Peter Liu - Bald New World

They’d called the medics who arrived a few minutes later to roll him away. As they did, I saw his eyes. There wasn’t fear or regret or even pain. Only self-loathing and repulsion aimed at himself. Acid reflux wasn’t just limited to the physical.

I.

“Hey, mister. That’s quite a rod you got there. You know what would make a girl like me even happier?” I snapped awake to see a buxom nurse in a skimpy outfit talking to me. “An even bigger one. They have a special going on for penile enlargement at—” It was one of those 3D advertisements and I tried to ignore it. “Possible side effects include erectile dysfunction, severe hypotension, photophobia, prolonged erection, heavy migraines, stroke—” It’d been a long night. Magus, the model who mutilated himself, was in the surgery unit. Normally, it would have been a quick patch up, but this was the eighth time he’d had surgery in the past year and insurance was balking at paying. “—and sudden death. But isn’t it worth it to get with a girl like me?”

Waiting here in the lobby, I was half-awake, half-asleep. More advertisements played and I tried to shut them off but was kindly told, “If you opt out of advertisements, there is an hourly fee for waiting in the lobby. The—”

I rubbed the mucus out of my eyes and fought back yawns. “Are you tired of having to watch your diet? Well, now you can eat all you want if you sign up for our specially bred tapeworms that can be fully financed—”

There were ads about the new fashion trend, “man-boobs.” A few marketing dentists pointed out things I didn’t need to protect myself against possible cancer if I didn’t floss three times a day and coat my teeth with protective sealant. I’d already had enough work done on my teeth to last a lifetime and I still wasn’t sure if any of it had been necessary. I hated the thought of spending even a cent more on them.

They finally approved Magus’s insurance and took him in for image facilitation. “I want to look different this time around,” he said and was told, “You’ve used your premiums for the year. Wait until next year.”

I slept in the lobby, drowning out the ads. They used subcortical rays to invade my dreams. I was all right with that even if I dreamt of surgeries I didn’t need just as long as I could sleep. Around eight in the morning, the doctors wrapped up and Magus looked like a brand new man. He gave me a fist pump and asked, “So when’s the next shoot?”

II.

Outside the factory grounds of Chao Toufa, fifty protesters were keeping vigil. None of them wore wigs as they were a religious cult that believed wigs were immoral and encouraged sexual deviancy. I wondered if the bribes to the Ministry of Religion were late this month for them to allow this rally.

Security was extensive with tall walls, guard drones, and personnel around the perimeter to protect against people trying to steal wigs. There were fifteen gates and each required an eye scan, fingerprint key, voice identification measuring throat ululations, olfactory substantiation, and credit report. I didn’t know why I was rushing. I was supposed to meet Larry at ten a.m. but he was nowhere in sight and wasn’t picking up his phone either. No big surprise there. Fatigue overwhelmed me and I took a nap in one of the bunks, trying to get the subconscious images of dancing nurses pleading with me to get a “physical upgrade” out of my mind. I hated the way the hospital marketing department scrambled my neurons.

My phone rang late in the afternoon with a message from Larry that he would arrive shortly. Larry arrived at 5:32 in a custom-made sports car that was so exclusive, it wasn’t even part of a brand. I’d never actually seen it before but I knew it cost him millions and was too expensive to get insured. It was sleek and aerodynamic, a titanium coat that gave it the appearance of a stealth jet on wheels.

“Can I take a picture of this thing?” I asked.

“Absolutely. You wanna go for a ride later?”

“Are you kidding? Of course.” As he got out, I saw the bounce in his step, his joy pronounced in his beaming smile. “How’d it go?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“She was a goddess in bed,” he replied. “You have no idea how incredible she is. She’s everything I could have hoped for and more. Just the way her body moved. It was the perfect shape.” He placed his hands against his heart. “If I were to die right this moment, I’d die content.”

“Everything worked out then?”

Larry gleamed. “I don’t want to bore you with details of our debauchery, but it was a wild night. We’re heading out to Xi’an later. She hasn’t seen the Terracotta Warriors yet and she also loves lamb and they have that lamb at that specialty house I love. Her terracotta pie was incredible, best I ever had.”

Vulgarities aside, I laughed too. “I guess that means no filming?”

“Just a slight delay. Work has got me depressed.”

“Aren’t you worried about her associates?”

“She wanted to come clean, but I told her not to bother, that I didn’t care. You want to do an early dinner? I had a huge brunch, but I’m still starving. How do crab legs sound?”

We went to the private restaurant near the western lakes. The lakes were filled with ducks and swan. Larry pointed out the mandarin ducks who, according to folklore, always lived in pairs as they were monogamous. When one died, the other would die soon afterwards. I could see four of the factory buildings from our seat and many of the workers were leaving early as it was Friday, general policy set by his father so that they could get some rest as long as there were no pressing deadlines.

“She speaks seven languages fluently, man,” Larry said. “Never made love to a woman who could start a sentence in French, continue in Japanese, Mandarin, Spanish, English, then finish in Korean. She’s been trained you know, so she’s learned advanced techniques to multiply pleasure. I’d heard rumors, but man, I—” and he started giggling.

“Calm down, you’re scaring me,” and I laughed as well.

Several old Chinese women brought out the crab in spicy sauce that was mixed in garlic, lemon, and a whole lot of Cajun pepper sauce. Gumbo soup was served on the side as well as buttered rice that was steaming hot. Larry got up and hugged one of the old ladies. A rotund woman with a ruddy face, she was in charge of the kitchen. Larry affectionately called her Laolao and told me, “When my dad used to send me to bed without dinner, Laolao sent me up sweet honey biscuits that were the best I ever had.”

She giggled. “When you have a son, I’ll make the same biscuits for him.”

The crab legs were huge, hard-shelled, and juicy. I doused them in the sauce and ate them with the rice. My tongue burned, but it was culinary heaven.

“Did you know king crab leg fishing used to be one of the deadliest professions in the world?” Larry asked.

“Are they dangerous animals?”

“That’s not why it’s dangerous. But yeah, they are to each other. If you leave them in a tank together too long, they’ll cannibalize each other. And if one dies while it’s held, it’ll release toxins that’ll kill the other crabs.”

“I thought people were bad to each other.”

“Nature is brutal. But not as much as hypothermia and drowning in the ocean.” Larry cracked apart a shell and bit into the white meat. “These are so amazing. The best ones used to only be in Alaska. But these days, crabs can only be raised in farms. Did you know we own a farm in Shanghai? They’re hellishly hard to maintain. But the crabs taste so good.” Larry took a sip of wine. “I used to hate crab when I was a kid. Hated seafood in general.”