The black town car pulled up outside a low rise apartment building in Soho. The driver leapt from the car, and walked around to open the door for Cheryl. Baxter climbed out of the other door.

‘I will message you when we are ready’ - said Baxter to the driver.

The driver bowed his head, and then climbed back into the driver’s seat.

Baxter was wearing a smart navy blue suit - English - and brown brogues, He had a smart white shirt, and a blue and gold patterned tie. Cheryla was wearing a simple black cocktail dress - and the diamond earrings and necklace that Baxter had bought for her birthday.

Cheryl straightened Baxter’s tie - and he smiled.

‘Apparently Giancarlo is some kind of guru’ - said Cheryl.

‘A guru?’ - said Baxter, looking up at the lowrise apartment building.

‘Yes - a men’s health and wellbeing guru’ - said Cheryl.

‘Giancarlo. And the wife?’ - said Baxter.

‘Cinzia - interior designer’ - said Cheryl.

Baxter politely smiled. This dinner all made sense to him now. Cinzia was looking for business. Baxter expected the talk over dinner to turn to Cinzia’s work - her incredible work - and how she would love to come over to Baxter’s and Cheyl’s place to see what they have done. Cheryl would be all smiles - enthusiastic about it. Cinzia would say that her work has been featured in all the right magazines. And that was the hook - Cheryl would imagine their apartment on the pages of glossy high end magazines, as if this would bring some meaning or validation to her life.

Baxter would be obliged to say yes - that it all sounded fantastic.

Baxter just hoped that Giancarlo would be good conversation.

Baxter and Cheryl walked to the apartment building entrance, and the doorman swung the door open.

‘The McGills - for the Marazzis’ - said Baxter, stiffly to the doorman.

‘Very good’ - said the doorman, and he stepped behind his small desk and picked up the phone - ‘The McGills for Mr. and Mrs. Marazzi’

The doorman hung up the phone, and smiled at Baxter and Cheryl - ‘6th floor - apartment 604’

Baxter smiled at the doorman in silent thanks.

Baxter and Cheryl walked to the elevator, and pressed the button. The doors opened immediately, and Baxter held out an arm and Cheryl stepped in. Baxter pressed the 6th floor button, and the doors closed and the elevator began to rise.

Baxter was always weary of meeting people who were from outside of the club - the elite New York family and Harvard and Yale and works on Wall Street club. One was never quite sure how they might behave - what they might say. With the club, there were strict rules about how you dressed, what you could discuss, what you could say, and very strict guidelines on not causing any embarrassment in social settings. People from outside this club - especially Europeans - were painfully unaware of these rules. Ignorant - one could say - of the way one conducts oneself in polite New York company.

The doors opened on the sixth floor, and Cheryl and Baxter walked along the industrial / warehouse-like hallway, with exposed air ducts and cable trays. They stopped outside of apartment 604 - which was a large metal sliding door. Baxter pressed the bell - and they stood waiting. After a moment the heavy sliding door slid open, and a miserable looking maid stood there. She was Filipina - and she stared at Baxter and Cheryl.

Baxter smiled at her. The maid continued to stare at the pair of them.

Baxter coughed, to clear his throat - ‘Baxter and Cheryl - we have been invited over by Mr. and Mrs. Marazzi’

The maid continued to stare at them. Baxter looked her in the eye - and he thought, for the briefest of moments - that he saw terror. Like the maid was hoping they were there to rescue her - snatch her up and hurry down the hall with her and to save her.

‘Dharlings!’ - said a woman’s voice behind the maid, and Cinzia Marazzi appeared. She was wearing a long silk black robe, with a garish golden greco roman pattern printed on it and black stiletto shoes.

The maid stepped to the side, and Cinzia Marazzi took Cheryl by the hand and pulled her into the apartment. Baxter glanced at the maid - and they made eye contact. The maids' eyes seemed filled with sorrow - like she had been trying to warn them they were entering a trap. And then Baxter stepped into the apartment, and the maid slid the heavy sliding door closed and bolted it shut.

‘Dharling - you look so elegant!’ - said Cinzia, kissing Cheryl once on each cheek.

Cinzia Marazzi was tall and beautiful - with a thick mane of hair as black as raven’s feathers, strong cheekbones, dark green eyes, and full pouting lips. Baxter looked at Cinzia’s figure - and he thought of Ambrose Pollard. He wondered if Cinzia was wearing any underwear under her robe, and whether it was shaved.

Cinzia seemed to be ignoring Baxter - and led them through the apartment to the main room. The room was huge - with high ceilings and massive windows overlooking the lowrise tenement buildings of Soho. In the middle of the huge room was a large round oak table - that had a huge candelabra in the center. Baxter tried to count the number of candles - but he lost count at 20. The main focal point of the huge living room was a giant portrait of a man that hung on the wall. The portrait showed the face of a serious looking but handsome man - and was painted in the style of an Andy Worhol screen printing.

Baxter stood and smiled - whilst Cinzia and Cheryl chatted and discussed the fabric of the sofa and the lampshades and the giant wooden bowl filled with dozens of lemons. The maid hurried past Baxter to the kitchen, closing the door quickly behind her.

Finally, Cinza turned to Baxter - ‘And you must be Baxter, so wonderful to meet you!’

Cinza walked over to Baxter, and put her arms around him and pressed her body against his. The hug lasted much longer than Baxter thought necessary - and finally Cinza Marazzi released him from her Roman grasp, and then kissed him once on each cheek.

‘Pleasure to meet you, Cinza’ - said Baxter, blushing and with lip shaped lipstick marks on either cheek.

‘Carlo will be with us in a minute - he is just finishing something up’ - said Cinza, and she walked to the lounge area and Cheryl and Baxter followed her. A bottle of Prosecco was sitting in an ice bucket - and Cinza took the bottle and poured three glasses, and handed them to her guests.

‘You are starting the party without me?’ - came a voice behind where Cheryl and Baxter were standing.

Baxter turned, and he saw the face of the man in the giant portrait hanging on the wall walking towards him. It was Giacarlo Marazzi - and Giancarlo Marazzi was naked. Baxter couldn’t quite work out what he was seeing - it seemed as though there was some error in the very fabric of reality - that the universe was malfunctioning. Giancarlo held out his hand, and Baxter - following his social programming - held out his hand and took this naked Italian man’s hand.

‘I am so sorry to have kept you waiting’ - said Giancarlo, warmly shaking Baxter’s hand, with a broad and handsome smile on his face - ‘But I was in the bedroom masturbating’

Cherly was frozen to the spot. She wasn’t sure where to look. Giancarlo released Baxter's hand, and then hugged him - pressing his naked body against Baxter in a tight embrace.

‘It is so good to see you again, Baxter McGill’ - said Giancarlo quietly into Baxter's ear.

Giancarlo released Baxter, and turned his attention to Cheryl. He stepped towards her - and then embraced her, pressing his naked and muscular body against hers. Giancarlo released Cheryl, and then kissed her on both cheeks. Cinza handed Giancarlo a glass of prosecco, and then she removed her robe and stood naked. Baxter wasn’t sure where to look. His questions had been answered - indeed Cinza Marazzi wasn’t wearing any underwear under her robe, and no - it was not shaved.

‘To friends!’ - said Giancarlo, raising his glass and then finishing the glass in one.

‘Come, sit’ - said Cinza, and Baxter and Cheryl slowly moved to the sofa and sat opposite their naked hosts.

Cinza sat elegantly, sipping her wine and smoking a cigarette held in a black and gold cigarette holder. Giancarlo sat with his legs spread - and stared at Baxter.

The maid came from the kitchen with a platter of antipasto. The Marazzis ignored the maid, but Baxter could help himself from making eye contact with her. She glanced at Baxter for a moment - as if to say “I tried to warn you!”.

The maid left in a hurry, and closed the kitchen door behind her.

‘So Baxter’ - said Giancarlo - ‘Have you read any of my books?’

Baxter was keeping his eyes up - trying to avoid looking at Giancarlos junk, or Cinza’s large breasts.

‘No, I don’t think I have’ - said Baxter, trying to pretend that his host wasn’t naked, and that this was just a regular dinner party the same as in thousands of other apartments across New York.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ - said Giancarlo.

‘Sure. Yes. Please’ - said Baxter.

‘Do you know what happiness is, Baxter?’

Baxter thought for a moment - and he glanced at Cheryl, who had a strange fixed smile on her face. And then at Cinza, who took a long draw on her cigarette, and then blew the smoke out of both of her nostrils - like a dragon.

‘I am sorry - did you ask, do I know what happiness is?’

Giancarlo stared at Baxter, and didn’t say a word and didn’t blink.

‘Well - yes, I think I do’ - said Baxter, trying to sound jovial.

‘Tell me about happiness’ - said Giancarlo, staring at Baxter seriously and adjusting his scrotum.

Baxter glanced again at Cheryl, who appeared as if she was frozen with a fixed grin on her face - and then again at Cinzi, who puffed again on her cigarette and then blew the smoke out of her nostrils.

‘Well, erm. I think happiness is being with those that you love - and spending time with each other, and - erm - and having shared experiences’ - said Baxter, glancing back to Cheryl, who was still smiling but now slightly nodding her head.

Giacarlo stared at Baxter - his dark and serious eyes like a pair of Roman lasers burning into Baxter’s cheerful face. And then Giancarlo burst into laughter.

‘Baxter - you sound like the inside of a cheap Thanksgiving card you would buy from a gas station or a dollar store. That is your idea of fucking happiness?’

Baxter grinned - ‘Amongst other things, yes’

Giancarlo handed his glass to Cinza, who poured him another glass of prosecco.

‘Let me tell you what happiness is Baxter McGill’ - said Giancarlo forcefully - ‘Happiness is fucking, killing, and eating!’

Cinza giggled as Giancarlo said fucking - ‘Giancarlo is very good at fucking’

Giancarlo turned to his wife, and smiled - ‘Thank you, my love!’

This was like no dinner party Baxter McGill had ever been to before. They had strayed so far away from what was acceptable that they were in uncharted territory. Baxter and Cheryl were sitting - fully dressed - and their hosts were both naked - and they were sat and discussed fucking, killing, and eating. Baxter sipped his wine, and continued to smile at Giancarlo - and trying to avoid glancing at Cinza’s large breasts or his Giancrlo’s penis.

‘What do you know about primitive man?’ - said Giancarlo.

Baxter continued to grin - unsure what to say. The conversation Baxter was used to at dinner parties was usually light. Subjects that veered away from what could be read in the culture pages of the New York Times were normally avoided. Politics was normally off limits (too problematic), as was sports (too coarse). Discussions around the arts and charity were encouraged - as were new restaurants, or a new book or author. Off Broadway productions were definitely acceptable. Planned vacations were a safe and acceptable area of discussion, as long as those plans weren’t too ostentatious. But Baxter had never attended a dinner party where happiness, fucking, killing, eating (other than at a new bistro that had recently opened), or his thoughts on primitive man were the topic for discussions.

Baxter sipped more wine - and glanced at Cheryl. Cheryl sipped some wine, and then returned to her fixed grin.

‘Sorry - did you ask me what I know about primitive man?’ - said Baxter, eyes up and grinning.

‘That is what I asked’ - said Giancarlo, a serious and perhaps contemptuous look on his face.

Cinza lit another cigarette and stared at Baxter. Cheryl grinned and stared at Baxter - unsure where else to let her eyes wander.

Baxter sipped more wine - ‘Primitive man…’ - he said, after a pause.

‘Let me tell you about primitive man, Baxter McGill’ - said Giancarlo, standing up.

Baxter’s eyes were suddenly staring at Giancarlo’s penis and scrotum that Giancarlo was scratching. Baxter quickly lifted his gaze.

‘Primitive man was happy - Baxter McGill. Primitive man had no need for psychiatrists or psychologists. Primitive man, Baxter McGill, didn’t need possessions or things - primitive man had no need for a fancy watch…’

As Baxter heard this, he glanced at Giancarlo’s wrist - and could see he was wearing a gold Rolex.

Giancarlo continued - ‘Primitive man cared for only three things. Fucking, killing, and eating - and that is why he was happy, Baxter McGill’

‘It is true’ - said Cinza.

Cheryl was grinning and nodded. Baxter was trying to look thoughtful - as though Giancarlo had said something profound and meaningful.

Giancarlo sat back down - ‘Primitive man could wake up when he wanted, sleep when he wanted. If he wanted to be naked, he was naked. If he wanted to be dressed, he would be dressed. Primitive man fucked when he wanted, hunted when he wanted, and ate when he wanted. This modern world that you live in, Baxter McGill, is a prison - a prison designed to contain you and suppress your inner primitive self, and to stop you from being happy’

Baxter continued to try and look thoughtful, nodding and sipping his wine.

‘This is what I do, Baxter. I help men be happy in a world that is designed to make them unhappy’

‘Fascinating’ - said Baxter, turning to Cheryl and nodding. Cheryl grinned, and nodded and sipped her wine.

‘Whole industries, Baxter, have grown with the single purpose of convincing you that they can make you happy - when in reality they are working to continue to make you unhappy. Look at psychiatrists. We are told that if we pay them money, they can help us bring clarity to our lives, and maybe even some meaning. This is bullshit, Baxter. It is all part of a cleverly constructed plan to prevent you from ever making contact with your inner primitive self. You are told you must get a job, and you are told you must follow the rules, and you are told that this is the right way to behave and this is the wrong way to behave - and if you do not follow those rules then you are ostracized and condemned. Primitive man didn’t get up each morning at 6 AM to go to an office for 9 hours so that he could earn enough money to pay a mortgage to a bank…’

Baxter thought of this vast converted warehouse apartment they were sitting in, located in Soho, which must have cost at least $6 million. Baxter thought about questioning Giancarlo about this - whether primitive man needed such extravagance - but he decided not not. He didn’t want to offend his naked hosts, so he continued to nod and look thoughtful.

‘My new book - The Emasculation of the American Erection’ - said Giancarlo - ‘Is designed for men just like you, Baxter’

‘Just like me…’ - said Baxter, trying to seem flattered.

‘Yes, men like you who have lost your connection to your primitive self. Men who have forgotten what happiness is, and men who can longer function sexually’

‘Cheryl told me Baxter, about your problem’ - said Cinza, stubbing out her cigarette - and lighting another one - ‘...and I told Giancarlo, and he insisted that we have you over for dinner so that he could help you’

Baxter tried to continue smiling - and could feel all of them staring at him.

‘That is very kind of you Giancarlo, but…’ - said Baxter, but Giancarlo cut him off.

‘Your penis is communicating with you, Baxter. Your penis is telling you that you are unhappy - it is sending a message, hoping that you will take drastic and radical action to become happy. Do you think primitive man had any problem gaining and maintaining an erection, Baxter?

‘I…I don’t know’ - stammered Baxter.

‘Of course he didn’t. And by connecting with your inner primitive self, you too can be happy and you to can gain a magnificent erection, Baxter’

‘Giancarlo’s erections are truly magnificent’ - said Cinza, smiling and winking at Giancarlo.

‘Would you like to see?’ - said Giancarlo, in a sincere tone to Baxter.

‘I don’t think that will be necessary’ - said Baxter, a wave of fear washing over him at the thought of Giancarlo showing him his magnificent erection as Cinza and Cheryl watched.

‘Another time then’ - said Giancarlo.

At that moment the maid opened the kitchen door and brought in a silver platter. Giancarlo grinned at Baxter and Cheryl - ‘Let us eat now!’

The four of them moved to the round table, and Cheryl grabbed Baxter’s hand and pulled him back.

‘I am so sorry’ - she whispered in Baxter’s ear.

Baxter was mortified, and pulled his hand away and continued to the table.

‘If you would be more comfortable’ - said Cinza, sitting and lighting another cigarette - ‘You could remove your clothes’

The maid was shaking her head, and trying to get back to the kitchen as quickly as possible.

‘Oh, I think I will stay as I am’ - said Baxter, sitting down.

‘Me too’ - said Cheryl, sitting opposite Baxter.

Cinza shrugged.

‘So tonight we have tagliatelle al ragù di cinghiale - tagliatelle with wild boar ragu’ - said Giancarlo, still standing and serving everyone from a large wooden bowl - ‘I only eat meat that I have killed, and this meal is prepared from a Russian boar I killed in the Appalachian mountains in Pennsylvania at one of my retreats…’

Giancarlo continued to serve everyone. There was a large loaf of bread, and Giancarlo cut the bread with a large knife, and passed it around. Then he poured everyone a glass of red wine.

‘This wine, Baxter, is from my families estate in Italy’ - said Giancarlo - ‘The Marazzis have been making wine on that estate for over four hundred years’

Baxter smiled, and Giancarlo held his glass high and made a toast - ‘To happiness!’

Everyone joined in the toast then Giancarlo sat - and they began eating.

‘You know, Baxter’ - said Giancarlo with a mouth full of pasta - ‘That when the first Europeans came to Papua New Guinea, the tribes that lived in the mountains had never seen a white skinned man before….’

Giancarlo paused to take a sip of wine, and then continued.

‘...and they captured a group of these Europeans, and they killed them - and they ate them. The tribes in the mountains of Papua New Guinea were cannibals, you see Baxter. And when they ate the flesh of the Europeans, they said that the flesh tasted the same as wild boar - saltier and tender. They named the Europeans the Long Pigs, because they tasted just like the wild boars they would hunt in the forests…’

Baxter nodded and again tried to look thoughtful, as though Giancarlo was saying something deeply interesting.

‘...now I want you to put some of this ragu and pasta in your mouth, Baxter - and I want you to close your eyes and to concentrate on the tastes and flavors and the textures…’

Baxter hesitated - and then did as Giancarlo instructed.

‘...now that, Baxter - is what a delicious meal made from human flesh would taste like - just the same as Russian boar’

Baxter opened his eyes, and chewed and nodded and then swallowed and then took a sip of the wine and then said - ‘Yes’ - it was the only response he could think of.

Baxter picked up some of the bread, and took a bite. It was sourdough - and it had a strange texture.

‘Do you like the bread?’ - said Cinza, who hadn’t touched her food but continued to smoke and drink wine.

‘Yes’ - said Baxter - ‘is this homemade?’

Cinza stubbed out her cigarette, and lit another one. She took a gulp of wine and then spoke - ‘Yes, I made it. I made the sourdough starter with my vaginal yeast, form an infection I had’

Baxter stopped chewing - and felt the bread mixed with his saliva in his mouth. Cinza was staring at him.

‘The infection was my fault’ - said Giancarlo, laughing - 'I do not wash, and my penis had become quite dirty…’

Baxter felt himself gag.

‘But, we have this delicious bread as a result’ - said Giancarlo, wiping some of the simulated human flesh sauce with the bread and then popping it into his mouth and chewing vigorously.

Baxter picked up his wine, and emptied the glass into his mouth and forced the vaginal yeast bread down his throat. He thought it was down, but his stomach rejected it and it began moving back up his throat. Baxter gripped the table as his mouth filled with ragu, pasta, bread, and wine.

‘Are you okay, Baxter?’ - said Giancarlo, looking at Baxter's red, distressed face and bulging cheeks.

Baxter managed to swallow the mouthful of vomit, and the only traces of it were two purple colored streaks that ran from his nose.

‘Yes, fine. Everything is fine’ - said Baxter, forcing a smile and pouring himself some more wine.

They ate in silence for a while - both Baxter and Cherly now avoiding the bread.

‘You know Baxter’ - said Giancarlo after a while - ‘I would like for you to come on one of my retreats’

‘That sounds fun!’ - said Cheryl, trying to sound enthusiastic.

Baxter nodded, desperately trying to think of how he might possibly avoid committing whilst not wanting to appear rude.

‘I have a cabin in the Appalacians - we head up in the forest and connect with nature. And slowly - very slowly - we coax out our inner primitive self and we look for happiness - not the happiness of the prison world, but real happiness. How does that sound?’

‘Well, I will have to check my diary and…’

Giancarlo slammed his fist down on the table. Cheryl gasped, Baxter jumped.

‘What - you need to check to find out whether you are free to break out of your life sentence of unhappiness, Baxter?’

‘Well, no - I just need to make sure that I don’t have any other commitments’

‘You are in a prison, Baxter. And everyone in the prison - the warden and the prison guards and the other prisoners are all telling you that you are free, that you are happy and that you are free! Inside your prison they tell you you are free and happy because you earn so much money and have such a nice apartment and that you drive a nice car and go on wonderful vacations - but Baxter, a prison with gold bars is still a prison!’

Baxter nodded, and sipped some wine.

‘Does your flaccid penis tell you that you are happy, Baxter? I can help you - I can help connect you with your primitive self, and you can live a life where money and cars and jobs and trinkets mean nothing to you - a life where you can be happy’

Baxter could feel everyone staring at him - ‘Well, okay. Yes - I think I can do that’

Giancarlo smiled a broad smile. Cheryle smiled. Cinza lit another cigarette and smiled.

‘Molto bene, Baxter’ - said Giancarlo, still grinning - ‘Very good. You will leave this island of Manhattan a prisoner, and you will return a free man’

The maid came from the kitchen, and started collecting plates.

‘Now, if you will excuse us - we are going to have to call it a night’ - said Giancarlo, standing.

Baxter had never been so relieved.

‘The reason I was masturbating earlier, is I want to fuck my beautiful wife this evening - but unless I masturbate before hand, I cannot last. Her pussy is just so good!’

The maid was shaking her head as she cleared the plates, Cinza was smiling like The Cheshire cat, and she winked at Giancarlo.

Baxter leaped from his seat - and Giancarlo walked towards him and held him in a tight embrace, kissing him on the cheek.

‘I will send you the invoice’ - whispered Giancarlo into Baxter’s ear.

‘The invoice?’ - said Baxter, hoping that Giancarlo would release him quickly.

‘For the retreat - $200,000. I prefer cash’ - said Giancarlo, kissing Baxter again on the cheek and then releasing him and wandering over to Cherly, and holding her in a tight embrace.

Now it was Cinza’s turn to tightly embrace Baxter with her naked body - ‘Giancarlo will fix your broken penis. He is an expert!’ - whispered Cinza in Baxter’s ear, before releasing him.

The Marzzis escorted Baxter and Cheryl to the giant sliding door, and pleasantries were exchanged as if this had been a normal, regular New York City dinner party. And then Baxter and Cheryl were in the hallway - and they could hear Giancarlo shouting enthusiastically in Italian and Cinza laughing, and then the giant sliding door slid shut and they walked in silence to the elevator.

Baxter pushed the button, and took his phone from his jacket pocket and called the town car driver. They stood in silence, and then entered the elevator in silence and then the doors closed.

‘I am so sor…’ - started Cheryl, but Baxter put a hand up.

The doors to the elevator opened in the lobby, and the cheerful doorman opened the door for them and the town car pulled up. They rode in silence from Soho to Park Ave.