J.G. Ballard - Cocaine Nights

'And now you're in Estrella de Mar. Perhaps it's your first real home?'

'I think it is… I've stopped feeling depressed here.'

She smiled like a contented child when I moved her on to her back and kissed her eyes. I began to caress her, stroking her clitoris until she parted her thighs and steered my fingers into her vagina.

'That's nice… don't forget my anus. Do you want to bugger me?'

She turned on to her side, forced some spit on to her fingers and pressed them between her parted buttocks. I looked down at the silky cleft, at the fine hair that covered the base of her spine. As I caressed her hips my fingers touched what seemed to be a contour line drawn across the smooth skin. A ridge of tissue curved across her hip to the small of her back, the faint trace of a long-healed surgical scar.

'Charles, leave it alone. You can't unzip me.'

'The scar's almost gone. How old were you?'

'Sixteen. My right kidney wasn't working. They resectioned the pelvis, quite a tricky piece of surgery. Frank never even noticed it.' She held my penis. 'You're going soft. Think about my bum for a minute.'

I lay back and looked down at the scar, realizing that I had seen it before, in the closing moments of the porno-film. The faint crescent of hardened skin had been reflected in the mirrored bedroom door, almost certainly in Bobby Crawford's apartment. Gently stroking Paula's back, I remembered the same high rib-cage, narrow waist and broad swimmer's hips. She had held the camcorder, with the battery pack hanging from her shoulder, and filmed the bridesmaids fondling the bride in her wedding gown, and the bride's willing sex with the unknown stud. She had shared Anne Hollinger's panic as she was raped by the two men who had burst into the bedroom, but the camera had continued to turn, recording the brave smile that marked the film's end.

'Charles, are you still here? You've gone for a walk inside your head.'

'I'm here, I think…'

I raised myself on one elbow as I tried to smooth away the scar. In many ways the sex that had taken place between us was part of another film. I had imagined myself in Frank's role, and Paula playing his lover, as if only the pornographic image of ourselves could really bring us together and draw out the affection we felt for each other.

'Charles, if I'm going to see Frank I'll have to leave soon.'

'I know. I'll come quickly. By the way, do you know where Bobby Crawford's apartment is?'

'Why do you ask…? It's on the high corniche road.'

'Have you ever been there?'

'Once or twice. I try to keep away from him. Why are we talking about Bobby Crawford?'

'I followed him there the other day. I got into the empty apartment next to his.'

'On the top floor? It's quite a view.'

'It certainly is. It's amazing what you can see there. Hold on, I'll get some cream I opened the top drawer of the wardrobe and drew out the lace shawl. Holding one corner, I laid the yellowing lace across Paula's waist and shoulders.

'What's this?' She peered at the ancient lace. 'It's a Victorian baby shawl…?'

'Frank and I were swaddled in it. It belonged to my mother. It's just a game, Paula.'

'All right.' She looked up at me, puzzled by my calm manner. 'I'm ready for most things. What do you want me to do?'

'Nothing. Just lie there for a moment.'

I knelt across Paula and turned her on to her back, wrapping the shawl around her chest so that her nipples forced themselves through the fine mesh of this temporary bodice.

'Charles? Are you okay?'

'I'm fine. I used to wrap my mother in this shawl.'

'Your mother?' Paula winced as she eased the pressure on her breasts. 'Charles, I don't think I can play your mother.'

'I don't want you to. It looks like a wedding dress. Rather like the one you filmed.'

'Filmed?' Paula sat up, trying to free herself. 'What the hell are you up to?'

'You filmed Anne Hollinger in Crawford's apartment. I've seen the video. In fact, it's over there, I could play it for you. You filmed her in a wedding dress. And you filmed her being raped by those two men.' I held Paula's shoulders as she struggled against me. 'That was a real rape, Paula. She wasn't expecting that.'

Paula bared her teeth, fingers clawing the shawl from her breasts. I forced her thighs apart with my knees. Raising her hips from the bed, I pulled the pillow from behind her head and rammed it under her buttocks, as if preparing to rape her.

'All right!' Paula lay back as my hands held her wrists to the headboard, the tattered shawl between us. 'For God's sake, you're making a hell of a meal out of it! Yes, I was at Bobby Crawford's apartment.'

'I recognized the scar.' I released her arms and sat beside her, brushing the hair from her face. 'And you took the film?'

'The film took itself. I pressed the button. What does it matter? It was only a game.'

'Quite a tough one. The two men who burst in – were they part of the script?'

Paula shook her head, as if I were an obtuse patient querying the treatment she had prescribed. 'Everything was part of the game. Afterwards Anne didn't mind.'

'I know-I saw the smile. The bravest and strangest smile I've ever seen.'

Paula searched for her clothes, annoyed with herself for having been ambushed by me. 'Charles, listen to me – I wasn't expecting the rape. If I'd known I wouldn't have taken part. Where did you find the tape?'

'In the Hollingers' house. It was in Anne's VCR. Did Frank know about the film?'

'No, thank God. It was three years ago, soon after I came here. I'd always been interested in cine-photography and someone invited me to join a film club. We didn't just talk about films, we went out and made them. Elizabeth Shand put up the money. I hadn't even met Frank.'

'But you'd met Crawford.' I passed her shoes to Paula as she slipped on the jacket of her trouser suit. 'Was he the pale-skinned man who led the rape?'

'Yes. The other man was Betty Shand's chauffeur. He spends a lot of time with Crawford.'

'And the first man she had sex with?'

'Sonny Gardner – he was one of Anne's boyfriends, so that seemed all right. He nearly had a fight with Crawford afterwards.' Paula sat down and drew me on to the bed beside her. 'Believe me, Charles. I didn't know they would rape her. Crawford's so excitable, he was carried away by it all.'

'I've seen him with his tennis classes. How long had he been making the films?'

'He'd just started the club – we were going to make a series of documentaries about life in Estrella de Mar.' Paula watched me massage her bruised wrists. 'No one realized exactly what sort of documentaries he had in mind. He pointed out that sex was one of the main leisure activities here and that we ought to film it taking place, just as we filmed the theatre clubs and the Traviata rehearsals. Anne Hollinger liked a challenge, so she and Sonny volunteered to be first.'

I wiped the smeared mascara from Paula's cheeks. 'Even so, I'm still surprised.'

'At me? For God's sake, I was bored stiff. Working at the Clinic all day, and then sitting on the balcony and watching my tights dry. Bobby Crawford made everything seem exciting.'

'Paula, I understand. How many movies has he shot?'

'A dozen or so. That was the only one I filmed. The rape scene frightened me.'

'Why were you wearing a swimsuit-you look as if you're about to join in?'

'Charles…!' Exasperated with me, Paula lay back against the pillow, scarcely caring whether I approved of her or not. 'I'm a doctor here. Half the people seeing that film were my patients. Crawford had masses of copies made. Taking my clothes off was a way of disguising myself. You were the only one who wasn't fooled. You and Betty Shand – she loved the film.'

'I bet she did. You didn't help to make any others?'