The Rage Room Page 6

  Celeste’s place was a ShyRichRollo compendium of the latest trending items. The ShyRichRollos were spinning neon wheels in upmarket shopping centres, listing toys for the super wealthy. Celeste had all of them, including the latest, PrayingMantisLuckyCharms, tiny plastic orchid-coloured insects that fluttered and settled in white-and-pink clouds on the edge of the sofa. I didn’t like them, fearing they’d stick in my mouth, nose, and hair. Maybe they sensed my discomfort, because they swarmed me while I tried to unobtrusively swat them away.

  Celeste downed the gin and tonic like it was orangeade, refreshed her drink, and held out her hand. I took it and she led me to the bedroom with a large bed. As I entered the room, my balls retracted and fled. I was immediately soaked in panicked sweat.

  I was in a bordello. Chandeliers, red velvet wallpaper, mirrors, gilt and tassels, drapes, pillows, cushions, and throws. The bed was a giant lipstick-kiss in the centre of the floor. I looked up. Yep, there were mirrors on the ceiling. Mirrors on the walls. A large naked Rubenesque Celeste eyed me provocatively from one wall. Lifesize, old-fashioned oil paintings daubed with flashing neon light accents looked down on the scene. I was going to throw up. I pressed my hand to my mouth. I wasn’t the right guy for the job. Mr. Williamson had erred. I would be fired. My life as a Blowfly was coming at me sooner than I had thought.

  Oblivious to my panic, Celeste pointed a remote towards a shelf, and a retro disco diva howled at high volume about feeling love. I was frozen, wretched with embarrassment, sweat pouring down my body. Celeste laughed and came over to me. She undid my shirt and ran her fingers over my body. “So fit,” she murmured. “So tight, so nice. Hmmm.” She didn’t comment on the wetness of my shirt, and she genuinely seemed to like what she was finding.

  I wouldn’t say I was aroused by what she was doing, but I somehow managed to relax. I closed my eyes, and she undid my trousers and led me to the bed.

  “One second, honey, let me get my box of goodies.” I leaned up on my elbows as she walked over to the closet.

  “Tell me,” she said, taking out a bunch of outfits on hangers, “which one would you like?” There was a fifities film noir number with sheer organza and fluffy feather boa edging, a cheerleader outfit, a nurse’s outfit, a nun’s habit, and a dominatrix skimpy affair in black leather and studs.

  I pointed to the filmy affair, and she dropped the others to the floor. I was instantly distracted by the mess. The garments would be getting creased. I ached to get up and hang them up neatly, but I didn’t feel I could. Meanwhile, the stereo had switched to a remixed version of “Tainted Love” with extra bass, and lights swirled around the boudoir while I wondered how many other men had lain exactly where I was. But mainly I wanted to pick those clothes up off the floor.

  Celeste swayed in time to the music, dreamy-eyed and in her own world. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do—just lie there and watch her? Was this supposed to be arousing? I was bored out of my mind. Her eyes snapped open, and I was worried she had read my mind. Sharps, you fool, you’ve a good thing on the make, get with the program. So I arranged my face into an interested expression, with a touch of concern, was everything okay?

  “Going to freshen my drinkie,” she said, her second glass already emptied, and I gave a sigh of relief. She wasn’t kicking me out.

  As soon as she left, I scooted off the bed and hung up the clothes. The relief was instantaneous, like scratching a terrible itch. I was back on the bed by the time she came back, and she didn’t even notice that the clothes were no longer on the floor. With the mess tidied up, I was able to relax slightly.

  Celeste took a gulp from her drink and wheeled a sparkling aqua trolley out of the adjoining washroom. The trolley was piled high with sex toys. I watched, amazed, as she, like a sales woman, led me through the uses and highlights of each item. She had it all: dildos, chains, riding crops, terrifying bondage gear, lotions, condoms, massage gels, and candles.

  “Uh,” I stammered, “I’m intimidated, Cee, I gotta say.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetiepie,” she said. “I’m pretty good at pleasing myself. I’d just love for you to watch. This big boy’s my fav!” She purred as she pulled out an eight-inch monster dildo and climbed onto the bed. “But you know what I love more than anything?” Her eyes snapped wide open, horrible with focus and sobriety in spite of her drinks. “I just love oral! How do you feel about oral?”

  Oh god. Not oral. Anything but oral. The cave of the Red Vagina. I turned pale. What could I say?

  “Um, well.” I searched for the right thing to say, the thing that would keep me safe and yet keep us together. “I guess I’m not very experienced,” I finally stuttered, and her eyes lit up. She must have been worried I’d tell her I was repulsed by it. “And,” I added hastily, “I’m entirely not sure it’s my cup of tea.” A cloud crossed her face, and she slumped down ever so slightly.

  “Oh.”

  We lay in silence for a bit, and I realized I had to fix things. “But,” I offered, “I could try, if you like.”

  She sat up, joyful and jubilant. “Oh, honey! Would you? Thank you!” She immediately lay back and spread her legs.

  My heart pounded as I took up the position. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and moved in. I’d take my medicine and do what had to be done. Since she’d lubed herself up for her vibrating cock, she didn’t taste so bad. In fact, her cotton candy cunt wasn’t fishy at all. But still, I had no idea what to do. I imagined an ice cream cone in front of me, and I slowly worked my way from a full cone to scooping out the insides with my tongue. I must have done okay because she bucked like a bronco before I was even finished.

  “My god. That was SPECTACULAR!”

  I was bludgeoned with relief. I crawled over to lie next to her.

  “And look at you, silly boy,” she said, stroking my hair. “Didn’t think he had it in him. Sweetie, you’re the best I ever had!”

  Thank god! I passed the exam! I lay back, wondering if there was a protocol about timing. How quickly could I leave? I craved the privacy of my lovely pristine apartment more than ever, itching for my BleachBuddy and furniture polish. I had to be alone. I sat up slowly, ready with my exit line, but she pulled me down and snuggled into me.

  “You’ll stay the night, baby? Please? I want to wake up and find you next to me. Say you will, my hunky big love.”

  I murmured something and lay back, defeated.

  Next thing I knew, she was out cold, snoring slightly. I maintained the position. The spinning lights swirled, and we must have looped the playlist because the disco diva was back to wailing about feeling love. My arm went numb, but I was on the fast track to success—take that Ava! I’ve won the big prize!

  Sweetie, where r u?

  Celeste flashed the red light at me again. Oh shit. I’d yet to leave the parking lot. My trip down memory lane had clocked more kilometres than I’d realized.

  Coming, hun! Sorry, I got caught up, Jazza nabbed me in the parking lot. He’s got woman troubles, would u believe?

  I hoped she wouldn’t be too pissed off.

  Who cares? Listen, there’s a party here with big news, baby! Haul that sweet ass of yours home pronto! Lila and Christine r here and so r Mummy and Daddy! We’ve got champers! Get a move on!

  Oh shit. Just what I didn’t need. The prospect of a back-to-work party hosted by Daddy with Celeste’s obnoxious friends in tow for the free booze and canapés. I flashed the time. To my surprise, it was only early evening. My day had been so hellish I’d have sworn it was close to midnight.

  Sorry, hun! Coming!

  But I still couldn’t move. I reclined the car seat as far as it would go and closed my eyes. I just needed a tiny bit more time to myself.

  9. GETTING PREGNANT

  CELESTE AND I WORKED HARD AT GETTING her pregnant as soon as possible. She stopped drinking. We made our own sex props—a Lucky Hole wall
along with her trolley of goodies—and we kept an eye on her fertility schedule. We both wanted to do it the old-fashioned way. I sold my apartment and was happy to throw a down payment on Mother’s kitchen table, where I’d taken many a scolding.

  I ate ice cream cones out of Celeste’s cunt until I thought I’d die. We worked out a system whereby she whisked the wall away just as I was about to come and she jumped on top of me, taking my sperm and lying on her back with her legs in the air.

  It didn’t even take us long. Daddy was so proud of me. Ha, you should have seen that bitch Ava’s face when Daddy threw a party for me at work! It was worth eating all the ice cream cones in the world. This was before the MDoggHotBody campaign went pear-shaped. Then, I was king of the world!

  Celeste, pregnant, was cantankerous. She grew huge, monstrous. And, inexplicably, her appetite for sex grew equally as large. She binge-watched porn in between phoning me with her latest ache or pain or to tell me what kind of ice cream to bring home for dessert. At least she wasn’t drinking. I hated the porn. At first I tried to pretend it was interesting, but it revolted me—all that skin and hair and genitals and groaning.

  I tried to convince her that porn wasn’t good for the baby. She needed to mix it up, watch some nature or shit like that or the baby would be a crazed serial killer sex addict. She just laughed at me. She treated pregnancy like a terminal illness, calling in massage therapists, a hair stylist, and even a make-up artist for god’s sake! She said she was too tired to even lift a finger, but she lifted more than one when it came to food. She heavy-lifted all day! And when Bax was yanked from out of her, she was perplexed and furious as to why the weight didn’t just drop off. So Mummy and Daddy sent her to a spa for three months. Three months! She left me with a newborn and went off to find her former figure.

  When Bax was born, I was terrified. Baxter Hunter Williamson the Fifth Barkley, a ridiculous name for a tiny baby The nurse tried to hand him to me, but I shrank back and shook my head. “No,” I said, “I can’t.” What if I broke him? I couldn’t hold him, worried that my fear and rage would overwhelm me and I’d snap the child in two, then four, then six, just to spare him the horror of this world.

  Eventually Daddy made me tell him what was going on. I cried and told him that I was afraid I would hurt the baby, that he was too small. I couldn’t tell him my real fear, that my hands would betray me and I’d kill him. But Daddy said he understood and maybe he actually did because he took Bax and held him, all swaddled and tiny, then told me to cup my arms under his arms, not to take the baby but just to hold Daddy holding Bax. And it worked. When Bax made it into my arms, my whole life changed. I straightened up and held my boy close, and I swear that surge of love and protection was like nothing I have ever felt before or since. I’d never let anything harm that precious boy. Nothing. Ever. And I didn’t want anybody else to hold him. When we took Bax home, I pushed the nanny away and let her do the cursory cleaning. I was so afraid that Celeste would take Bax away from me when she came back from the spa, but I didn’t have to worry because she wasn’t interested in Bax at all, treating him at best like one of her FluffSqueaks.

  Granted, Celeste looked all svelte and smooth. She had dropped the weight, but she’d gained an entourage. Night after night, day after day, we were lumbered with her newfound friends, Christine and Lila. Christine was Celeste’s art therapist in the clinic, and Lila was a nutritionist although she looked anorexic to me. I remembered how Daddy had warned me about Celeste’s penchant for bringing losers back from rehab, and I sighed. I found I could summon nothing but hatred for my wife.

  You can’t hate her. She’s Bax’s mother. She’s your wife. She’s part of the deal. Shit man, she IS the deal.

  In the next breath: I hate her and feel like my head’s about to explode, she’s so noisy and so messy. She’s such a slob.

  Lila and Christine didn’t help. I heard them talking about me on the connecting audio, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that Celeste was drinking again. How could I go back to work if she was drinking again?

  I wondered, while I was bathing Bax and listening to them, if the three of them were sexually involved. I tidied up the towels while Bax gurgled and splashed, and I thought about that message on Celeste’s portable flash comm:

  Can’t wait to smell your sweetness and lick your skin!

  Celeste loved lesbian porn. Then there was the way the three of them were always hugging and kissing and touching each other. I asked her about the message, but she got angry and demanded to know what I was doing looking at her comm. I told her it lit up in front of me; it wasn’t like I was spying on her or anything.

  What would I do if Celeste told me she was having an affair? Probably nothing. My chest closed in tighter, and my ears buzzed with a ringing sound.

  I heard Lila. “Our credit cards are totally maxed out. What a blow, being let go from the spa.”

  She’d lost her job? Christine too? Why hadn’t Celeste told me? I had forgotten about the lives of consumers, the ones spending all the money I urged them to. If you asked me, the Blowflies were lucky, what with all that welfare living.

  I told myself I too had to stop buying things for Bax. My credit cards were also maxed out, and Daddy had no idea.

  The buzzing in my ears became a high-pitched scream. I gathered up my solid, fragrant little boy.

  “Bax my boy, what would I do without you? You get it, don’t you? Mama thinks I coddle you too much, but you’re my boy. I never thought I’d feel like this, never. This kind of love, it’s nearly too much. I would do anything for you, my boy, anything.”

  Downstairs Christine was putting the food on the dining room table.

  “Is Sharps being better around Bax?” I heard Christine ask.

  Better? What the heck did she mean? I leaned in to listen.

  “No, he’s utterly neurotic. It’s quite ridiculous. I’ve got no idea how he’ll go back to work,” Celeste said.

  “It’s so destructive for Bax,” Christine protested, and her voice rose. “He can sense it you know. A dichotomy between parents about baby regimens are one of the biggest causes of dysfunctional adults in later years.”

  WTF?

  “I know, sweetie,” I heard Celeste sigh. “But what can I do? I’ve talked myself blue in the face. So now I just live with it.”

  Live with what? What was she talking about?

  “It’s not fair on Bax,” Christine insisted. “You owe him more. I see the consequences of this with my clients daily.”

  The consequences of what?

  I heard Celeste sigh again. “I’ve got no say in anything. Listen to this one: Bax isn’t allowed to have a blanket at night, in case he strangles himself. There he is, poor little guy, stiff as a plank in two pairs of thick pajamas, hardly able to move.”

  “Why would he strangle himself?” Christine was outraged. “Has that ever happened? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s possible in tiny babies, but what are the odds? But Sharps loves his boy—you can’t tell him anything. I didn’t tell you, but a couple of weeks ago, he woke up and thought Bax had been stolen in the night. He was hysterical. I tell you, there’s no reasoning with him.”

  How could she tell them about that? I was aghast and my armpits puddled with oily cold sweat. I pulled off my T-shirt and wiped my pits dry. I can’t believe she told them that! How could she? I’d had a nightmare.

  I picked up Bax and carried him into the bedroom to get a fresh T-shirt.

  I thought about my alcoholic father, his rages, the constant threat of violence and the ever-present tension in the family. Big hard man. Big hard drunk with a fist like iron. “Be a man, boy,” he’d yell at me for no reason, breaking the silence like shattering glass. Or, “Grow a pair, will ya?”

  All I wanted was for Bax to know that he was completely loved. I wanted him to remember his childhood as perfect,
with everything shiny and in its place and with me doing things with and for him. I never knew I was capable of feeling so much love for one person. What did she know, that bitch, Christine? I clenched my fists. My scalp was crawling, and I wanted to put my fist through the wall.

  I picked up my son and took him into his bedroom, and we sat down on the floor to play with his toys. I’d had a special carpet installed, pale blue with no loose fibres to clog his little lungs. His wallpaper was serene, marshmallow clouds on blue skies, sunshine, happy faces of smiling sunflowers.

  But I could still hear them downstairs.

  Celeste continued to trash talk me. “Sharps is so totally paranoid that something will happen to his boy that he can’t leave him alone. He made me get rid of my FluffSqueaks, every single one of them!”

  I hadn’t made her get rid of them. I had wanted to, yes, because I didn’t want Bax inhaling their neon plastic fur, but they hadn’t gone far. They were in the basement, rushing around and bumping into each other, squeaking like a nest of angry little birds and making it nearly impossible for me to do the laundry. I tried to kick the shit out of them, but the little bastards were too quick for me and they seemed to love what they thought was a game.

  Lila changed the subject. “I read about a Blowfly family,” she said, “trying to integrate into city life, but they got caught and sent to the farms.”

  Blowflies integrating? I sat up straighter, horrified. I hadn’t seen anything on the news about it. I’d follow up later. The Blowflies weren’t allowed to encroach on our sanctity. They were scum, filth.

  “Come on Bax,” I said, “it’s bedtime, my boy. Time for you to go to sleep.”

  But Bax wouldn’t go down. I carried him downstairs to make a bottle, and I looked over at the three women. They were sprawled on the sofa, caressing each other, massaging one another’s backs, hands, legs.