Ming

Chapter 4

What the hell had Lyle put in that drink?

Ming's mind seemed to be working, but at a far distance. He said his "concoction" would sober her up. Didn't he? She couldn't quite remember his exact words. But if he did, it wasn't working. Just the opposite! She was totally hammered, unable to focus on anything. Unwilling to try very hard. Nothing seemed important enough to think about.

Except the orgasm. God! That had been unlike any she had ever experienced! She was still having little aftershocks, her own juices still dribbling down her inner thighs. She wondered for the briefest moment if something in that last drink had contributed to it. There was something Lyle and Jade had said to each other. Something about heart rates and spreading her blood. Or was it through her blood? She couldn't concentrate. Couldn't remember. Didn't care. It was all so ridiculous, the whole scene. Nothing made sense any more. The harder she tried to think about what was happening around her, or where she was, or who she was, the more absurd it all became. When she laughed, it made echoes. Or was that others laughing with her? Or at her. As if it mattered.

Another funny thing: she had lost control of her body. She could feel it, hear things, see, taste and smell, but she couldn't make her body do anything. She was up and walking, Lyle on one side, Jade on the other, but she had nothing to do with it. She didn't know where she was going or how to stop.

They were still talking to her, walking her along, their arms linked through hers, ignoring her post-orgasmic tremors. It was all too hilarious! Did they realize she was blasted out of her skull? Out of control? In a far-off corner of her mind she caught occasional phrases.

. . . keep your eyes down . . . you're gonna be a great asset, hon . . . doing fine . . . so beautiful . . . everyone understands . . . first time . . . we've all been through this, sweetie . . . don't look up . . . keep moving . . . almost there . . . you'll see . . . you'll see . . . .

But they were so distant from her, so disconnected, that she couldn't help but laugh. Had they no clue? Couldn't they see she had left the room? Lights on, nobody home. Engine running, but no one in the car. She giggled at the incandescence of her wit, at the foolishness of her escorts. Serves them right for getting her so drunk!

They walked down an endless corridor, doorways to the right and left, ignoring them all. Treading on a thick oriental runner. Oriental. Very funny! she thought, although she didn't know why. She wanted to look around, see what this place was like, but she couldn't. Keep your eyes down. She had obeyed him at the Club, but that was different. She had chosen to obey. Now she couldn't do otherwise. Her body was on autopilot and she didn't know the program.

The carpet ended and the surface beneath her feet changed to tiles. They had emerged into a vast space. Outdoors, yet indoors. She wanted to look up, see what it was going on, but could only stare at the floor tiles. They kept walking. Others crowding around. A heady aroma of roasted meat and spices. Sounds of appreciation. Ooo! Look how they've done the presentation! What a beauty! Prettiest one yet! Can't wait to get a taste! Ahh! This must be the banquet. Why could she only study the damned floor? Don't look up! A flash of frustration and anger welled up from some deadened part of her, but soon evaporated.

"Sit down, Ming."

A disembodied voice. Lyle? A total stranger? No matter. She felt herself sitting, as though lowered into the chair by invisible wires. Peter Pan floating about the stage. Perhaps she would fly to the ceiling where she could keep her eyes down and see the whole assemblage at the same time. But all she could see now was an elegant setting of white china with delicate blue scroll work around the rim, set off by heavy silverware and a linen napkin.

"Keep your eyes on the plate, Ming. Don't look up."

An overpowering lethargy settled over her. There was convivial discussion all around her, but none that included her. There was much clinking of glasses, scraping of chairs on tiles, laughter and commentary about sports, sex and food. But she couldn't join in, couldn't even follow it. She couldn't even remember what she was wearing. Couldn't bear to look. She could focus on only one thing. Her plate. Much as she wanted to tear her eyes away from it, she could not. Keep your eyes on the plate! Don't look up!

The flash of a red dress caught her peripheral vision. The girl who had given her Lyle's concoction was now serving appetizers to the guests, small dishes containing stuffed artichokes. Once she would have been curious as to how they were prepared and stuffed. Now she could only keep watch over her plate. A woman's hand — Jade's hand — lifted the little dish and placed it in the middle of the plate. The artichocke swam into focus. Tempting. She knew she should start eating it, pulling the green petals off to scrape away the flesh with her teeth, but she lacked the energy, the will to move.

"Eat it, Ming." Lyle's voice again. "Enjoy it. But keep your eyes down. Don't let your vision stray beyond your own food and drink."

I'll look where I want , she would have said if a thick torpor hadn't mired her tongue.

To her surprise, she was able to reach for the artichoke and begin disassembling it. In a few minutes she had finished it off — petals, stuffing and all. She realized she was famished. The tiny hors d'oeuvres she'd had earlier had only whet her appetite, and the rich fragrance of the freshly cooked roast somewhere beyond her field of vision was making her mouth water almost faster than she could swallow it. Yet she could not so much as reach for her tumbler of water. He limbs simply would not function by her volition alone, any more than she could lift her chin off her chest or raise her eyes beyond the circle of her plate, utensils and drinking glasses. They were no longer hers to command. Keep your eyes down!

She noticed an increase in dinnertime commotion around her. Even through her mental haze she knew what that meant. The elements of the main course were now being laid out — all the vegetables, fruits, breads and salads that would complement the centerpiece of the entrée: the roast itself. She waited patiently, nearly drooling, her senses awash in a barrage of delectable odors, glaring at her plate.

In a blur it was whisked away, but another had already taken its place, this one laden with meat, garlic potatoes and buttery broccoli. Irresistibly delicious as it looked, she simply could not lift her hands out of her lap. Not until Lyle's voice melted the invisible block of ice in which her body had been frozen.

"Ming, as tonight's newbie, you are our favored guest. Therefore, please do us the honor of taking the first bite of tonight's special roast. And since you are a highly regarded chef yourself at a well-known L.A. restaurant . . ." (a murmur of interest traveled through the crowd) . . . "please give us a professional critique of tonight's presentation."

"Do as he says, but don't raise your eyes."

Lyle's quiet addendum in her ear produced the most astonishing reaction! The lethargy that had all but paralyzed her dissipated as suddenly as a flock of starlings at the appearance of a cat. Without a moment's hesitation she seized a fork and plunged it into a thick slice of the roasted meat. In another moment she had taken up the knife from the other side of her plate and was cutting off a generous mouthful of the meat. Forking it into her mouth with her left hand, in the English style, she moaned ecstatically as she chewed and swallowed. After a sip of Chardonnay to wash it down, she closed her eyes and pronounced in a clear, serene voice, "Magnificent! I've never tasted a better roast. And I don't even know what it is."

This elicited howls of laughter, cheers and applause.

Ming was puzzled. What was so funny? On the other hand, who cares? One mouthful had hardly made a dent in her hunger. She opened her eyes and, gazing intently at her meal, dug into the remaining meat, savoring it, spacing it out between portions of vegetables and salad. By the time she had finished and her plate was bare, she realized she had regained control of her body. She was able to look around and take in her surroundings.

She was seated between Lyle and Jade on the far side of a banqueting table in the shape of a horseshoe. The room was huge, about the size of a baseball diamond, with glass walls and a glass roof probably forty feet high that gave the impression of being outdoors without risking the disappointment of bad weather. The roasted animal that had provided this meeting of the Millennium Group with the sensational meal she had just enjoyed was displayed on a spit in the opening of the horseshoe. Most of the meat had been carved away so that pretty much all that was left was the skeleton. Ming squinted, trying to identify the unknown beast.

But there was something very wrong about this carcass.

The head had not been removed so that the roast could be presented with an apple in its mouth. Very traditional. The shaft had been removed to accommodate the apple. But the head was not right. It was certainly not that of a pig. Most of the meat had been carved off the animal's legs, rump and underside and was heaped on platters placed within easy reach of the banqueters who, in turn, had already transported much of it to their own plates and stomachs. The belly of the beast had been sliced completely away so that leftover shreds of stuffing could be seen still clinging to the ribs and pelvic bones.

The stuffing itself now filled several large bowls scattered around the table.

Ming squinted at what was left of the creature, as if squinting would help burn off the remaining cobwebs from her mind. She also noticed that she was drawing an increasing audience: eyes following her belated efforts to identify her dinner amidst the laughter and chatter, eyes watching for her reactions. A knot was beginning to form in her guts, a vague sense of apprehension building with the slow assimilation of clues.

The now mostly skeletal carcass had been presented in a crouched position, like a cat preparing to pounce. But the articulation of the limbs was not that of a cat-like creature. It was much more like that of an ape. Yes! An ape in a kind of Buddhistic prayer posture, on forearms and knees. Now she could make out the hands and feet, crisped nearly to black during the roasting and half buried in a bed of parsley. All its hair had been singed off, of course, but the head was round with small ears. Exactly like an ape.

An ape!

Ming's first reaction was a surge of anger that further cleared her mind. Was that the deep dark secret here? They were slaughtering and eating apes and God knows how many other exotic animals and endangered species?

But as her mind sharpened, she realized there was still a discrepancy. The features were too delicate, the legs and toes too short. It was almost human in proportions.

Lyle and Jade, observing her closely as she put the pieces of the puzzle together, stood up, one on each side. They picked her up by the elbows and gently moved her back, away from the table.

An instant later the truth dawned on her. She realized what she was looking at. It was the remains of a human female.

That was when she had thrown up.