‘Psst.’
Danny watched his feet.
‘Psst.’
He feared the hissing belonged to killer pythons trying to crawl up his trouser legs. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
‘Psst.’
He saw nothing but his just-bought trainers.
‘Psst.’
He turned round, watching the pavement behind him. Where was the sound coming from? This was getting irritating.
Shopping completed, he’d stopped in the pedestrian precinct to admire the skills of a Government Training Scheme knife juggler about to perform for thrilled shoppers. That had been before Danny had seen him in action.
Now, ignoring the hissing, he watched the ambulance leave. He could have told the boy, some people were never meant to dazzle.
And now there was hissing.
‘Hey, you,’ a furtive voice half-called half-whispered from behind him.
He turned and saw a small man, in a big hat, stood against a recessed doorway in the nearest alleyway, clearly trying to keep a low profile.
‘Me?’ Danny pointed to himself, not understanding why the stranger would want him.
‘I don’t see no one else I’m pssting,’ said a bad Joe Pesci impression. A hand gestured for Danny to ‘come here.’
Puzzled, he followed the man, who was now moving deeper into the alley. Now looking back, now looking forward, he was no mugger. Getting mugged in a side street, by a blatantly criminal type, was too obvious for the fates who controlled Danny Yates’ life.
He passed a tiny butcher’s shop, its window full of skinned rabbits, each smiling.
Halfway down the alley, the man stopped, and ducked behind two wheelie bins. He pressed himself against a wall, waited for Danny to join him, and looked around for witnesses.
Danny caught up.
Wide eyed, the man spoke from behind a fake Zapata moustache. ‘You, my friend, look like a man who has trouble pulling.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘No need to apologize. We’re all stuck with the face we’re born with. Nothing we can do about that, we might think. But would we be right? I think not. Would there be a little someone, a young lady perhaps, you’d like as your own?’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Look around.’
Danny looked back toward the street, at congregated shoppers. Their voices mingled in tutted sympathy over what they’d just seen.
The man told him, ‘Look at them. You know what they got on their minds?’
‘The juggler?’
‘Juggler? What juggler? They don’t care about no juggler.’
‘Then, what?’
‘Christmas.’
He looked at the man. ‘Christmas?’ It was April.
‘Picture it. Husband and wife, Christmas morning, by the tree; “Oh. What have you bought me? Socks? They’re lovely, dear. Thank you.” Then the other says, “Oh. What have you bought me? An iron? Thank you, dear, that’s lovely.” You think they want socks? You think they want irons? No one wants that shit. But they lie because success in affaires d’amour requires dishonesty. Now you, you I may be able to help.’
‘How?’
Again the man looked around. Tell no one.’
Danny shook his head to indicate compliance.
The man retrieved a foot-long cylinder from deep inside his overcoat and handed it to Danny.
It was an aerosol can. Danny read its label; BONK. MIT THEREMINS. The rest was in Spanish.
The man asked, ‘You know what theremins are?’
He knew he was looking blank.
They’re hormones,’ the man said. ‘But not just any hormones. They’re pheromones but better, developed by the Iraqi military to overpower American opposition. No one wants to bayonet someone they’ve just fallen in love with. Give ‘em six months of marriage, that might change.’
‘But …’
‘Theremins, no man can resist them, no woman can say no. Our operatives risked life and limb to smuggle this stuff out of the middle east. Now, on a scale of one to ten, how attractive is this woman of your dreams?’
‘A million. She’s got pie charts to prove it.’
A knowing smile cracked a shapeless face. ‘Would this girl be Dr Rama?’
‘You’ve heard of her?’
‘In neon technicolor with full strobe effect. The woman’s a legend in hormone circles. If Iraq could bottle what she has …’ He let the sentence die, feeling its frightening implications to be self evident. The men – and women – I’ve had come to me in tears, pleading, “Oh, Armando, help me please. I must have that Dr Rama. She’s driving me mad. Mad. Mad! Mad!!!” you wouldn’t believe it. But not one of them has succeeded in pulling her. You know why?’
‘Because she doesn’t fancy them?’
‘Because they won’t purchase enough Bonk for the job. You know what I’m saying, man? They buy a can, maybe two, not convinced it’s worth the extra expenditure. They’re losers. That girl, she’s a twenty-can woman. Maybe more, depending on the natural appeal of the wearer.’
‘But if she couldn’t control herself,’ said Danny, ‘wouldn’t it be wrong of me to …?’
‘No no no. This ain’t about compelling no one to do nothing. The way theremins work, they rid the subject of unhelpful inhibitions and promote worthwhile outbreaks of emotional honesty. Those Iraqi and American soldiers, they love each other, love each other. They just need the juice to let ‘em show it. Thing about this Dr Rama is, all through breakfast you wanted to ask her out, maybe to the movies, maybe to a fancy kind of restaurant that doesn’t make you eat fries with everything, but you lost your nerve.’
‘How’d you know that?’
‘You think, because she’s beautiful, rich, clever and sometimes charming, she’s too good for you. Maybe too good for anyone.’
‘Maybe I do.’
‘That’s bull. You don’t think, last thing at night, lying in bed, she don’t have her urges?’
‘I suppose she must. It hadn’t occurred to me.’
‘And there’s you, across the landing, all conveniently placed for her. You don’t think that occurs to her?’
Suddenly it all made sense. She must have had a reason for asking him to move in with her, and he couldn’t think of another one. And she probably didn’t even realize why she’d done it, the subconscious mind being what it was. Danny often did things without knowing why he’d done them. And when he did, it was always through lust. This Armando was a genius.
This Armando said, ‘So, all she needs is winkling out of her shell.’
Danny studied the can, and frowned. It was covered in red and yellow symbols that seemed to be a warning. But, not knowing Spanish, he couldn’t be sure what they were warning of. ‘And you’re sure this is ethical?’
‘Ethical? You see this label?’ Armando’s stubby finger prodded one of the gaudy symbols.
‘Yeah.’
‘Know what it says?’
Danny shrugged.
‘It says, “Endorsed by the American Feminist Organization”. If it’s good enough for them it’s good enough for us, neh? Bonk is the world’s first politically correct aphrodisiac.’
‘Well, if it’s politically correct I suppose it’s okay.’
‘Too right it is.’
He looked at the man – whose moustache was starting to fall off – and asked, ‘How many cans do you think I’d need?’
The man hastily pressed his moustache back into place then looked Danny up and down. ‘I’ll tell Pedro to fetch the truck.’
Annette paced back and forth beside the pentacle. In relentless monotone she read from the blood red pages of her Tome of Incantations.
Turning yet another page, she read on. Ribbons matching her, stride for stride.
And at the pentacle’s heart, creatures never meant for this world began to appear.
That evening, sat in Kitchen Number 2, biting a ham sandwich, Danny heard the front door slam.
He stopped chewing.
Bare footsteps, accompanied by non-specific whistling, strode down the long long hallway.
The saloon style doors swung open.
And Teena Rama stood before him, stuffed emperor penguin dangling from her left hand. He watched her mud-splattered form. And, for the first time in his life he wished his name really was mud.
Proton and Neutron ignored her. They were beneath the table, contentedly nibbling his new trainers.
She smiled at him. ‘Good evening, Gary. Busy day?’
He shuffled in his seat, guilty as Judas. No matter what Armando had told him, he couldn’t really believe that Danny Yates becoming a babe magnet was a reasonable act. ‘I’ve been down town.’
‘Uh-huh?’
‘I bought something.’
‘It’s called Bonk.’
‘Uh-huh?’
‘I bought four hundred cans.’
‘Uh-huh?’ Her mouth retained its fixed smile, though puzzlement seemed to have claimed her eyes.
This wasn’t the response he’d expected. He’d assumed she’d know what Bonk was, because Teena Rama knew everything. ‘You do know what Bonk is?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘So you know why I bought it?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Thud, she deposited penguin on table then crossed to the sink.
He watched her, in disbelief. ‘You wouldn’t mind me using it?’
On tiptoes, she took a glass from the cupboard above the sink. ‘How you spend your money is up to you, Gary. Bonk isn’t something I’d choose to buy but, if you feel it’ll help you achieve your aims, who am I to say no?’ She shut the cupboard. ‘I spent my day at the tip, that’s where the penguin came from.’
It glared across the table at him, beak open, head thrust forward, wings outstretched, clearly having been in a bad mood at the moment of its stuffing.
He stared back at it. ‘What’s this for?’
She filled her glass, from the tap. ‘That? Nothing much. Automata, it’s a sideline of mine.’
‘Automata?’
‘The art of making the inanimate appear animate.’
He watched it, wide eyed. ‘You’re going to bring it back to life?’
‘Merely make it seem that way, by filling its insides with a clockwork mechanism.’
He prodded the bird, not altogether trusting it to remain dead. It wobbled then fell, beak embedding in table top.
Gripping its feet, Danny tried to lever the bird loose, giving up when splintering wood began to fleck surrounding floor tiles.
This was embarrassing.
Teena leaned back against the sink, arms folded, studying him. He awaited her pronouncement on his stupidity. It never arrived.
She just watched …
… and watched …
… and watched.
Then he realized.
The Bonk must be working.
And he hadn’t even used it yet.
Teena took a sip of water before asking, ‘You still have that erection?’
He chose to say nothing.
‘Odd,’ she said. ‘It really should have worn off by now. And this occurs every time you see me?’
He shrugged, biting into his sandwich.
‘And when I’m absent?’
He shrugged, biting into his sandwich.
‘Hmn.’ She climbed beneath the table, glass of water in hand.
Danny stopped chewing, surprised by her eagerness.
The rabbits still nibbled his footwear.
‘Does this give you pain?’ Her fingertip prodded the offending organ. Danny nearly choked on his sandwich.
‘Gary?’ she asked.
Cough cough gakk, cough. ‘Do we have to analyse this? Can’t we just get on with it – like they do in movies?’ Cough cough, chest thump, cough.
‘Movies?’ she asked.
‘Yeah.’ Cough. ‘You know; in movies they do it without all the medical talk.’
‘They do?’
‘You’ve been watching different movies from me, Gary.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘Gary, I’m a doctor. If you can’t talk to me, you can’t talk to anyone. Not talking about such things leads to heart attacks, strokes, stress and failure. Do you want those fates to befall you?’
‘They already have.’
‘They have?’ Prod.
‘All the time.’
‘Then the sooner we deal with this the better. Now, does this cause you pain?’ Again she prodded.
‘Not physically.’
Her head re-emerged, her gaze watching him over the fallen penguin. ‘And emotionally?’
‘I’d rather not talk about it.’
Exasperated eyes raised heavenward. Her sighing head again disappeared beneath the table, and Danny’s eyes bulged; now she was squeezing the thing and asking, ‘How about this?’
She got no reply but the grinding of teeth.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘How about this?’
And she punched it – hard.