A Penny Saved

by Sèphera Girón

  “I like to interact with all aspects of my company. It’s the modern way,” he said with a grin. She smiled back at him. His grin was genuine but he still was a wolf, long sharp teeth, clear blue eyes that absorbed each detail only to filter it through to the mental filing cabinet in his mind. She knew how these high level executives worked. They were sharks and they had to keep changing directions in the water so they didn’t die.

  “I enjoy the fact you like to interact with us. It makes my day brighter,” she said as she scooped several spoonfuls of sugar into her mug. As she looked up sideways at him, she grinned a little wider as he blushed.

  “I make your day brighter?” he asked, with one eyebrow raised. He looked around the kitchen. “It brightens my day to see all of you as well.”

  Vera and Connie stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at Henry. They looked at each other and returned to assembling their snacks.

  “So, Cora, how are things in your world today?”

  “Could be better, could be worse. Just like everybody else.”

  The door opened and the president of the company came in with a mug. He was a middle-aged man as well, easy on the eyes with short blond hair parted on the side, combed into a gel wave the young hipsters were all wearing, and a little paunch from business lunches swelling around his belly. The president greeted Cora but it was clear he had urgent business with Henry.

  They didn’t fool Cora, these executives mingling with them. She didn’t doubt they were spying to be certain that there wasn’t gossiping in the kitchen, although why they bothered to come in when there were cameras all over the place to record any employee plans for mutiny was another story.

  The men talked over her and she left. Back to the cubicle.

  Her print-out was ready so she compiled it and put it into a folder. As she walked down the hallway, the tall, lean form of Henry walked towards her.

  “You’re just all over the place today,” she joked, continuing to walk.

  “Wait,” he said. “I was looking for you.”

  He pulled something from his pocket and slipped it into her hand. She slid it into her sweater pocket and looked up at him.

  “Read it in private.” He smiled and then said loudly, “Have a good day.”

  “Likewise.” She nodded as she continued along her way.

  She went directly to the bathroom and looked at the business card. On one side was his familiar business card info she saw all day long around the office. She flipped it over.

  Fairmont Hotel, 8 p.m. dinner in Angelo’s Fine Dining.

  She grinned.

  She readied herself for the evening’s experience. She didn’t have much to choose from. Even her work clothes were limited to a handful of sturdy pieces that interconnected with each other. She plowed through her closet and then at the very back, she found it. It was from a party years before but in these modern times, if you couldn’t afford to class it up, vintage was a reliable safety net.

  She pulled out the dress and laid it on the bed. It was comprised of several textures of black material—velvet, gauze, taffeta, mesh, long and layered, a tribute to the eighties.

  She remembered the night she wore it to a costume party at college. Life had still been fraught with anxiety and trepidation, but there had been a freedom of choice, of unbridled expectations for the future. Anything could happen.

  And anything often did.

  She fussed with the lace edges, inspecting the dress to see if it would hold up after all these years. It seemed it would. The trick would be to see if she could fit into it.

  It didn’t seem possible but the fabric gave her slightly larger figure a voluptuous molding around the breasts and hips. The skirt still slightly flared above her knees, showing just enough leg to be alluring.

  As she stared at herself in the mirror in the dress, she remembered another time she had worn it. A night that had evaporated from her memory as suddenly and finite as a plaster statue smashing to a marble floor but was now, for the first time in forever, taking shape.

  There was a night where she had worn the dress to a goth club with several of her friends. They had been partying hard before they even got to the club, a mixture of nerves with the anticipation of perhaps meeting a real vampire and bravado as they too lay claim to a stake in the tribe of misfit toys that they had heard about and now, finally, had the courage to infiltrate.

  For several months she had been hanging out with a new round of kids, trying to find a way to blend in, to fit in. She copied their fashions, their makeup, their swaggers. She smoked clove cigarettes and drank Bloody Caesars.

  There had been a need for a variety of goth fashions and the dress was one of them. It had been found in the vintage section of one of the many goth boutiques that lined a section of Queen Street. Although goth fashion was mostly for anorexic-type girls who survived on clove cigarettes and red wine and the odd line of cocaine, she was able to find several in her size. The frilliness of the dress appealed to her although the other pieces she bought that day were basic leather.

  One night, she and her superficial friends were sharing a joint in the alleyway behind the club. It was rather cool out, snow falling lazily around; it was like being in a snow globe. She had worn the dress as there was a theme party for perky goths. She hardly considered herself perky but the lacy dress suited the theme. Outside, the heat of dancing had only kept her warm for so long. She hadn’t brought her coat out, nor had the others, so as to avoid drawing suspicion from the bouncers and coat check.

  She took a drag of the joint, staring up at the sky, the snow falling into her eyes, cold and wet, melting into her. The voices around her blurred as the vibrations emitting from the club rumbled through her Doc Martens and her bones. The urge to dance filled her as the stars sparkled in her eyes. Another joint was lit and a vial of coke was passed around. Soon the elements were too great, the snow smearing carefully lined eyes, and the concern over polluted snowflakes staining PVC became a source of debate for several minutes until the small group returned to the club.

  She headed for the bar as the wilted goths stomped the snow from their boots and re-spiked their rooster combs.

  “Rye and ginger,” Cora ordered but she didn’t have to ask. The bartender had already presented her with a double and just as efficiently, she surrendered her bills with a healthy tip. Sipping on the drink as she weaved through the tightly packed club, one hand covering the glass in case she was knocked, which she was repeatedly, she finally found a small pocket on the dance floor where she could sway to Sisters of Mercy in the strobe lights.

  Flashes of bodies freeze-framed around her were like an animated cartoon show. Half-naked twisting torsos gleamed, leather kilts and black PVC dresses swirled while pale faces with dark holes for mouths and eyes floated around her. She sipped her drink, her hips swaying, lacy frills tickling her fishnet-clad legs. Through the bodies writhing, glistening triceps and abs, pert tight buttocks shaking against leather-clad crotches, a man stood, tall, strong, a force of stillness among the dancers.

  Cora stared over at him, at the way his long leather cloak hung to the floor, the cut of high cheekbones in the glare of the light, the goth eyes, black lips, the whole ball of wax. Predatory eyes stared at her.

  She turned away, sipping the rest of her drink and danced over to a side table long enough to dispose of her empty glass. In the time she put down the glass and was ready to dance again, the song changed to “Head Like a Hole”. Shouts filled the air and even the most laid-back goths surged for the dance floor. She had lost her pocket in the hundreds of bodies that filled the club. She danced with the others; she had no choice as she was caught in a crush of jumping, screaming bodies. She lost herself in the song, chanting the chorus like the rest. When the song was over, the dance floor thinned for “The Perfect Drug”. She looked around but the man was gone.

  Cora wonde
red what music was playing on the other floor of the club and went down the stairs to check it out. The chanted chorus “God is empty…” came from the dance floor as people danced and sang to “Zero” by the Smashing Pumpkins. This level of the club was smaller and in one corner, smoking was still allowed through a glass paned air-filtered room. She entered the small room where several smokers were in casual non-committal dialogue. She pulled out her own clove cigarette and lit it.

  “Having fun?” a girl with long blond hair asked. She wore a one-piece black PVC cat suit that hugged her tiny body, and a small PVC coffin-shaped purse hung from her shoulder.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Love your dress,” another girl said as she lazily dragged her cigarette. “Where did you find it?”

  “Gothgrrls,” Cora answered.

  “Love that place,” the blond said. “I got this purse there.”

  Beyond the glass and approaching them, her, was the man, his coattails flapping briefly as he entered the smoking chamber. He sat down behind her and pulled out a silver cigarette case. His blue eyes were darkly ringed and his thick eyebrows were knotted in thought.

  “You’re looking for something,” he stated simply while he lit his cigarette. The other girls left the chamber, leaving her alone with him.

  “Yes.” Being so close to him she could understand why the other ladies had been shifting with unease. His countenance shone with an animal magnetism. Bold and carnivorous. She sucked on her cigarette, staring hungrily at his. He noticed her looking.

  “Would you like a real cigarette? Tired of the posing?”

  He held open the silver case and she reached for one.

  He smiled as he lit it, her other hand tapping out the clove into one of the many ashtrays. Her eyes stung with the stale smoke that hung in the room as she explored the waves of desire pumping from this man.

  “Why do you think I’m posing?” she asked at last.

  “I can tell. I can smell it.”

  “Is it a terrible thing? To be looking for a place to fit in?”

  “Not at all. I’ve spent several lifetimes doing just that.”

  She laughed. “Pretty funny, playing the vampire card in a goth club. Not my game.”

  “I’m not a vampire. I don’t think any have ever set foot in one of these places. Too loud. Too uncouth. No thrill of the hunt. Don’t you think a vampire grows bored after all those years, looking for new ways to amuse himself? Looking for new games to play?”

  “I don’t believe in vampires. Nor anything else.”

  “Yet here you are, looking for something more. You in your pretty lace and velvet antique.” He leaned close to her and sniffed theatrically. “I can smell the lady who wore it before you. She’s been long dead but how she loved that dress.”

  “A psychic then?”

  “No. I’m nothing. Just a lost soul on a Saturday night much like you.”

  He laughed and they bantered a while longer about goth clubs and clothes. Marilyn Manson’s “Beautiful People” blared through the system, the bass booming through Cora, making her tap her toes.

  The man snuffed out his cigarette.

  “Shall we go dance?” he asked. Cora took his hand without a minute of hesitation as he led her to the dance floor.

  They danced for several songs; he even bought her several drinks. As the night hurtled towards dawn, the club swelled with more after-hours revellers and then slowly, people began to leave.

  “I must go,” he told her. “Can I hail you a cab?” She looked around the club and saw her friends sitting at a table near the dance floor. Half a dozen people still danced, no doubt fueled by ecstasy or some other stimulant.

  “I see my friends. I’ll go with them, thanks.”

  He smiled at her, turned and left. She never saw him again.

  Or had she?

  As she walked into Angelo’s Fine Dining wearing the black lace dress, Henry stood quickly to greet her. His gaze was drawn to the dress, the ruffles, the peekaboo neckline, the glimpse of leg.

  “We have met before,” he said with a stammer.

  “So it would seem.”

  “And now, here we are.” He quickly regained his composure. “Over the years, I’ve entered many worlds. I’ve seen many things. And funny, I guess I knew there had been a connection from the moment I first saw you. When did you suspect that we had met before?”

  “When I was deciding what to wear. When I found this dress in the back of my closet, it brought back memories I’ve not had in years.”

  “I never returned to that club,” he said.

  “Why not? It was the best goth dance club in town in those days.”

  “It didn’t have the kind of feel I was looking for. I wanted dark. I wanted more.”

  “Did you find it?”

  He grinned. “In a way. Let’s have dinner first.”

  He ordered the filet mignon rare for both of them. Creamy sauces, delicate rice, roasted potatoes and an assortment of lightly steamed vegetables occupied her thoughts as she ate. It had been a long time since she’d had a decent cut of meat and she savoured every bloody moment of it.

  “I’m pure carnivore.” She grinned as she sliced another piece of meat, watching the blood leak from the flesh and swirl around the potatoes.

  “Me too.” He nodded as he chewed.

  Once another bottle of red wine was opened, she relaxed. The iron of the steak flowed through her veins, and her mind turned to other ideas. Why hadn’t she recognized him from the club back at the office? She stared across at him, and as she studied him eating, she had vague flashes of him but not quite as him. His piercing eyes were certainly the same, the strong chin but other details were fuzzy. Of course, she’d been higher than a kite when she met him so he could have been wearing a clown mask for all she knew.

  He turned the talk to work, apparently picking her brain about something. As she shared office gossip and opinions on new strategies, her mind wandered.

  How free she was then that time long ago when the big deal of life was so much simpler. Something was different now. She was older. Perhaps not that much wiser. But more concerned about leaving a legacy of perhaps not enjoying but at least of experiencing life. Perhaps more than experiencing life, living life, consuming life. Seeing all of the strange and wonderful creatures that populated the universe.

  Going to the goth clubs she had hoped that perhaps she would find something there that she had not been able to find anywhere else. And although her tribes at that time were beautiful, young, lovely, perfect in so many ways, the pale porcelain skin and dark shadowy eyes, she still haven’t found what she was looking for among them. The closest she had gotten it seemed was her encounter with Henry in the smoking lounge that night. It was funny how she didn’t recognize him right away although they worked together. It was hard to match the disconnect and so many things just weren’t as important as many others were.

  She hoped that the dinner would go well. His gaze traveled up and down her. Her dress was so beautiful; every layer of the lace, every soft touch of the velvet, reminded her of who she had been once.

  “I knew I recognized you from somewhere,” he said, as if it hadn’t already been discussed. “It was so long ago.”

  “So, why did you ask me out? I don’t understand. If you didn’t recognize me, what do you really want?”

  “What I want, what I need and now I’m more sure than ever, is someone who will share my adventures with me, my same passions, my same…perversions.”

  “How do you know I share the same?”

  “It’s in your eyes; it’s in the way I can feel you when I’m close to you.”

  “But you never even touched me,” she said.

  “No. I do want to touch you, in a very specific way.”

  “What way would that be?” she asked.


  “This arrangement, shall we call it, requires a lot of thought, a lot of discipline, a lot of rules.” He chewed on a piece of meat thoughtfully. She continued to eat her dinner. When he had swallowed, he looked directly at her. The piece of meat she’d been chewing lodged in her throat for a moment as his intense stare caught her off guard. She shifted in her seat, her arousal growing with every word he spoke.

  “I’m not entirely confident you can follow the rules.”

  “What kind of rules?”

  “The kind you hear about, the kind you read about, you’re not naïve. But these are my rules and they belong to me just as you would.”

  “But you don’t even know me.”

  “I know you wear that dress. I know I see you at the office; a whole other time and world…and once again, something inside of me says we must try this. Before, I was lost. I was innocent. I didn’t know how much further I could go.”

  He ate more of his dinner. “I want to see how far we can go together.”

  She nodded, the last of the blood on her plate absorbed by the remnants of her mashed potato, which she scooped onto her fork and relished.

  “I will see,” she said.

  They ordered dessert and conversation turned back to the new campaign at the office. Henry was interested in the perspective of her coworkers, and she gave helpful advice that didn’t betray any of her friends’ confidences.

  While their voices prattled on in autopilot, she stared at him. He was breathtakingly handsome; there was no doubt about that. Would a fling jeopardize her position?

  He noticed her staring but continued to speak without stopping. She chimed in where she could, surprised how her years at the grind were coming in handy as she really was digesting the conversation they hadn’t quite finished.

  She wondered about his rules—how hard-core would he get? She caught him looking at her several times in that lustful, hopeful way, a paradox to their benign conversation.