Chapter 28 Perpetual Sunset
Perpetual Sunset
We step out of the hallway of the rundown office building and into whatever the hell Perpetual Sunset is.
Twyla spreads her arms like she’s a bird mid-flight or an angel displaying its glory.
She lets the pulsing rainbow of lights, the chill electronic dance music, and the artificial fog wash over her body.
It’s as if she’s attempting to heighten her ability to feel myriad sensations, desiring to squeeze out the maximum pleasure from all her physical senses.
Oscar observes Twyla, impressed with how into all of this she is. He shoots me a look and gestures at her with his head, as if to say, “Check out this girl!”
We’re standing in an old-fashioned-looking but clean lobby area, lit only by a portable lighting system that pulses those colors on and off, to the rhythm of a slow heartbeat.
Whenever the lights pulse off, we’re completely in the dark for a second.
It’s kind of cool, but also a little bit creepy, especially since I don’t know what’s going on and what we’re doing here, really.
In front of us is a reception desk with a high counter. It’s obvious now that this used to be the office of some company in the distant past.
Behind the counter is a middle-aged woman with long blond hair that snakes down her back. She’s wearing a tight black dress and dark red lipstick. She doesn’t smile.
“Hello!” Twyla exclaims.
“Good evening,” says the woman in what sounds like a Russian accent. “Have you all been to Perpetual Sunset before?”
“A few times for me,” says Twyla. She waves a thumb at me. “But this guy has been coming to this forever. He’s practically an ambassador.”
“Excellent. So I assume I don’t have to review all the rules with you again. I hate having to do that speech over and over.”
Twyla nods. “We know the rules.”
“Good. And do you all agree to follow the rules and comply with all requests made by the experience architects?”
“Yes,” says Twyla.
The woman turns to me and Oscar. “You gentlemen have been quiet.”
“Oh,” I say, “we’re just looking forward to this. That’s all.”
“We’re in college,” says Oscar.
The woman scrunches her eyebrows at Oscar’s comment. “Good for you. But I didn’t ask. I’d like to know: do you two agree to follow the rules and comply with all requests made by the experience architects?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Okay,” Oscar says.
“Now, what experience would you like tonight?” the woman asks.
Oscar and I look at each other, trying to make sense out of everything with what little information has been given to us.
The woman extends her right arm, palm up, gesturing towards the entrance to a long hallway. “Are you interested in experiencing Warm Climate?”
I try to peer down the hallway. It looks empty.
The woman then extends her left arm in the direction of the hallway on the other side of the reception counter. “Or are you interested in experiencing Scorching Heat?”
The other hallway looks equally empty.
“Or would you like to experience both?”
Twyla chuckles. “Do we look like a bunch of amateurs? Both of course!”
“Good choice,” says the woman. “That will be one hundred dollars each.”
“Damn!” Oscar blurts out.
Twyla pulls a wad of folded-up cash from her front pocket.
I get out my wallet. Since my secret stash of money was stolen from my room, I haven’t been able to replenish my cash on hand. I only have a few tens and a couple fives.
Oscar is holding a crumpled one-dollar bill and looking at me.
“Shit,” I say to Twyla. “We didn’t get a chance to stop by the ATM.”
“I got you two.” Twyla peels a couple of extra hundreds from her wad and hands them to the woman.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll pay you back later.”
“Yeah, thanks,” says Oscar.
“Don’t worry about it. Last time, you treated me to drinks.” Twyla winks. “And other fun substances. So I owe you. Plus, it’s just good practice to take care of movers and shakers, take care of big shots like you.”
“Left wrist please,” says the woman.
She presses a stamp against all our wrists, leaving the image of a black thermometer on our skin.
“I need your cell phones please.” The woman holds out her palm.
Twyla surrenders her phone, and I do the same.
Oscar holds onto his. “I feel naked without this though.”
The woman does not say anything. Her palm remains out, my phone and Twyla’s stacked on it, one on top of the other.
I tilt my head at Oscar. He reluctantly places the phone on top of the stack.
The woman puts the phones somewhere behind the counter and then looks back at us. “Enjoy your evening.”
I whisper to Twyla, “She didn’t give us, like, a claim ticket.”
Twyla explains. “They’ve been trained to remember which phone belongs to which person, and they never get it wrong. Duh. God, what’s wrong with your memory?”
The woman says to me, “I thought you’ve been attending forever.”
I try to laugh it off, “Ha ha, just kidding.”
“I suggest,” says the woman, “working on your sense of humor.”
Twyla says to me and Oscar, “Should we start out with Warm Climate? Don’t want to go too far too fast, right?”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say.
“Turn around please,” I hear a male voice behind us.
We turn around and see a broad-shouldered, muscular man in his twenties. He sports a military haircut, he has sky-blue eyes, and he’s wearing a good-looking black suit and red tie. He has been standing there the whole time.
“Security check,” he says, his face stern. “Spread your arms and legs please.”
He gives Twyla a pat-down.
“You must be new,” she says. “Never seen you before.”
He ignores her.
I start to panic when I think about my survival knife. I reach into all my pockets and then remember that earlier I moved my knife from my wet pants to the glove compartment of my car. Thankfully, I’m in the clear.
The man runs his hands along my shoulders and arms, down my sides and front and back, quickly over my crotch and ass, and down my legs. It’s business-like.
He does the same to Oscar.
Oscar flinches when the man is feeling around his dick. “No homo, bro.”
The man continues down Oscar’s legs.
He then says to us, “You may proceed.”
Twyla walks to the long hallway to the right of the woman. At the entrance is yet another military-looking man (are they twins? brothers?) in a suit.
“Warm climate!” Twyla lifts up her wrist to show him her stamp.
He nods. She walks past.
Oscar and I lift up our wrists too. He nods again.
Oscar whispers to me, “Why do I feel like most college parties aren’t like this?”
“Because they aren’t.” I shrug. “I mean, I don’t speak from experience. But you don’t need experience to know that whatever this is . . . is very, very different.”