Opening my eyes to the sight of Haluk Pekerdem would have been wonderful, but it was Hasan who was leaning over me. Yes, it was Hasan who was bringing me around by slapping me repeatedly. And I do mean slapping. One of the girls was massaging perfume onto my wrists, probably because there was none of the customary cologne on hand. The intoxicating scent of Guerlain Samsara filled the air.
“His eyes are open!”
No doubt hoping they’d remain closed forever!
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just give me a little air.”
Chief fusser Hasan began barking orders. The crowd moved back. Taking an arm each, Hasan and Cüneyt assisted me to the door. I must have been grinning foolishly, perhaps even sheepishly.
It was only the second time I’d passed out in my life. The first time had happened years ago. A headstrong little boy, I’d thrown a hysterical fit when my mother had refused to buy me a pair of gold lamé boots. When I came to, the boots were resting next to my bed, with the stipulation that they were to be worn only at home, and never in front of guests. Blacking out had helped me get my way. But that hadn’t happened this time. There was no Haluk Pekerdem waiting for me to open my eyes, his strong arms ready to scoop me up and carry me off.
Instead, I was flanked by Cüneyt, who’s considered cute only because of muscles regularly inflated at the gym, and Hasan, whose orientation and tastes remain a mystery, but who works for pennies at a transvestite bar, traipses around with his butt crack showing, and refuses to put out for man, woman, or anything in-between. This must be what they mean when they talk of cruel fate.
“Shall I drop you off at home?” Hasan asked.
“No!” I said. “I’ve just come to. And I’m fine. I just need a bit of air.”
“Boss, you gave us such a scare,” Cüneyt chimed in, his eyes like saucers. “And you’ve only just risen from your sickbed.”
“Do you want me to tell Ponpon?”
“No, Hasan,” I said. “It was hard enough to get rid of her. Let me rest in peace.”
“But you’ve been resting for weeks,” said Cüneyt.
“Keep out of this!” I scolded him, before turning on Hasan. “It looks like everyone knows everything. I’ll have a word with you about that later.”
“Oh, come on, is Cüneyt a stranger?”
He imagined he’d get off the hook by seeming to spring to Cüneyt’s defense. He was wrong.
“I’ve had quite enough air, and quite enough of you,” I snapped. “Let’s go back in.”
A special table had been prepared for me, the one Hasan dubs the VIP corner. At a strategic point just between the dance floor and the room, it’s the best place to see and be seen. I sat down. Şükrü brought me my virgin Mary. It was perfect, the best I’ve had except for mixes imported from America. Not only could he make a perfect drink, Şükrü was also one of the last of the twink-chasers. Just Şükrü and Ziya, the brother-in-law of that most accommodating of gigolos, Volkan.
The girls took turns sitting with me, outdoing each other in expressions of concern and sympathy. But even as I nodded mechanically and smiled graciously, I continued thinking of Ziya Göktaş. What was he up to these days? And what about his wife, Volkan’s sister? Did she know?
The moment I felt stronger, barring any more fainting spells, I’d go see Ziya. Yes, first thing tomorrow morning. Then I’d pay a visit to Cihad2000 to get the data he’d promised to download for me. He’d hit on me, as usual, and I’d either have to ignore him or give him a good dressing down. Not that the latter would do any good: He loves nothing better than being humiliated and abused.
My body still felt a bit wooden, but my mind was working a mile a minute. I fastened my eyes on Shrewish Pamir, who was dancing up a storm and almost certainly looking to start a brawl. As far as I knew she enjoyed playing the dominatrix with her tricks. With her tall muscular frame, toned by years of basketball in her youth, long legs, tiny leather skirt, and vinyl stiletto boots reaching hip high, she’d be perfect for the little job I had in mind. I called her over.
“Yes, abla,” she droned as she made her way over to me. Pamir is one of those who imagine that speaking through one’s nose produces a more ladylike effect.
“Have a seat,” I said. “I need to have a word with you.”
“Anything wrong? What’s happened?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’ve got a little proposal to make you.”
She listened intently as I gave a brief sketch of Cihad2000: a computer genius in a wheelchair who looks a bit like Stephen Hawking and is an insatiable masochist.
“Just have a go,” I said. “If it’s too much for you, I understand. I’ll pay your fee no matter what. I owe him a favor.”
“What do you mean, sister? I wouldn’t dream of taking money from you… When I think of all you’ve done for us… Wasn’t it you who took me to the emergency room when my eyebrow was split open and made them promise not to leave a scar? You saved my face. I’ve never forgotten it. And I tell everyone about it.”
“Really?” I said, truly touched.
I could feel myself beaming, just as I had been earlier that night.
“Of course,” she went on. “No one ever helps anyone anymore. I can never repay you. Think of all the times you got me out of jail; I’m not even counting that. Just tell me who you want me to do-I don’t care if it’s Woody Allen or Yılmaz Erdoğan. And not just once, for a whole week, if you want.”
So Pamir had no idea who Stephen Hawking was. As specimens of manhood, I’m not an Allen or an Erdoğan fan myself, but she hadn’t yet seen Kemal, alias Cihad2000.
“You may want to meet him first,” I warned her, “before you decide anything.”
“No problem, if I have to I’ll just shut my eyes and do my duty…”
Rising from the table, she exploded in a nasal guffaw, still convinced she was a tempting siren.
My creative solution to the problem of Cihad2000 had improved my mood immensely. If only someone would speak to Haluk Pekerdem on my behalf, win him over for me! Just once! Once would be enough. Like winning an Oscar, Grammy, or Nobel prize. If I could just seduce him once, he’d be back for more. I knew it. One taste, and he was mine.
Watching the girls display their most erotic, even obscene, dance moves for prospective customers, I sat at my table dreaming of Haluk until dawn.