IX.
After finally emerging into the daylight from the scrum and press of the ticket barriers, Margot immediately declared that they couldn’t possibly go to Kubla Khan’s at this early hour. The shutters may have been lifted, but nobody who was anybody would be caught dead there at this time of day.
‘Besides Max, you are looking as peaky as I feel,’ she said. ‘I think that we are both in need of some refreshment. Yes, a little pick-me-up would act as a tonic, do us both a world of good. So what do you say to that?’ Margot asked, more to herself than to Max.
Max nodded absently. ‘Sure.’
He’d been so absorbed in the act of putting one foot in front of the other, suppressing the nausea brought on by the sight of the grey concrete towers dissolving in the sickening heat haze, that he really hadn’t been paying close attention. Now, though, he wondered where exactly they were walking to.
‘I know. Let’s go to that new place,’ Margot said, answering his unspoken question. ‘You know, that place they spent a fortune on? It was in the news. They called it the beginning of an urban renaissance or some such public relations nonsense.’
She stopped, lifted her sunglasses and rubbed her eyes in an effort to jog her memory. ‘Oh what’s it called?’ she asked aloud. ‘The Babylon. No. That’s not it. Something like it though. Babylon, Babylonia, Bethlehem, Bedlam…’ She shook her head. Then clicking her fingers, she said, ‘The Babel, that’s it. Let’s go there.’ With a look at their surroundings, she added, ‘Though I’m sure we’re headed in the completely wrong direction.’ When her gaze landed on a cluster of buildings that had briefly obscured the sun, she pointed. ‘There. Let’s go that a way instead.’
Again Max just nodded. He tried to speak but discovered that his swollen tongue was incapable of forming words. They had to get somewhere soon though, he thought. As Margot’s mind spiralled in ever decreasing, tightening circles, his limbs and extremities were being overtaken by a debilitating leadenness. Soon, very soon, he sincerely and desperately hoped, they would find this damned hotel and be seated in a dim nook with tall, long glasses of some refreshing, viscous, alcoholic drink. He could see it so clearly. He could almost taste it. Why were they not there already?
These thoughts were familiar. Memories, perhaps? Thoughts he’d had before? Glancing out of the corner of his eye at the mirrored, reinforced, window of the shop-front they were passing, he realised his mind was like that sheet of glass —reflecting everything and yet remembering nothing. The images that appeared before his eyes made a momentary impression, then moved off and vanished forever.
They scurried down empty avenues designed to disabuse anyone of the quaint notion that streets were for pedestrians to stroll upon. It simply wasn’t the case, especially not these days and not here, of all places. No, an avenue was a place for traffic to tear down, brakes untouched —woe betide anyone stupid enough to try to cross the road. Getting to the opposite side required being born there. And so they turned up sinister, dead-end alleys built primarily to facilitate robbery and rape, emerging finally, on the canal area. Margot immediately perked up, remarking that it couldn’t be far away now.
‘Thank God, I thought we were well and truly lost there for a while,’ Max said, finally finding his voice again.
‘Dearest Max, your lack of confidence in me is simply appalling,’ she said. ‘Though, I believe we are both on a bit of a come-down, which simply won’t do. But never fear. I believe I have the solution to having peaked too soon. I just never expected it to be such a long day. Anyway, all’s well that ends well, isn’t that so?’
‘I realize you have some master plan in the works, Margot. I just wish you would enlighten me a little.’
‘Oh Max,’ she said, smiling. ‘That would just spoil the surprise. Where’s your sense of adventure? When you woke up this morning, I bet you never thought you’d end up lost in Birmingham, did you?’ She gestured to a squat, low-rise, balconied building which had BABEL TOWERS emblazoned across the entrance. ‘Look, that must be it.’
‘It must be indeed, though it’s not really a tower, is it?’ Max remarked.
‘Not to worry, I am sure they will add bits onto it later. It does look shiny and new, though, doesn’t it?’
‘Sure does. Anyway, I couldn’t care less. I just want to get inside and take the weight off and have a drink. I’m completely parched’
‘Come on, then, stop dawdling and we’ll be there right quick.’
‘Coming, Margot,’ he said, pouting. ‘Are you just going to get bossier and bossier as this day goes on, or what?’
‘You’d better believe it, darling. You ain’t seen nothing yet. Besides, that’s the reason why you love me so,’ Margot suggested rather tartly.
‘Oh, you think so?’ Max replied, though he had to admit that she probably had a point on this score.
And as she marched up to the bar —with its space-station curves and mirrored surfaces— and commandingly ordered two gin and tonics with a squeeze of a lime, he felt just a little bit more in love, if such a thing was possible. The fleeting thought of his somnolent father finally waking to discover their absence entered his mind and was dismissed straight away. Hadn’t he already had that thought before?
They slid into the seats of a banquette in a shadowy nook, just like he had envisioned. Suddenly awestruck, he wondered if he was now psychic. Had the drugs Margot so thoughtfully provided unlocked a hitherto unused portion of his brain to reveal everything in the world in all its essence? He sipped the viscous gin that wonderfully refreshed his parched mouth and throat.
‘We really shouldn’t be mixing drink with what we took earlier —not really the ideal combo, but what the hell. I really needed this. Besides we are definitely on the comedown phrase, and that certainly won’t do if we are really to make a night of it,’ she said. ‘And I really want to make it a night we will never forget, don’t you, Max?’
Max sipped his drink. ‘Of course.’ Though, it was already a day that would live long in the memory.
‘Anyway, so,’ Margot said, pausing to rummage in her handbag. She withdrew her hand to present two sugar-cubes in her open palm. ‘This may be too much, but too much of everything is just enough, don’t you think?’ She laughed. ‘Though it may be in this case just too much. What do you say?’ She handed him one of the sugar-cubes.
‘I say yes. Thanks, Margot,’ Max said as he swallowed and reached for his drink.
‘Good boy, hopefully we can expect fireworks very shortly.’
‘No doubt. Do you want another drink?’ Max asked as he rose.
‘Absolutely, same again. Here, take some of your Dad’s money to pay for it.’
‘Cheers,’ Max said, smiling as he accepted the ten pound note.
Then cash in hand, Max wound through the crowd toward the glowing Shangri-La that was the bar. As the drug took effect, he felt the resurgent joy that had been slipping away, slowly return.
Well done, Monsieur. Glad we’re back to the story.
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So I am, just relieved more than anything. Thanks as always for the help.
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The pleasure is half mine! 😉
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Thank you
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I guess that joke has officially run its course…
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Sorry the pleasure is actually all mine.
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Aha, there we go!
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Sorry I am a bit doozie at the moment.
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What does that mean exactly?
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See I meant dozy. Sleepy and a bit dumb
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It’s early for you!
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Well I was up in the morning
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I’m kind of running on fumes myself today. Baking a cobbler today
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Sounds nice. So what do you think of this part…I am excited for part nine.
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I like it especially the second half – the mood grows dangerous, the scene more bleak and oppressive. It sets the stage for action (which I trust comes next?)
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The second half of this part or part nine.
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I like both but part 9 is creepier and starts to feel more dangerous .
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Well you know me and that sense of menace.
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It’s excellent and heavy
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Heavy dread, that’s what I aim for.
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You hit the bullseye!
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Good, job done, well not quite yet but getting there.
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Writing interesting parts between action is tough. You have done a good job!
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Thank you. It is hard but for the moment it seems to be flowing
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By the way: too much of everything is just enough…
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It might just be…
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It’s a line in a song
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I have probably heard it and forgotten it
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Just one thing, then I’ll be okay. I need a miracle … Too much of everything is just enough. – The Grateful Dead. Now I realize you’ll either love or loathe that…
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I don’t think I have ever heard a grateful dead song to be honest. Hmmm
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No matter, it’s a great line
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I can’t help but feel that too much of whatever was on the sugar cube might well be too much. lol. Love the sheet of glass analogy. I’m happy to see this again, Mr. Cake. I enjoyed it as always.
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Thank you Vic, this is still the difficult bridging bits, so hopefully I am maintaining interest. The sheet of glass was probably my favourite bit. I am happy to say that Part Nine will definitely be up next weekend because it is already written, Meg just needs to work her magic. I can also promise that it is about to get a little strange!
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These bridging parts of stories are often when you learn a little more about characters, so it’s nice. Sheet of glass part was pretty brilliant. Yay for Meg and Part Nine. I love Meg! And strangeness! Can’t wait. 😀
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Yeah it about to get weird…deeper into the trip
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Was it acid on the sugar cube? I’m not up on the drugs. 😝
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That has never been clarified by Margot, though it is obviously something similar or even more powerful.
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Hmmm. Scary thought if they took too much. I trust you’ll take us somewhere very interesting. 😄
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But only too much is ever enough.
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Only for some things…😏 Lol. Acid? I don’t know… 😜
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It may or may not be acid, Margot is very coy on the subject. The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
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Hmmm. She hasn’t even told you? I bet you could bribe her with some cake.
If that’s true, I guess I need more excess in my life…
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Margot is very mysterious, she keeps her counsel, cake or no cake. It’s a quote from William Blake and it’s quite a dangerous one. He was a romantic opposing the Epicureanism of the enlightenment with its moderation in all things.
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Ahh, I like Margot. I knew it was a quote but not who by or why. I believe in moderation of most things and wild excess of a few.
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That is wise Vic. Flaubert thought the wise should be a bourgeoisie in real life and a radical in art. I like that idea.
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Me too. I think that’s kinda how I am. If anything I do here can be called art, lol.
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Do not sell yourself short Vic you are wonderful!
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Thank you, Cake. That’s really nice of you to say. 😊
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Not a word of a lie
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Thank you, lovely.
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I almost can imagine the book cover now. Somewhat psychedelic. Cubes and cards. Red and white. Tinge of green felt.
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Excellent it sounds perfect I just have to finish it now.
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