Dazzle

Two and one half hours later, I've long been feeling warm blanket of intoxication surround me, and now I feel a little bit more at peace. All of my work friends but one have gone home to their loved ones. And the straggler is a girl named Andy who has drunkenly started up a conversation with one of the over-aged Freaks. Sad.
Sad for me too, because Freak or no Freak I stand here alone, lost in all my thought, drink after drink. Still vaguely angry about Bartender.
Lots of times in stories the protaganist comes to a turning point. Something that happens, either within, or outside of their control that sets the stage for the rest of their lives. Of course, cynic as I am, I always thought that turning points were terribly cliche. Now, as I write these words, I realize that the next few events that happened that night could be considered as MY turning point, events that I look back on and almost shudder. Because if I would have known what was about to happen to me I would have gone home and never left again, desperate to hold on to the thinning, fleeting, mist of my innocence.

Andy continues to speak with the Freak, she giggles, and seems genuinely interested in what he is saying. My eyes droop a little while a watch her. While I watch them. And briefly I am hypnotized by the possibility that beautiful Andy will find love tonight by this pretentious man, so consumed by his desire to stand out. For him life is still so romantic that the prettiest girl at the bar could see through his problems and find out that he is just like her. Simple, smart, human. Just like a John Cusack movie from the eighties, she is only one who sees him for who he really is. This thought is what makes me drain my glass.
Forgetting that I am avoiding the bar, I stumble up and find myself face to face with Bartender. He looks at me with recognition. He also knows that I am now drunk, and this fact to him is very appealing. I decide then that I will speak to him, and let him pick me up. He asks why I have been alone for so long, he means tonight but his words resonate. With a smile I tell him how bored I am, letting him think that I would like him to suggest something to eleviate my boredom. He is no fool. He picks up on my hint and suggests I come to his after party tonight. I am no fool either, and I know what this is code for. Of course I will Bartender, tell me the time and place.

At Bartender's place, (whom I have found out is also called Andy) I am surprised to find a few people there. Mostly men, but a few girlfriendy looking girls as well. The women regard me lowly, and they know that I am just tonight's payout for charming Andy. The men also sense the same, but treat me much nicer, offering me drinks, food, and a seat. The night stretches on, and it isn't long before Andy thinks of a reason to invite me into his bedroom. When I oblige, the men grin knowingly, and the women divert their eyes. I feel a pang of shame, but its a feeling I am used to. Andy's room lure of choice tonight is some stupid photograph from the seventies that sort of went with our conversation in the kitchen. He is rather gentlemanly and offers light getting to know you conversation, but we both know the point of tonight. My generation, even during a one night stand, are so passionless. I really now would just like to get everything over with and hoping to speed things up, I mention I have a sore neck. FInally he gets the hint and rubs it. After awhile I he slowly starts to get closer to me, going from rubbing clothes to rubbing skin. Faraway I start to feel comfortable with this man, and sadly wonder if we would have meet some other way, if things would have been different. I think that I am starting to act like the Freak at the bar and remember that I am wanting to get this over with. I give him a kiss, I kiss heavily, and wantingly. I don't want him to think I am moving too fast, but then I remember that most guys have very little intuition for those kinds of things, and if they do, they seldom care. Just take off my clothes, you dumb shit, or I will take them off for you. But I don't have to here, he is just as urgent now as I am pretending to be. But so I don't have to do anything, I turn onto my back and let him go ahead with everything. I must shift and sigh only so much. He is so busy he doesn't notice me checking out the book collection beside his bed, and I almost laugh that I am doing it. It seems to be taking an awful long time. Ten minutes, fifteen. Finally he grunts and its over. He gets a kiss on the cheek and then I roll over and go to sleep. In three hours I will be up anyway.

Nowadays I know that bartenders are like double edged sword to take home from the bar. They are bad because once you hit their bar, you can never go back to it, and there are only so many bars in a city. The great thing about bartenders though is the vast amount of cash they get from tips. Usually right in the pants they were wearing that night, or in their wallet in their bedside. On that morning, with Andy, I was so nervous, and I was mourning the loss of The Trade. I even almost lost my nerve. But I had to justify the decision that I made, I had to do it because this prick needed to learn that I have a brain. When I looked at him sleeping I felt sorry for him, how young he looked, and then I remembered how little he cared about anything but getting a piece. A piece of me. And I had to keep from taking his wrestling trophy and bashing his brain in with it. Instead I took his wallet, not the whole wallet, but the money inside. Three-hundred and sixty dollars, jackpot. In the light of the morning I was a little worried that their would be people in the house that saw me leaving. So I must be quiet, and stealth. I walked right out of there at seven am and ran and ran. I ran for twenty minutes, and when I stopped and realized that I had gotten away with it, that I beat that bastard at his own game, all I felt was exhilaration and the most potent sense of freedom I have ever encountered. I looked up to that grey sky and I laughed, and smiled and laughed for the rest of the day.