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The pieces of music coincident or referred to, within the story are the following, in order: ‘One Last Breath’ – Creed (AKM Melodic remix); ‘Without You’ – Manu Zain (Silk Music); ‘Horizon’ – Seven Lions, Tritonal beautiful colored wrapping around boxes, of various shapes and sizes – some oblong, some square, some round, some slightly round.
Audrey had invited us all over for something special, she had said.
Audrey was this older, very experienced and super-connected Hollywood producer lady. Well, I’m not even actually sure she was ever credited anywhere as a producer, but that’s what she was; she was the one who got all the money. Everyone in the biz knew her. Those who knew her well never talked about her to outsiders – all the rest whispered about her, and what they said was mostly just a bunch of unsubstantiated rumors. She was certainly legendary if not almost mythical in the industry.
I had come over with a woman Audrey had asked me to pick up and convey here as well. This lady was, oh maybe forty-five, maybe -, tall, slim with decent curves; to me she was obviously of Cuban ethnicity. Kind of dressed like a Caribbean pirate tonight… A pirate with a religion; she was wearing a silver Christian cross on a thin silver chain around her neck. She called herself ‘Lil M.’ And typical of me of course, I just had to ask whether to address her as ‘Lil’ or as just ‘M.’ I really liked her right off because she didn’t scowl at my impertinance, just smiled with these beautiful epicine lips, not thin, not overly thick, kind of a little boyish, very very slightly squared on the uppers.
Beautiful gleaming white teeth…
She told me her full real name. She was quite famous, or at least had been in the music business a while back.
I hadn’t recognized her to begin with until she told me who she was.
Oh then yeah, it was her all right. The person you ‘knew’ from off the television screens, the music videos – all those tiny little ‘jump cut’ segments, moments in time, sensitive expressions, emotions captured on film.
Audrey Audrey Audrey. I know what you’re up to, Audrey – I couldn’t help thinking.
The Paterson woman was apparently going to be here as well. With her friend and late-in-life ‘protege’ Kim. Real blonde Kim.
Audrey’s place – her places, because she had many places – well, it was just spectacular interior décor, wasn’t it. Velvet banquettes, large, deep pile New Zealand wool rugs, books, original publicity posters – signed. Oak eskişehir escort coffee tables. Little framed photos of Robert Panté. Another person with that white gleaming smile.
Except all of Audrey’s friends and associates were never the kinds of people with false or guarded smiles – maybe except for me, I guess; I’m sure I have a very guarded smile. LOL
Everyone Audrey tended to know was almost always of the ‘innocent’ kind, you’d have to say – I would even call them damn naiive. Audrey was – had been – friends with Prince! What can I say?!
Talented, though. She only knew talented people.
Flitting past us – Lil M and me, as we took a position at one end of a fairly large semi-circular banquette – were these gentlemen and Eastern European-looking girls dressed in livery; real actual starched white linen shirts and marcella-striped black pants-type livery.
One of them stopped right there in the middle of the large living room holding a big cream glossy box and opened it displaying a gleaming red sequined and ruby bejewelled dress: “Nice isn’t it? Dolce and Gabbana. Thirty five thousand dollars. You like?”
Audrey’s voice entered the room from somewhere behind me I couldn’t exactly see, in pure matronly, not quite totally stentorian tones: “That’s enough Charles. Get it to her right away, she’s probably standing there totally naked and freezing.”
Charles lifted his eyebrows and rolled his eyes. Was he gay? He affected it very well, put it that way.
Lil M was still smiling, half-laughing really.
There was an extremely noticeable odor of balsam fir in the air – it was supposed to be the scent from the spruce tree obviously since it was Christmas but I know spruce and this was a balsam fir scent.
As though reading my mind Audrey entered the salon from behind my left shoulder, touching me briefly, and went up to the Christmas tree with a small bottle in her hand and began sprinkling liquid onto its dusky green and spikey needles. And she turned and looked directly at me like Annie Lennox doing a crazy ‘Dame Daphne’ look in one of her crazy music videos.
All I could think of doing was to raise an eyebrow. Years of playing at being Spock as a kid. Kind of effective I thought. Charles had done a similar thing… So why not me too.
I was, after all, up against a phenomenon. You cannot win at repartee against a phenomenon.
The Paterson girl arrived and entered with a few murmured ‘hellos’ gaziantep escort and then sat beside me on my left, dragging the much older blonde Woodland Hills identity with her by hand and it was quite cute, really, when she curled her left arm around the older woman and guided that one’s tousled head to rest down against her own chest. …Where the other woman remained quietly too, evidently happily enough in a kind of louche and retiring repose.
Spread before us on the low – but otherwise rather large and heavy-looking wooden coffee table – were pretty decent gourmet platters: copycat fake KFC half-breast filets with juniper and cranberry sauce, choux a la crème, clementine crème brûlée, little fried stupid vegan things for half the women there who claimed to be vegetarian or vegan or whatever. And there were these amazing little glass bottles of maple beer. And striped barber’s pole straws.
More chicken for me then. Good.
No sooner had I popped the first half-breast into my slavering mouth when miss nervy anxious hyperactive enters wearing the D ever.
“What do you guys think?” She asked, breathlessly, doing a turn to show off, er, her legs?
“Yes you have fantastic legs.” Sarah said. I coughed. I had this impression Sarah had actually placed her left hand over the blonde woman’s eyes when she was giving her review of the D a lot.
Audrey Audrey Audrey. What’s your secret, Audrey? That was what I was thinking. Next thing you know, here was the dizzy wizzy fizzy D away to the nest… People who read the National Enquirer always wanted a space opera answer to ‘the theistic question,’ as it is so called: ‘if God, then why do bad things happen, et cetera’ and they add, ‘and why not a landing on the White House Lawns anyway?’
…They are actually guessing something that is real, inside.
They don’t know that it is real. They intuit what is going on but they will never see it, never really know it.
On one level my own senses now are all incredibly, absolutely incredibly, heightened. I can really smell and discriminate between the juniper, the black spruce, the maple beer, the real Madagasca bourbon vanilla, even the milder cranberries; certainly the spicy fried chicken.
Dizzy anxious had staggered a little at first, next leaning, and then of course she just crumpled too, fallen over like the others who had just fallen straight onto the floor in front of her, but she had come to a position on giresun escort the end of the banquette the rest of us were all sharing in one way or the other. She was totally asleep now, or ‘out of it,’ as they say.
Humans. Asleep, their fractious brains were on pause, thank god. All the frequencies could be aligned at last. We were all connected now.
As we are all being ‘moved’ I can literally feel every one of us; each individual one of us, we are no longer separate individuals at all. We were a single hive mind personality. …Of course they – the humans – are all breathing very deeply. Their minds ticking over quite slowly.
I can see the ditzy girl dripping saliva out of her mouth as she lolls there on her side on her new soft slim bed.
The humans were kind of pinioned into slim soft rather puffy beds. Holding them down, a barely visible, diaphanous cloying warm ever so slightly moist graphene and celophane wrapping.
Humans as a broad group are very naiive, if not exactly stupid, you see. They ask the same incorrect question over and over without getting any satisfying answer but then without even thinking at all that maybe the question is wrong.
…My antennae are extending from the top of my forehead now that all the girls, well, all the women, are fully asleep. My skin is just a touch bluish to the naked eye now. I have my aerogel glassette helmet on. The electro-magnetic spin rate is increasing dramatically and if an ordinary human were awake they would be thoroughly shaken, likely with fear as much as with the high frequency vibrations.
The question is a question Jimi Hendrix posed once. And the answer is that the rest of the Universe doesn’t demand absolute experience in extremis. It just requires that you have sufficient experience – so that you do know the true difference between the results of your practicing what is generally benign, or your practicing intentional malice. But ‘sufficient’ is still rather complex; for one thing it is represented by an asymmetrical sine curve with differential qualifiers – these things are not stochastically comparable: for example Pol Pot killing millions is not measurable against Charlie Chaplin making the same numerical amount of millions feel good.
And in the middle, mostly what humans do, is all just very messy.
I can hear the chatter of the crew technicians through my headset now. Terse, economic, polite.
One of the biological technicians comes over and wipes the girl’s mouth. It was so caring, cautious, precise.
There’s this whine building up in the background, and if you are able to even vaguely envisage the levels of power being generated, you would assume a massive machine howling across the skies in glowing thunderous magnificence and then shooting away like a starburst.
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