'Perhaps you’ll come and see my act?'
'Perhaps.'
'I’ll drop by with a couple of tickets.'
'OK.' Zelda’s smile was cool and detached and told me not to bother. Maybe the disappointment showed on my face because she leant over and gave me a kiss on the cheek and whispered, 'Be careful, William.'
Her perfume smelt sweet beneath the faint tang of performance sweat.
'Hey,' I grinned. 'Of course I will. After all I’m a stranger in a strange town.'
This time there was no responding smile. She glanced towards Dix as he made his way back to the table with the drinks and said in a low tone, 'Then perhaps you shouldn’t make life stranger still by mixing with strange people.'
I watched as her slim form swished away from me. The bouncer opened the door, she gave me a last smile then turned away, lifting her skirt, giving me a quick naughty flash of her naked rear, then the door swung to and she was gone. I finished my pint at the bar, ordered another round and went to rejoin Sylvie and Dix.
Dix had set up a fresh jug of wine for Sylvie, but his own glass was empty. I placed a beer in front of him and he shook his head.
'It’s sad, but I have to go.'
'Dix is a busy, busy man. He has cards to deal and deals to shuffle.'
Sylvie’s words were slurred, but she was holding her own against the drink.
Her mention of deals and shuffles made me think about the casino at Alexanderplatz that Dix had mentioned on our first meeting. But I hadn’t placed a bet since I’d arrived in Berlin and was hoping to keep it that way. Anyway, even if I had fancied a flutter I wouldn’t want to do it in Dix’s company, even before his talk of rich perverts who could make our fortunes.
Up on stage the bouncer had donned a red-sequinned waistcoat and bow tie. He smiled shyly then somewhere a karaoke machine started up and he launched into ‘Those Were the Days, My Friend’. He moved his body with the music, jerking against the beat like a blind piano player belting out a Motown number. Tension constricted his voice, making the words come out high and off-key. He should forget the strong-arm stuff. If there was ever any aggro all he needed to do was sing at the troublemakers.
Dix pulled on an expensive-looking coat just as the bouncer swooped into an alarming pitch change. I nodded towards the stage.
'You picked a good time to get going.'
Dix shrugged.
'It’s necessary.'
He laid his hand for a second on Sylvie’s sleek head, and then raised it in general farewell. There was something saintly in the sparseness of the gestures that irritated me.
I gave him a glib, 'See you, then.'
And he leaned in for a final word.
'Remember what I said, we should talk, we could make money together.'
Dix stroked Sylvie’s hair again but she turned away, as if his decision to leave had already removed his presence and any need for goodbyes. She grinned at me without a last glance towards Dix as he walked out of the door.
'Poor Sebastian, he surely loves to sing.'
The bouncer was belting out the chorus now.
His German accent was so thick I wondered if he’d learnt the words phonetically. But whatever skill his performance lacked, it had sincerity. A small tear coursed its way down a cheek layered over with powder and rouge. Sebastian’s brimming eyes were spiked with mascara, his mouth painted cherry-red. He looked like a corrupted oversized Pinocchio, cast out into the world and destined never to be reunited with Gepetto. A mad puppet set up on stage to remind us that all of our gods are dead.
Sylvie’s voice held an indulgent superiority.
'I like Sebastian, even if he is a violent, tuneless, poor excuse for a bouncer.'
Her voice was growing loud again. Sebastian’s eyes flicked towards us. I wondered if he could hear what she was saying above the music, but he kept singing, throwing his body into his same spastic dance. He slid off his suit jacket and I realised that his shirt was just a front secured by thin straps crisscrossing over his back and around his waist. Sebastian was on the da-da-da-da-da-das now. He unfastened the straps and let the bib shirt go flying towards the bar. His chest was hairless, his nipples unnaturally red or rouged with the same jammy gloss that coated his lips.
'Bring back the dancing girls.'
Sylvie shook her head.
'You ain’t seen nothing yet.'
Across the room a heavyset man excused himself from his companions and started to make his way awkwardly across the room.
'I’ve seen enough — look, folk are leaving.'
