Reprieve by James Han Mattson

Author:James Han Mattson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: William Morrow
Published: 2021-10-05T00:00:00+00:00

Nana Plaza was much brighter, less seedy. It was in a giant mall-like structure: four floors, the first dedicated to food and drink, the other three to sex. It was a big rectangle, awash in pink light, and because it was contained in a single building, it didn’t seem as destitute as the places on Patpong. Perhaps it was his middle-American mall-going upbringing that made him appreciate it more: he felt instantly comfortable there, even amid the tremendous crowds of shouting men and women.

He decided, after walking around, after dodging gropings and ignoring catcalls, that he would go into one of the “stores.” They all seemed similar—bikini-and-thong-clad girls sitting outside on stools, beckoning, smiling coyly—but one in particular looked different, the entrance a series of black rubber flaps, the girls outside less aggressive, almost bored, their makeup darker than the rest, more creative. It was called “The Spider.”

At the door, the girls on the stools hardly raised their eyes from the floor.

“Yes, go in. Very nice,” one said. She smiled weakly; she might as well have shrugged. Leonard went in.

It was dark inside—too dark. He put his hands out in front of him. Someone grabbed his arm, a soft touch. “It’s okay,” the girl said. “Hard adjusting. Just stand for seven seconds. Next show delayed but will be on soon.”

She let go of his arm. He stood, and slowly, the place filled in around him. To his right: stadium seating, fifteen steps high. He counted eighteen men, some with girls on their laps. To his left: a series of raised platforms, each containing a pole. They were spread out in an arc, the center platform larger than the rest. Spider-shaped, he thought. Above: music, some sort of American rock. It was loud; his entire body shivered with the beats. He shuffled toward the seats, walked up to the top, sat down.

A minute later, the show started.

The women, predictably, were topless, listless, bored. They each wore a thong with a number pinned to it. White, purple, and red light shot down from above, crisscrossing frantically over each platform. Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” started the set. The girls danced, some jerkily, some smoothly, some using the pole, most just swaying their hips back and forth, looking drugged. A few touched their breasts suggestively, licked their fingers, grabbed their crotch—very rehearsed, very disingenuous. They’ve done this night after night, he thought. What actual desire do they have left? He sat back. A man in the row in front of him had unzipped his pants and was rubbing himself. Leonard felt queasy. Was this what he wanted?

It’ll be weird at first, John had said. But you need to go with it. It’s a vacation, a release, and you deserve it after what you’ve gone through.

A girl with a tray clomped up the stairs, sat next to Leonard.

“Whiskey or beer?” she said.

He said nothing.

“Where are you from?” the girl said. She put a hand on his forearm. He moved his forearm away.

“America,” he mumbled.

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