Chapter Twenty-Four: The Club
THE evening was chilly underneath a grey, San Francisco sky, the undersides of the clouds lit by an indistinct orange glow from the city beneath. A damp, persistent breeze moved along the streets and between the buildings, sometimes channeling through alleyways, making unpleasant gusts as they walked. Nicolette had left her puffy jacket in the car, reasoning that it would likely be very warm once they were inside the club, probably oppressively so. Daniel had been surprised when she shrugged the jacket off, revealing a silver metallic scaled top that left her back and shoulders bare with only a little string around her neck and back. She had added a pair of white lace gauntlets, similar to the black set he’d seen her wearing at Coffee Beach yesterday morning.
At least her forearms probably aren’t cold, he mused, watching as she hugged herself for warmth. He longed to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her close, sharing some his warmth, but an awkwardness had settled over them; he couldn’t decide if the contact would be welcome.
Traffic was sparse as they approached the club a little before 11:30. The club was at the intersection of two busy streets; though it didn’t advertise itself by any obvious marquee or lights, they could hear the muted thump of the bass from the next block. They approached the corner where the entrance was located, a crowd of people milling on the corner, chattering loudly.
Smokers needing a fix, he thought, amused at the haze of cigarette smoke above them, trailing away in the breeze, the sweet smell of cloves and the musky smell of other herbs mixing with the cigarette smoke. He glanced at Nicolette, a small smile playing about her lips as she watched the milling people. On the far side of the chattering crowd, a line of people waited next to a velvet rope to enter through a nondescript steel door. As the chilly breeze momentarily sharpened, Daniel felt sorry for the club-goers, especially the women in their short skirts and barely-there tank tops as they waited in the chilly, breezy San Francisco night for their turn in the club.
They walked directly to the hulking bouncer sitting on a battered wooden barstool at the front of the line and informed him they were on the VIP list. He consulted his tablet then waved them through, earning both Daniel and Nikki curious glances from the waiting club-goers. Daniel unthinkingly placed his hand on her back just above the waistband of her jeans as he guided Nicolette through the line in front of him. He was startled at an almost electric tingle where his hand met her skin, the muscles in her back trembling under his palm and fingertips. She shivered at his touch as she looked over her shoulder, surprise fleetingly visible in her expression. He quickly withdrew his hand, still uncertain if the contact was welcome. The ghost sensation of her skin under his fingertips lingered, along with that little electric vibration.
“That felt nice,” she murmured, as they entered the club proper, passing through a dark hallway. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness inside the club. He felt as though he was passing through the throat of some huge beast, the beat and throb of the music its thunderous heartbeat. They passed the coat-check, then entered a much larger space with a raised stage at the far end where the massive heartbeat was being orchestrated by a DJ, his curly blonde hair bobbing to the beat, a pair of bulky studio headphones riding his temples. Everything became visual as their senses were subsumed by the dark rhythm around them.
She watched Daniel over her shoulder, a hint of a smile playing about her lips as he replaced his hand. He was aware of the smooth, cool texture of her skin, his body responding to the contact. He wondered how on earth he was going to make it though the evening if he was already this turned on -- they had just barely arrived! Since she’d first shrugged out of her jacket, he’d wanted to reach out and touch her exposed back, following the line of her shoulders, down her spine to the little hollow above her hips just above the waistband of her jeans.
He was startled to realize his hand had followed his thoughts, his mind distracted by the synesthesia of thunderous noise and hallucinatory darkness. He felt her flesh goose pebbling under his fingertips in response. From the side, her expression was neutral, but he could see her breathing more quickly as they made their way through the club, surrounded by blacklight induced hallucinations, glowing purple-bright movement seething against the darkness, the dancers moving independently and yet all rhythmically tethered to the music’s deafening throb. He was surprised to see the gloves covering her forearms and the backs of her hands lighting up, throwing back the blacklight with nearly blinding purple lambency.
He left his hand on the small of her back, liking the feel of her muscles working as she walked while they looked for the VIP table where Dane, Shelly, and Tommy waited for them. The music was electronic, something with a heavy, repetitive beat. He felt the dark, seductive rhythm filing his chest as they made their way around the slightly less populated edges of the dance floor, through the moist heat and pounding darkness. They paused at an overcrowded bar, where Daniel muscled his way through the crowd and managed to order a beer for himself and a bottle of water for Nikki. The crowd was mostly in their younger to mid twenties, energetic, almost frantic in their need to surrender themselves to the music and dance. Under different circumstances, he would have been willing to let himself be pulled into the frenetic maelstrom of dance, but tonight he felt claustrophobic, wanting to find Dane, Shelly, and Tommy so he could relax and study the crowd.
She nudged him lightly with her elbow and pointed. His gaze followed her pointing finger through the dance floor and its bobbing sea of dimly perceived bodies, as they bobbed to the same rhythm. They made their way between the two crowds -- the dancing mass of bodies on the floor and the loitering throng by the bar. Along one wall of the club, tucked into an architectural irregularity were a row of tables guarded by velvet ropes, the tables were a step up from the rest of the club’s floor in a series of low-ceilinged nooks framed with elaborately carved woodwork.
A thick-armed, bulky bouncer moved to stop them as Daniel reached for the rope, but Dane caught sight of them as they approached. He quickly stood and spoke to the man, the chords on his neck standing out as he raised his voice to be heard over the music. The bouncer nodded, then expressionlessly unhooked the rope and waited patiently while Dane and Shelly hugged them in welcome, mutely motioning them to the table. Tommy made no move to stand as he smiled at Daniel and Nikki, nodding once when Daniel made eye-contact.
Tommy briefly cut his eyes toward Nikki, raising his eyebrows. They hadn’t spoken since the weekend, but Daniel had very little to report; he smiled, then returned an ambiguous shrug. Tommy smirked in response as he returned his attention to the dance floor.
Half an hour later they were settled comfortably around their table, watching the dancers and listening to the music which rendered conversation largely impossible. Nicolette watched with amusement as Daniel and Dane tried, bellowing back and forth to make themselves heard -- about what, she had no idea. She was genuinely surprised when someone brought their table a very expensive bottle of champagne, but a quick survey of their group showed her that this was apparently part of the fun of going to a club with Dane when he was making a professional visit.
It had been a long time since she’d been to a club. She had always enjoyed the energy that passed between a good DJ and the crowd, the two feeding and consuming energy off of each other until they formed one symbiotic organism, driven by the rhythm. When she had lived in LA, she remembered going to nightclubs and feeling a sense of freedom and release as she allowed herself to be drawn into that organism, her sense of self briefly disappearing. As she sat at the table surrounded by this group of virtual strangers, she tried to recapture that feeling, that loss of identity that brought a sort of freedom, but she was surprised how reluctant she was to disappear into the music. She was nervous and uneasy, surrounded by all the people and movement and noise; prison had acclimated her to an entirely different level of stimulation.
C’mon, Nikki, she thought, the music is good and the company has done everything they
can to be welcoming, so relax and have some fun! You’re with Daniel, after all! This is what you wanted!
She had been surreptitiously studying him, having been repeatedly startled by the differences between the boy she remembered from high school, and the man that had picked her up at Harry’s. She found herself looking for hints of the adolescent with only superficial success. As she studied him, she slowly realized what the difference was, what kept tripping her perceptions. He had hardened in the intervening years; he was more guarded and didn’t laugh as easily, but had a an intensity, a focus that hadn’t been present in high school. She wondered how much of that related to his army experience, wondered how much violence he had seen...how much he’d done. She found his intensity and gravitas strangely appealing.
The violence has made him more cautious and watchful, she thought, sadness washing through her.
Nikki sighed as she absently replayed the feeling of his hand on her back -- the warmth and roughness of his skin contrasting with the gentle firmness of his touch. She could have sworn that his first contact had caused an almost electric vibration in her spine; it had been all she could do not to jump in startlement or yip in surprise...and if she had yipped, hopefully the music had covered it up. She had been studying him ever since, looking for any hint that he’d felt it, too. She watched as he laughed at something Dane was saying as he pointed across the dance floor, making a wide sweeping gesture. Her sadness intensified as she realized she had no idea how they were acquainted, their friendship em
blematic of all that she’d missed.
You made your decisions, Nikki, she thought harshly. You did the best you could with what you had; now live with it.
She started to tilt her head back against the padded seat of the booth, mentally picturing herself taking a deep draught from the bitter cup she had drawn for herself, but abruptly froze. Her gaze, having been pulled across the club by Dane’s gesture, had landed on a man...but the light caught his eyes strangely, like a cat’s eyes in the dark, throwing back the blacklight. He looked as though he was wearing some kind of mask, giving his face a dark grey, roughened oak-bark aspect, with slits where the nose should have been, underneath a tangle of black dreadlocks decorated with (bones) beads and shiny stones.
She sat up sharply, not sure what she was seeing, but strangely confident that she wasn’t experiencing a contact high (she had only been drinking water -- Daniel had been surprised when she had refused the expensive champaign on the table). As she sat forward, the...man...shifted, giving Nikki the impression that he was looking directly at her, the iridescence of his eyes briefly becoming more lambent, then fading as he quickly looked away. The lights shifted to another part of the dance floor. She blinked as she lost sight of him in the crowd despite her efforts to keep track of him. She had the uneasy impression he’d been watching her.
Nicolette jumped when Shelly lightly touched her shoulder to get her attention, cocking her head inquisitively to the side when Nikki turned, a look of concern painted across her features. She smiled at Shelly reassuringly, pushing down her sudden fear and unease. She tried to shake the feeling, but couldn’t stop herself from one last scan of the club before turning back to Shelly and leaning toward her to speak directly into her ear to be heard over the music, “Nothing --I just thought I saw something...weird. It was just the lights.”
Shelly frowned, scanning the club, then looked back at Nikki quizzically. Nikki smiled, then mouthed, it’s nothing, before leaning back and recrossing her legs, trying to project calm.
Must have been contacts with eye shine or something, like Vin Diesel in those space movies. Clubbers find some pretty wack stuff for the UV lights, she thought. The explanation seemed logical -- was probably even true -- but a tiny intuitive tickle in the back of her mind wasn’t convinced.
Well, I can stay here, cowering in the booth, hiding behind the boys because I’m afraid of a guy with shiny contacts, or I can be a grownup and go dance!
She nudged Shelly, gesturing with her head toward the bobbing crowd. Shelly briefly considered the crowd then smiled back and shook her head. Nikki was surprised -- perhaps she had misread Shelly, confusing her bubbly, upbeat demeanor with that of a party girl. Nikki wanted to dance, but she didn’t want to leave her friend behind. When Nikki hesitated, feeling guilty for wanting to go without Shelly (and maybe the faintest bit relieved that she wouldn’t have to leave her safe little nook, after all), Shelly threw a theatrically longing glance at Dane, then made a shooing gesture. Nicolette smiled back, then nudged Daniel, nodding toward the dance floor when he turned a quizzical glance upon her. He grinned, drained his glass, then stood, pulling her with him.
Dane toasted them with his half full glass, then slid over to Shelly, wrapping his left arm around her shoulders. Nicolette glanced one last time over her shoulder as they began working their way through the shifting, bobbing throng; Tommy was watching them with a curious stare, following their progress onto the dance floor. She froze, heart hammering in her chest as she did an involuntary double-take, Daniel looking back at her questioningly when her felt her come to a halt. For one brief instant, she could have sworn Tommy’s eyes threw back the light, glimmering with an electrified purple lambency as the club’s lights shifted over the dancers.
But when she looked a second time, the eye shine was gone.
The dance floor was crowded, hemming them in with moving bodies, all suspended within the rhythm, reducing their communication to a language of touches and snapshot views of each other when the shifting lights briefly illuminated them. Daniel was excited by the forced intimacy as he sank into the synesthesia of sound and movement. He studied Nicolette as she danced, familiarizing himself with her style, tempering his movements to complement hers. She moved easily, the black light illuminating her gloves, creating hallucinatory afterimages as she moved, the lights faintly glimmering off the scales of her metallic top in counterpoint. Her movement was coordinated with the beat, her body smoothly moving from one position to another, sometimes pausing an extra beat to register a pose. Her top left her back exposed, inviting his touch, exciting him further. She wasn’t energetic or acrobatic, but her movements were smooth...sensual. He smiled, watching her dance, watching as she fell into herself, caught up in the ecstasy of movement and music, the thundering baseline causing them to fall into a semi-trancelike state.
For one brief instant, his worries dropped away, the smell of Nicolette’s hair and the feel of her skin adding to his euphoria. He watched as Nicolette smoothly turned, her hips brushing against his front, her back moving across his chest, clearly lost in the moment. As she danced, it slowly dawned on him that her coordination spoke of long practice, of time spent in front of a mirror. Aware of the movement of her hips and the practiced ease with which she aroused him, a new idea began to worm its way into his thoughts, an idea which strengthened despite his efforts to lose himself in the ecstasy of their nascent intimacy. When he was still in the military, he’d briefly dated a girl, Leslie; she hadn’t been the brightest girl he’d ever met, but she’d been friendly and honest. She’d always styled herself as a dancer, though the type venue she worked at typically included lap dances.
Watching Nicolette dance brought Leslie to mind.
He lost the rhythm as she dropped in time to a heavy downbeat, the back of her head level with his waist. She arched her back, spreading her knees, then slowly straightened until she was bent at the waist, her hips pressing back into his. His hands fell to her hips as thought momentarily fled, torn between his confusion and his desire. Nicolette straightened until she was standing with her back pressed fully against his front, completely lost in the rhythm as her own eroticism elided with her dance. Smiling, she turned her head, lips parted, fully expecting Daniel to kiss her -- she could feel his excitement as she pressed her hips against his front. She waited, still swaying slightly with the rhythm of the music, unconsciously generating friction.
She felt him withdraw slightly.
She glanced over her shoulder, confused. One of the roving spotlights illuminated his face, his confusion and bewilderment evident as he stared at her. She blinked as she replayed the last few minutes, flinching at the mental image. The music had lulled her into habits that had become ingrained when she’d learned to dance at the Kitty Kat in Los Angeles; at the time the movements had been so alien to her -- so literal and explicit -- that she’d been forced to practice whenever she could, working to overcome her own shyness and hesitancy. She had applied herself with the same single-mindedness that had made her a straight-A student, helped her survive 17 years of Mother -- until her own instincts had been supplanted. It never even occurred to her how that might look to Daniel.
She pulled away from him, intuitively understanding from his expression he was done dancing for the night; she had awakened too many doubts, brought her own personal history too much into the spotlight. She nodded toward the bar, raising her eyebrows questioningly, hoping to salvage some portion of the evening. He hesitated, then nodded, reluctantly taking her hand.
He led her to the bar, pulling her through the crowd, unaware that his grip had become painful.
How could I have let things come to this?, she wondered bitterly, her earlier feelings of warmth and excitement gone. Suddenly, she felt foolish trailing after Daniel in her barely-there club top and tight blue jeans, mincing along in her platform heels.
Could this night get any worse?, she wondered.
They reached the bar, surprised to find it mostly free of other club-goers. By some trick of acoustics, the thunderous music wasn’t as loud where they settled against the dark, polished wood. The bartender looked up, nodding in acknowledgement as he finished pouring something into a row of shot glasses lined up together, his pour precise and measured as he shifted from one glass to the next without stopping. Nicolette glanced at Daniel, trying to get a read on his thoughts. His expression was neutral, but she could see the little lines on his forehead telegraphing his disturbed state of mind. Her heart sank as The Conversation she had sought to delay suddenly loomed large on her horizon.
The bartender walked quickly over to them, turning his ear toward Daniel to take his order, his eyes falling on Nicolette as he listened. Her heart sank further when he hesitated, his eyes locked on hers. She had come to recognize that look, that instant of recognition which widened the eyes, the furtive glance to see if anyone else noticed.
This can’t be happening, she thought, the timing couldn’t be worse.
Daniel leaned forward, yelling to be heard over the music, despite the small oasis of calm surrounding the bar. The bartender reluctantly pulled his eyes away from her as he nodded at Daniel in acknowledgment before raising his eyebrows at her in silent query. She lightly tapped her chin with her index finger, the three middle fingers on her hand making a ‘W’: water, she signed. She was impressed when the bartender nodded in understanding. He smiled warmly as he placed a bottle of water on the bar, then pulled down a dark amber bottle from an upper shelf. She was aware that Daniel was staring back and forth between them, his expression troubled, dashing her hope that he might not have noticed. She wished she was home so she could pull her blankets over her head and disappear.
Daniel frowned deeply when the bartender waved off his money, favoring Nicolette with one last warm, flirty smile before hurrying away to the other end of the bar where a group of girls in halter tops had gathered. She could see the thoughts forming in Daniel’s mind: “Why does that bartender recognize Nikki? Why did he comp me top-shelf whiskey?”
Why is Nikki trying to duck under the bar like a cockroach hiding from the light?, she added, realizing her body language was probably mirroring her feelings.
I just can’t catch a break tonight, can I?, she thought bitterly. She sipped her water, refusing to meet Daniel’s eyes.
The evening had started out so well, she thought, eyes rising to her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She felt foolish, mugging at her reflection in her revealing club top, avoiding Daniel’s gaze because of the questions in his eyes--
She saw a glimmer of eye shine, the iridescent purple flicker coming from a man wearing a grey, bark-like mask standing one layer of bar patrons behind her. Their eyes met in the mirror, his sharklike grin faltering at her widening eyes. Heart pounding in her chest, she spun around, back pressed against the bar as she unconsciously leaned away from him. Her mind caught up a moment later, as she realized she’d seen the light catch on naked steel clenched in his fist.
A moment passed before she registered that the man must have ducked back into the crowd, scared off by her sudden movement. Daniel stared at her quizzically, clearly unaware of the man that had been (stalking her) standing by the bar. She briefly wondered if she was cracking up, her fear refusing to subside. Their eyes briefly locked, his expression hardening as he realized her fear was genuine, his gaze going back out over the crowd, scanning for danger, his survival instincts kicking in.
They shared another instant of perfect telepathy; the night was over -- it was time to go home.