She was shaking and rocking slowly back and forth in her chair, staring blankly at the wall and muttering to herself. I walked over and patted one of her hands, telling her E had told me that she was taking good care of her. Grandma didn't respond. I would guess that she didn't even know I was there.
E spoke loudly, saying that we we're going to dinner and a play, and that there was food in the fridge and the young yellow couple was there if she needed anything. Grandma made no reply.
E told me to come on, and I followed her downstairs, where we ran into Mom coming in the front door. E was obviously unhappy that she hadn't escaped before her mother's entrance and tried to take one of my hands and lead me past her. I pulled away and stopped to greet Mom with a big smile. I think it surprised Mom, because her first reaction was to return my smile, and then checking herself, she put on a dour face and told E she needed help bringing in a few things from the car. It was weird, but I could tell that flash of a smile she initially gave me was out of genuine likeness, and that made me feel good.
I carried in an armful of fresh flowers, and E shut Mom's trunk and followed us empty handed. I asked Mom where she wanted me to put the flowers, and she told me to set them on the kitchen counter near the sink. I did, and then stood facing her, ready to make small talk. E told me to excuse them for a moment.
I moved outside the doorway and listened. I heard E asking for her allowance and Mom digging through her purse. I thought it was kind of odd that E was still getting an allowance, but before I could really think about it, she took my hand and tried to lead me away. I leaned into the kitchen and said good-bye to Mom, who answered without looking up from the task of cleaning the flowers, and then I said good-bye to the young yellow couple in the front room, who flinched when I spoke.
When we were outside, E pinched my hand very, very, hard without telling me why and then opened the garage door and backed out her car. My hand hurt and felt good at the same time as I closed the garage door and got into the car.
E said that I looked great and that she didn't think I would wear a suit like she had told me to, or that if I did, she expected it to be neon orange. I told her my neon orange suit was in the cleaners and asked her to kiss my hand where she had pinched me, to make it feel better. I held it up to her face and she acted like she was going to bite me then gave it a kiss, and it did make it feel better.
We drove more or less the same route back down Market Street that the taxi driver took on the way up, passing above the gay part of the city. E made some sort of comment about the giant rainbow flag, but I didn't pay attention to what it was she said. I was looking at one of her pretty little ears, hoping she would pinch me again.
sixteen
The restaurant we went to has since been bought by a Hollywood actor who films a weekly television show here that is always messing up traffic. I don't know what the place is like now because I have no desire to go. Before the actor took over it was very cool. It’s behind the Maritime Museum, in the square named after a chocolate bar. It's close to the place I mentioned where I was finally alone.
E and I parked on the street. We walked by an old black man playing his guitar and singing clever songs for the tourists. E said she loved this guy. We stopped and watched him do his thing. She put a few dollars in his case before we moved on to the restaurant.
The reason I knew about this place was because a friend of mine played piano in the upstairs bar. I went to see him one evening after the restaurant part was closed, and decided I would come back sometime and eat.
E and I were seated at a cozy table in the middle. I asked the waiter his name. He told me it was Phillip. I let him know we needed to be fed and out the door by six-fifteen at the latest, and there would be a nice tip in it for him if he made that happen. I was such a big shot.
The interior was very nice. There were paper dressing screens between some areas, and big metal doors and staircases. We ordered our meal, and after Phillip left, a guy with two attractive white women, who was apparently ease dropping while we ordered, leaned over and asked what we recommended.
E got quite flitty, flipping her hands back and forth, tossing her hair back, and brushing her bangs to one side, replying, that it was her first time here, but she was sure everything on the menu was delicious. I studied her and realized it was because of the two attractive white women at this guy's table that she was acting this way. The guy said thanks, and returned to his dinner guests.
E said she was cold. I pulled her chair close to mine and leaned my shoulders into hers. Apparently this didn't warm her enough, because she took one of my hands and guided it under the table placing it between her legs. I began to feel her warm. I couldn't tell if anyone else in the restaurant noticed, but I didn't care. E just sipped her drink and made conversation while I held my position. A few minutes later, Phillip returned with our appetizers and E released her grip.
Dinner was tasty. Phillip had us out by six-fifteen as promised, but we ran into bad traffic on our way to the theater. E weaved in and out of cars and maneuvered down several different streets, allowing us to arrive at the parking garage at Civic Center with ten minutes to spare before show time.
We parked the car and made our way above ground. I held E's hand as we sprinted across the Civic Center to the theater. We rushed through the entrance, across the lobby, up the stairs, and excused ourselves between people's legs and the backs of chairs to our seats. We barely sat down before the lights dimmed and the curtains drew back.
"That was quite an entrance," E said. She sounded like she was glad it went the way it did, and that it would have been almost disappointing to her if we hadn't been able to cause a scene with our arrival. If I didn't know better, I would say that she was some kind of witch, and had placed a magic spell that had the traffic be the way it was.
The first half of the play was cool. My favorite part was when the helicopter came down from the ceiling. But the weird thing about musicals is that they sing about every little thing. I mean, just because someone runs out of toothpaste doesn't mean it needs to be manipulated into a song.
E and I went to the bar during intermission. I got a beer, and she got a rum and cola. She said she needed to use the bathroom, but the line for the women's was usually too long. I suggested that she could always use the men's room. She told me to go check for an open stall. I did, and told her that there were several available, and she stood and contemplated the situation.
She said that in her younger days she would do it no problem. I dared her. I double dared her, and double dog dared her, and she shifted back and forth on her heels thinking about it. I finally gave her a break, and said that actually, the women's bathroom didn't look crowded at all. I pointed across the lobby. She told me it wasn't polite to point, before dashing over and disappearing inside.
After the play, we sat in our seats and let almost everybody exit before we did. We talked about the show and held hands as we walked back to the parking garage. There was a carnival in the Civic Center that weekend, and as we walked by the rides, E let go of my hand and stepped over the closed gate into the seat of a spinning ride. I followed her, and spun the seat she was in round and round. She laughed and told me to stop, which I did with a jolt. I grabbed the bar that held her in and she flew to the side. This made her angry, which made me happy. I tried to help her down and she swatted away my hand, storming off ahead on her own.
I followed behind trying not to laugh, and stepped over the railing into the bumper cars. I sat on the back of one, with my feet on the steering wheel, and called for her to come give me a push. I think she saw her chance for revenge and eagerly complied, pushing me very, very, fast around the metal floor. The bar above clicked as I steered with my feet, deliberating avoiding the other cars, weaving around them. E grew tired or bored and told me it was her turn.
She sat, and I pushed her in a refrained way. She sang some kind of nursery rhyme, and then steered straight for the wall. I stopped pushing and let the car gli
de. It stopped with a slight bump against the rubber railing, and bounced slowly backwards. E laughed and told me to come here, which I did. I sat on the hood of the car with my legs on both sides like I was in a saddle. E's pretty eyes were sparkling, and she took my face between her hands and pulled me to her. When we kissed it was like an explosion. I had the weird sensation of being underwater.
It was like I was drowning, and it felt wonderful.
seventeen
It was still early. We decided to check out this club that does bondage once a week. It's south of Market. We found a parking place about a block away.
E was cheerful, and we walked and chatted away like the birds in her house as we took our place in line. Most of the people were young white couples dressed in black like ourselves, well actually, I was wearing a light green suit, but E was in black. I paid our way, and we got our hands stamped and found the place to be only marginally filled, due to the early hour.
The clientele could be divided as follows: gay men, Yuppie couples, and folks wearing bondage gear. The dance area near the entrance was small. There was a young white boy wearing glasses on his knees, licking the boots of an overweight white girl. She was barely squeezed into her leather corset, and didn't seem to notice the boy. She looked bored and distant. Maybe that was her pose.
E was uncomfortable, but I wanted to see the place. I got her a drink and made my way to the back. Off to the side, just before the entrance to the rear dance floor, was a space for discipline. There was a large white woman who was naked and manacled to the wall. She was being whipped by an obviously gay man in a pair of leather chaps. She faced the wall and writhed in painful joy with each lash across her buttocks, which were quite red.
Next to her was a rack where one could be strapped by the hands and punished as well. It was unoccupied. I watched for a while before I realized E was standing right behind me. I turned and saw that she was very, very, much unamused and said something like she found it disgusting. Different strokes for different folks, I figured, and took her hand and led her to the rear dance floor.
This floor was more lively than the one in front and had two featured dancers off to the side. One was a buff white guy dressed like a centaur, grinding solo, his horns bobbing to the beat and his hooves shifting to the rhythm. The other was a dominatrix. She danced on the backs of men who would take their turns being her submissive dance partner. Most of them were geeky looking, like the kind you might have working in the computer industry.
E was definitely not amused. I tried to persuade her to ignore them and join the other folks and dance. She couldn't deal and demanded to leave.
As we made our way out, I saw that the rack near the woman being whipped was now being used by a bald headed gay man wearing glasses. The whipping provider now had to divide his time between two happy campers. I watched long enough to realize that E was nowhere around, and since she had the car, I made it a point to find her as quickly as possible.
She was standing just outside the club, and her eyes were wide and angry. I told her I knew another club about a block away, and she said any place was better than here. I thought it was kind of funny, with all we had done, that she would find a little stagy pain enjoyment to be so offensive. The only reason I can think of why, was because she wasn't in control like the other situations. Here, she could only be a participant, and I think it threatened her for some reason. I could be wrong. I really never knew when it came to her.
The other club we went to was a hip-hop place that I had been to with some people from work. I thought the people from work were brown, but it turned out they were yellow. Their skin and eyes are brown, but they consider themselves yellow because they come from a group of islands in the Pacific.
These people from work have treated me very, very, well. They've invited me to their house parties where I met their parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, and sisters. The ones with good voices sing Karaoke to laser discs. I am usually the only white person there. And let me tell you, the food is delicious.
The hip-hop club was full, which surprised me since it was only a little after ten-thirty, and the last time I came, it didn't get happening until about midnight. I paid our cover and checked my jacket, shirt, and tie, stripping down to a black rock concert T-shirt. The girl at the coat check seemed to have a problem with me checking all my clothes. I arranged them on one hanger, and after giving her a couple bucks, left them on the counter and walked away. I wasn't in the mood to be dealing with any girl with an attitude who wasn't going to possibly give me a kiss. And besides, what was the worst she could do? Slash my clothes to shreds with a knife? Soak them with spit? I was too preoccupied with trying to get E relaxed and happy and having a good time to care.
The club is divided into two sections. There is a small area to the right as you enter that plays retro-hits from the Eighties. This side has a girl dancing on the bar. I stood as close to her as I dared, and ordered E a rum and cola and me one of those high caffeine energy drinks. The cool thing about those drinks in a nightclub is that when you pour them into a clear plastic cup, they glow under the black lights.
In my determination to check my clothes and get our drinks, I had misplaced my companion for the evening. I made my way to the other side of the club, the side with the huge dance floor with the impressive lights. I found her standing at the far end, with her arms folded across her nice chest and with her pretty face locked in a look of utter displeasure. I definitely had my work cut out for me. I smiled and gave her the drink, and said we should toss them back and get more.
She looked quizzically at my glowing glass and asked what was I drinking. I told her, then said that on a count of three we would down our drinks. She didn't wait for me to count, and threw back her pretty head and finished her drink. I laughed and did the same and went to the bar on this side and got us two more.
The drink seemed to mellow her and she looked around at all the other pretty young people, tapping her foot to the music. I was buzzing from the rush of chemicals and noticed my forehead was beginning to perspire.
I asked her if she wanted to dance. She said not yet, and grabbed hold of the bottom of my T-shirt and pulled me to follow. We sat on a sofa near the pool table and watched a couple take turns clacking the billiard balls. There was a nice mix of all kind of people and it made me feel good. E took one of my arms and pulled it over her shoulders and scooted just close enough for her nice chest to gently touch mine. I felt relaxed for the first time all evening, even though my head was racing like the pace car at the Daytona 500 from the glowing drinks. We sat and watched the pool players and listened to the music booming from the speakers and didn't say a word. This was the first time I think we didn't say anything and just enjoyed what was happening. It was quite pleasant.
After a while, I was bored and asked E if she wanted to dance. She said sure, and stretched herself, standing like a big lazy cat. We made our way onto the floor and cleared a space for ourselves near the front stage area. E danced just like the first night we met. She jerked back and forth and side to side. Every once in a while, she'd bust a move on me and when she did it was most enjoyable, but for the most part she seemed very self conscious. I had to detach myself from her in order to dance like I wanted to, copying the other women and the hip-hop boys. Most of the other white men were dancing like E, rhythmic, but reserved.
I was watching a music special on cable, and there was a portion featuring an interview with the producer for the king of pop. He said that the king of rock and roll liberated white people, allowing the freedom of movement that the black people had always had with their music. There was another section that had an interview with the keyboardist for a hippie band. He said that white people would still be dancing to minuets on tippy toes if it weren't for black music.
Have any of you danced to a minuet or waltz? I have. They tried to teach it to us in grade school. It was a total drag.
E grew tired and sat on the stage. I got us
more drinks and sat next to her. Before I handed her another rum and cola, she took hold of my head and gave me a long, luscious kiss. I'm sure it was for show more than anything, but I didn't mind. I smacked my lips, and handed her the drink and smiled uncontrollably.
eighteen
We watched the swirling mass, and after a while, the music became noticeably more tribal. It was now very warm in the dance area, and E said she wanted to go on the roof and get some air. Just then a Polynesian dancer made her way onto the dance floor. I tapped E and told her to hold on a second.
The dancer had a lit torch in each hand and the crowd instantly cleared a large area, forming a circle around her. It's hard to recount all the moves of her fire dance, but I remember her thrusting the torches aggressively at the crowd, causing them to pull quickly back.
I felt like pushing my way to the front and have her go at me. I wouldn’t move back if she pushed the flame at my belly. Maybe she would have set me on fire. If she did, I would have found E and pulled her close. We could have burned together.
I was lost in this fantasy, and watched the fire dancer take her exit from the floor, then followed E up onto the roof to get air. It was a beautiful evening. There were young folks milling everywhere. We found an empty spot on the railing overlooking the street. We leaned against it, and watched a gaggle of roller bladers fly by.
Derek Henkel - Dirty Red Kiss.txt Page 7