The artist had been working for some time to find an agent. But his pride and arrogance toward his art had always made such a relationship quite trying. He never wanted to just sell his art. He had to know that it was going to a place where it would be properly cared for. Not just hung appropriately and dusted - but truly cared for. The owner had to have a reverence and personal affection for the work. The owner didn’t need have the same interpretation as the artist - and in fact, it would be good if they had their own. But it couldn’t exist as some item, used to impress the owners friends and mistresses.
Two weeks had passed since he finished “the jesus” (as his roommate called it). After waking around noon, Flo called to meet up for a drink - or - well - really - drinks. There was a new gallery that had just opened, and she wanted to visit it with him. They planned to meet around 8pm.
The artist had time to nap before getting up officially. As he lay in bed, he closed his eyes - curious about this new gallery. He was properly skeptical - since he had yet to find a gallery (much less an agent) that could appropriately make his art available. The lack of a definitive medium and style made showing off his work challenging. How was one to interpret an artist’s visions across poetry, painting, and performance? As he drifted off, he imagined a night of his art at this new gallery. He imagined it as a purely black room - black floor, black walls, black ceiling. No light to add or distract - except exactly where he wanted. It would also be quiet - no excess sounds, reverberations, or other extraneous noises.
At first, he imagined all of his paintings along one wall - making it easier for his afficionados. But then, he pulled back. Rather - maybe he would organize them chronologically? That still felt forced and superfluous. Instead, he settled on gathering his collective displayable works in the center of the room, and using his intuition to place them. They would be provided without any additional descriptions, as many artists do. Once those were complete, he moved on to the more challenging items.
He would place himself in the center of the room. And rather than meeting the guests, shaking their hands, and making gratuitous smalltalk, he would perform. From start to finish. He would begin in the center of the room, completely cloaked in black. It might appear to the guests as if it were a not-yet-disclosed sculpture - awaiting removal of its shroud. At the appropriate moment, he would emerge from the cloak and begin his performance.
In his mind, it was black, and he could sense the guests arriving to the gallery. He could sense his own breathing, and the hotness of his breath beneath the cover. Just as he began the reveal, he could hear laughing. It started small - like a single girl somewhere nearby. Then it expanded. He closed his eyes as the cloak fell to the ground, the laughter infected its way across the crowd. When he opened his eyes, all around him were his guests - all laughing maniacally. And worse, they were all smartly dressed, but their heads were a variety of animals, and their laughter turned to the laughing sounds of animals. Horses and pigs. Asses and ducks. Flies and bees. All with sophisticated cocktails in one hand, their other hand slapping a neighbor or their own side in hilarity. The guests formed a circle around him, bringing it in tighter as their laughter grew. The artist retrieved his cloak, covering himself. Amidst the laughter, he melted below the floor before he awoke.
It was only a little past 1pm.
Still in bed, the voice came again. This time it told him: ”my son ... this darkness around you ... when will you ascend? when will you become?”
A deep breath, then the artist said - in his mind: ”who are you? where are you? are you me?”
The voice didn’t exactly reply. Instead, he just heard more laughter. He didn’t know if it was laughing at him. He tried to ask again, but nothing.
***
8pm. Lenny's.
It wasn't "Lenny's Bar", or "Lenny's Pub", or "Lenny's Restaurant" or whatever... it was just "Lenny's". From the outside, you would have assumed it was the diviest, crappiest place on earth. But on the inside, it was more like the 10th diviest, crappiest place on earth. The "bar" itself was ancient. Some kind of cheap wood that was dry-rotted and crumbling - and had been covered in linoleum several times. The latest covering having the appearance of a checkerboard. Maybe Lenny thought the patrons might engage in a contest of wits and wisdom, as there was a partial chess set at one end of the bar - next to the napkins and straws. They were the cheap, hollow plastic kind - that if you barely touched them, they would just fall over, and roll off behind the bar somewhere. No-one had ever been seen playing - but it was assumed they complemented the set with their own pennies (pawns), quarters (king or queen), nickel (knights), and dimes (bishops or rooks). One could distinguish the dual-role coins based on heads or tails, perhaps.
The bar had room for about 8, or maybe 12, patrons, give or take their size. If the bikers rolled in, you might only get about 4 of them across.
Lenny, himself was a small man. Probably of Italian descent. He would occasionally throw in some kind of Italian-American slang during conversation, and everyone would just sort of nod and grimace - despite having no idea what he meant. At this point Lenny must have been in his late 60's - or maybe early 70's. But he was fit, and looked like he could kick your ass despite his diminutive stature. Feisty and scrappy would be two good words to describe him.
In addition to the bar, there were a handful of tables - three or maybe four depending on their state of repair (or disrepair as was more often the case). Tables had two or three or four chairs - depending on the latest "crowd", and their flair for interior design and feng shui. That is, if feng shui took into account who had their back to the door, who got the best chair, and how many whiskey glasses you could fit into a corner of the table.
Lenny's was one of Flo's go-to places because the only bartender that worked there besides Lenny, was a drag queen who went by the name Elle Diablo. A bright red and fiery hair, and a shiny red mascara helped sell the "Diablo" part. A pair of medium size fake breasts and a pair of gaff panties (and frequent shaving) helped sell the "Elle" part.
Unlike many drag queens who find enjoyment in ragging on each other with terms of endearment such as "bitch", "whore", "hoe", and so on - Elle was actually more like a nice and sweet girl. Whenever the other "girls" would call her by one of these epithets, she would just smile and blow them a kiss. Maybe bat her eyelashes a little.
No one ever seemed to understand the relationship between Lenny and Elle. He seemed to take care of her, and she seemed to take care of him - but there didn't seem to be anything sexual between them. There was a rumor that they might be related somehow - like that Elle had once been Lenny's nephew or something. But neither would ever talk much about their past or relationship. So it remained a mystery.
Usually, the television at Lenny’s was off. But this night, it was on. Who knows why? When it was on, it was usually showing some obscure movie from 20 years ago, or more. Tonight, it was showing a news program. They were talking about a local organization that had become more visible to authorities. They were being accused of illicit behavior, including kidnapping Asian women. Several had gone missing, and were later found dead - execution style. The artist caught a bit of the story as he waited.
Incidentally, a group of local Asian women decided that rather being taken advantage of, they would insinuate themselves into the organization in order to bring it down. This wasn’t mentioned during the news story, because it wasn’t anything anyone knew about except for the Asian women themselves.
It was about 8:15 or 8:20 when Flo arrived. Elle scurried the short distance to meet her, and gave her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. Flo leaned on the bar, as Elle made her way back behind it. Elle grabbed a rocks glass, dumping in some ice and vodka, with a sprinkling of cranberry juice. She set the cocktail into Flo's hand - her fingers lingering on Flo's for just a moment. Flo just smiled, picked up the drink, and took a few sips.
Lenny arrived from the basement, behind the bar, with a case of beer. He gave Flo a head nod, and followed with "How ya' doin', ladies?". Flo rolled her eyes - for no particular reason. She was about to respond, when she saw the artist sitting at a table in the corner. Elle gave Flo a wide-eyed, high browed inquisitive look. Flo just rolled her eyes again as she turned to me the artist.
Flo slid across the room to the table furthest from the bar. The table itself was a bit janky. Flo held her cocktail in her hand. The artist was sitting across from her.
"So what's this new gallery?". In his head, the artist was still anchored on the space he had imagined in his dream.
"Well, it's not exactly like other galleries...", she started.
"What do you mean?"
"It's more like an event, than a gallery...", she says. "Each event is held in a secret location, and you have to be invited to be either a patron or an artist."
"Uhm. Ok. So how do I get invited?"
"That's the thing, love. You've been invited."
The artist looks a bit confused. "When or how did I get invited?"
Flo cackles for a moment. She draws a cigarette from her purse, and before she gets up to light it, she says, "Just now...". She walks out the door as the flame caresses the end of the cigarette. The artist is still at the table ... not exactly sure what to do, or what to make of this situation.
The artist swallows the remainder of his drink, as he gets up and walks to the bar, setting the empty glass down.
From behind the bar, Elle shouts at the artist: "You want something else, babe?"
"Whiskey", he yells back quickly. "Any kind of whiskey". Elle nods in approval.
The voice in his head suddenly appears: ”yes, we love whiskey”.
As Flo comes back in, Elle is just finishing slopping together another mostly vodka and a splash and cranberry. Flo grabs her cocktail, and walks back to the table, the artist feeling a bit lost in the moment, following her back to the table, whiskey in hand.
The artist says "This sounds a little weird, or fishy, or something..."
Flo assures him it's not fishy. "Look, doll. It's kind of an underground thing. A lot of the art is perverse or subversive. A lot of the clientele are not your average businessmen. But if you get a hit at this place, it can be very lucrative."
"You've been?"
"I went once... back when I had clients, you know?". The artist grimaces at this.
"He was into all kinds of underground shit, and not just the usual. It wasn't just drugs and guns. He could get these weird exotic animals that you've never heard of. Secret doctors who could get organs and perform surgeries. Some crazy shit. It’s pretty fucked up what money can buy you!"
"Anyway, one night he picks me up in this black car with a driver, and we take a long drive - out of the city. It took probably 45 minutes or maybe an hour to get there. We rode in the back, with the windows blacked out. The driver seemed to know where we were going. I found out later - that they sent the driver. Anyway ... I could smell the water when we got out of the car. There was a small marina, with a bunch of small boats. The driver walked down and had a conversation with a guy who looked like a hitman out of a movie or something. He had on this all black suit, a bald head, an aggressive looking goatee. The driver showed him something on his phone. Then the driver looked back at us, and motioned for us to come over."
The artist was listening, but looking a bit incredulous at this point.
"We walk down there, and the guy gives me a look over. He pats me down, head to toe. When he got to my crotch, he chuckled to himself. He did the same with my date. I mean, he patted him down... he didn't laugh at his crotch."
"He walked us down to a small boat. We were the only ones on the boat. I thought we were waiting for someone, but then the boat started up, and took us out a ways. It was late and dark. We could see a few lights along the way - from other boats, or houses along the shore - but mostly it was pretty dark. In the distance, we could see three orange lights in like a triangle shape. It was some huge yacht or something. It had a small deck or whatever, with some kind of magnet thing that our boat hooked on to. We got on the yacht, and followed a small set of stairs up, and through a door."
Flo paused, grabbed her cocktail and took a couple of big gulps. The artist had finished his whiskey already.
"There was a small waiting room inside the first door. On each side was a coat check, but we weren't wearing any coats. There was a tall man wearing a tuxedo and a top hat. But he also had one of those masks, like from A Clockwork Orange or something. And instead of collecting coats, the coat check girls were handing out masks. My date grabbed one for me that looked like a rabbit, while his looked like a lion. We put them on, and the tuxedo guy opens the door for us."
"Inside was like a circus or something. Everyone was dressed really nice, and wearing some kind of mask. In the middle of the room, it looked like there was a fire pit or something. And there were several men - who were completely naked, dancing around the fire. Most of the crowd was scattered along the walls, with the fire dancers in the middle."
"In the space between the crowd and the fire dancers, there were a series of women, walking in a circle. Each woman carried and displayed some piece of art or other item that was for sale. Oh, and they were exotic looking women, wearing some kind of oriental robes or something."
"Remember I said this guy I was with, was into all kinds of stuff? This one chick walks by with a cage that has these two huge bats in it. My guy elbows me subtly, and nods toward them. The night carried on until every item was sold. And by sold, I mean the buyer would simply walk over to the girl, put her arm in his, and walk to some other secluded part of the boat to complete the transaction - if you know what I mean?"
"Before the sun came up, we got back on the small boat, rode back to the marina where our driver was waiting, and came back to the city."
The artist was listening, but feeling like Flo was embellishing a lot, if not most, of the story he just heard.
"So, how did I get the honor of being 'invited'? And what does that mean, anyway?"
"It means, you get to put your art on display - for sale, honey."
"And you got the invite because I had told my date about my artist friend. And he told me that if I ever saw anything of interest that might fit in, I should let him know."
The artist sighed. "The jesus?"
"Of course the fucking jesus."
The voice, again: ”Yes, the fucking Jesus juice Zeus zealous marry mary”.
"Can't I just sell it to him? Or something? I'm not good with crowds and galleries and all that. It just makes me anxious and crazy."
"Well, that's not how this one works, sweetheart."
"So when and where is the next yacht party?"
"I don't know yet. I won't know until the day of. I just know it's sometime this month. I'll call you when I know."
"Listen, I gotta run, babe. See you at the club later?"
"I don't know. Maybe, we'll see. Be safe."
"You too, lover."
Flo picked herself up and walked out of Lenny's. The artist relocated himself at the bar. He ordered another whiskey, and sat there thinking about what he had just heard.
The voice, this time more clear: ”Yes, we love whiskey”.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
***
Apparently this underground market had been in operation for quite some time. The world of vibrators and masturbation sleeves, flavored lubricants, and nipple clamps isn't difficult to navigate these days. You can hop down to your local shop, or visit many online stores to find the right thing to satisfy you - and possibly your lover.
Since at least the time of ancient Greece, women had used devices as false phalli for the purposes of personal pleasure. But, it was the Industrial Revolution, and the entrepreneurial spirit of several American inventors that really advanced the art and science.
The availability of new materials, easier access to materials, and automation via steam engines drove inventors to create all manner of contraptions. In 1869, George Taylor created his "Manipulator", which was constructed of a small steam engine, attached to a phallus which would oscillate.
It was only a few years on that more dedicated and efficient inventions were created. But, unlike the Manipulator, these devices were much more obviously sex toys. And they had become quite expensive. But they were also beautiful works of art. Carved and painted wood meeting with polished metals. Engines that were hidden or dampened to reduce the sound.
There were designs that used tables - so that the interested party could straddle the phallus, as if riding on a saddle. There were chairs which included openings in them, through which a phallus could protrude. And all manner of lubricants, from harvested saliva to olive oil to concoctions of every imagination.
These inventions, however, brought the ire of mainstream America - and public shame for those who were found out and exposed. So, like many ideas that the mainstream doesn't understand or agree with - these inventions and their use recessed into the shadows.
However, it wasn't long before several customers of such devices needed support. Steam engines would break down, gears would wear out, and these customers needed their orgasms. It was two wealthy New Englanders who started the idea of having a group of engineers who could work on such machines. Many of the machines were large, or permanently installed in homes; so, the engineers would travel around the region, repairing the various sexual toys of the rich. These engineers knew an opportunity when they saw it, and began to elaborate on the existing designs - improving areas that appeared to be weaknesses in the originals. A group of three engineers formed the Secret Engines Company, which they used to manufacture and sell their wares. After being shuttered three times by local government, they took their company into the shadows as well.
One year later, the two wealthy New Englanders and the three engineers, decided to start The Dark Machine Show. The idea was pretty simple. This group would establish a collection of purchasable sex machines, and invite wealthy, discreet customers to browse and purchase items for their homes and personal use. The first show was held in a castle in upstate New York. It was put on under the guise of a birthday party for the wife of one of the patrons. Each guest had their own private quarters. A central dining hall provided sustenance. But the Grand Ballroom was the real attraction. Discretion, secrecy, and confidentiality were important for this first show. Many of the men dressed in tuxedos - a relatively new jacket style they had borrowed from the Tuxedo Club, where many of them were members. The women were always in dresses, and always in masks. This was important because some of the men brought their wives, and others brought their mistresses. A few even brought their boyfriends, who also sometimes wore dresses and masks.
Sometime after dinner, late into the evening, a gong would ring. The patrons would make their way to the Grand Ballroom, lining the walls. The castle had been planned such that main entry faced directly south. The Grand Ballroom was centrally located, and included large doorways, leading to the east and western wings. From the east door there would be another bell or other sound, the doors would open, and the engineers would bring in their latest machine. They would demonstrate the machine by itself, to small murmurings from the crowd. Then, from the same door, a woman - usually a diminutive Asian - would appear, dressed in only a silk robe. She would cross the room to the machine, and as she mounted it, her robe would fall to the floor. As the machine penetrated her for several minutes, she would make wild sounds and movements until she collapsed and the machine turned off. This was the part of the show that set the crowd on fire. Upon completion of the demonstration, the woman would pull her robe back on, and exit the east door - while the engineers would collect the machine and exit through the west door.
In the early days - there would be a bidding on the item shown. Since there were only a few engineers, they could only assemble so many machines for the show - and there were never enough. Eventually, the engineers started to also take commissions from the patrons. The event became an annual affair at the castle. However, on the 10th anniversary a great fire destroyed most of the building. A group of fire dance performers were imported to elevate the entertainment; unfortunately, there was an accident which set one of the textiles on fire - and as the guests trampled each other to leave, and others tried to extinguish the fire, there was only chaos and pandemonium. Ultimately, two of the fire dancers perished, and all of the patrons escaped without physical harm. There were a few mistresses who were unmasked - including at least one who was the wife of a different patron who was in attendance with his own mistress.
Starting with the 11th year, they began hosting the event at different locations. Usually it would be a private hotel or mansion - one where they could be assured of their discretion.
As time passed, the inventions became more bold. And, as technologies improved - bringing electricity and electric motors into their designs - the demand grew. Soon, the shows were being held more frequently. At one particular show, a person - who was not one of the engineers - brought a small bed into the center of the room, and laid what appeared to be some kind of sword on the floor in front of the bed. An asian woman emerged from the east, wearing a silken robe covered in flowers. She sat on the bed in a kind of meditative position for several moments, as the crowd whispered curiosities. The woman drew the sword and began to make various motions with it. Most of the motion was too quick to really see, and the entire display took only a handful of seconds. She placed the sword back on the floor, and stood up. It was now that the crowd could see that she had made several fine cuts into her legs and arms, and as she stood, the blood highlighted the cuts before beginning to drip down her naked body. She pulled her robe on, and exited to the west.
The crowd was stunned, and not sure what had just happened. As the person (who was not an engineer) emerged to remove the sword and bed, the crowd began to talk loudly about what they just witnessed. Not only was the display unusual, but they weren't sure if it was a demonstration of something for sale, or just strange entertainment. However, upon the end of the evening, as the patrons reviewed the various machines which had been shown, there was a table with the sword on top. Behind the table, they could now see the Japanese man who had brought the bed out earlier. Next to him, the Japanese woman, in her robe - blood visible and making the flowers look as though they were bleeding. The woman was not for sale, but the sword was.
In modern times, most anything imaginable could be found for sale at the Dark Machine Show. It was held semi-regularly and always at a new location. Men and women came as equals, with both wearing masks. Items for show were always accompanied by a naked woman. And in the center of the room was always some form of entertainment. Purchases were always made in cash. The attendees represented all walks of life, and were not restricted to only wealthy Americans. With the right invitation, any one could attend.
***
After meeting Flo at a mundane location, the artist loaded his work into a dark van. It wasn't one of those old large vans. It was more like a small-ish delivery van. There was a driver who looked like he could be anyone. He wore a driver's cap, and dark sunglasses. Otherwise he appeared incredibly average and forgettable. He didn't say anything the entire time.
The back of the van was large enough for mid-size cargo, with plenty of room for the painting. Between the cargo space and the driver, there were two captain's chairs. Flo was quiet, but a little giggly the whole time. The artist maintained his skepticism, with a dose of paranoia.
Once in the van, they realized there was a dark glass divider between themselves and the driver. And the rest of the back area where they were had no windows. In the center there was a small console. It opened after a gentle push. Inside they found 2 glasses, a bottle of whiskey, a small bag with about an ounce of marijuana, a small case - which held a small amount of cocaine, a razor blade, and a straw, another small case that held a variety of pills, and a box of condoms. The artist looked mildly interested, while Flo seemed excited.
Flo grabbed the cocaine and razor blade. The small case that contained it had a smooth surface of just the right size. She made a small pile with her fingers, then made several small lines of granules using the razor blade. Putting the straw to her nose, she inhaled each line. She left one line, and offered it to the artist. He gave her a look, then grabbed one of the glasses and the whiskey. Below where the whiskey sat, there was another small container - which held 2 king cubes of ice. He placed one of the cubes in his glass, then poured the whiskey over it. He swallowed the first glass all at once. Then poured another.
The entire ride took about an hour - though they didn't really notice. They were both feeling good when the van finally stopped. It was pitch black when they exited the vehicle. There did not seem to be lights anywhere. A small man who looked like he might have otherwise been a Tibetan monk approached them. He took Flo's hand, and guided them away from the van. They could just make out a concrete path that led into a wooded area. As they walked, there was a dim red light appearing through the trees. As they escaped the woods, the concrete spread out forming what they at first thought was a parking lot. But then about 100 yards ahead, they could see where they were going.
A larger, dark black jet - with a black stairway - was parked on the tarmac. The stairs were lit by 2 men holding red lights on each side. Their guide brought them to the steps and helped Flo to reach the top. The artist followed.
This Airbus A380 was officially registered to the ambassador to the US from Brunei, providing diplomatic immunity. Instead of landing in the US, if something happened, the crew was instructed to return to Brunei. The crew, in this case consisted of two captains and first officer. Only two of the crew operated the airplane at any time, with a small area behind the cockpit for a bed. This configuration ensured that at least one captain was always on duty.
In a normal commercial jet, there would be additional crew to handle the passengers. This wasn't a normal commercial jet though. The entirety of the interior had been designed in a very specific manner. It almost looked like a large warehouse before it was fully outfitted. At the widest point of the fuselage, there was a floor that extended completely across, and from front to back (mostly). The floor appeared to be some kind of marble or other similar surface. Near the front and back areas of the floor were stairs. At the front the stairs led up to a somewhat smaller area. This upper deck included a handful of private rooms in a IU shape, with an open central area. The central area contained several comfortable seats, and a central console which was really a much larger version of the console in the car. The lower deck held all of the works for sale, along with smaller quarters for the ring girls to share.
Boarding placed passengers immediately on the middle deck. A small receiving area, consisting of two humorless mercenaries, and a host who greeted everyone. Behind the host was a small asian woman, and a dark curtain. After the greeting, the asian woman handed Flo and the artist each a mask. Flo's mask was that of a a hellhound, and the artist's was that of Zeus. They walked thru the dark curtain.
They first noticed how bright and dim the room was. It seemed bright in the middle, but dark and dim on the edges, like a vignette. In the brightly lit center of the floor, there were 3 muscular and naked men. They were performing a series of acrobatic maneuvers by using each other's bodies. Around the edges of the room were 50 or so men and women, with a variety of dress from formal tuxedos (no top hats), to patent leather rock-star pants, to elegant asian suits, and a few that simply defied description. The woman were all in long black dresses, many of them with shiny silk gloves that extended nearly to their elbows. The artist was simply dressed in his black jeans and boots, with a black button down shirt - untucked. Flo's dark purple skirt didn't look too out of place - but her bright green hair definitely did. The pair continued to take in the room, when their guide through the woods reappeared, himself donning a fox mask. He extended his hand to Flo, as before, and led them to the stairs that descended to the lower level.
As they emerged into the lower deck, they could see that it was lit exclusively with red lights. There were a series of curtains lining the walls. Their guide brought them to one of the curtains. On the floor, the artist could see a symbol that looked like an upside down letter "u". As he looked along the floor, he discovered each curtain was marked with a letter of the greek alphabet, with this one being the letter "mu". As they stopped in front of the curtain, their guide pulled it back to reveal the artist's painting - "The Penetration of Jesus". Their guide looked at the painting, then at the artist - trying to determine if the artist recognized this as his own. The artist simply nodded, and their guide nodded in return.
Next, the guide gathered Flo's hand again, and walked the pair to the rear of the lower deck. A larger curtain extended across the area. The guide dropped Flo's hand, and pulled the curtain completely open. Behind the curtain, there was a line of beautiful asian women. They all looked almost the same - slim, short, dark hair, none of them smiling. Now, the guide fetched the artist by his hand, and walked him along the line - allowing time to stop and consider each woman. Confused, the artist finally discovered that he was being asked to choose one - though for what purpose, he wasn't clear. He finally stopped in front of one woman who had a tattoo of what the artist thought was a picture of Xuanwu - a Chinese god. Strangely, he wasn't sure why he knew this; however this entire experience had twisted his mind a bit.
The guide looked at the woman, then at the artist - questioningly. The artist nodded again, and the guide smiled. He then pulled the curtain to cover the woman. The guide then led them back up the stairs at the front, and motioned for them to enter the middle level.
Speakers overhead began to announce that the plane would be taking off soon. The message was repeated in several languages. Everyone in the room they were in settled into a seat around the edge, and buckled their seat belt. The artist and Flo found two seats together, and strapped themselves in as well. It was only a few moments before they felt the plane moving. And only a minute later they were in the air. The captain then reminded the passengers to remain seated as they haven't leveled off yet.
Flo took the artist's hand in hers. Soon, the captain announced that they had reached their cruising altitude, and the guests all removed their seat belts, and began to move around the room. As they did, the male acrobats returned. Now there was a set of silk ribbons descending from the ceiling. One or two at a time, they would climb, swing, and rotate around the room on the silks. Several of the guests made their way to the upper deck, including the artist and Flo. Upon discovering the goodies, Flo took another line, and the artist collected his own bottle of whiskey. It was difficult with their masks - apparently an oversight by the coordinators of this event. Flo had to raise her mask above her nose, while the artist simply injected the whiskey bottle into his mask.
They were inspecting the upper level, the various goodies, and the numerous patrons, when something like a gong sounded. All of the guests in the upper level took notice, and began making their way to the middle deck. The artist and Flo followed.
The voice: ”You must descend before you can ascend”.
All of the guests were aligning themselves in a rectangle around the edges of the room. The acrobatic men continued their display. A curtain was stretched to cover the rear stairway. A sound - somewhat musical began to resonate throughout the room. A moment later, an Asian woman appeared. She was holding what looked like a type of gun. The artist did not recognize it, although he was not an expert in firearms anyway. The woman stood in front of the curtain for a moment, then made her way around the room, between the passengers along the edges and the acrobats in the center. She returned to her starting point and disappeared behind the curtain.
Another woman was birthed from the curtain. She appeared to be holding a large horn. As she got closer, they could see that it wasn't a horn, but a tusk - probably from some African elephant. The next woman came out and displayed what looked like vials of blood. Next, was a sculpture. It was placed on a trolley, and the Asian ring girl pushed the trolley around the room. The sculpture was that of some kind of warrior beheading another man with a large scimitar. The work was exquisite, with detailing of every texture, and painting illustrating everything from the warriors dark complexion, to the dead man's blood. A few of the patrons seemed to show some amusement at the work.
The next girl brought out a large tray. Upon the tray was a larger mound of a white substance. As she walked the room, she approached each guest. The tray included several razor blades and straws - at which point it was clear what this was. Many of the patrons partook - most making positive nods after consuming the drug. Flo did not partake this time - as she wasn't entirely sure what it was or what might have been mixed with it.
Soon, the woman with the Xuanwu tattoo appeared, carrying the artist's painting. He surveyed the room to see most everyone making some kind of face - mostly smirks and amusement. As the woman approached the artist, she stayed for just a moment longer than for the others. The artist smiled behind his mask, and she smiled back, and continued her way around the room - ultimately escaping behind the curtain like the others.
The show continued for a few hours until the last item was shown. The gong sounded again - presumably to indicate the end of the show. The pair noticed that almost no one was having conversation. As they were discussing this amongst themselves, their guide appeared and handed the artist a ticket. It simply had a number on it. The artist looked at it confused, and the guide simply nodded with a big smile and walked away.
Once the plane landed, Flo and the artist departed through the curtain at the front of the middle level. There, they met the mercenaries, and the same Asian woman - who collected their masks. Their guide was waiting on the stairs. They turned to leave - but their guide didn't move, and the Asian woman had her hand extended toward the artist, palm up. He thought she wanted a tip - but he hadn't brought any cash. As he fumbled through his pocket, he found the ticket - at which point the Asian woman made a face that suggested he should hand her the ticket. He placed the ticket in her hand. The host, who was seated at a table in front of them, smiled and said something that sounded like "Thank you so much", though it was in a strange accent, and could have been anything. The host produced a dark black envelope and handed it to the artist. The artist retrieved the envelope with a confused look.
With that, the guide took Flo's hand and guided her down the stars to the tarmac, the artist behind her. They were led back through the woods, and eventually to the same van that had delivered them here. Once inside, they didn't say anything for the ride back. The driver dropped them at a different, but equally mundane location.
***
"What the fuck?" - were the artist's first words once the van drove off.
Flo looked at him, speechless, but with so much to say.
"I need a drink...", the artist finally admitted.
Flo - feeling impatient, offered - "Well?"
"Well what? Well where do you want to get a drink?"
"That's not what I mean?", said Flo.
"You want to know what's in the envelope?", he replied.
They stayed in that moment, that mood, for a moment.
"Fine. But not here... ok?"
"Sure. Let's get that drink".
The pair wandered through the neighborhood. It was late. Very late. Well past 3am. Several bars they passed were closed. They finally - luckily - stumbled upon a broken down bar; it looked like it's good dive years were well behind it. But, the doors opened, and there was a man behind the bar. Opening the door rang a bell, causing the bartender to look up at them.
Flo ordered a vodka and cranberry, but they had no cranberry. The artist ordered a whiskey. The bartender produced both drinks, and Flo laid a $20 bill on the counter. The older bartender took the $20, and disappeared into the back or somewhere. Flo thought he was making change - but he didn't come back.
The stools at the bar were wobbly, so they both chose to stand and lean against the bar - which was more stable than the stools. Flo was giving the artist a look. He smiled at her, and laid the envelope on the bar. It looked like a normal size mailing envelope, save for the black color. The shape, weight, and density suggested it was cash.
The artist eventually peeled the envelope open. Inside, there was a stack of $100 bills. There was also a stack of 5 Visa gift cards - each marked with a $1000 icon. After counting, the artist discovered there was $15,000 in all. This was a great surprise, but also a bit of a burden for him. He had never had that much money on hand, and certainly had never received that much for a work.
The artist looked at Flo - "Who are these people?"