The Road Home [Archive] - Wyrd Miniatures

nebiros

09-22-2009, 01:41 AM

The Road Home

Nick tried to maintain the façade of control while playing checkers with the other cars on the expressway. The cool night air coming through the open window kept him aware. With the cruise control set at 60mph, Nick could focus on steering between the restless sets of painted lines. Johnny Cash sang about a Sunday Morning Coming Down through the speakers. “Not yet, Johnny,” Nick said to the car’s interior, “just give me a few more hours.”

He reached to the dash and pushed in the lighter. After a few attempts, he found his pack of Camels lying on the passenger seat. He shook one loose and lodged it between his lips. The sound of the lighter jumping out of its burrow and landing on the console sent a wave of irritation crashing over Nick. He looked down to see where his fire had gone. As he scanned the center console, he felt his car drive over a set of bumps in the road. Realizing that the bumps were markers for the center yellow line, he jerked his eyes back to the road. Two bright orbs of light blazed through the windshield, lighting every detail of the car’s interior. Nick’s breath caught in his chest as he pulled the wheel, swerving the car back into the right lane.

The ringing in his ears grew loud as his chest tightened in panic. He winced at the pains firing through his chest and arms. Nick struggled to get his breathing back under control. Failing, he pulled the car over to the shoulder and put the gear in park. After a few moments, he relaxed and regained control. The pain subsided to a dull throb. “I’ve got to stop smoking,” he thought aloud as he clutched his chest. When he felt close to normal, he shifted the car into gear and eased back onto the road.

The Main St. Exit arrived about three billboards and five exits later. The car carried Nick down Main St., away from the lights of downtown and toward the industrial sector. The warm red glow of the neon sign pulled Nick out of autopilot. He wheeled the car into the gravel parking lot behind the building. The car parked, Nick approached the street entrance. Seeing the doorman, Nick pulled out his wallet, tithed the cover charge, and entered the inner sanctum of The Deuces Wild.

Techno music, flashing lights, and shifting shadows all greeted him like old friends. Casting his glance to the stage, Nick noted that Patricia was dancing to a song he didn’t know. He nodded to her as he walked to the far side of the room. She returned his greeting, subtle as the air whispering from the overhead vents.

No sooner than he found his table, Amy arrived. Aside from her habit of chewing gum, Amy moved with the grace of a cocktail napkin carried away by the cool draft of air-conditioning. Nick knew that she would be a hell of a dancer, some day. Now, however, she pulled shifts as the server. “How’s it goin’ Nick? You wanna Killian’s, right?”

“Yeah. Who’s working tonight?”

“Janice, Jenna, Brandi, Anastasia, Dianna, and some new girl. I think they said her name was Gabrielle. Anyway, I’ll tell Brandi you’re here.”

Nick placed his hand on her arm. “Don’t. I’d like to meet this Gabrielle girl.”

Amy smiled the sort of smile that people give when they are sorry a couple didn’t work out. She put her hand on Nick’s shoulder and gave a kind squeeze before she left to get his beer. Nick just shook his head. He smiled as he imagined all of the girls consoling him over the loss of his beloved Brandi. Brandi was Nick’s favorite dancer, but the two shared nothing else. He only saw her at the club, where she listened and he tipped.

Patricia finished her set as the song ended. She walked about the stage, gathering crumpled dollar bills and discarded lingerie. The DJ’s voice blared from the speakers overhead. “Give a hand for Tricia. Be sure to ask her, or any of your favorite girls, about lap dances, shower dances, and two-for-ones.” Nick groaned at the sound of the DJ.

The first few chords of a familiar song raised Nick’s head. He couldn’t remember the name of the song, but it was one of his favorites. Something about the end of the world, he thought. After a few seconds, the DJ announced that Gabrielle was coming to the stage.

Adorned in a black tank top and tight black shorts, she glided to the stage. Her pale skin cast a bluish tint as the track lighting cascaded about her thin form. She lit upon the stage and grasped the center brass pole. Tracers of blue-white light raced to keep pace with her as she spun around the pole and launched into her set. Nick absorbed her every movement. He didn’t blink for nearly four minutes while she danced. As the song ended, she locked gazes with him. A cold, empty feeling came over him. Nick knew he was alone, and longed for something more.

Gabrielle took off her tank top and cast it toward the mirror at the back of the stage, as the second song began to throb. Her breasts were small and her bare skin shimmered in the moon-glow of the lights. Nick thumbed through his wallet and produced a five-dollar bill. Standing, he approached the edge of the stage. An old man sitting at the front of the runway, smiled a decayed grin at him. Nick stood, hands pressed into the small of his back, and waited. As she saw him, her serpentine dance carried her across to him. The sweet smell of sweat and jasmine arrived with her. She embraced him and moved against his body. Her face went to his neck and, as she spoke, her lips brushed his ear. “Are you Nick?”

“Yes,” he said.

“After I’m done, will you buy me a drink?”

“Yes.” It was all he could say. She backed away from him and lifted the little lace band around her thigh. Nick brought the folded money from behind him and placed it under the lace.

He half turned and walked back to his seat, never fully taking his eyes off of her. After he sat down, her set ended to the sound of a few scattered claps and the drone of the idiot DJ. Seconds turned into minutes while Nick awaited her arrival. He had no idea what they would talk about once she sat down with him. His shaking subsided as the remainder of his drink washed away his nervousness. Gabrielle strode over to his table, wearing the same black tank top and shorts that she wore on the stage.

“Have a seat,” Nick offered.

Amy arrived and asked if he would like to the dancer a drink. Yes. Then she left to go to the bar. She would bring back a soda. It was always like this. Six dollars paid for a soda, three of which went to the bar, the rest of which went to the girl. That’s the way the business worked. Gabrielle sat in the chair next to Nick so they could hear each other over the music.

They sat in uncomfortable silence until Amy had come and gone. Now they could talk. Nick paused to study her face, as if looking for something to discuss, without resorting to the usual clichés. These clichés, such as “So, how long have you worked here? Do you like it here?” were for the other girls. Not this one.

Finally, she spoke up. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Really? What have you heard?”

“Oh, nothing bad,” she smiled. “All of the girls say you treat them good. They say you tip good and don’t cause any problems.”

His spirits collapsed. How could he have let himself think that she was here for anything but money? “Oh.”

Her hand shot across the table and she squeezed his hand. He flinched at her cold touch. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. I came over here to talk to you. I thought you would be an interesting guy to meet. I don’t care about your money.” She smiled again, and Nick saw that, underneath her eyes, she was sincere. He relaxed a bit.

“So,” Nick said, by way of recovery, “what do you do when you aren’t working?”

She settled back into her seat. “Well, I…travel a lot. I get to meet interesting people and see neat places.”

“You have another job?”

“Sort of. It’s more like an organization that I belong to. It’s really not that cool. What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m a bricklayer. I know, it’s not that glamorous, but it pays the bills.”

“It’s an honorable job. There’s something about hard work…I guess not very many people do it anymore.” Her gaze took him.

“Are you married?” she asked.

He glanced down at the band on his finger. It had been there for so long that he nearly forgot it was there. His thumb rubbed the underside of the ring. “No, not anymore. I was, though.”

“I’m sorry.”

Nick shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m not.” The world held its breath while she waited for him to continue. He knew where this road lead and he really didn’t want to travel down it. But why not? It was over three years ago. I can handle it, he thought. “It was a mutual decision. When Christina…my daughter…died, it was too much for both of us. We just kind of grew apart. There were no hard feelings toward each other…its just that…well…she was all we had in common.”

He looked up from the spot on the table where his eyes had concentrated on for the last few moments. He was a bit surprised to see that she sat forward in her chair, intent on what he was saying. He tried to read her features to sense if she really wanted to hear this, but she seemed to care.

“How did she die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Nick released a long slow breath. “The doctors found a tumor in her brain. It was too deep to operate on. Eventually, she just passed on.”

“I know how hard it can be to lose someone. You just have to believe that she’s in a better place.”

Nick flinched at the sentiment. That’s what everyone told him at the funeral. That’s what everyone said in the months after the funeral. That’s what everyone always said when someone died. The thought of reducing Christina to some empty platitude ground into his skin. She deserved more than that.

“You don’t believe that, do you?” Gabrielle asked, her eyebrows arched.

Nick thought about the question for a moment. Did he believe in heaven? He had thought a lot about it just after Christina died. Since then, he hadn’t given heaven much thought. “I don’t know, but I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“It just seems like too much of a stretch. This is the same god that kills little children…why would he build a paradise for them to go to? It just doesn’t really make that much sense, I guess.”

The look on her face resembled an island that had weathered this same storm many times and had grown stronger for the winds. Then, after about a minute, she asked Nick, “What if you’re wrong?”

“Then, I guess I’ll be pleasantly surprised when I get there.”

She chuckled and ducked her head from his gaze. Her laughter lightened the dark mood that had settled over their table. Nick was soon smiling, as well.

Once the air cleared, Nick decided to start anew. “How did we get on religion?”

She nodded toward his hand. “I think I asked about your wife.”

“So, how about you? You got a boyfriend, husband, girlfriend…?”

This time, when she smiled, Nick saw a great sorrow behind her eyes. Nick was glad that she displayed the smile for his benefit, nonetheless. “I don’t get that much time for myself, much less for anyone else.”

The voice of the DJ boomed over the speakers, once again. Gabrielle looked up. Her movement was the only reason he noticed the DJ. He thought he heard something about showtime, or something like that. Nick didn’t know what that meant. It must be something new, he thought.

“I gotta go. Showtime is coming up.”

“What the hell is showtime?” Nick asked, upset that the girl with whom he had been getting along so well had to leave.

“Oh, that’s where all of the girls get up on stage and file into the crowd, one by one. We walk around and offer two-for-one couch dances. It’s where we really make our money, from what I understand.”

Nick watched her go and thought about buying her another drink as soon as he could. Something she said echoed in his mind. As it echoed, it left behind a thought that intruded on his conscience like smoke under a door. Couch dances were held in a back room, away from prying eyes. The image of some other guy, having his way with Nick’s newly discovered angel, repulsed him.

He wondered what difference it made. After all, he had just met her. She wasn’t Brandi: she was compassionate and opened up to him. She held a real interest in what he thought. What was worse; he didn’t know a thing about her. She was mysterious, angelic, and interested in him. She was perfect, Nick thought.

He watched her as she walked to the back of the bar area, to what must have been a dressing room. He puzzled over the irony of a dressing room in a place where the object was to shed clothing. Shaking his head, he determined that when showtime came, he was going to see her again. Only this time, it would be away from the noise and crowd of the main room.

Nick waited as he watched the dancer on stage perform the last song of her set. Amy came around to check on his drink, and he ordered another. Time passed slower than at a traffic light while he watched the rhythmic movements of the girl on stage. She wasn’t very good at dancing, but she held the attention of the small crowd.

The overhead speakers awoke once more, at the end of the song. “Get ready for Showtime! That’s right, gentlemen, its Showtime. Be sure to ask your favorite girl for a couch dance, lap dance, or table dance and get two for the price of one. And remember to take care of the ladies. They are working hard for you.”

The girls appeared from the dressing room, sauntering in a single file line. One by one, they stepped onto the stage to the sound of the DJ announcing their names. As each one arrived on stage, they performed a trick on the center pole, as if to showcase their flexibility to their prospective clients. Once the first completed her acrobatic display, she stood and waited for the next one to stand next to her, until they had all lined the stage.

Then, they broke ranks and descended into the audience. Nick stood and moved around tables and desperate men toward Gabrielle. No sooner than he stood up, she cast her gaze across the room at him. All of the other girls pandered their wares to the various tables, while she stood still, waiting for his arrival. His line of sight was broken by an older man, asking her for a dance. Nick arrived in time to here her response. “It’s not your turn yet.”

She took Nick’s hand and led him to the back part of the building, opposite the dressing room. They didn’t speak. The two of them walked to the entrance of one of the stalls that contained the couches. She brushed aside the curtain of beads that marked the entrance.

The only light in the small space shone from the main room, via a doorway. A couch and a mirror dominated the tiny abode. Gabrielle motioned for him to sit on the leather cushion. He complied as she took her clothes off and straddled him. Only a thin layer of denim separated the two bodies.

Though he wasn’t allowed to touch her, she could act without fear of reprisal. He slid his hands into his back pockets, both to restrain himself and to signal to her that he was not a threat. She moved her hips back and forth against his lap, spreading warmth across his groin and into his chest. Within moments, the smell of perfume was devoured by the scent of her sweat. The sound of her breathing and the throbbing in his chest drowned out the blur of the speakers, so that only the bass remained.

His chest tightened as her hands flowed across it. The warmth rose higher and higher, until it spread down his arms. The intensity of his breathing increased. He closed his eyes and his mind swam to distant shores where this was routine. Imagining a world where she wasn’t a stripper and he wasn’t a drunk, he leaned deeper into the leather cushion.

A sharp, stabbing pain ripped him from his vision. The warmth in his chest and arms became unbearable, and the air gripped his chest as if to crush him. His breathing came fast and shallow, now. His eyelids slammed shut as he buckled in pain.

“Stop…I can’t take this…something’s wrong.”

Amidst all of the pain, he felt her fingertips on his lips and her breath on his ear. “Shh, just relax, Nick. I promise it will all be over in a moment,” she said in the most soothing voice he’d heard since childhood.

In the blackness of his eyelids, tracers of agony and light lanced through his vision. His muscles tightened. Somewhere, beyond the torment, he felt her holding him and rocking back and forth. She began a new dance, one that was more motherly than erotic. Like the violent sobs of a child, his body ceased its fit. When she whispered, her voice rose above the ringing in his ears.

“Nick, I’ve come to take you home.”

“But…”

“It’s alright. Christina is waiting.”