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good. He lay with his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling. As he was floating gently into contented sleep, he became
uncomfortably aware of someone watching him. He opened his eyes and found the girl still lying there curled alongside
him, her head resting on her arm. He had been seeing her casually for a couple of weeks, but he couldn’t even remember
her name.
Her cheeks were flushed, and the hair around her forehead was dark with sweat. Naked adoration burned in her eyes, and
Alex was repelled by it. It made her look like a cow, he thought. Turning away to look at the ceiling, he said flatly, “You can
go now.” He waited to feel movement from her side of the bed, but nothing happened. He dropped his head impatiently to
the right, and found the girl still staring at him. The look of adoration was now a dumb, slack look of confusion. It irritated him.
He stared evenly at her for a long time, his eyes frightening her with their sudden coldness. As her eyes welled up Alex
turned away in disgust, tossing over his shoulder carelessly, “Don’t bother calling. I’m finished with you.”
It amused Alex to hear her scrabbling on the floor for her clothes. He didn’t even open his eyes. He suspected that she was
veering between anger and humiliation. Judging from the occasional weeping sounds, humiliation was winning the day. He
smiled in the darkness. As the final echoes of the slamming door faded to silence, Alex exhaled loudly and, satisfied, fell into
the serene slumber of the selfish.
Dawn found Alex in the shower, humming happily, getting shampoo in his eyes, and sitting down under the water to clip his
toenails. He thoroughly admired his body as he stood in front of the mirror, noting the perfect form of each limb in turn. He
examined his face in the mirror for blemishes, standing so close that his breath fogged up the reflection. He wiped the mirror
clean again, and was amazed at how clear and beautiful his blue eyes were. If he was gay, he considered, he would quite
definitely be his own perfect man.
He dried carefully in between each toe and behind his earlobes. He cleaned his ears with a cotton bud and moisturised his
face. He checked his nostrils and eyebrows for stray hairs, and brutally tweezed any offenders. He flossed and brushed his
teeth until they bled. He brushed his hair vigorously forwards and then backwards until his scalp burned. Routines made Alex
feel secure. He woke before daybreak each day to run ten kilometres and lift weights, regardless of what time he got in the
night before. He enjoyed the discipline and the sweat. Alex admired his chest and wondered if he should up the weights
again this week. His reverie was broken as his fingers ran across a pimple on his shoulder. He recoiled and frowned, quickly
grabbing the tweezers and attacking with surgical precision. He hoped it wouldn’t weep on his business shirt. That just
wouldn’t do.
Alex’s life had always been concerned with propriety – on the surface, at least. As the only child of Lewis Elliott, he was in
every way gifted, and he was used to being in the spotlight. He had snorted, smoked and slept his way through university,
graduating on the marks his father bought for him. He worked as a model sometimes, but only on the rare occasions when
his ego was in need of a boost. He knew that his smile could open any door, dissolve any frown, and charm anything he
desired into his possession. It was a good feeling. Sometimes it occurred to Alex that he had a somewhat angry disposition,
but it had never really posed any problems for him. He always got what he wanted, and that was his number one priority.
His father had always been like a tidal wave in his life. Long stretches of time,
sometimes whole years, would pass in which Alex was largely left to his own devices. During these times he felt like the only
spark of life in his world was within himself, and everything else was silent and grey. Suddenly his father would crash back
into his life, a colossal explosion of colour and noise and Alex felt blood rushing through his veins again. But even though his
father’s physical presence was no more than an occasional blip on the radar of Alex’s childhood, his influence shaped the
very core of Alex’s being.
Alex’s mother had died when he was small and all he knew of her was her beauty and her addictions. He had always
thought she died of something respectable like cancer, until he was old enough to read the paper and discovered the
pictures of her being carted off in a body bag on a stretcher, the headline screaming about heroin. Alex had always
considered the idea of meditation to be a load of rubbish, but ever since he was a child he had sat for hours on end gazing
at the photos from her modelling career. The wonder of her exquisite beauty calmed him like nothing else could. In a funny
way he was almost glad she’d died. It wouldn’t have been much fun to have a junkie for a mother; she wouldn’t have had
any time for him at all. Besides, her beauty was so much better preserved in photographs. It would have broken his heart to
see her perfect face ruined by age.
His father had burned a path of destruction through the most beautiful women in the world, but never paused long enough
discover if he was satisfied or not. Alex learned quickly what women were really about – money hungry whores, devoid of
any real substance. Even his mother had been worthless. Women were like wild horses – the only pleasure to be had was in
pursuing them, capturing them, and breaking them. After that they were only good for glue. Alex remembered his father
telling him this as he paced in front of the fireplace, excitedly pounding his hand with his fist for emphasis.
When Alex was twelve, his father began sending his conquests into his son’s room after he had finished with them. It was a
bond between them, a secret that bridged the frequent gaps of physical absence. As Alex grew older, the bond deepened
into competition. The degradation of the women grew each time – the more elaborate, the more exciting.
Women were supposed to be beautiful; he could tolerate no less. Perfection was all that mattered, and pretenders
deserved destruction. Alex knew he was the complete package and he felt the weight of his own importance keenly. It
was his responsibility to maintain a certain standard, to clear out the detritus. He saw himself in the happy role of a
benevolent educator, enlightening the lesser women as to their real nature. Blights. Fancy wandering around and being
happy that you were less than perfect, he marvelled. It just wouldn’t do.
Alex held an honorary position on the board of his father’s company, where each day consisted of meetings seamlessly
seguing into the next. Alex secretly played wanker bingo in his head, which passed the time pleasantly enough. “Going
forward”. Tick. “Growing the Business”. Check. “Strategic Fit”. Check check. “Core business”. Check. “Win-win situation”.
Bingo! Alex often perused the blank faces of others in meetings, and knew they weren’t listening either. He knew they were
probably thinking of details of their mundane, suicidal lives. Take out the garbage. Pick up the spawn from football. Clear
the mucky roof-guttering. The only thing Alex loved more than his own uncomplicated lifestyle was feeling superior about it.
To be perfectly honest, he couldn’t understand what he was supposed to do at work. He drank a lot of coffee. He flirted with
the hot piece in Accounts. He humiliated the fat chick in Systems. He strode around the floor in laps, trying to look purposeful
and busy. He pretended to take phone calls from vastly important people. He spent a lot of time in the executive bathroom
admiring his ties. If a piece of work crossed his immaculate desk, he quickly set it on its way again. Delegation was quite
possibly Alex’s favourite work-related word. He could never understand why he should do something himself when there
was always someone lesser than him to do it.
The floor emptied promptly at five o’clock, while Alex lingered on his pretend phone call to the Tokyo office. When the
coast was clear, he made his way across the street to the pub, where the rest of the boys were meeting for Friday drinks.
Armed with a beer, they stood leaning manfully on a tall table that was perfect for checking out the action. First, though, the
footy. Alex’s team were playing their arch-rivals from across the border. He liked rugby, the sound of bones colliding in a
scrum, the visceral grunt that was forced out of each body on impact. The thinking man’s sport. Rugby has been bred into
them since childhood and most weekends found them in their old playing jerseys, now worn casually over crisp-collared,
short-sleeved shirts. Rugby was a euphemism for the culture of money. It was a secret code, maintained through bonding
amongst beer, slapping the pokies, and picking the cream of the girls.
One victory to his team and countless beers later, Alex turned his
attention to the other people in the room. The girls, to be precise. His eyes lingered on a
laughing brunette with curls, but he dismissed her as too bouncy. The blonde in the dress had an ugly head. The blonde in
the corner had promise, he thought, but then his gaze caught a hint of pudge over her waistband. His lip curled in disgust
and his eyes moved on. The redhead had seriously buck teeth. The blonde had simian arms. The brunette’s white pants held
a dimpled arse. Alex sighed.
Ten minutes later he found himself at Camilla’s ornate front door, set back a way from the street. Before his hand had even
left the knocker, a small brunette with a gentle smile opened the door. She must be new, he thought. A ripple of anticipation
crossed his shoulders and he shivered. Two minutes later, after a quick word with Camilla, he followed the new girl up the
stairs into his favourite room. The girl closed the door quietly behind him with a click and turned the lights down to a dull
amber. She slowly began to take off her robe, smiling shyly up at him. Alex watched as she stood in front of him naked, and
felt tenderness bubbling inside him. He smiled down at her, a wide, winning smile.
She was so blinded by his perfect teeth that she didn’t even see his hand moving to crack her across the face, or his knee
rising to thud hard into her soft abdomen. He didn’t bother to keep the noise down; he knew they wouldn’t be disturbed.
Twenty minutes later he settled his account with a nervous Camilla and walked out the door without a word. He jauntily
strolled down the street towards his home and acknowledged how thoroughly good he felt.
The following Thursday night came and Alex prepared to go to a launch he had been invited to. He adjusted his tie and
smiled at his reflection in the mirror. A small swell of anticipation made itself known on his stomach and he thought about the
night ahead. Alex always arrived at least two hours late for any engagement, as he feared small talk. By the time he rolled
in everyone was drunk enough to converse easily, and not notice when Alex moved on to more interesting company. Alex
never drank much at all, just enough to avoid comment. He liked the idea of being more in control than everyone else.
He had only been in the red-lit room for ten minutes when he spotted perfection across the room from him. She was tall, with
honey blonde hair hanging straight down her back. She was slender and tanned and laughed with a mouthful of even white
teeth. She was dressed expensively, and smoked a long cigarette daintily. He felt good just looking at her. Slowly he circled
the room around her, catching her eye and then looking away. He knew the game. When he thought he had given himself
enough exposure, he glided over to where she was standing with another girl and placed himself in between them. He
knew that the insignificant one would melt away in his presence. Alex smiled down at the blonde girl, his charm almost
tangible. “Hi there”, he said smoothly, waiting for the familiar look of adulation to shine in her eyes. “I saw you watching me
before, so I thought I’d come over and introduce myself. I’m Alex”. He chuckled to show that he understood how irresistible
she found him.
To his surprise, the look in her eyes was more irritated than adoring. “Me, looking at you?” She trilled, clearly amused. “I don’
t think so. In case you hadn’t noticed, I was in the middle of a conversation. Now, if you don’t mind…” She let the sentence
trail off as she stepped around him and linked arms with her friend. As they walked away, Alex could hear her laughing
scornfully. He imagined every eye in the room was on him, pitying his failure. He inwardly seethed as he made his way over
to the bar, but was careful to wear a nonchalant smile on his face. As he waited for his drink, he noticed the girl talking to a
group of other girls. As if on cue, they all turned to look at him and simultaneously burst into mocking laughter. The anger in
his gut gave way to calculating coldness and he began to plan.
Two hours and five very unsatisfactory conversations later, Alex saw the girl excuse herself and make her way to the
bathrooms at the back of the hotel. He ducked away from the bar and followed her. Feeling like a spy, he checked around
all the corners before proceeding up the hallway to the toilets. Silently pushing open the bathroom door, he knelt down to
check for feet under the cubicle doors. Nothing. He stood patiently, listening to her in the toilet – toilet paper, dress rustling,
tinkling, toilet paper, dress rustling again, then the flush. As she unlocked the door and swung it outwards, Alex pushed it
back from the other direction hard, and felt it strike. She dropped to the floor like a dead weight, and Alex circled her body
like a predatory animal. Under the fluorescent lights, he noticed that the flawless skin was pocked with pimples, and that the
honey blonde hair had dark roots. Whore.
He stuffed his handkerchief in her mouth and forced her knees apart as he smacked her head into the cold tiles again and
again. Eventually she went quiet, and Alex stood up, panting. He looked down dispassionately at the rag doll on the floor,
limbs askew and the white tiles bright red. He adjusted his tie, collected his handkerchief and walked out without a
backwards glance.
As he walked briskly down the corridor he smiled, feeling the rage gently subside into detached calm. Installing himself at
the bar, he watched the commotion as a girl came screaming out of the bathroom ten minutes later and the room rushed en
masse to her aid. Arranging a concerned look on his face, he waited until they were all ushered out of the hotel, and then
slipped away from the huddled crowd on the footpath. He decided that he could do with the fresh air, and as he walked
home he pondered the necessity of buying a new coat for the impending winter.
And so Alex’s life rolled on, an endless, effortless cycle of leisure and satiation. He had no idea of the sharp turn his life was
about to take.
PART 2
'Love Is Blind' by Tara Kennedy
Illustrations by Dee Sekar
