FOUL-NATURED KITTEN
"How are things with Red?" Olivia asked as we removed our sparring gloves, tape, and headgear.
I toweled my face while considering my response, assuming Redding had requested Olivia serve as our go-between. Our every-other-day relationship had survived the shower debacle with no repercussions or unease between us. She'd even made a few self-deprecating jokes regarding her fellatio skills. But a week ago I'd told her friends were visiting me from the States and staying with me, and I hadn't seen her since.
I set the towel on the mat.
"Good, I hope. She hasn't come by in a week."
Olivia removed her gloves one finger at a time. "She said you have friends in town."
"Starting today I do," I said, not enjoying our indirect teenage conversation dynamics. "Is there something in particular Redding wants to know? Or something you're supposed to tell me?"
With her fingernail, Olivia picked at the tape on my hands. "I think she's wondering if one of your friends is a girl."
"Yes," I said.
"And maybe if she's your girlfriend?"
"Redding, or my friend who's visiting?"
"Your friend."
"She's not my girlfriend, but we're involved." I unwound the tape from my hand.
"What does 'involved' mean? She'll want to know."
"It's a complex relationship. But it's not monogamous. When she leaves, I hope Redding will come by so we can talk about it without a go-between."
We exchanged smiles.
"She won't like it that you're having sex with someone else."
I tossed the tape into the trash. "I'm not asking her to. But once my friends fly back—"
"Friends or friend?"
"Friends."
"Both girls?"
"Olivia, you seem invested in this."
"I introduced you guys."
We packed our bags with headgear and gloves.
"Maybe I'm interpreting what Redding and I have differently than she is."
"She thinks you're together," Olivia said with certainty.
"She just comes and goes."
"She's giving you space. You have sex with her three or four times a week, Brät. Most people would think you're together."
On the sidewalk outside Konquer Fitness, I said, "I'm sure you're right. But that's not how I think. She—"
"You're a film director," Olivia said, with an emphasis I didn't like. "You write all the time. She doesn't want to bother you."
"Bother me? Olivia, I understand you're trying to get answers for your friend, but we've reached the point where Redding and I should talk face-to-face."
Olivia slung her gym bag over her shoulder. "Is it because of what happened in the shower?"
I laughed. "First, everything with Redding and I happens in the shower. But no, it has nothing to do with that. She and I need to talk."
Olivia made a face. "I don't know if that's possible."
"Why not?"
"She might move on."
I let it sink in. "From me, or from here?"
"Both?"
I spread my hands, dismayed. "Because of who my visitors are?"
Olivia shrugged. "Pretty much."
Was I in the wrong here? Had I lied or misled Redding? Our relationship—arrangement, mutually beneficial friendship—existed in a bubble of the present, with pasts undiscussed and futures nonexistent, a blissful blur of sex, rushing water, food, sleep, and weed. I tried to channel Francesca and review transcripts of every conversation I'd had with Redding, but recalled nothing but my attacks and her defense of Marxism, her ten-minute monologues on the patriarchy, sexual power dynamics, weed vs. alcohol, chem trails, backpacker etiquette, the inherent chauvinism of the 60s phrase gas, grass, or ass, the side effects of everything she didn't like and the benefits of everything she did, why calling anything in-country by its foreign reference—Thai cuisine in Bangkok, French cuisine in Paris—rather than simply "food" was culturalist (a phrase she bandied about with the same spit-at-it venom as racist), her absolute certainty women would run the world if they were physically stronger, with men serving as no more than semen suppliers, milked like dairy cows—
"Like a gloryhole?"
"Pig."
—and why cunnilingus benefitted both parties because of its nonpenetrative nature, while fellatio was invasive, male dominance-reinforcing, and an evolutionary dead end.
I liked listening to Redding while we vaped THC, regardless of whether I agreed or disagreed with her night's topic. Disputing her sometimes-wild, sometimes-legitimate ideas forced me to analyze my male perspective.
"Leaving Bangkok because friends are visiting me seems extreme," I said.
"Not when one is a lover you chose over Redding."
"Cho—" I stopped myself. To accept Redding's perspective, I had to set aside my dislike for what I was hearing. This wasn't a late-night, "enhanced" debate. Her feelings required no burden of proof.
Olivia shifted her weight and glanced across the street, toward the skytrain station. What did I want her to say to Redding? How do you bid someone adieu by proxy?
"Olivia, could you do me a favor? Tell Redding I'm sorry I wasn't clear about—everything, I suppose. I enjoy the time we spend together." Olivia nodded. "But if she does decide to move on, I'd like to say goodbye in person."
"Holy crap," Euclid said. "Does she ever dress like a normal human being?"
Sydney glided toward our rented limousine in metallic gold sandals, dark green leather booty shorts laced on one side, a matching dark green leather shirt that fit her like body paint, and a gold choker suspending the almond-sized emerald around which she'd built her outfit. A metallic gold purse—simultaneously perfect and obnoxious —swung from one hand in rhythm with her hips.
"I suggested khakis," I said.
"She'd look obscene in corporate casual." Euclid yawned. "I worked the khakis at URide."
"They cupped your ass nicely," I said.
"Because they were women's pants." He pointed at me. "Bet you didn't know that."
"I had no idea."
"I have wide hips for a man."
"Child-bearing."
We shared a grin.
"Women's pants fit me better," he said. "Jeans, too."
"If you send me your measurements, I'll have a local tailor make you a nice silk skirt."
"Ha fucking ha."
Sydney stopped outside Euclid's door.
"Hop to it, boy," Euclid said to me, sinking into the luxurious leather seat, his face glowing with satisfaction.
I checked the limo driver, who appeared content to remain in the driver's seat. Next time I'd hire a more service-oriented service. When I saw the whites of her eyes I girded myself for the heat, opened the door, and met her beside the limo.
"Odin forbid you're in sunlight longer than five seconds," she said.
Sydney brushed her ass over my crotch as she slid into the air-conditioned limo, not basking an extra moment in the boiling, smoggy, putrid air.
I climbed in behind her, closed the door, and exhaled. "Welcome to Krungthep."
"Your pronunciation is a little off," Euclid said without opening his eyes. "It's Krung Thep. There's a space between the krung and the thep."
"I think I'd know better than you. I'm a local."
Sydney gazed through the tinted window. "It's been too long, Euclid. No hard feelings, I assume?"
"Not at all," Euclid said. "Sometimes when I'm feeling down I replay that night at Las Casa de Don Felipe to cheer me up."
They shared a dumbass laugh.
"Because it all turned out okay, of course," Euclid said in my direction.
"Of course," I said. "How this works, Sydney, is I fuck with Uke, not the other way around."
"Sorry baby. You're the common friend in this triad." Sydney made two quick kissing noises.
"I like her," Euclid said.
"I bet you do." I eyed the emerald. "Is that real?"
"What do you think?" When I didn't offer an official appraisal, she said, "I insured it."
"You can't walk around with it here. Someone will mug us. Let's keep it in the safe at home."
"Awww," she said, "Us. Home. So domestic."
I rolled my eyes.
"You look great, by the way," Euclid said. "Your purse, the shoes, all of it."
"Thank you for noticing, Euclid." Sydney fixed me with a pointed glare. "We should hang out when we're back in L.A."
Euclid grinned. "We should."
"Why wait?" I grumbled.
"Oh, don't be that way, baby," Sydney said. "We're just messing with you."
"Brät dishes it better than he takes it," Euclid said.
The limo pulled into traffic, joining the slow snake exiting Suvarnabhumi airport. Sydney set her hand on my thigh, intention-ally possessive. Though I'd missed her and her touch, I recognized her innocent affection for what it was—a test. I took her hand in mine and returned it to her lap.
She smirked. "Just checking, baby."
"What's on the agenda?" I asked Euclid. "The usual?"
"What's the usual?" Sydney asked.
"I suppose it depends on whose usual we're talking about," Euclid said. "This is a Mecca for you two fleshly beings—"
"Didn't I ask you to never say 'fleshly being' again?"
"—but I want to be more than the physical."
"I knew it," I said. "You're back with her."
"Who's her?" Sydney asked.
"His swami."
"Yogini," Euclid said. "Though that's reductive. Shiva-Lu Shiva possesses a far-ranging sentient essence."
"He likes it when she slathers him with her essence."
"Don't we all?" Sydney said.
Euclid endured. "I'm interacting with her spiritual self, not her fle—"
"Please don't."
"—not with her."
The limo sped down the elevated expressway.
"Did you get her essence all over you, too?" Sydney asked me.
"No."
Sydney narrowed her eyes, sifting through my layers of shaded meaning. "Hmm. I believe you. The four of us should interact on the physical plane."
"I don't know," Euclid said.
Sydney scowled, displeased with anything but compliance from anyone but me. "Why not?"
"Yes Euclid," I said, as Sydney aimed her male subconscious transference device (MSTD) at my friend. "Why not?"
Euclid studied the roof lining, searching for wisdom in the Alcantara.
"Are you receiving messages from beyond?" I asked.
"It's just—" he began. "I'll ask her."
His reluctance was obvious and odd. "Uke, if you don't want to do it, just stick with your plan. I'll play tour guide and show Sydney the temples."
"The hell you will," Sydney said. "I didn't fly fourteen hours to sightsee."
"Why did you fly fourteen hours?" I asked, my blatant come-on leading her to the appropriate and desired sex-bathed, leering response:
"To get hold of that big fat—"
"Stop!" Euclid blurted. "Please. It's bad enough I could describe his dick to a sketch artist. I'd rather it wasn't our topic of conversation."
Sydney laughed. "Your girlfriend runs the touchy feely retreat thing, right?"
"The Shivary," Euclid said.
I hesitated, waited, paused, and allowed him every opportunity to clarify. But when he didn't, I said, my tone steeped in somber reluctance, "Let the record show the junior jizzbomb from Ohio did not deny girlfriend status."
"I was waiting for the translation."
I didn't get the reference, we eyeballed each other, the beginnings of a victorious grin broke on Euclid's face, but like a lightning bolt from my history teacher's ass Adlai Stevenson's finest moment came to me, and I blurted, "I'm prepared to wait 'til hell freezes over."
Euclid's face fell. He swore and sank into his seat.
"YES!" I thrust my fists into the air, banging them on the limo's ceiling. "Ouch."
"That wasn't exactly right," Euclid said.
"Close enough. You've won with less."
"What's wrong with you two?" Sydney asked. "You're like children."
"Euclid's girlfriend teaches enlightenment through orgasm."
"So do I," Sydney said.
"You do?" I asked.
"Don't I?"
I joined Euclid in his search for wisdom in the roof lining. "Enlightenment via orgasm." I stretched my words, scrambling for an interpretation of Sydney's methods that wouldn't result in an unnecessary intellectual battle or what she'd interpret as backpedaling and, subsequently, translate to fear of offending her.
"That's the question, darling," she said, her go-to term of endearment when sharpening her claws.
"Enlightenment isn't what you do," I said. "You demonstrate to a certain sort of man—"
"To men in general," she said.
"To men who are already inclined to submit."
Sydney growled deep in her throat, barely audible, like a foul-natured kitten.
"Darling, as you've insisted, you don't force anything," I said, confident I'd found a path to exfiltration. "Your clients find you."
"Tara Flynn didn't find me."
"She's the exception. You helped her find herself. But can you name another?"
"I'd have to think about it," Sydney said. "It was a long flight."
"Shiva-Lu encourages you to find truth within the orgasm and post-orgasmic bliss," I said, "and—"
"You're simplifying it too much," Euclid said.
"C'mon Uke, that's the essence. Her entire Tantrarma philosophy revolves around the idea orgasmic pleasure reveals truths of existence."
"While confirming existence." Euclid shook his head. "You're not even brushing the surface."
"Dude, she has you swap partners to prevent attachment and discard love—"
"Maybe that's what you got out of it," Euclid said, "but that's not at all what I see."
"What do you see?"
Euclid sat forward. "You swap partners, your words not mine, to learn to love people outside your conscious scope."
"Your what?"
"Conscious scope," he said, animated, defensive, a bit aggressive. "We talked about this at the retreat—"
"Brät was busy experiencing enlightenment with other girls."
"'Conscious scope' is your so-called 'type,'" Euclid said. "Who you pair yourself with based on self-image and society's expectations."
"Who you're attracted to," I said.
"Attraction is an evolutionary veil."
"A what? Please, dude, spit out the Kool-Aid."
Sydney laughed. "I really want to meet this woman."
"Actually—" Euclid shifted on the seat and nodded to himself, building to a grand revelation. "That wasn't Shiva-Lu. It was an orig-inal me."
I regarded my friend. Why had he coined a Tantrarma term? In most cases, when someone uses the word actually, you should prepare yourself for a statement of unconfirmed veracity, but his use struck me more as a delay mechanism. And Euclid doesn't lie.
"Are you... I don't understand what's going on, Uke. This trip here. You talking to Shiva-Lu again. Is there something I need to know?"
Sydney leaned toward Euclid and took his hand. "Please please please tell him you're cheating on him. Just for me."
Euclid wrestled his attention from Sydney—no small feat—and deadpanned, "I'm cheating on you, Brät."
Sydney giggled, and they shared a stupid smile while we exited the expressway and descended to surface streets.
"Hold forth, friend, or you sleep with the trannies."
"Shiva-Lu and I walk spiritual paths that converge and diverge," Euclid said. "We converged at the Shivary, diverged in the material world, and we're converging again."
I pretended he'd said something coherent. "When your spiritual paths converge, does it coincide with a reunion of your fleshly beings?"
A slow smile spread across Euclid's face. "Unifying the flesh and spirit through sensation is the primary pillar of Tantrarma."
"Did Shiva-Lu invite you here?"
"Of course," he said. "I've expanded as far as I can without guid-ance, so she suggested our spirit anim—"
I stopped him. "Euclid. Buddy. You're making my inner rooster cry big chicken tears. You don't need to justify this to me. Or dress it up. You like her. She likes you. I have two jobs as your friend. To tell you when you're out of your fucking mind, and to encourage you to do shit you'll regret the next day but cherish on your last."
The driver steered the car down the ramp and beneath Phraya One.