The Insane Journey

Chapter 2

 In a roadside café, Maxwell and Wendy stood at the counter drinking coffee and tea respectively.

 “Ahhhh! I can feel the caffeine recharging my system,” exclaimed Maxwell, extending his arms like superhero preparing for battle.

 “No, you can’t. It takes 45 minutes for caffeine to enter your bloodstream,” said Wendy.

 “This is special coffee with fast-acting caffeine,” said Maxwell.

 “There’s no such thing. It’s a placebo effect,” said Wendy.

 “That’s good enough for me,” said Maxwell, as Wendy rolled her eyes.

 “Excuse me,” said a tall, thin woman in a billowing white blouse and carefully torn, tight blue jeans. “Are you Maxwell van Mars?”

 “That I am,” said Maxwell.

 “The sculptor?”

 “That too.”

 “I adore your work!”

 “Why, thank you, um...” began Maxwell.

 “Cynthia.”

 “Cynthia,” said Maxwell.

 “I’ve been studying your work at uni and I think it’s great, especially the way you give your figures – those robots – life. When they are dancing, they seem so real,” said Cynthia glowingly.

 Although he was a failure in business in general and the family business in particular, Maxwell had proven himself capable in the arts. In particular, he had made a name for himself as a leading sculptor of robots. For the past few years, he had been experimenting with robots in the form of nude female figures who performed bizarre dances to any background music or rhythm they detected. If there was nothing suitable in range, the robots would sing from an eclectic collection of music stored in their memories.

 The anatomical accuracy of Maxwell’s nude dancers and the eroticism of some of their performances were variously a cause for controversy, adulation and erections. Indeed, men attempting sex with the sculptures was not an uncommon cause for concern, though the real problem was that the sculptures’ anatomical correctness was only on the surface, making vaginal penetration a penis-bruising impossibility. Since most men who attempted the feat were more than a little intoxicated, they didn’t let a little initial resistance – and pain – diminish their determination, though they inevitably felt the consequences the next morning.

 “I model them after real women,” said Maxwell.

 “But lots of artists do that. Why are your figures so much more alive?”

 “Because my models do not sit still. They move around, dance and do other things while I watch and make sketches. I do not want merely to capture a still likeness of an attractive woman like you. Rather, I want to capture her life, the way she moves and her feminine sensuality in those movements.”

 “Wow!” said Cynthia, following with a thoughtful pause. “When you said attractive like me, was that just a compliment?”

 “Yes, it was a compliment. But it was a sincere one.” Maxwell looked at the young woman more carefully for a moment, scanning her entire body in a professional yet slightly lustful manner.

 “I think you would be a great model for a sculpture. Would you be interested?”

 Cynthia smiled, but before she could reply, Wendy spoke up.

 “He will end up seducing you, you know.”

 “Wendy!” said Maxwell

 “What?” asked Cynthia, startled.

 “He ends up having sex with most of his models,” said Wendy.

 “You say that as if sex with me is a bad thing,” said Maxwell. “I have it on good authority that it can be a very, very good thing.”

 “I wouldn’t know. Fortunately, you are not into bestiality,” said the penguin.

 “Lord love a duck, Wendy!” said Maxwell. “What’s got into you?”

 “Oh, my!” said Cynthia, now blushing a deep ruby red.

 “Oh, don’t worry. She’s just jealous because I haven’t sculpted her,” said Maxwell.

 “No, I’m not,” said Wendy. “We penguins only get jealous when our mates sit on other penguins’ eggs. We are not interested in posing for human art.”

 “Anyway,” interrupted Maxwell. “You are an attractive woman with a lithe body, Cynthia. Assuming you can move as elegantly as you look, you’d make a marvellous model. Here’s my card. If you really are interested in posing for me, call my assistant and make an appointment to come to my studio. If you pose for me, you will need to get undressed and move around while I watch and sketch you – but, of course, you will not be expected to sleep with me.”

 “Ha!” said Wendy.

 “Thanks,” said Cynthia.

 “Keep that up, penguin, and I’ll throw you into a pool of leopard seals.”

 “There are no pools of leopard seals anywhere near here,” said Wendy firmly.

 “I’ll improvise,” said Maxwell.

 “How?” asked Wendy.

 “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” said Maxwell. “Now, let’s hit the road. Cape City is still a couple of hours ahead of us. Toodle-oo Cynthia, I hope I’ll see you in my studio one day soon!”

 Cynthia waved, not quite sure what to make of her brief encounter with a hero who suddenly seemed a little less heroic, but a little more interesting.

 “Don’t you want to have sex with her?” asked Wendy once they had got into the car.

 “Of course I do. She’s as cute as a calico kitten playing with a ball of yarn. But you know it’s not appropriate to bring the act of sex up so early in an acquaintanceship.”

 Wendy looked concerned in a penguinish kind of way. “Are you upset with me for bringing up sex?”

 “Not at all. Ironically, by your bringing it up, if she shows up at the studio one day, it will likely mean that she wants to sleep with me – or is at least open to the possibility – whereas if I had brought it up, she’d have been upset and walked away then and there.”

 “Sometimes I just don’t understand humans,” sighed Wendy.

 “No worries, old bird. I don’t much understand penguins,” said Maxwell, accelerating onto the winding road that twisted between the mountains and would take them to Cape City and some depravity that he hoped would include a sexual component. He had been locked up for a week in a space cruiser with only a penguin for company, albeit one who was his best friend.