Lights. Camera. A*****e.

A Story by Prabhu Pant

An a*****e and a beautiful woman - how safe are they from a forgotten city, more importantly from themselves?

Linda was one fine half-wit girl, highly neurotic most of the time. We had our troubles. We dealt with them by drinking whisky and smoking. We would occasionally get drunk and then she would come up with some of the most wicked and unimaginable things about me (I was nice as f**k to her, with occasional spanking of course), and spoke about those things in a shady tone that would creep out any man. It did me.

Once we were in this nice town, name of which I can’t recall. We were in our hotel room. We drank, made out, screwed and did it all over again. She was one fine lady when it came to cunnilingus. The way she would bobble her head up and down, and the way she would incorporate her hands in this process was like climbing the stairway to heaven for any wanton of a man. I was no saint either.

We did our thing felicitiously and she was drunk as hell. We were lying naked on the bed. Her body was covered in bedsheet stained with marks. The room was burning hot. The air conditioner wasn’t working and the fan was staring down at my n*****s, working its wings above my sweet pink n*****s. Staring at its rotating wings and thinking about it made them hard.

She then started screaming these atrocities I’d done to her �" drinking daily; smoking daily; flirting with other women daily; f*****g other women daily, which, by the Almight’s grace, once included her sister too, the fact I was unaware of until then; and more words and words. All her accusations had the word ‘daily’ attached to it at the end, which heightened the frequencies and magnitude of my sins. I have sinned. I was a sinner. She just made me realize I was way too good at it.

She just wouldn’t stop. She continued screaming with a shrill pitch at the top of her voice. It was too much for my delicate ears to take.

“WILL YOU STOP THIS S**T!?”, I screamed.

“YOU SWINY JACKOFF B*****D! You have been ruining my life with your fucked up life!”, she replied.

“It’s my life! I can do whatever I want to do with it!”

“Then why wouldn’t you stop f*****g me, HUH!? Leave me alone, and let me live my own life!”

“I need to catch some fresh air.”

“WHERE YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING!?”

“If you want to come, you’re welcome. I need some air.”

“YOU ARE TOO SICK TO FACE YOURSELF!”

I put on my underwear, then my jeans, then my shirt, then socks and shoes. I drank some more whisky and left the room. The whisky always put some sense into her. I hated her when she started talking some sense. I closed the door with a thud and went downstairs. On my way to the exit, I lit a cigarette. Inhaled. I made me calmer. Exhaled. Inhaled again.

I went to the banks of the river. It was lively there �" lights, women, dogs screwing around. I looked behind at our hotel room. The light was on and she wasn’t there on the balcony to jump and die. It was all fine.

I lit another cigarette and wondered about Linda. I recalled the first time I saw her. It was in this city only �" she was sitting at her favourite table of her favourite bar, while I was at the counter, drinking and looking for the most perfect trouble.

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She had those sparkling eyes that would do the talking for her. She had those hairs that danced with the wind. She had those perfect red lips and that perfect mouth �" right size for me. She had those smooth long legs I had always craved for. She had that smile that would enchant any man. It did me. They all did me. Every woman’s everything did me.

It was all perfect but sometime later, it started to get wrong.

Often every night, I found myself telling random members of the fairer sex how beautiful they are anyway. Because it’s all true �" all women are, in one way or another. There’s always something about every one of them. There’s a smile, a curve, a secret. These women are really the most amazing creatures. My life’s work. But then there’s the morning after �" the hangover, the f**k-ups, and the realization that I’m not quite as available to her as I thought I was the night before. And then she’s gone. And I’m haunted by yet another road not taken.

As I could recall, there was this one peculiar thing about her �" she would drink her guts out if in a bad mood. I was aware of this. I made her do this. Often. There was enough whisky in the room for the two of us to get drunk like pigs. She was in a bad mood. She would drink all the whisky alone. F**k I needed to save the whisky.

I darted back to the room, saw her in the bed, still wrapped in that stained bedsheet, drinking the 5th alone, neat. I reached out to her, grabbed the 5th, slapped her and finished that 5th alone. It was one good whisky to rescue. Finally, I did some good thing.

“YOU DOG! HOW CAN YOU HIT ME!”, she yelled at me.

“You were drinking all the whisky we had! It was bad…for you.”, I had to add ‘for you’ part.

“OH YEAH? HOW ABOUT YOU, HUH? YOU WANT IT ALL. WHISKY. WEED. CIGARETTES. WOMEN. YOU SWINE!”

“They all are just creative lubricants!”, I yelled back at her. Politely.

“AND WHAT ABOUT ALL THOSE W****S YOU F**K AND FLIRT WITH?”

“You kicked my dick out of its house. You made my dick homeless. And outdoors is a place where penises don’t generally fare well. So my homeless dick now must seek shelter where and whence it can.”

“YEAH YOU DUMB F**K! WHY WOULDN’T YOU JUST LEAVE ME BE?”

“There’s the door. You can leave and go wherever you want, and whenever you want. LEAVE NOW IF YOU WANT!”

She started doing this funny thing with her hands and head �" swinging them around in agony and hitting the bed occassionally, and looked just like a mad ape got tity-twisters.

“WHY SHOULD I LEAVE? You should go!”, she replied.

“FINE!”, I grabbed my lighter, a packet of cigarettes, and a quarter of whisky and started to leave.

She darted out of the bed to the door, removing the bedsheet and stood there naked on the doorsill, just like a cow in intense mid-summer Indian traffic.

She looked perfect in her natural form.

“Where you think you are going?”

“I am leaving. Just like you want.”

“You just can’t leave me alone in this strange city!”

“Oh, I very well can. It’s in the law!”, and I tried to push her out of my way. She resisted. I slapped her again. Harder this time.

Her head hit the door. And there she was �" lying there on the doorsill, naked, and smelled of whisky and juice. There was a minor cut on her forehead and it started to bleed. Two things I hated most besides her �" blood and vomit.

She was still lying there and started to cry. I couldn’t leave her like this �" there wasn’t any room service to clean this mess. I closed the door, wrapped her up in that stained blanket and picked her up. She threw out all over my shirt. Blood and vomit. F**k me.

I let go off her and her body hit the floor with a thud.

“F**K YOU, YOU B***H! MY SHIRT!”

She threw up again.

I removed that shirt, threw it at her, and changed into a new one. A new black shirt. Smelled of classic rock, blasphemy, and me �" just the way I like.

I went out again, leaving her as she was in that dilapidated condition.

Same old stuff.

Then very leisurely I got to the elevator, lit another cigarette, walked out of the hotel. I wasn’t angry. I was calm. I had this feeling of strength. Same old war. Victory was mine.

I went to the closest bar, sat at the counter, and ordered a whisky. I tried to make something out of that insane woman, but she left me with no choice. I knew about her affection for this a*****e �" a handsome and more successful one. They must have fucked a zillion times. Well, a man can only take this much. I knocked my drink out, set the glass down, and then I saw her. Patricia. She was at the corner of the bar with this old guy. I could see her faking laughter.

I din’t reach out to her. I just sat there at the counter, drinking and smoking, and started at her. Every now or then, we locked eyes. She was calling me, or I wanted to be called by her, just like I wanted to by every other woman. I am me afterall.

I looked her in the eye. She was listening to the old guy and smiling. I slugged my glass, she looked me in the eye. I kept looking at her. She kept looking at me. She knew I had already done many things with her in my mind, many times. The old guy turned around to see what had just c**k-blocked her. He seemed to ask Patricia about me, and she nodded in disagreement. And there it was �" another happy couple united again by a simple nod of a women. These men.

I ordered some more of that whisky, gulped it down, sip by sip. I stared again at her. Still laughing. How lame.

I kept on drinking more for an hour or so.

As I was paying the bartender, I felt something next to me move. The next second it said something to me.

“I know you. You are that a*****e of a writer.” said Patricia as she had reached out to me.

“Guilty.” I replied.

“I know all about you.”

“Well currently I am accepting blame for everything �" earthquakes, floods, poverty, hip-hop and pop music. And if I fucked your sister, then stay calm, we can go through this step by step. I just did that.”

“I read your books. I love your writing.”

“And the women just said the four pleasure words. I’m wet.”

We introduced ourselves.

“Where is your grandpa?”, I asked her.

She laughed. “He is my boyfriend, had an emergency meeting, so he went away. Business first, you know how these rich boys are.”

“Yeah, I see. Tell me more about yourself, night glory.”

“You are a writer. Why don’t you figure that out? Isn’t that what writers do, read stuffs and characters?”

“True, but I’m kind of unemployed at the moment. Non-working as I like to say.”

“No muse?”

“Yes and no. She is drunk somewhere.”

“At least try.”

I read her. Her eyes, her breasts, her hands, her body, her legs, then again her eyes.

“You look like a woman that’s for sure.”

She laughed. Green signal and I went on.

“By the look of your eyes and your grand-dad, you are very cunning, but in a good way. Beautiful you are, no doubt. You were the eldest of your siblings �" say a younger brother and maybe a sister too. No, only a younger sister. You were always the apple of your parents’ eye until you did something horrible and your sister dethroned you. Hurt, you wanted to get away from them, say for at least a year. You came to the capital, studied law, got a job in that old-timer’s firm. You screwed your way up top. You were the best at your work, no denying. But you developed a liking for him, and he wouldn’t leave his wife for you. You got hurt again, and now seek back your family.”

She nodded. She seemed to agree. I was mentally preparing myself for a slap, spilled drink on my face, or a kick in the balls.

“Carry on”, she said.

“Feminist. You want to look bold, over the top of men, but you deep down desire to get married, settle in some country side and raise 2 kids �" 2 boys. Bloody feminist.”

“Well, you certainly can read a women well.”

“And I’m all up for receiving curses or slaps now. I provide this service to women. Slaps. Kick in the balls. You name it, I’m up for it.”

“Are you always like that? A world class a*****e.”

“It’s a disease. I’m working on it. But I can see you are charmed by my failed attempts to charm you.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh yes, you are. I’m me afterall. Why don’t you tell what you think of me.”

“It’s quite difficult for me �" writing and elaborating stuff.”

“Come on, I’m easy. Wearing black, a ring on the right index finger, two black bracelets on left arm, ‘zoso’ tattooed on the ring finger of my left hand, classic rock…go.”

“Well, you are a f*****g d****e, no denying.”, she began.

I nodded, “You’re good. I dig that.”

“You behave like a mysogynist, which you at times are and at other times not. You don’t give a f**k about society, or about anything in general. You don’t come out as a self-centred prick. You prioritize everyone else, they break you, hence you are more fucked than ever. You are an a*****e. You are senseless. You are f*****g jerk. And yes you like classic rock, but sometimes listen to one or two pop songs, which you won’t accept, not even to yourself.”

We stared for a minute at each other. Exchanging gazes and smiles.

“It was quite gracious. I blacked out in the middle when you were strumming my pain with your fingers. For how long have you been working on that?”

“Few weeks. Or maybe since when I read your books”, she laughed off.

“Its a good story. Any idea how it ends?”

I leaned forward and kissed her. She let me.

I hadn’t kissed a woman like that in years. She used the right amount of tongue. Patricia, a great kisser.

I was drunk and my mind wasn’t working now. I wanted to f**k her.

We got out of the bar, went to my room. We made out at the elevator. I felt a sense of pride, a feeling of power on our way up. I grabbed her a*s and lifted her. We reached our floor.

We quickly made our way to the room. I felt I was forgetting something �" something with 2 legs, 2 hands, a face, something human.

We reached the door. We kissed and she started to unbutton my shirt. I went for her jeans.

“Slow down a bit, tiger”, she said.

I opened the door, but there was something blocking it. I pushed it but still there was something in the way.

“What is it?”, she said.

“Maybe its jammed.” A pushed harder this time. The door seemed to drag something with it.

We went inside, making out. Then I remembered what I was forgetting. Linda. She was still lying on the floor, passed out, with some blood and vomit on her, covered in blanket. Will Patricia still f**k me after seeing her lying like this?

“Baby, wait a sec.”, I took her outside and closed the door on her.

“What is it?”

“Ah, well, I’m an assassin and there is this body lying here. I need to take care of it.”

“Oh, I’m so scared”, she said playfully.

I dragged Linda, with the bedsheet on, to the bathroom and placed her inside the bathtub. She still locked perfect like ever �" Linda, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I locked the door and went for Patricia.

I opened the door and there was she. She jumped at me. I closed the door, went to the bed. That night, I had the best sex of my whole life.

The next morning, I woke up. Patricia wasn’t there.

I found a note on the table.

“Old guy would’ve been fishy. Call me.”

I went to the bathroom, took a piss. The hangover was killing me. I saw myself on the mirror. And there on my chest Patricia had written her phone number. I saw the bath tub on the mirror. I looked around. It was empty. Linda was gone. I didn’t care where she went. Finally.

I took a stroll down the lane near the river. I went to some random bar. I sat on the corner table, near the window. It had the perfect view of the river. The place seemed familiar. Unknowingly, I was in Linda’s favorite bar and at her favorite table.

I ordered a drink to kill last night’s hangover and took the newspaper. I went through the headlines quickly. I was on the 5th page where I read the headline.

“Girl cuts her throat over love.”

It caught my eye. Suicide. Pain. Darkness. Humour.

I read on.

I saw those words.

“Linda…aged 24…beautiful…on a trip…boyfriend…cheated…a*****e…m**********r…c**t…Linda…depressed…neglected…broken whisky bottle…throat…slit…”

I gave up reading.

The waitress came up with my drink. I knocked it out in one shot. “Get me another one.”

I drank until closing time. Linda the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I managed to drive her nuts. I kept thinking. I should have sticked with her. I should have faced myself, my demons. Everything about her had indicated that she cared. It wasn’t a suicide. I had killed her. Murderer, I am. But why blame myself? She brought it on herself by loving me. I got up, took a shot, bought a bottle of whisky, smoked a cigarette, calmed my brain. Linda the most beautiful girl I had ever seen won’t be in my life any longer.

The night kept on getting darker. I got in my car. People don’t change people. Cities don’t change people. We are who we are. I am me afterall. There was nothing else I could do.

I drove off to the sunrise. Another day, another chapter.