Capítulo 8: WHO DO YOU VOODOO, BITCH [2]
"He looked fit and predatory, totally in his element. Logan was impressed in spite of himself – and more than a little envious too. He turned and peered drunkenly into the crowd. They were clearly enjoying themselves, grinning and bouncing and punching the air. There had been a time when Logan himself had enjoyed this kind of adulation – crowds cheering and whooping; girls wanting to fuck him; guys wanting to be him. All at once, standing there alone, he felt a wave of self-loathing sweep over him. Not quite knowing why he was doing it, he turned and waved his arms.
'Sam! Hey, Sam!' he yelled.
It was only when the rapper carried on as if he wasn't even there that Logan realized he did know why he was trying to grab his attention. It was because he wanted Sam to acknowledge him, to bathe him in a little reflected glory. The fact that Sam didn't even look at him caused a red mist to descend in front of his eyes.
'Fuck you!' he screamed at the stage. Then he turned and barged his way back into the crowd. 'Out of my fucking way!' he snarled.
People took one look at his wild eyes and stepped aside. Logan wondered how many of them recognized him, or half-recognized him, or maybe thought he looked vaguely like someone they might once have known. Fame was the best thing in the world when you were standing on its summit, looking out at the view. But he couldn't believe there was a worse feeling than sliding back down the mountain and realizing there was nothing to stop you from hitting the bottom. To have been famous once and then to have lost it was surely worse than never having been famous at all. It was worse too, in its way, than the end of a relationship, or even the death of a loved one. In Logan's opinion, it was easy to find love again – people did it all the time. But how many famous people, once they had hit the slippery slope, managed to reverse the fall and make it back to the top of the mountain?
He was halfway through the crowd when he spotted Purna. She was standing alone, arms folded, eyes fixed intently on the stage. Making a snap decision, he staggered towards her.
'Hi,' he shouted above the music.
She looked momentarily startled, which gave Logan a vicious ripple of satisfaction. She'd seemed so in control before that it felt good to scratch her veneer a little bit.
'Hi,' she said guardedly.
He nodded towards the stage. 'So what do you think?'
'He's good.' She shrugged. 'It's not my kind of music, but … yeah, I appreciate the artistry.'
Logan sneered. 'Artistry?'
She looked at him a moment before replying, as if weighing him up. 'You don't think it's an art?'
'Fuck, no!' He spat the words with such venom that he stumbled forward, and Purna had to reach out with both hands to steady him.
'Hey, are you OK?' she said. 'You don't look too good.'
'I'm fine,' he said. 'Just … hot. I've been up at the front. Thought I'd get a drink. You want one?'
'No, I'm good, thanks.'
She turned away, as if dismissing him. Logan felt that red mist prickling at the edges of his vision again.
'Why do you do that?' he snapped.
She glanced at him, puzzled. 'Do what?'
'Turn away like … like I'm a piece of shit on your shoe?' He knew that analogy didn't quite make sense, but he felt as though he'd made his point.
She looked exasperated rather than defensive. 'I don't. It's your imagination.'
'Fuck that,' he said. 'You think you're so fucking superior to everyone.'
'I really don't.'
'Yeah, you do. You're doing it now. Treating me like I'm some … some bum pestering you for a dollar.'
'You're drunk,' she said. 'I think you should go and lie down.'
'Yeah? Well, why don't you come and lie down with me?' He reached out to grab her wrist.
Before his hand could make contact, Purna somehow managed to step both to one side and closer to him. Her right knee came up swiftly, crushing his balls. Despite the dulling effects of alcohol, the pain was so unbelievable that for a moment Logan felt sure he'd been ripped in two. As he doubled over, she grabbed his arm and twisted it up behind his back. He howled in agony.
She leaned in close to him and murmured in his ear. 'I really think you should take my advice, Logan. Go back to your room, drink lots of water, then sleep it off. You'll thank me in the morning.'
He tried to twist out of her grip, but that only caused fresh pain to shoot up his arm. Pain so acute that he felt on the verge of passing out. 'Let go of me,' he wailed.
'Only if you promise to do as I say.'
Black sparks were dancing in front of his eyes now, and the sweat on his body was turning clammy.
'Promise me,' she repeated.
Thoroughly humiliated, his balls and arm hurting almost beyond endurance, Logan gasped, 'I promise.'
Immediately he felt his arm released. He staggered forward and fell on his knees. All the shit he had been through over the past few years suddenly seemed to rush in on him, to coalesce in that moment. He felt utterly wretched, more wretched even than he had felt alone in his hospital bed with his busted-up knee, the painkillers wearing off, and the knowledge that an innocent girl was dead because of him.
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