KitKatClub is
no average club. Wikipedia declares: The KitKatClub is famous all
over Europe and even beyond because of its unique concept mixing very
good techno / trance music to decadent, bacchanalian, sexually
uninhibited parties.
The
music is of course at near deafening pitch. Sordid individuals
from all across the social and economic specter are here: doctors,
lawyers, youth, the unemployed. They are here for one reason, and
one reason only: to embrace depravity.
By the Grace of God Her Grace The Duchess of Wessex scrambles past
various "patrons" and still dragging her obliquely leaning husband,
approaches the bar. She prods her husband as the liquor dispenser
approaches them with a smile.
"Hallo, guter Abend."
"Tell him I want a screwdriver
with extra vodka."
He nods his head complacently.
"Schraubenzieher, doppelter
Wodka."
"Und für dich?"
"Ein Heineken gefallen."
A Heineken was all he could stomach as he strives to find his own mind
in this cloud of music and debauchery. He glanced over across the
room and saw a couple engaging in open intercourse - yes, they actually
do it at the
KitKatClub. Others rhythmically dance topless, some wearing latex.
The Heineken and screwdriver come quickly as he grasps the bottle, and
takes a long drag on the brew. Marissah giggles and downs hers in
moments, and then gives out a loud "Mmmmm."
"Ooh look at herrr..."
She points out non-chalantly to some large chested woman making out
with some skinhead with ripped abs in a far off corner.
"I'm going over there.
She's fucking hot."
Her high heels go twisting into the distance as Robert braces himself
on the bar.
A hand on his shoulder catches his attention.
Given the number of homosexuals present in the bar, he hopes for the
best that it would be another large breasted woman.
To no avail.
"FABULOUS to see you."
Is he gay?
No.
He's fabulous. Jeremy
Fabulous.
"Oh shit."
Lancaster turns around to see his long lost friend, still looking fit
as can be.
The two men shake hands firmly.
"Rob you look like shit."
"Look like shit? You
should see what I married."
Fabulous laughs loudly.
"What the hell's happened to
your hair? To your body? Look
at you, you're ripped!"
It's been a while, let's just say.
"I'm insulted that you've not
been following my career."
"Hey," he shrugs, "I'm a busy man. Mr. Klein
[Calvin Klein, his
employer] is a hard master to
work for. I have to model his shit
all over the world you know. But what's going on with you!
You must be wrestling still."
He nods as much as his injuries will allow him.
"I am. I'm a champion."
"Champion?" he inquires,
impressed.
"The champion. Of a
league called Old Line Wrestling."
He furrows his eyes. "What
the fuck kind of name is that?"
He has no answers, he doesn't care.
"I compete with the best in the
world - minus a few sons of bitches, but
still, they're quite good chaps."
"And whom do you compete as?"
"Avarice."
"Avarice?"
"Destroyer of Worlds,"
he adds.
"Where'd you come up with that?"
"It's who I am."
"Not Goodlife?"
He frowns.
"Rob?"
"..No."
"Come on Goodlife lighten
up. Look at where you are my man!"
Fabulous puts an arm around his shoulder - this might not bode well
given how many how shall one say - prowlers - are about, and points out
some of the finer women prancing about to the entrancing techno music.
"You're here in a place where
nothing matters. Not
wrestling. Not your little title. Not life. Just -
pleasure."
"My career matters very much to
me."
"Pshhh."
The two men walk around the club where various couples engage in -
various things.
"The shit that goes on here
would land most people in jail back in the States, but not here.
There's no rules."
Jeremy gestures towards one of the table areas, as they move past
people grinding and moving their bodies to the spirit of the music.
Two women make out voraciously as the man next to them does a line of
cocaine.
"Just check that out...shittt."
Lancaster heaves a heavy sigh.
"Jeremy, may I introduce my
wife."
The two women notice the gawkers; Marissah giggles as she wipes the
smudged lipstick from her lips.
"Who's that babe?"
"Mr. Jeremy Fabulous, an old
cohort, my wife - Her Grace - allegedly - the Duchess of Wessex,
Marissah Lancaster."
"Fuck you." She turns
to Jeremy, and eyes him over once. "It's a pleasure. I've heard
a lot about you in the past. You should come visit me...
Lancaster notices her choice of words: visit me, not us.
...in New York sometime."
"Mm, hey, I'd love to."
Fabulous leans over and kisses her cheek - a bit too close to her lips.
Robert fumes.
"Jeremy, shall we..."
"Oh no no, I'd like to get
acquainted with this lovely lady of yours."
Jeremy leaves the side of his friend and shoos off the other man, who
gladly departs, now off in his own little world, leaving a few lines of
cocaine unsnorted.
"Babe, can you go over to the
DJ and ask if they can play a song for me?"
She leans over and whispers its title in his ear.
He's never even heard of the song.
"I don't even know where the DJ
is."
"Oh it's easy Rob, he's over
there."
Fabulous points so vaguely towards the throng of people he might as
well given a blind man directions.
"Oh and get me another drink
while you're up will you?"
His exhaustion is replaced by unmitigated rage.
"I'll take a Smirnoff too
Goodlife, thanks!"
The model and the wife laugh uproariously as Robert departs, off to
find this DJ.
Marissah notices what's been left behind and reaches into her purse and
pulls out a crisp 500 euro note, and rolls it up promptly to dive
in. Three lines vanish in seconds.
"Shit baby you better not hit
that stuff too hard."
"Don't worry babe, this shit's
nothing now. Just...keep me distracted."
He feels a hand grope. Fabulous, never one to hold back,
reciprocates by sliding a hand up her skirt.
"That'll be my pleasure.
And yours too."
The two lock eyes and grin lustfully.
Meanwhile, Robert finally located the DJ, after asking the nice young
lady in the leather cupless bra for directions.
"Hërr DJ..."
Doesn't everything in German sound sinister?
He leans over and yells into his ear the song and the band its by.
The DJ laughs and nods his head, holding up a finger to indicate, "Just
a minute."
Lancaster departs to find the bar and does so. He orders the two
spawns of Hell their drinks, and a large scotch for himself. His
hands full, he begins his attempt to find their table amongst the crowd.
Silence for a moment.
Then a very distinct sound begins.
Now he knows what song she
requested.
She requested that song?
It has to be one of the stupidest ever recorded by man.
But this does not deter the revelers, many of whom begin to chuckle and
move to the new beats.
#Chica chica...#
#Oooh yeahh...#
#Ooooh yeahhhh...#
Thank you mother fucking Ferris
Bueller's Day Off.
Minutes later he is back at the table, Jeremy fawning over both
women. He playfully kisses Marissah's neck.
His eyes widen. He approaches the table and smiles.
Jeremy sounds off. "Heyy
Goodlife, your wife was telling me about losing your first match as the
champion. OUCH man! That had to hurt."
Lancaster downs his scotch.
Lancaster downs Jeremy's Smirnoff Ice.
"Heyy my drink bud."
Lancaster removes the bottle from his lips and amongst the strobing
lights, the horrible beats of Yello's Oh
Yeah, smashes the bottle over Jeremy's head, with fabulous aim.
Marissah and the big titted girl shriek as blood trickles from his
forehead. With impeccable aim, he hauls Jeremy up by the lapels
and hooks his arm around his neck. "Destroyer of Worlds" through
the table.
Nobody notices. Nobody cares. Jeremy lays unconscious on
the floor.
Marissah screams.
"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING
MIND!?"
Lancaster regrets his action only for the pain it has caused him
He grabs his wife and picks her up onto his back. She kicks and screams
expletives.
Out into the raining streets of Berlin. He grabs the door to
their limo, which has parked only a little down the street, and sets
her down.
"Robert, you fucking RUINED MY
EVENING."
He stays silent. The rest of the ride to their posh Berlin hotel
is filled with her ranting and raving.
Back in their hotel room, her tirade has not ended.
She lights a cigarette, and hits the hotel room bar immediately.
The few little bottles of vodka and rye disappear.
"Shit I need a hit..."
Lancaster just sits on the edge of their bed. Unable to say
anything.
He is dazed and delayed as he sees her collapse to the ground.
In a heap.
She just collapses.
The cocaine has done its dirty work.
He is stunned...it wears off as he picks up the phone near the bed and
dials 112.
Minutes later she is on the way to the emergency room for cocaine
overdose.
