When I was telling the world I was to explore new shores of this vastly small globe, news got round pretty quickly and it wasn’t long before the Chinese were bracing themselves for my arrival. That was when Sunny called.
Now, Sunny dear Sunny, she’s a mini-series waiting to happen. Back in our boarding school in Switzerland, Sunny would come into school from her Alps mansion in a black car, always with some big bulky bodyguard on her tail. I did have sex with a couple of them – they seemed so much like men in comparison to the sissy boys all around us. That is, however, beyond the point. In the five years we shared a classroom and a life, Sunny spoke to me a couple of times, if that much. Nor did she speak to anyone else – we all found her a bit weird and just a bit too blatantly Mafiosi, so we kept our distance as she kept hers.
So you can imagine my surprise when I got a phone call from awkward little Sunny, now not so little but still her same awkward self. She was all cheerfulness for my arrival. I am not one to hold impressions against people, and I work on a basis that the more people you know in a big city, the busier and potentially madder it’ll get. I politely declined her offer to stay at her parents’ 5-star hotel as I had already accepted to stay with Chanel in her equally luxurious apartment, but I took her details and promised to ring her as soon as I landed.
A few days after my arrival we met, and Sunny surprised me to no end. She picked me up with her car – still driven by a big burly bodyguard, and yes I started getting thoughts in my head. We hugged as if we had been the best of friends, and indeed it did feel like we were. She was so sweet and giving and incredibly well dressed in a Diane Von Furstenberg number (more mature than her horrid taste for holograms back when I must add) that I fell for her in instants, and everything we hadn’t shared in the cold altitudes of Switzerland suddenly was.
Sunny took me to Tiananmen Square, which I had been dying to see but had had no time (a lady of the night, I refuse to wake up early to see things. I happen upon them, more like). A sucker for history, I was obsessed with Mao Zedong and everything he represented in Communist China – the total opposite of Marxism, the idea of a man so hungry for power he was capable of killing 70 million people directly or indirectly. And although Sunny had had the best education her dirty money could buy, she was still unaware of how terribly evil that man watching over Beijing and China at large had been.
Seeing the state of affairs, I found it was my duty to explain a thing or two. I bought an English copy of the Little Red Book and started telling Sunny the order of events. At first she didn’t seem to believe what I was saying, but slowly the truth sank in and the puzzle started making sense. Naturally, I got excited and started speaking louder. Soon a small audience had formed, and it felt a bit like Speaker’s Corner, albeit scarier. Some Chinese people were throwing their fists at me, but luckily we had the bodyguard to fend them all off.
I started getting rabid with excitement. Amidst the thrill of the moment, I took my Little Red Book out and put fire on it. Some cheered, some spat in my direction, and from afar I could see a few policemen running in my direction. Sunny was by now so full of passion against Mao Zedong that her bodyguard had to physically carry her out of the square.
We made it out somehow, and by now a feel anti-Maoists were following us in search of some revolutionary action. Someone in the small crow shouted, “To the hutong!” and everyone seemed to deem this a great idea. Ignorant as to what a hutong was, I simply followed with the impulse that propels my entire life forward.
It just so happened that a hutong is a web of narrow streets that hide house after house, a delicious labyrinth of grey brick. In front of some of the houses were figures that had been smashed back in the days of the Cultural Revolution by the hooliganism Mao had supported and fomented. Now inspired by me, this new group of revolutionaries started smashing what was left of the relics. In hindsight, not the wisest idea, but at the time it felt fun. The fever pitch moment came when we arrived in front of Mao’s student lodge, where our group (me included) smashed pretty much everything we could find. We were quick enough that we had time to run and lose ourselves around the many streets that went right and left, and the group finally disbanded. Followed by a sweaty and worried bodyguard, Sunny and I ended up in hysterics in some other side of town.
A cab ride later, we were in the car, but the excitement had taken over and we wanted action. I phoned Chanel to join us with a gram or two of the White Stuff and we ended up at a private member’s club in Sanliturn called The Apartment. We downed martini after martini and sniffed line after line and we were politically fervent. Almost beyond herself, Sunny got up on a table and gave her final speech of the night, shouting revolutionary slogans for a New China. The clientele didn’t seem to give a flying fuck to what she had to say as they were mostly Westerners and none of what was being said was news to them, and I was relieved when she finally collapsed on the floor.
Half unconscious and carrying a fully unconscious mafia radical towards her bodyguard (who was himself carrying a semi-dead Chanel), we got into the car and threw the motionless bodies out at the back. I sat in the front, and for old time’s sake gave the bodyguard a blowjob as he drove us to Chanel’s. So satisfied I was with the day that had just gone by, I even let him come in my mouth.
No comments:
Post a Comment