The Zima Confession

The bar was straight ahead of him, raised above floor level by three shallow steps. He headed off to see if the drinks really would be free. But achieving this goal was not as easy as he had expected. Every few steps another spectacularly sexy, scantily clad woman would approach him.

Each of them seemed eager to know his name, and where he was from. He supplied this information courteously but somewhat warily. Some of the girls thought he had nice hair, others said that he had nice eyes. Many of them were concerned that he looked sad and needed to be cheered up. He politely fended each one off. It wasn’t easy. He made a mental note of several of the girls in case he decided to change his mind, but for now he only wanted to see Melanie, and he had a reason. He could already see though, that nearly all the girls here were quite as pretty as she was and they were all dressed in just underwear or were completely naked. Naked, shaven, some with large fake boobs, some with real ones. Pale white girls, black, brown, blonde, brunette…

“Rum and coke please.” Richard had made it to the bar. From this elevated position, he looked round and surveyed the scene.

It was strange to recall that, from the outside, this building was simply a windowless industrial unit, intended for use as a warehouse or factory; a lot of effort had gone into creating a theatre in which the imagination was encouraged to reign like a decadent potentate.

The main room, in which the bar was situated, was large but partially segmented into more intimate spaces by the arrangement of snug seating areas – opulent, high-backed, curving shapes that lent themselves to being occupied by panther-like females. The ope

Beyond the bar’s oval-shaped counter, visible through a wide, round archway, a loose web of shadow undulated across the walls slowly and randomly, for the light in that room originated from the sapphire depths of a small pool. In this mysterious domain a naked girl relaxed, or perhaps simply displayed her wares, by floating with her long black hair spread into inky tendrils on the water’s gently rippling surface.

That she was holding her arms out, as though crucified, further enhanced the sensation of something ethereal, something beyond even the realm of magic, being demonstrated. She was performing a miracle. Richard could see the miracle – her perfect body suspended in a column of light.

He looked around to try to see Melanie. Perhaps she isn’t here! Loneliness suddenly stabbed at his heart and seeped through him like a hollow pain. What was he getting so upset about? He was surrounded by beautiful women. Any of them could make him feel less lonely. Perhaps he would go over to the swimming pool soon, or perhaps he would go and look for one of the other girls he’d already made a mental note of. His heart was beating fast at the idea. Yes, he had decided, he would do it! But there was one final obstacle. It was the only thing stopping him now – he was spoilt for choice. He couldn’t decide which one to approach. He sipped some of his syrupy drink. It had just enough alcohol to give it an edge. There was no hurry to decide yet.

There was a kind of three-dimensional map on the apex of the bar showing the facilities. As well as the stage and the pool, there was a Turkish steam room and a Fi

A voice behind him said: “Hi, I saw you coming.”

It was Melanie! At once Richard felt less lonely.

She was completely naked apart from high heels and a pair of pink cashmere leggings which came up to her thighs. She stood on tiptoes and leaned over the bar to ask for a drink, and Richard noticed she had a tattoo of an ankh on her shoulder. The lean that she did was obviously carefully choreographed to ensure that her naked breasts thrust out over the bar while her bottom and long legs would be nicely displayed to whoever was interested, which would include most observers. Her action was not lacking in grace or charm, but Richard found it distasteful, as though he expected her to behave with more decorum when they were together.

Free love was never free, not even when you paid for it. You always felt insecure or jealous for one reason or another.

“Just an orange juice please,” she told the barwoman, who delivered the order in a tall glass with a black straw. She had a whole row of juice lined up just ready.

“Well, I’m glad to see you.”

“I bet you are!” she replied, turning to him and reaching into his gown.

Richard stopped her. She turned away again, suddenly uninterested, and sucked at the straw.

“I’d like to talk to you,” he said.

“OK. We can talk.”

“About Mitchell.”

“We can talk about Mitchell,” she said, her long lashes pointing downwards as she examined the straw carefully. “Let’s go somewhere more private though,” she suggested, looking straight at him. It was that radiant, angelic face again. When that face made suggestions, they were rarely denied.

“OK.” She took his hand and led him through the arch and along a corridor. There were numbered doors on either side of the corridor, like a hotel. At length she stopped outside one of the doors and knocked. There was no reply, so she reached up to the hook adjacent to the top of the door and took the key. She pushed the unlocked door open and locked it behind them.

The room was sumptuous in a fake way. All of the elaborately carved wooden furniture was made of moulded plastic. Heavy duty, good quality plastic. But still – plastic. There was a huge, fake Louis Quatorze bed with a fake crystal chandelier hanging over it like the sword of Damocles.

There was a nice little side table on one side of the bed with a nice little table lamp, all in fake walnut, and there was comfy fake sofa on the other side of the bed. The walls were covered by a material that resembled silk, and although there was no window behind, one wall had full-length curtains along its whole width. You could imagine that they would slide open at the press of a button to reveal a balcony overlooking the ocean. You could imagine many things in this room.

“Why did Mitchell give you his mobile?” he snapped.

“Oh, this is so boring. Why can’t we just have some fun, babe?”

“Don’t call me babe. Answer the question.”

She sat down and looked sulky. This wasn’t getting anywhere. Richard sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her crossly. They were having their first tiff. A fake one, of course.

“Listen Melanie. I’m quite happy to be a good customer of yours if you like. I have nothing better to do with my wages. But I’d like to be able to trust you.”

She perked up a bit. She didn’t reward him with the whole radiant face act, but she definitely stopped the sulky face act.

“I can tell you if you like.”

“Go on then.”

Having promised to be a good customer, Richard wondered what he’d let himself in for. He wondered how much this fakely magnificent room was costing him right now, and as for diamond necklaces and designer handbags, he had to admit he still hadn’t bothered to find out what they would cost. He hadn’t done his research. For all he knew, he might have already blown all the money he brought with him just by stepping into this room.