Mortal Fear

HARPER> White linen. Appropriate for a deflowering.

ELEANOR RIGBY> You give me far too much credit. <g>

HARPER> I intend to boldly go where no man has gone before.

ELEANOR RIGBY> Dare I ask?

HARPER> No.

ELEANOR RIGBY> Yummy.

HARPER> I see shadows of your nipples through the linen. They look more brown than pink.

ELEANOR RIGBY> How do you like my breasts?

HARPER> Champagne-glass size, exquisitely shaped.

ELEANOR RIGBY> What do we talk about?

HARPER> Inanities.

ELEANOR RIGBY> How long do we talk?

HARPER> Not very. We’ve said all we have to say on EROS, haven’t we?

ELEANOR RIGBY> Do we diddle under the table? Victorian teasing?

HARPER> No. I sign the suite number on the bill and lead you by the hand across the high-ceilinged lobby to the bank of elevators. In the elevator we kiss for the first time.

ELEANOR RIGBY> A long kiss?

HARPER> When the door opens, we’re still kissing. An older couple is staring at us like we are crazy.

ELEANOR RIGBY> I’m already wet.

HARPER> Not yet.

ELEANOR RIGBY> I’m speaking in the present tense, dear. Offline.

HARPER> Fine, but we’re not going to rush. When the stupid credit card key finally works, I pull you inside the room but do not turn on the light.

ELEANOR RIGBY> We haven’t been in the suite until now?

HARPER> No. Before you can say anything, I close the door and slip past you in the darkness, pulling my shoes off as I walk. You call out to me, but I don’t answer. I hear you bang your foot into a chair. You curse. We’re going to play a game, I say. What kind of game? you ask.

I stop typing for a few moments, letting the images flow freely in my head.

HARPER> A hunting game, I reply. I’m going to hunt you in the dark suite. And the first rule is: we can’t talk to each other. Even when I find you, we cannot speak. And there’s another catch. I should have mentioned it earlier, but … well … there’s another person in the room.

What? you ask nervously. Who?

Don’t be frightened. He—or she—is standing silently—or sitting—somewhere in the room, but only watching. How, you ask? Simple. He’s wearing a night-vision headset I brought to the hotel during the afternoon. You giggle nervously, but I’m not joking. This person can see us right now and will watch us when I finally find you.

You don’t believe me? Let down the top of your dress.

A few seconds later, a whispered voice from across the room says, Beautiful.

I can almost feel your heart stutter from the shock. Stay calm, I say reassuringly. This person is merely an observer.

All right, you stammer, far from your normally confident self. But who is it? you wonder. Who _is_ it?

Maybe it’s your sister, I say.

You bastard, you hiss.

Maybe it’s a bellboy I paid a hundred bucks to come upstairs and watch a beautiful woman having sex. Do you want to go on? I ask.

Yes, you say softly.

Even if you are seen?

I can do anything in the dark, you say. Even if the whole city is watching.

And so we begin the hunt. How do you feel now?

ELEANOR RIGBY> >toi bbusy otype<

HARPER> Please do your best to evade me, I tell you. But you should know that I’ll be getting a bit of direction from our guest. He/she will whisper “warmer” or “colder” ever so often.

You do not answer.

And so I begin the hunt.

The first thing I hear is silence. Blood beating in my ears. The suite is large. I move deeper into the bedroom to give you room to move. Then I wait motionless for two minutes. I sense you becoming more tense with each passing second. You cannot hear me. Very softly I remove my clothes. I feel the air along my body, especially on the places usually covered. I go down on all fours, allowing my body to cover more floor space, increasing my odds of touching you if you try to slip past me. I move slowly at first.

Colder, whispers our guest.

I change direction. Where _are_ you? I ask in a singsong voice.

Warmer, says our guest.

Instinct tells me my back is a few feet from the far corner of the room. You are not behind me. Slowly and soundlessly I work my way across the carpet, pausing occasionally to listen and to try to feel any movement of air against my skin.

Nothing.

There’s not much floor space left to cover. Could you have climbed onto one of the beds? No. I’d have heard you.

Wait. A rustle of cloth ahead of me. A few feet away.