It Had Been Years (15 page)

And so the dance began, not the literal dance, but the last two hours of the work week.  Robert was giving Christy his briefing before sending her off to the late day meetings he set up for her.  He prepared her with a list of attendees, expectations and objectives.  Her first meeting was truly legitimate.  She was there to help a newly elected party member’s staff get up to speed on the assigned committee and some organizational set up and structure.  Sure the elected gal was sharp, but a soft landing that leads to a good running start never hurts.  The second was set to occur over dinner in a dimly lit, high end Italian place called
Figaretti’s
in the middle of town.  While not a blind date, it was a set up, she’d meet an acquaintance of the Husker.  Sure she’d met the man in passing before, but was never given access to him.  She thought it was a sign of trust, what she didn’t know was the Husker’s real motivations for the meeting.  It all happened so fast that she hadn’t really had time to think it through.  Michal was well known to everyone around the Beltway who played the game.  Everyone wanted to know him, but no one wanted anyone else to know that they did.  So, while Christy headed off at the end of the day for her first of the two prearranged meetings of the evening, the Husker busied himself with the final thoughts and a fresh shave before heading out to a nice quiet dinner with Donna on the other side of town.  He knew he didn’t have the entire evening with her, but a 7:30 dinner and then she was heading off to “that club again
”  she
warned him as they made their plans the day before.  “You’re welcome to come along, but it might not be a good night to be there.”  He didn’t remember much about the club last Saturday except is wasn’t very busy and he woke up in her place, typically he didn’t drink like that, at least not in the last twenty years or so since leaving college.  He was very much the typical male figuring that he could convince her to change her plans and spend the evening with him. 

Across town Donna was packing a bag. The bag was the kind used for going to the gym, makeup, room for shoes and
things,
it was the yuppie kind that will fit standing up into a locker although all good yuppies used clubs with laundry service and permanent lockers.  Donna belonged to one of these clubs, but still she was packing a bag.  Typically when a woman packs a bag before a date it is safe to say it’s an overnight bag or at least it’s a bag in case she decides to be somewhere else over night.  This bag wasn’t for the morning or even late into the night it was for after dinner.  She wasn’t packing a sexy nightgown, or sultry lingerie, or even
sweat
pants and a T-shirt for sitting around watching movies in.  She was packing boots with a platform sole and a seven inch spiked heel that came up to just below her knee.  They had D-ring lacing from toe to mid calve and a brilliant deep shine coming off of their black surface. It was like looking in a black mirror, she could truly see her reflection in them.  Just thinking about wearing them made her feel sexy and daring, even though she was wearing a navy blue Ralph Lauren dress and had her hair and makeup done in a way that looked serious and professional bordering on maternal.  She would in her current look be perfectly in place at the fancy French place he chose for dinner. Still she would have rather been taking a nap before the party. 

Which is exactly what Vincent was waking up from around the same time Donna sat down for dinner.
  He had called it a day around noon but didn’t get out of the office until two.  The long hours early in the week had caught up with him.  He stretched and stretched as he woke up stiff and sore from his workout earlier that day. Heavy weights always made him feel that way after a nap and he packed more lifting into an hour than the average
roid
freak did in a week, except he was actually mostly natural.  A few vitamins that were really vitamins and protein shakes, he lived on protein shakes, strawberry whey with banana mixed in was a favorite, followed by chocolate soy with fresh raspberries and finally
a whey
casein in combo with a few drops of vanilla, pure protein.  Standing in front of his blender making his dinner, tonight was going to be sixteen ounces of skim milk mixed with 5 ice cubes and 3 scoops of chocolate whey.  All of this might have seemed mostly normal except for the fact he was standing in front of a wall
of windows looking out onto the city completely naked and either didn’t realize it or just didn’t care.  Pouring his shake into a large purple cup with the Baltimore Ravens logo on it, his nostrils, flared just a little, his blood pressure
rose
just a touch as he remembered how the bastard Colts left in the middle of the night and moved to Indy.  Fuck Peyton Manning, he thought heading towards his media room to do a little light reading that would consist of the latest installment from his Hustler subscription that came in the mail a few days back and seeing what was on one of the umpteen sports channels he subscribed too, so what would it be? 
Worlds
strongest man reruns, the NFL Network, golf.  “Fuck, I hate watching golf
”  he
thought to himself, then laughed at the line out of the old Adam Sandler movie Happy Gilmore “My neighbor the accountant is probably a great golfer, he has a huge ass.”  Before he knew it, it was 9:00.  Time to get ready, he turned on the shower, this would be his third one of the day, got a new triple blade razor out from the linen closet and a new blade for his good razor And in he went standing under the seven shower heads, an over sized rain maker on the top and three down each side of the shower that were set to an intensity you’d expect to find at a car wash not a shower.  He had learned early in his time at that condo to be careful which way he turned and how when they were set that strong.  He shaved his face,  he changed razors twice a week, today was a few days early but a good shave before a nice night out was important. Lathering up with soap and then cream took care of other area’s making certain that his under arms were hairless and then shaving his feet and toes.  Not because he intended for anyone to see them, but if he was going to be in a club dancing in his combat boots he didn’t want them to rub and cause problems.  Rinsing off and finishing with a gentle facial exfoliation mixture.  As he dried off and added the oversized white towel to the towel bin, he used each towel only before it was washed. It is safe to say that not only did he like his lovers more than a little bit tawdry, but they also couldn’t be environmentalists, he was personally depleting the worlds’ potable water supply with detergent on a regular basis.  So there he stood putting Citrus Mint Pomade in his hair and mussing it as close to stylishly as he knew how, carefully crafting where every misplaced piece of hair went causing a controlled disaster, a little bit of a muss here, and a spiked up spot
there.  After washing his hands, he put on body lotion and facial moisturizer. It was time to let them dry and dig out his leather pants.  They were old, but not as old as one would think, black and skin tight at first glance you might think they were left over from some ill fated dream of being a rock star, but on second glance they were tight through the thighs and hips hugging his well developed body closely, becoming loose in the shins bagging slightly below the knee but filling in back as his calves strained against them with each stride.  Add a pair of black wool socks and time to lace up his Doc’s over the pant legs, and slipping in to an old Black Flag T, which in part explains why he had Doc’s in the first place.  That was the look, adding a little Chrome for scent.  Something about the pants and the boots made him look like more of a bad ass, his good looks were overshadowed by a confidence that was always there, but not as obviously bordering on arrogance as it did in that outfit.  His stride more of a daring strut than a casual saunter.

By this time
Nadrea
had been preening for hours having finally decided on an outfit that would require a little help to get into.  “Where the fuck is the baby powder”, she yelled to an otherwise empty house as Marilynn Manson’s Mob Scene played in the back ground.  Finally, settling on a little water based lube that would dissolve or blend in with her sweat that the garment created on her hips, thighs, and ass to help her into the dress.  Gulping down her black Martini, made with
Blavod
English Vodka using
a lint
-less cloth and some Black Beauty to create a deeper luster on her outfit.

Dinner was finished and the Husker was gently trying to convince Donna, to spend some more time with him.  “Look tonight’s a big night for me and my friends.  This party only happens once a year.”  She tells him in a tone that makes sure he understands that she’s not changing her plans. 

“Well then I’m coming with you if that’s still ok.”  He pushes not really wanting to go, but hoping to in some child like way change her mind. 

“Fine, but you’ll need to change and we have to get you a mask.”  She states in a hurried tone, she needs to get ready and now find him something to wear.  Originally she wanted to be there at ten
thirty, now it going to be more like eleven fifteen, still early, but it was one of her favorite nights of the year and she really didn’t want to miss any of it.  “What kind of party is this?”
,  the
Husker asked as they headed out and started to hail a cab with the roses he had brought for her in hand.   

Friday night in a club, not an unusual occurrence by any stretch of the imagination and
Nadrea
arrived before the club opened the DJ’s were still setting the
sound,
the “models” were being briefed on their roles for the evening, as a group.  As the music progressed to the type that would be pulsating throughout the evening, people took their places milling about and the rest of this little world filtered in.  As the clubs flashing white light danced sinisterly over the now crowded room full of undulating flesh and flowing hair. An occasional beam of red or violet light caressing a section of humanity moving in their own unique interpretation of life and rhythms for a few fleeting moments of life until most go back to their otherwise soul crushing daily existence.  But for those few brief seconds in a lifetime the sounds thump, flashes of light join them in their dance in what would otherwise be a dark cold empty space, but their energy floats along with the man made fog and the smoke.  The room continued to fill and assorted chemicals, although they are strictly forbidden, flow through so many people’s veins. 

The room was now filled with images that would terrify the good God fearing people of the Midwest.  Men were dancing with men, couples and groups writhing in rhythmically induced ecstasy.  This was a part of the world that most cultures wouldn’t even try to understand.  Something wicked was occurring off in the corner as he entered the club.  An angry Goth DJ screamed encouragement or
insults,
it is indecipherable which, at the crowd.  There was no judgment here, no intolerances of any kind for ones choice of preferences or partners.  For such a misunderstood group they were very open and accepting of others.  Although, one could never tell just by looking into the room they were just people indulging their own consented choices, living in their own personal Nirvana’s for those few fleeting hours, for their own hedonistic paradise before going back out into the light of day that required most to be something they truly were not.  A handful of merchants with small tables full of their wares were on the one outside wall of the club, more like something one would expect to find at a chamber of
commerce mixer or a small town country craft fair.  One must wonder though what the people who typically attend those things would think or the lurid carnal that sins were being committed in the shadows of our nation’s capital.  Perhaps they would view it as American’s reveling in the freedoms we have; although it’s hard to believe that most would assume it was anything more than a sign of the impending end of days. 

But unlike the Chamber mixers, the insurance agent was replaced with shoes and boots, instead of copiers there are implements of pleasure and pain hanging from a chain link display behind a table that didn’t have diamonds and pearls on it, but rather leather collars and metal spikes.  It wasn’t Victoria’s Secret where matching ones lacey little
undies
to an allegedly racy bra is important, although
Nadrea
still thought about those types of things should always match or at the very least complement each other.  Here it was leather and rubber. Silk was almost completely out of place: a woman in an woven unlined immodest silk top drenched in sweat dancing next to a seemingly gay man all in leather, a USMC tattoo peeking out from under
hi
½ sleeved shirt.