9. White Teeth Island Boy
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“Imagine you're an island boy, Neville.”
“Island boy?” You hear your voice after a slight delay, the same as before.
“Just play along, Hon. I’m helping you get into your role.”
Your role. With Alana it’s always a role. She’s hidden in the booth and you’re naked again, except you’re wearing a grass skirt and a pair of expensive headphones. You’re drunk, and Alana’s sexy voice is in your ear.
“Your body’s so nice, Neville! You’re one of those lucky people who looks better naked than with clothes! Did you know that?”
“No,” you say.
“You’re so lucky, Neville!”
“I guess.”
“We’re going to do a scene now. I’m going to tell you what the scene is and all you have to do is act it out.”
“I don’t want to be in a movie.”
“Don’t be silly, Hon! It’s just an exercise to help you get into the role. Are you ready?”
“I guess,” you say.
“Keep your mouth a little away from the mic. About seven inches, okay? You don’t have to talk so loud either. Keep it natural, Babe. And remember: you’re a beautiful teenage boy!” Her voice is cheerful and breathy. She sounds so close to you. It’s like she’s tickling you, tickling the inside of your ear.
“You have gorgeous brown skin, Neville. And remember, beautiful white teeth…! And a fantastic ass of course,” she whispers.
You swish the hula skirt a little with your hips.
“That’s the way!” she says. “Again!”
It’s not that hard. You used to hula-hoop when you were a kid. She’s laughing in your ear, and you like hearing her laugh when you sway your hips and the grass swishes to and fro. You can’t help but laugh. The whole situation is so ridiculous and it feels really nice.
“Move your arms more,” she says. “That’s right, Neville. You’re a natural!”
“What are we doing, Alana?”
“Stop thinking,” she says. “Just go with what I say.” She exhales a long breath inside your ear. “The way we’re going to work it is, I’m going to give you a line and then you’ll say it.”
You stand waiting before the microphone inside the cone of ruby light. Nothing. There’s a click. Another click. A hollow metallic sound fades and goes away.
“Okay,” she says finally.
Nothing again.
“Should I say something?”
“No. Just a second. Imagine you’re running along the beach beside a beautiful, azure sea. Imagine you’re so happy! You’re laughing and you feel the sunshine on your big white teeth.”
“On my teeth?”
“Don’t ask questions, Neville. Just be!”
“So I should open my mouth?”
“I didn’t know you were so literal.” She sounds a little aggravated.
“Sorry,” you say. “It’s just because of my voice I guess.”
“Your wonderful voice!”
“I know. You said that.”
“Spar-kle!” Alana says.
“Sparkle?”
“More feeling, okay? You’re the pretty white-toothed island boy! Two syllables: Spar-kle!”
“Spar-kle.”
“Again. More happy.”
“spar-kle!”
“I feel the sparkle!”
“I feel the sparkle!”
“Again.”
“I feel the sparkle!”
“Good!” she says. “That last one was really good. I’m going to play a little tune now. When you hear it, just imagine you’re running along the beach with a piece of sugarcane in your hand, okay?”
A staccato, synthesized melody comes on.
Dat-a-dat-dat, dat-a-dat-dat, dat-a-dat-dat, dat-a-dat-dat…
“Do you feel the rhythm, Hon?”
“I guess.”
“Hula with your skirt a little.”
You shake your hips. You can’t hear the rustling any more.
“Nice!” Alana says. “You really look delicious! Now I want you to say, sparkle with a rhythm. It’ll be like: Taa-ta-ta-ta, spar-kle! Taa-ta-ta-ta, spar-kle! Taa-ta-ta-ta, spar-kle! Get it? Just keep going until I say to stop.”
The mindless little tune is playing in your ears.
“Spar-kle… spar-kle… spar-kle… spar-kle… spar-kle… spar-kle… spar-kle… spar-kle—”
“Good. But keep it more cheery-sounding like you did before. Like you’re almost laughing. You’re in your pretty skirt on the beach, remember?”
“This is just dumb,” you mutter, and you hear a bang. She must have slapped her hand on a table.
“Do you want to make some money tonight, Neville? Do you want to make back the money for our lovely dinner?!”
“I want to see you!” Your own whiny voice is in your ear. “I don’t care about money.”
“I care!” she says in a tone harsher than before. “This is business!” She’s quiet for a moment and then she breathes again. The kinder version of her voice returns: “We’ll be a great team if we concentrate. Be more cheerful, Hon! I want you to sound more playful.”
You lean right up against the mic and make a grunting sound. It’s a funny sound you’ve invented right on the spot. You’re grunting and you spread your arms, and now you’re free-falling back into the big plush chair with your legs apart.
Most of the dried grass in the front of the skirt falls down over your crotch. The back of the skirt is scratching your ass as you wave your legs, tinted red by the spotlight, up in the air like the legs of a cartoon devil. This makes you laugh so hard you feel tears coming out of your eyes and you hurry to rub them away with your palms. You feel even drunker than before. You’re thirsty too. And you’re thinking how Myrna would say this is the most stupid thing she’s ever heard of.
“Stand up, Neville!”
You stand up.
“Let’s concentrate! We’ll do the second part now, okay? Same tune. But the words this time are: Sex-y smile! You have to do it three times in a row, okay?” It seems she didn’t find your pratfall funny.
“Okay,” you say. You want to do it right. You want Alana to be happy.
The dat-a-dat-dat song starts up again.
“Say it, Neville!”
“Sex-y smile… sex-y…”
“Sing it!”
“Sex-y… sex-y smile… sexy…”
“Come on. You did it before. Be more playful, Neville!”
“This is so ridiculous,” you say. “Coming here’s as bad as going to work.”
“It is work.”
“What do you mean?
“It’s going to be a toothpaste commercial. It’s a cartoon!”
“A commercial?”
“In Thailand.”
There’s a click and then it’s quiet.
“Alana?”
Nothing.
“Alana?”
“Maybe you should just pay Leopold,” she says finally.
“For what?”
“For wasting my time!”
“I’m sorry, Alana. It’s just… I want to see you! You’re hiding somewhere. You’re looking at me. But I want to look at you too.”
A few seconds go by.
“You think too much,” she says.
“I can’t help it! I think about you all the time! I think about you every day!”
“You’re in love with me, Neville. And that’s a problem.”
She says this gently. There’s a pause. “But I think it’s very sweet,” she says.
You don’t say anything. You can’t—but you’re thinking about the German lady, the ringmaster, the Hitler youth, the skinny vampy lady, and whether you could ever kiss her while all of them are watching you. You take a breath and pivot your body a little, trying to remember precisely what your position was the time she told you to face her. You’re in a grass skirt. You’re standing straight with your legs apart. You fill your chest with air and look at her, not knowing what else there is to do.
“Let’s try something new, Honey,” she says suddenly. “I think you might enjoy this. I’m going to whisper your lines again so you can repeat them, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I know I’m nothing to you but still I need you,” she whispers.
Why is she saying this? You feel your body sway a little.
“Did you get that?” she asks.
“I know I’m nothing to you but still I need you.”
“Say it again.”
“I know I’m nothing to you but I need you.”
“Come closer now, drink me in,” she whispers.
“Come closer now, drink me in.” Your voice is like a distant echo now.
“Wrap your body around me like a warm coat.”
“Wrap your body around me,” you say. You wish for it so much.
“Fill me darling, touch me… even the tips of my toes.”
“Fill me, Darling. Touch me,” you say. “Even the tips of my toes.”
“I want to feel your presence all over my body.”
“Touch me, darling. I want to feel your presence on my body.”
“All over my body!”
“All over my body.”
“I want to feel your presence even when you’re not with me.”
“I want to feel your presence even when you’re not with me.”
“Again, Neville.”
“I want to feel your presence even when you’re not with me.”
“Again.”
“I want to feel your presence even when you’re not with me.”
“Again.”
“I want to feel your presence even when you’re not with me.”
“Neville, say it again: I feel your presence even when you’re not with me.”
“I feel your presence even when you’re not with me.”
“I love your scent.”
“I love your scent.”
“I love your smell.”
“I love your smell.”
“I love the smell of your sweat.”
“I love the smell of your sweat.”
“I carry it with me through the day.”
“I carry it with me through the day.”
“I want you to hold me.”
“I want you to hold me.”
“I want you to have me.”
“I want…” You’re standing before her with an enormous rock hard erection that’s parted the grass skirt..
“I’m coming out of the control room now,” she whispers inside your ear. “Let’s do it on the chair under the red light, okay?”
“Yes,” you say.
I fear Neville is going to a deep, dark place, but not the one he is hoping for.
I'd take a look at that chair under ultraviolet light first.