at all. But, as the lights dimmed and the woman’s voice soothed me and the music drifted in, I relaxed and soon forgot about CeeCee and the pressures from Daddy and that bitch Ava, and I came and life was good.

  “That was very arousing,” CeeCee said when we left. “Very erotic. Now, sweetie, I’d like to show you my way of doing things, if you don’t
mind?”

  It was the last thing I felt like, but what could I say? I was drained from our whirlwind romance and our speedy marriage, not to mention the whole experience of showing her the Lucky Hole. I wanted to go home and have a short nap followed by a session with my weights. CeeCee and I hadn’t moved in together yet because Daddy was still trying to find us the right house, and I hoped he’d take his time. But I had to oblige, and I forced a smile.

  “Love to,” I said, and she smiled. She drove me to a deluxe apartment set seventy storeys high, all decked out in crystal, steel, and black leatherette. A corner apartment with a view of the lake on one side and downtown on the other. It was nighttime, and the city sparkled like a spread of semi-precious glittering gems. I thought about how crazy it was that this was the first time I’d even been to her place and yet there we were, married. Daddy certainly hadn’t wasted any time. It wasn’t like he’d really given me a choice, but more like it had been a quiet clause in my job description all along, should he so choose. And while I liked CeeCee, there was something terrifying, too, as if she could castrate me by just thinking about it, if she ever wanted to. I just had to manage the situation, and it’d all be good.

  Celeste poured herself a large gin and tonic from a pink Perspex drinks trolley, and I thought about what her father had said, that she’d met men in rehab, that she liked a tipple, and that she’d had a hard time finding her way in life. She seemed to sense my thoughts, and she raised her glass with slight defiance, as if daring me to say something. I was quiet. She was right; we were better together than apart.

  I took a lime and soda and watched her navigate an army of FluffSqueaks, faux-fur round little robots, cute as hell, much like the Tribbles from Star Trek only four times the size and ten times as aggressive. They weren’t cheap, and Celeste had at least a dozen in pink, lime green, red, and orange. They rushed around, squeaking and burping, bumping into each other, rolling around and laughing, their shag-rug hair wild and their eyes glittering and whirring.