A Calculated Magic

23

Years before, Jack read a story titled, “To Heaven Standing Up,” The title flashed through his mind as he stood patiently waiting for the elevator behind the Colossus of Rhodes in the hotel atrium. Unless he was mistaken, he was heading for Paradise, straight down.

His party consisted of six other guests, all men, and their female tour guide. An attractive dark-eyed young lady, she wore a no-nonsense skirt that descended to her ankles and bright blue blazer with the resort’s name on the pocket. That she was of supernatural origin did not surprise Jack in the least. He suspected the secrets of Paradise were not for mere mortals. Stationed by the lift door, the woman checked off each visitor’s name as they arrived against a master list. None of the men seemed anxious to talk, and they waited patiently in complete silence.

Curiously, Jack studied his fellow travelers. He estimated they ranged in age from his own mid-twenties to well over sixty. Nothing about them struck him as particularly exceptional. Tall and short, fat and thin, bearded and clean shaven, they shared nothing in common other than an expensive taste in clothing. None of these men were middle-class tourists. Evidently, only high rollers received invitations to Paradise.

At five minutes to twelve, their guide pressed the call button for the elevator. When it arrived, she ushered them inside. Lining the walls of the spacious interior of the car were fifteen seats, similar to those found in upscale movie theaters. As soon as they were all seated, the door to the outside world slid closed.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” the woman said in a voice that tinkled like fairy bells. As she spoke, a gentle gust of cold air, with a bare hint of orange blossoms, announced the presence of an unseen air-conditioning unit in the car’s ceiling. At the same lime, the lights dimmed to a gentle, golden glow. “My name is Sharon. I’ll be your hostess on this marvelous journey to a point beyond harsh reality, a place that heretofore existed only in your wildest dreams.”

She chuckled, a deep, throaty, sexy sound, at odds with her austere, businesslike appearance. As if in response to that thought, Sharon removed her jacket and casually let it fall to the floor. Beneath it, she wore a wispy top made of a transparent gauze that left nothing to the imagination. Her firm, melon-shaped breasts, capped with large red nipples, were unencumbered by a bra. For an instant, seven men stopped breathing.

“That feels better,” said Sharon. She stretched her arms over her head, shifting Jack’s heartbeat into overdrive. “Paradise delivers physical substance to your most intense erotic fantasies. No matter what you imagine, it can happen here. That is more than a slogan. It is a promise.”

“It sounds like a canned advertisement for a theme park aimed at oversexed adults,” said Hugo, its beak in Jack’s right ear.

“Notice that it’s aimed only at men,” said Mongo in Jack’s left ear. “In early Muslim doctrine, only men are eligible for admission to Paradise. Obviously, Hasan is a believer in the old-time religion.”

The ravens’ caustic remarks jolted Jack back to reality. The birds were right. Sharon’s byplay, though remarkably sensual and visually stimulating, appeared rehearsed. She acted as if she were carefully following a well-plotted script. Which did not prevent Jack’s breath from catching in his throat when she unbuckled the belt to her long skirt and slid the garment down to her feel. With a kick, the skirt joined her blazer.

Her baggy pantaloons were as transparent as the thoughts of every man in the elevator. Smiling seductively, Sharon twirled around on her toes like a ballet dancer, proudly revealing every inch of her incredible body. “In Paradise,” she intoned, as if praying, “sexual diseases are nonexistent. As is conventional morality. Every woman matches my beauty. And their only aspiration, like mine, is to fulfill your every desire.”

Jack brushed the sweat off his temple. There was no mistaking the genuine lust in the supernatural’s voice. While he felt sure Sharon conformed to a scripted dialogue, the emphasis she put into the words made it quite clear she meant exactly what she stated.

“There are no rules in Paradise,” said the woman, gathering her outer garments together and dropping them on a nearby chair. “The houris truly want to satisfy your wildest cravings. You need merely ask to make your most secret fantasy come to pass. The word shame means nothing to us. We welcome variety. If your dreams require two women, three women, or even five or six, speak and it shall be done. Nothing is forbidden. Remember, though, you have only three hours of pleasure. Make the most of your visit.”

Jack blinked. His eyelids drooped. Despite his physically aroused state, he felt drowsy. Near him, several men yawned. “Sleep gas in the air,” said Hugo. “It doesn’t affect us but you’re about to visit dreamland, Johnnie.”

“Rest now,” said Sharon. Her voice came from a million miles away. “When you awaken, you will be strangers in Paradise.”