RED 2: A Trick of Mirrors [#Wattys2017]

18. A Trick of Mirrors

Don't close your eyes to love

Welcome it in your heart

It comes from within and above
Through that mystical dart

She nodded. The Brian Jonestown Massacre was one of her favorite bands. Listening to that familiar track brought comfort and made her forget momentarily her uneasiness. Robert showed other songs from other bands, inquired which she liked and Marisa loosened up. Her favorite artists: The Doors, Sublime, The Cure, Zero 7, Air. And his: Led Zeppelin, The Racounteurs, Bonnie Raitt, David Bowie, Traffic.

"Did you noticed our list only includes old bands? What happened to the new groups?" Robert speculated.

"They're all the same. I don't even know if you can still call that music."

And Marisa turned up her nose. She mentioned the radio hits fabricated by the same producers with the same formulas based on algorithms. Studies showed melody had become dramatically impoverished and the complexity of lyrics was compatible with seven-year-olds. According to research, the hits playing over and over on the radio atrophied listeners' intelligence and creativity because they didn't stimulate the brain.

Robert explained that in reality those songs were popular precisely for their battered form and repetition. The human brain needed stimulation indeed, but it also got attached to what sounded familiar. It was easier to persuade people into liking a track with a predictable formula playing a thousand times than another track that met their taste but played seldom. A purely commercial strategy. Marisa retorted that was garbage. Robert quoted Peter Gabriel: you knew a culture from its trash.

"Come sit here." Eliana stood and motioned to Marisa, yielding her place. "Robert loves music and you two have a lot to talk about."

Marisa politely declined. Eliana insisted. They switched positions, and Marisa found herself between two forces exerting an unbearable pressure within her, pulling and stretching, compressing and suffocating. On one hand, Robert's proximity and the smell of his aftershave lotion, that disturbing lotion saturating her dream and her nudity on a bed that only existed in the imagination. On the other hand, the proximity of Eliana and Marisa's impotence to push her away or prevent Marco from gravitating to her. Now Eliana discussed education with him. The two, apparently, also had a lot to talk about.

Everywhere and nowhere, there's where Marisa stood. She chatted in autopilot and pretended to enjoy the music she didn't hear. When the group got ready to leave, she was the first to step out the cabin. During the show, Marisa stayed with Marco next to Jean-Philippe and Zoe in the huge theater with a shell-shaped stage, amidst a blue sea of chairs disdained by the crowd that wouldn't quit dancing. Her tension subdued. Later, though, it returned and distended. They followed the bar circuit and the formation of the group kept changing: one moment the interaction was collective, the next it split between men and women or the pairs shuffled.

Although they were cordial to Jean-Philippe and Zoe, Eliana invariably wound up talking to Marco and Robert to Marisa. The couple expanded, occupying more space near the two. Eliana laid her hand on Marco's arm and shoulder in a natural manner, and it occurred to Marisa her body never rested, always alert in an artificial fluidity. She detected in Robert that same deliberation while he too touched her with a frequency that began to affect her. Robert and Eliana must have developed a similar posture by living together, Marisa thought. At times they hugged and exchanged a knowing look, then they parted and soon resumed their amicable harassment.

At two the group left behind the last counter with a row of empty glasses and speakers pouring Chris Isaak's liquid guitar interweaved with the first lines of Please. They stumbled into the panoramic lift singing: Please, please... By now, they all carried in their blood a considerable amount of alcohol and disinhibition. Zoe and Jean-Philippe, giggling mischievously and leaning against each other, said their goodbyes on Deck 7. When Marisa and Marco prepared to disembark on Deck 10, Eliana and Robert insisted they accompanied them. No clarification was offered, only smiles.

The four got off on Deck 11, and as they burrowed into the hall, Marisa's torpor dissipated. She had an uncomfortable suspicion of what Eliana and Robert intended. The two of them walked ahead and, halfway to their cabin, Eliana threw a backward glance without pausing. She winked at Marco and Marisa.

It was like in a movie, the camera at once zooming in and closing the focus on Eliana's profile. Marisa registered every detail, the curve on the corner of the lips, the translucent layer of rosy power on the cheek, the eyelid that dropped like a guillotine blade letting the hint of an invitation tumble in their direction.

We're happy for taking this cruise and making new friends. Let's toast to the unexpected paths life unfolds.

In Marisa's mind, the magic cube clicked in place: a couple swap. That's what Eliana and Robert had been scheming the whole evening. She entered their cabin against her will and remained by the door, conjecturing how Marco would react to the proposition. He appeared at ease—much at ease. If he really wished to quench his old desire for Eliana, what was the point of opposing it? That wouldn't eradicate the desire. Perhaps it was best to let him screw Eliana all night to the brink of nausea. That's how one pruned a desire.

What if Marco had a blast and wanted to repeat the experience? What if he had such a blast he didn't want to stop anymore?

Propping herself against the door frame, Marisa saw the magic cube colors mixing in a snap. She imagined Eliana's blonde hair sprawled on Marco's dark skin, the wet kisses, the sticky genitals, his moans low and hers lasciviously loud. Please, please, you're killing me. Marco would at last satisfy himself in her flesh, the whore covered in jewelry, the whore whose black claws scratched his torso impeccably while she spread her legs wide to receive all of him, more, more, the whore satiating her curiosity, her unresolved attraction to Marco now brought to light under the pretext of a wrecked marriage.

Then Marisa imagined Robert's ardent breath on her own body, the slow touch and all of a sudden the urgent penetration, as urgent as in her dream. He inebriated of her and the love potion, hips colliding against hers, his sex reaching her entrails and she expanding to invite him deeper, swooning among the spasms that almost hurt because it was so deep, it was so good, and they grunted like two animals imprisoned in the same laborious, synchronic, chronic rhythm, until the entire cadence shattered in a vortex of lava and vertigo...

And afterward?

Trapped, she eyed the three of them and directed an oblique gaze at the bed, computing the possible configurations. She wanted to yank Marco away from that cabin. Indecision, however, arrested her.

At this point, Eliana approached Marisa and took her by the hand.

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Hmm... Challenge: control your nerves!  xoxo