‘And just how would you know?’ Coffee bends down to light it.
‘I own a dozen.’ He wriggles out of his jacket and slings it into the room. His T-shirt reads We don’t see things as they are, we see things as we are, which I have heard somewhere before.
Velvet leans out farther. ‘Are those islands or ships? That loop of lights.’
Daimon peers through the railings. ‘Reclaimed land. New airport.’
Coffee looks. ‘Let’s go out there and see how fast your Porsche runs.’
‘Let’s not.’ Daimon puckers the joint into life, holds the smoke down, and exhales an aaaaaaaaa . . . Coffee kneels, and Daimon holds the joint to her lips. Uncle Money gave me a stern lecture about drugs and Tokyo which I know from one glance at Velvet I shall ignore. Coffee purses her lips as dragon smoke uncurls from her nostrils. ‘Did I tell you’ – Daimon gazes into the flame of his lighter – that this lighter is a piece of history? It used to belong to General Douglas MacArthur during the Occupation.’ ‘Like, sure it did, if you say so,’ scoffs Coffee. ‘I say so, but never mind. Get me a zabuton, my coffeecreamyhoneyhole, let your lungs soak up this beauty, we’ll drive to Tierra del Fuego and repopulate Patagonia . . .’ While Coffee is fetching a cushion from the tatami room the mobile phone in her bag beeps the Moonlight Sonata. Daimon heaves a mighty sigh – ‘Irritating!’ – and passes the joint to me. I give it to Velvet. Daimon answers the mobile in a fair imitation of the royal crown prince. ‘I bid you a splendid evening.’ Coffee dives, giggling. ‘Mine!’ Daimon scissors her to the floor between his legs. She writhes, giggling, mantrapped. ‘No, I’m terribly sorry, but you can’t speak with her. Her boyfriend? Really? That’s what she told you? How awful. I’m fucking her later tonight, you see, so go and hire a naughty video, you sad fuck. But first, listen very carefully to this – this is how your death sounds.’ And he tosses the phone over the balcony.
Coffee’s giggle has its plug pulled.
Daimon smiles wide as a stoned toad.
‘You just threw my mobile over the railing!’
Daimon dribbles giggles. ‘I know I just threw your mobile over the railing.’
‘It might hit somebody on the head.’
‘Well, scientists warn us that mobile phones can harm the brain.’
‘My mobile!’
‘Oh, I’ll buy you another one. I’ll buy you another ten.’
Coffee weighs up various factors. ‘The most up-to-date model?’
Daimon grabs the zabuton, lies back and does a gangster impression. ‘I’ll buy ya da factory, shweetie.’ Coffee does a little-girl pout and holds the champagne glass to her ear. ‘I can hear bubbles.’ Velvet takes my earlobes in a thumbpinch, seals my mouth with hers and marijuana smoke rushes in. Stolen chocolate, smeared and soft. ‘Ohohohohohohohoho,’ observes Daimon, ‘do that inside, you two. It looks like I – and my newlywed – have been overtaken by the young upstart once again.’ I open my eyes, and gasp, and cough. Velvet prods me in the chest, so I go inside.
‘You sit there,’ she says, pointing to the far side of the low table. A monk on heat, a dog in a cassock. Her forearms glisten with sweat. She blows out the candle. We take solemn turns with the joint and say nothing. Our fingertips might brush. Hers contain an electric current. Bioborg. I make out her outline in the glow of the night city, even filtered through the paper. She doesn’t actually touch me, and her demeanour warns me against touching her until she tells me to. The bright tip of the joint travels through the turfy air. Sometimes I am me, sometimes I am not quite. Pearls, moonstone, teeth enamel. A time/space irregularity explores my limbs. Onto the dark, I identikit in her breasts, her hair, her face. If I sneezed right now Godzilla would probably explode in my boxer shorts. ‘You smoke this all the time?’ Her words are twists in the smoke. ‘Ever since my twentieth birthday.’ A scroll, doll, droll troll, a bowing chrysanthemum in a vase. ‘So how old are you, roadie?’ I even hear her lush hair hush. ‘Twenty-three. You?’ Bitter snowflakes flurry. ‘I am one million today.’ One spanky whoop from Velvet and a grrrrrrrrr from Daimon, and Velvet and I are laughing hard enough to fracture ribs, even though no sound comes out. Then I forget why I’m laughing, and I