“DJ Stephanie…is DJ Stephanie doing a set here tonight?”
“Ah Stephanie, no, no. Tomorrow, nine o’clock. You come back then.”
Mick smiled and blinked hard as he looked at the man’s glistening, dark brown eyes. Eyes set into a hairy, brown Aegean face that was framed by the dazzlingly white wall beyond. The man had moments ago emerged from a square, black door at the top of a short flight of steps in response to the bell. He now turned, rapidly descended the steps and without looking back added, “Nine o’clock – ok. Tomorrow, Savato,” then disappeared, shutting the door silently behind him.
Mick continued to look at the door for a few seconds after the man’s departure. Its proportions and position indicated that it might not always have led to a nightclub, but possibly into a cellar. He couldn’t imagine any architect or builder choosing the square as a shape for a door, when the rectangle lent itself so well to that function. It was difficult to tell what this building might once have been but then that was typical of this part of Lindos where the old, the ancient, the ultra-modern and a few bizarre hybrids of all three, existed side by side in an uneasy alliance.
Turning, he walked back down the street, the unimaginatively named Othos Venizelos, then paused and looked back. The wall was huge, four or five stories at least, conspicuously free of posters and political graffiti, pristine white and utterly featureless except for that square black door, set like the gaping mouth of a faceless geisha
He walked on. Simone, the Dutch girl at the hotel, had told him about the club last night over fried calamari, cold Amstel and village salad. She had stumbled across it one night whilst out on the town with a couple of girls from Marseilles.
“The place with the back door,” she had said in her sweet, Dutch accented voice, “It’s wild Michael, you’ll love it.”
He took a deep breath of cool morning air then removed his sun glasses to blow a tiny beetle from one of the lenses. Beneath the shades were large, light blue eyes that narrowed naturally as they met his strong, slightly aquiline nose. Lower down his face, an angular jaw and lightly bifurcated chin were matched with a wide, generously lipped mouth – a mouth accustomed to grinning toothily.
He was fit and athletic, twenty-five years old but looked younger, or so most people told him. Thick locks of wavy blond hair, usually kept in place as now, by a cap, fell upon broad round shoulders.
He was nearing the end of his second week in the ancient city of Lindos on the Aegean island of Rhodes. It was his seventh week in Greece and, in the next few weeks, he planned to go north to visit Turkey’s beautiful south shore, before eventually heading north-west to the Ionian coast and a long planned pilgrimage to Gallipoli.
Lindos was a quaintly beautiful town with a long history. It had been conquered, liberated, re-conquered, destroyed and rebuilt in sand stone, marble, brick and concrete several times throughout its history. But it still had charm, particularly in the tight streets, geologically layered houses and narrow alleys of the old quarter where Kyria Barbara’s guest house was located. The charming, dignified old lady lived, seemingly all alone, but for her temporary staff, in a beautifully restored three hundred year old merchants house. He had found it in his search for accommodation on the day of his arrival in Rhodes. Listed quite unassumingly as Rent Rooms Penelope, he had expected some soulless block of backpacker flats built in the 1980’s, not the beautiful and comfortable hotel that he had come to call home, or at least home base.
His feet ached and he could feel mild sunburn tightening the skin at the back of his neck. His stomach growled again, adding hunger to the general chorus of sensation and, suppressed though it was, another primal urge haunted his mind, like a voice in a dream – he was horny. A line of Jim Morrison’s from a Doors song came into his head, “there’s only four ways to get it unraveled, one is sleep and the other is travel.” “Well, here I am Jim but I’m as raveled as ever.” He couldn’t remember what the other two ways were.
· * * * * * *
Saturday afternoon saw Mick relaxing on the fine, sandy beach that lay within walking distance of Kyria Barbara’s establishment. The cloudless, cerulean blue sky, in concert with the cool, clear turquoise waters of the island’s east coast, never failed to seduce him. It was a scene of timeless splendour as only the Mediterranean could offer. He had with him his father’s well thumbed copy of Gerald Durrell’s Reflections on a Marine Venus and he now turned to a passage which his father had bracketed,
She sits in the museum of the island now, focused intently upon her own inner life, gravely meditating upon the works of time. So long as we are in this place we shall not be free from her; it is as if our thoughts must be forever stained by some of her own dark illumination.
The passage referred to an ancient statue of a woman pulled by local fisherman out of the sea and now the centerpiece of the local museum. Battered and stained but still beautiful; her identity was never in doubt, she is Aphrodite, the goddess of love, born again as she had originally been, from the foam of the sea.
Mick planned to visit the museum in the coming weeks but for the present, the indolent delights of the beach were too enticing. Lindos was popular with tourists from all over the world but Northern Europeans and Americans were predominant. He had already met some nice girls on his travels; adding a page or two of e-mail addresses and Facebook friendships to his travel diary.
In Lindos he had met Simone on his first day at the Rent Rooms Penelope. In fact just after he had signed in, she had descended the stairs and greeted him. Her cute freckles and her warm smile, golden tan, bright green eyes and strawberry blond hair had all made an instant and lasting impression. He turned on his beach towel to look at a group of French tourists nearby; catching a few lines of their animated banter. He smiled then looked at his watch, 3pm. Nothing to do now but head back for a shower and a Turkish coffee and maybe a slice of Kyria Barbara’s delicious baklava. Leaving the cold, wet Australian winter behind had been easy and while he couldn’t indulge his passion for surfing on Rhodes, the island’s beaches and nightlife offered ample compensation.
He wandered slowly through the quiet whitewashed streets, running his hands idly along the ancient stonework. The old merchant’s mansion had been built into a narrow, easily defended street. The house had a heavy iron door which opened out into a curving arched loggia. The cool gloom of the loggia was a welcome relief from the dust and heat of the street and he never failed to notice and savour the aroma of the ancient house – at times redolent of cinnamon and cloves or roasting lamb and rosemary, at other times aromatic with sweet basil, wild thyme and garlic. It was a place to treasure, a haven of peace and a cool oasis amidst the glare of the July sun.
Mick now ascended a short flight of steps to the courtyard garden. The garden was bordered on each side by the windows of guestrooms with a trellised grapevine offering some privacy to those within. He took a seat at one of the garden tables and glanced towards the kitchen. Sure enough, Kyria Barbara had already seen him. She smiled sweetly and in her broken English, enquired if he would like a drink or something to eat. He soon tasted her wonderfully rich, bitter coffee; complemented perfectly by sweet, nutty, syrup soaked baklava.
“What could possibly be better than this?” Just as he whispered this to himself he saw a slight movement in the corner of his eye.
Glancing up, he caught a glimpse of Simone at her upper storey window. She was looking into a mirror that hung by the widow and was brushing her long, blond hair.
“But soft! What light from yonder window breaks?”
She turned her back for a moment and it was then that he noticed that she was topless. She would hardly have cared as she often sunbathed topless on the beach. But somehow, here and now, the quiet domestic setting added a lovely note of intimacy to the gorgeous scene. She turned again and this time he saw her ripe, full breasts as they swung with the sway of her hair and body. For an instant their eyes met and Simone smiled before disappearing back into the shadows of the room. Now his voice rose and a note of poetic grandeur entered it as he addressed a pair of amorous swallows that had alighted on the trellis,
“ The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night!”
But the birds just sat there, unimpressed and stared down at him.
“Not into Shakespeare huh?”
* * * * * * * *
Evening came, banishing the sun’s heat and glare and bringing with it the prospect of a good night out. Mick again sat and waited at his usual table in the courtyard while taking in the pleasant moonlit ambiance. He had showered and dressed quickly after dinner, forgetting that Simone and some of the others that they had invited, were likely to take their time getting ready. Still, the atmosphere in the old house was wonderful and he tried to imagine some of its long, turbulent history. He saw dark eyes watching him from the shadows and imagined the glint of steel and the sheen of silken robes. There were dusky, veiled women with restless, passionate eyes and men whose haughty arrogance could only be matched by their vanity and thirst for blood. Were these the lost ghosts of Lindos; the ancient city’s wandering spirits searching in vain for release from their torments?
“Hey, I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”
Simone’s beautiful smile now banished the ghosts as surely as the sun banishes the night.
She turned, performing a nicely improvised piece of choreography; swaying her hips seductively, waving arms, fists and elbows. Then swirling her long golden hair and ending by squatting down to look up at him with hair covering one eye. He laughed appreciatively,
“You’re not a fan of the Pussycat Dolls are you Simone?”
“Ha! Those no-talent hos. No way,” she giggled as she walked away from him.
Now his eyes could take her whole form in; she wore a black strapless top with loose lacing at the back that left her strong shoulders beautifully displayed and her midriff enticingly exposed. Black high heels tapped rhythmically on the flag stones but it was what she wore below her waist that had him instantly undressing her with his eyes. It was a skin tight creation in glossy black leather that reached down to her ankles. Black cord lacing ran all the way up both sides, leaving a delicious, inch-wide strip of flesh exposed from above her waist all the way down. It was the sexiest pair of leathers he had ever seen. She might have been wearing a G-string beneath it but there was clearly no evidence of panties.
The sight of her fully occupied his mind as he stood watching her walk slowly to the steps that led down to the loggia. She turned as a slight breeze caught her hair and sent a ripple through it, sending a tingle down his spine at the same time.
“Are you gonna stand there all night long Mick?” she asked with a tone of feigned impatience.
Mick suddenly came to his senses, ran up to within a pace of her and cast his eyes down her golden cascades to her perky leather-clad butt.
“Man, you look gorgeous,” he whispered behind her ear.
“Why thank you Mr. Jones.” She replied formally. She then gave him her arm.
“Shall we walk, ow you say…agaze?”
“Mais oui ma belle.”
Arm in arm they strode down the dark curved vault of the loggia and out through the door. The street was relatively quiet for it was still early, but the few people that they did pass seemed to be walking in the same general direction - towards the town’s small harbour.
The town’s nightlife was concentrated around this sixteenth century harbour, the spacious town square and particularly along the Othos Venizelos and its numerous side streets. The bustle of this part of Lindos rarely seemed to subside and Saturday night, as in most parts of Greece, was a time for fun and business. Sure enough, all the restaurants and cafes that they passed along the Othos Venizelos seemed full to overflowing.
As they turned the final corner Mick instantly felt a pulse in the ground. Faintly at first, then growing in intensity; it was like the beat of an enormous heart from some primeval leviathan or the pulse of the very Earth itself. At length they reached the far end of the street where the huge blank wall loomed – white as bleached marble and an almost perfect square but for the tiny black patch of the portal, also square, nestled below. Even though a knot of people now mostly obscured the door, Mick could not help thinking how incongruous it was, how like the entrance to an ant’s nest only on a monstrous scale.
They soon joined the crowd of people that had gathered in front of the door to Club Luna. As they did so, the aromas of the Mediterranean night gave way to those of Tommy Hilfiger, Chanel, D&G and others whose brand names could only be guessed at. With the scents of fashion went the painted eyes, the glossy cherry lips, the bouncing ringlets, the cascades of gold, of fire, of chestnut and the shimmering black waterfalls of hair; splashing down onto bare shoulders and supple tanned arms.
Simone’s attention too was soon focused on chest hugging white singlets and printed tees beneath which muscles rippled, and on tight jeans and studded leather. Her eyes lingered on stubble tinted chins and sideburns, on mirror shades and she savored the acid tang of aftershave. Added to the sights and aromas of this crowd of bodies was a confusion of sound, but as they stood facing the black square door this began to resolve itself into whispers and giggles, whistles, murmurs and laughter, then fragments of German, French, English and what might have been Polish, Czech, or Magyar. Mick put his hand on Simone’s shoulder. As she looked up he said,
“Quite a crowd.”
“Mmmmm,” Simone purred.
“Jake and a few of the others should be here a bit later. I’ll keep an eye out for them.”
She nodded just as the crowd began to move forward. A couple of paces at a time, soon found them walking down a flight of stone steps into a surprisingly spacious underground room. Behind a long counter stood the man with the weather beaten face that Mick had met the day before. With him were two dark haired girls who might have been identical twins had they been the same height. Entry into the club was ten euros. As Simone reached into her pocket for money Mick stayed her hand.
“I’ll pay.”
He gave the money to the taller of the girls, who smiled mechanically at him saying in oddly accented English,
“Come to me if you want a stamp to go out later.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh Michael, you’re quite the gentleman,” Simone giggled then added, “Ok, I’ll get us some drinks. Is beer ok?”
“Sure.”
As she left, he began to take in details of the room. The walls were built of large rectangular blocks of different sizes that had been thinly plastered and painted white. The whole space might once have been a cellar or hypogeum – now there was an evocative word. The club was tastefully if sparsely decorated with chrome, black and green predominating. Danish style ultra modern but comfortable looking furniture was dotted around a circular dance floor with the DJ’s station raised behind it. There were several big plasma screens and a few discreet C.C.TV cameras. The far wall was covered completely by sculptured black paneling that could have been made of heavy rubber. It had a curiously organic look, reminding Mick of the segments of some enormous insect. Into it was set a sign of curved, bright blue neon tubing – LUNA. The club obviously possessed a good set of speakers too, that could pump out the bass while not losing any of the finer details of the music. Lastly, there was a large bar against most of one wall where Simone was now talking to a blonde barmaid. He noticed that a pair of guys sitting behind her were already eyeing her casually,
“Knock ‘em dead Simone,” he whispered to himself.
People continued to come down the stairs and soon most of the tables around him were occupied by couples and small groups. He sat down at one small table and continued to take in the ambiance. It seemed that Luna was new; it was spotlessly clean with a faint chemical aroma in the air as though everything around him had just been unpacked. He glanced to one side and turned his head back only to see the slow approach of a pair of slinky leather clad hips.
“Here’s your beer.”
“Thanks babe, Heineken too, awesome!”
“Nothing but the best for my boy.”
Simone sat down elegantly opposite him. The crowd continued to grow and soon there were more people standing than sitting. The indistinct background music was now replaced by a louder, bass driven beat. Raising her voice Simone said,
“I got an e-mail from Brad yesterday……”
She then stopped abruptly and stared down into her glass of scotch on the rocks. She gave the ice cubes an unnecessary stir with the little straw then looked up at him. He was waiting for the rest of the sentence but it never came. Instead she smiled sadly at him and he gazed back at her compassionately. Brad was Simone’s absentee boyfriend. He was supposed to be flying to Greece to join her in a week or two but she seemed to be rather ambivalent about their relationship and rarely spoke positively of him. No further words passed between them and they continued to sip their drinks and watch the crowd, then Simone saw that he had finished his beer.
“Shall I get you another or shall we dance?”
Seeing that her mood had lightened he said,
“Let’s dance.”
A few people, mostly women, were already on the dance floor and as Mick and Simone joined them, a couple of the women smiled at him, allowing their eyes to linger just long enough as to be suggestive. He smiled back politely, but the women’s attention did not remain on him. Simone’s presence was clearly the reason why. He had never really seen Simone dance in the two weeks that he had known her, but guessed that she was as good at it as she was at all things physical.
The spontaneous choreographic moves and brief energetic routines that she often treated him to since they first met were truly inspired, leading him to compare her teasingly to some of the lesser lights of pop culture.
To begin with they danced close to each other with the music producing a warmly intimate vibe. All the while he could not help but marvel at how her beautiful green eyes seemed to catch even the low light of the room and glow with it. But she looked just as sexy when lines and beats in the music caught her attention and she closed her eyes as though to meditate upon them.
Now she moved slowly away from him and he watched her spin around for several minutes with her head shaking, hair whirling and arms flexing. He took a step back to see her better but as he did so she stopped spinning and moved closer to him again.
“Mmm, I’m beginning love it here. Aren’t you?”
“Yeah, it’s a classy place alright,” he nodded.
Her easygoing enthusiasm made him smile and she took his hand. Like many guys, Mick usually found it difficult to unwind enough on the dance floor to fully enjoy dancing. But with Simone’s encouraging smiles and approving nods and the warm caress of her hand, he rapidly found himself a lot less self-conscious and positively empowered. They danced for three tracks, by the end of which the dance floor had become quite crowded. Simone then indicated that they should take a break. As their small table had long been taken, they headed to the bar.
“What would you like?” Mick asked.
“Scotch on the rocks, please.”
He left her for several minutes while he waited to be served. When he returned he had lost sight of her, which was not surprising considering the ever growing crowd. It was nearly 10pm and he guessed that DJ Stephanie would start her set before too long. He made his way carefully forward with the drinks then caught sight of her talking to a brunette who was a little taller than her. The woman had her back to him and after exchanging one or two more words with Simone she nodded and left her, disappearing back into the mass of clubbers. Simone’s head turned and they immediately made eye contact.
“I see you’ve found some company,” he smiled.
“The company found me. Oh thanks.”
Taking the scotch from him she took a sip then said,
“Let’s go over to the DJ’s station. What time is it?”
“Just after ten, DJ Stephanie must be on soon.”
“Cool.”
As the concentration of people was greater by the low platform that housed Luna’s DJ station, it took them a little while to secure a convenient spot in which to stand. Soon after they had done so, the music stopped to be replaced by a background of strong but subtle electronic beeping, whirring and buzzing. This filled the club with an air of expectation and caused attention to focus on the centre of the platform. A dark haired girl dressed in black now appeared. Mick recognized her as the taller of the twins that had earlier worked the ticket counter. She took up a microphone and spoke with the same odd accent that Mick had noted earlier.
“Ladies and gentlemen, for your pleasure here tonight at Club Luna. Direct from California, please put your hands together for DJ Stephanie!”
As the crowd applauded, whistled and cheered, a slim woman in her mid twenties with dark, shoulder length brown hair climbed the steps at the rear of the station and positioned herself behind the console. Serene, poised and dignified; she was like a Jason Brooks illustration come to life. Her face was indescribably beautiful, causing Mick to hold his breath involuntarily as he looked at her. Some ancient scribe on the banks of the Nile might have imagined the face of Isis thus, he thought. Stephanie looked around the room smiling and then took the microphone from the tall twin who left the platform.
“Hey, how are we all doing tonight? Are we feeling good? ”She was met with cheers. “Ok, let’s get the party started here at Club Luna on the lovely island of Rhodes.”
Mick whistled and applauded too then a sudden realization struck him. Putting his hand on Simone’s shoulder he pointed briefly to the young woman up on the platform,
“Hey weren’t you talking to her earlier?”
“DJ Stephanie, was it? I don’t know,” she seemed genuinely surprised, “I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“Well that’s da babe herself,” Mick laughed. “I hope you were nice to her.”
“I’m always nice,” she smiled exaggeratedly, showing her perfect teeth and making him wonder what it would be like to kiss her.
“Wow, Simone’s met DJ Stephanie!”
“Are you jealous?”
“Damn straight.”
“Invidia a morbus est.”
“Err………?”
“Envy is a disease.”
Stephanie began her set with rolling drumbeats and the haunting tunes of Andean pan pipes, followed by echoing birdcalls and mysterious sounds of the rainforest.
“Here we go,” said Simone.
“Yeah, the last time I saw this chick’s show was back home in Adelaide at The Garage.”
“Was she good?”
“The best. She isn’t in the Bedroom Bedlam club for nothing.”
“Bedroom…. Bedlam…..right.”
After listening to the music attentively for several minutes, the phrases electro hard house, and underground progressive house passed thorough the logical/analytical centers of Mick’s mind. He recalled these definitions of Stephanie’s unique style from one of the dance music magazines back home.
“Well, we are underground,” he reasoned.
But what it was that he now heard and the feelings that began to well up from within him defied definition. His spine tingled and his breathing deepened as he drank in the smartly complex, sophisticated techno beats and invigorating bass lines. Stephanie moved like a force of nature; elemental and inexorable, hers was the power of the storm, the ecstasy of the ocean wave and the vigor of the sea breeze. The serenity of her face belied the passion in her heart and her passion, quite obviously, was music.
He sighed. Next to him there seemed to float a giant golden butterfly whose velvet hand now came to rest upon his arm. He turned and instantly caught Simone’s magical green eyes.
“Hey Mick, This Stephanie chick is kinda funky.”
He smiled back at her. Beautifully summed up Simone, he thought.
Stephanie rocked. With effortless grace and surging power.
Whatever its definition, the crowd eagerly lapped up Stephanie’s distinctive brand of house music, becoming more and more immersed in the music’s euphoric energy. As Mick watched, Simone moved her svelte, leather clad hips in perfect resonance with the bass line. It was almost as if her body itself was generating the sound from deep inside - her rhythmic gyrations seemed to produce music rather than to be a product of it. As she jumped, twirled and moved her arms to magnificent effect, Mick imagined a well tuned machine performing at its optimum.
His attention then turned back to the crowd and he savored the many sights and aromas that surrounded him. He imagined the throng of reveling bodies as a single entity, a beast that pulsed and moved with a vitality all its own. It was a gestalt - a composite creature with its own instincts, its own psychology, a being that was much more than the sum of its parts. He knew what rapport with the beast could give him; liberation, through the loss of individuality and the sublimation of ego and it could give him energy such as no individual alone could possess. Music was the soul of the beast, lust for life - its governing passion. The bass was its heartbeat and the electronics - its neural pulses. The mass of bodies were its muscle and sinew. When the beast manifested itself, it celebrated life and exalted in its own power.
For the next three hours Stephanie had the club rocking. It would have been obvious to even the most casual patron that a Stephanie set was something special. Mick watched her as she spun track after track; infusing everybody in the room with energy. He was entranced by the sight of her, she had the innate ability to get under your skin; spend long enough at one of her shows and thought of all else soon receded into the background.
At about 2am the time came for the end of Stephanie’s set. She thanked the audience and said a fond farewell to the isle of Rhodes,
“Now to finish here’s a track dedicated to Michael from Simone. Michael are you here…ah there he is! What a handsome boy! Well Michael, this is Simone’s thanks to you for being such a good friend over the past couple of weeks.”
Mick cheered and Simone hugged him; pressing her warm, sweet, body against him and making him tingle.
“Awww, how sweet of you.”
“You’ve been lots of fun and a good pal Mick.”
“Well thanks babe, that’s lovely of you.”
The track was one of his absolute favourites; Mea Culpa’s Spiritual Light. He had played it to Simone one night over cold beer and had listened to it countless times over the years. Dancing to it now with Simone, in the exhilarating atmosphere of Club Luna was nothing short of a magical experience. The sheer energy of the piece and its irresistible rhythm, combined with elegant, sensual harmonics made it a hymn to life and an orison to the modern world. After six amazing minutes the music faded to be replaced by a resounding cheer as Stephanie blew kisses to the crowd.
“Wow, what a fucking great show!”
“Yeah, Whoooooooo Hooooooooooo!”
A little while later as they slowly emerged from Club Luna, Mick’s first impulse was to compose an update for his holiday blog or something short and witty for his Facebook page. But he soon felt Simone’s hand pulling his belt and leading him away from the chattering mass of clubbers. He looked at her delicate face and serene, jewel-like eyes and imagined himself kissing her neck…
“Well Mick, the night is not over yet and I have another surprise for you.”
She pulled a couple of cards from her back pocket and gave him one. On one side was an address and on the other, along with her picture was a message from Stephanie,
“You are cordially invited to my after-party, Stephanie xox.”
“Awesome! Could this night get any better?”
“I thought you’d be pleased.”
Mick hugged her and jumped in the air to her laughs and squeals. She then said,
“I’ve even got us a ride with a couple of the other guests.”
“Cool.”
They walked a few blocks to where a blue Alpha Romeo sedan was parked. In the driver’s seat sat a gorgeous stately blonde who introduced herself as Jenna in refined English tones. They jumped into the back. Simone seemed to know Jenna but, aside from a friendly kiss and few comments about how much they each enjoyed the show, little passed between them. Then Jenna said to Mick,
“We’re just waiting for my friend Agata then we’ll get going.”
Jenna’s cool, sophisticated beauty was mildly disturbing and her darkly sensual voice made him sit closer to Simone who seemed to welcome the warm embrace of his arm around her bare midriff.
Now a girl with cascading back hair and bare shoulders opened the passenger side door. She smiled at Jenna and apologized then greeted Mick and Simone with an accented, - “Hello.”
Mick guessed that she might be German or Scandinavian but wherever she came from, she was as beautiful as Jenna but seemed warmer and friendlier in some way. Mick didn’t mind; he was in the company of three beautiful women on the way to a party thrown by his favourite DJ – he was in heaven!
* * * * * * * * * *
They drove along the quiet coastal road for nearly an hour, soon leaving Lindos behind and passing small sleeping villages and isolated farms whose presence was only marked by a few streetlights. At length, the miles of shingle beaches were replaced by rocky cliffs and it was towards the brow of one of these that the car now turned. Ahead, Mick could make out the silhouette of a house and beyond it; glittering tranquil water. A quarter of an hour later they came to an ornate wrought iron gate. The gate swung open noiselessly and Jenna parked the car just beyond it. The path to the house was bordered on both sides by lush beds of roses and white sand lilies whose languorous perfume filled the night. The house was dark and seemed to cling to the edge of the cliff. It was a two storey building and its discernable features gave an impression of ultra modern chic and cool elegance.
The front door opened and they were greeted by a young woman with long, strawberry blond hair. She smiled at Agata and Jenna as she opened the door but said nothing. Inside was a large, sparsely furnished but comfortable looking room. At its centre were four white couches and four arm chairs that had been arranged to face each other around a luxuriously plush rug. Several people sat and chatted while a pair of girls including the strawberry blond served drinks. In the far wall of the room was a set of glass doors which led out to a broad balcony overlooking the sea.
“Quite a place huh?” purred Simone.
He looked at her slyly, “Have you been here before?”
She smiled at him knowingly, said nothing, and took two glasses of wine from a tray that the strawberry blonde now brought them. The wine was cool and sweet; a delicious, aromatic blend of fruit chilled to perfection. It revived his senses and allowed him to relax and take in more of his surroundings. Apart from himself and Simone, there seemed to be nine people in the room; five men all of whom seemed to be in their twenties, and four women. The women were all young and attractive and wore a variety of tasteful, sexy outfits. Aside from Agata and Jenna, he thought he could recognize a couple of faces from Club Luna, but the majority of Stephanie’s guests just looked like handsome and beautiful young tourists.
“I wonder where Stephanie is.”
“Hmmm, I’m sure she will appear soon.