“He’s drinking a Coke, Miss.”
“So put some fucking rum in it, I don’t feel like drinking alone.” Steve looked over at Vincent.
“Grey Goose Martini if the girl won’t drink alone”
Now, here was a woman who despite her level of intoxication knew she was eye candy when she walked across the room. Perhaps she was a little more self aware than her attire minus the heels seemed.
“So, what were you thinking?” she asked looking to Vincent.
“I was thinking I typically don’t drink with strangers, only close friends.”
Nadrea wasn’t biting and it wasn’t the intention of her question to know what he was thinking now but as she walked across the room.
“No, what were you thinking as I walked to my chair.”
“Ok, fine you really want to know? I was trying to figure out if you’d be a decent lay or not, the shoes say yes, but the high end librarian look is sending mixed signals.”
“So in the interest of being direct which one is it?” she was stunned, a man who in the second sentence was open enough to say what he really thought, no matter how impolite. This one was interesting she thought to herself.
“Dinner with Daddy.”
“Dinner with daddy, yeah that makes me feel better. What the hell is dinner with daddy suppose to mean?”
Ahh, he was as playful as she was, not backing down but letting her walk into her own path of answers.
“It means my father is in town and I couldn’t dress like a slut.”
“Oh, so daddy doesn’t like sluts?” he said finding this both unimaginable and ironic. He first of all couldn’t believe that there was a man alive who wouldn’t like sluts. Slutiness varied by degrees, there are people, men and women who were sluts in the traditional sense of the word, but then again there were people who were slutty in the confines of their own relationships, then there was the rest of the world, prudes. No one wanted a prude…did they? Did she in an indirect way refer to herself as being a slut?
“Is it that Daddy doesn’t like sluts or is it he that he doesn’t like the idea of his little princess being one?”
“Nice, are you always like this?” she asked.
“Yeah, pretty much, it works for me. I can pretend to be a decent respectful person if you like.”
“So, to answer you first question I am a lot of fun… for question two, I don’t know what daddy likes or not but me as a sex kitten is probably low on his list of likes.”
As the drinks arrive, “Oh so the daddy thing wasn’t bullshit?” Vincent said sipping his drink.
“No the daddy thing wasn’t bullshit.” She answered pausing to take a big gulp of her Choclate-tini.
“He’s in from New York, I had to do the dinner thing.”
This was the point where Nadrea began to wonder why she was telling a total stranger about her father. What could he be thinking? A foul mouthed slightly drunk woman walked into a bar alone on a Sunday night, engaged in a deranged conversation and then moved back to the consumption of more vodka. For Vince life was never that complicated, in his mind she was attractive, had a bad relationship with her father or a great one since they must have been out getting smashed together. No one with any modicum of control would get completely blitzed in front of their parent and then walk into a bar alone. Sense was not always something associated with Nadrera, but it is far too early to know that. Caution, carefully picking the situations she put herself into, survival and street smarts yes, but sense and control were not part of her world.
“Vincent.”
She looks up from her glass almost mystified.
“My name is Vincent. And you are… See this is where you insert a name, whether it’s really yours or not is totally up to you.”
“Ahh, the name exchange. Vincent, are you the type of guy who has girls give them a fake name often?” But without pausing for an answer “Mine happens to be Nadrea, or is it?”
He loved her sarcasm, her name could have been Satan and it would have been fine with him, she was so damn entertaining.
“Works for me as long as you remember to answer to it.”
Taking another big gulp and holding the glass up so even Steve couldn’t miss it she waved two fingers at him, a sign that she thought was the international symbol for two more, but Steve while a nice guy was a subpar bartender and waved back smiling. Using what he thought to be the peace sign, not an order for two more drinks.
Vincent catches the exchange, “Stevie.”
“Yeah Vince, now what” Steve called back.
“The lady wasn’t trying to make friends, she was ordering two more drinks, but I’m sure she’s glad you like her and waved back. But get her two more fucking drinks,” Steve was brilliant but he had no common sense, in fact it was actually amazing that he hadn’t yet been killed by a passing vehicle while crossing the street on any given day. He had a great analytical mind and that was his problem.
Steve took up the night job not for the money, but for the social interaction. He was trying to find a life, some friends and if he was ultimately lucky, someone to fall in love with. Bartenders however rarely meet interesting people who were displaying their analytical brilliance, their intellectual prowess or their obscure knowledge of statistical probabilities. Instead he gets the beautiful people, the movers and shakers letting loose or doing deals to whom a bartender is just the help and not a peer.
The two drinks show up, a chocolate for her and his vodka. Nadrea just rolled her eyes. “Steve when you get a chance make her another one so she won’t have to wait if we get busy.” Steve just then realized the lady wanted two more and Vince hadn’t really needed another. So he scrambled off to make the drink.
“Nice guy, really brilliant but he doesn’t get it.” He stated in general, not to anyone in particular but she was listening.
“So you used your real name, I’m impressed.”
“Nah, I tell everyone the same thing, my real name is different, so in a way my life is a lie, all of it.”
Stunned she just sat back waiting for him to continue, he paused, smiled and continued “My real name is Vinchenso”
“What kind of name is that?” she asked thinking she already knows the answer.
“It’s Italian, for Vincent. So there you caught me. I lied to you about my name.” Smiling like a cat who just ate the lady of the house’s canary. “What about you Nod? Real name?”
No one but her father called her Nod, he even said it with the long O sound that daddy’s used for as long as she could remember. “Life’s too short to remember fake names.” There’s a bustle at the door, but she was lost in her own world and Vince’s dark eyes. “OK Vin, since you’ve already taken to shorting my name, do you meet many girls in bars?”
“Sure, I meet them every chance I get, Bars, restrooms, hotel rooms and the women’s prisons if they’d let me in. I’m fairly shallow and not that bright.”
“Perfect” she said laughing. “ I’m perfectly shallow and extremely brilliant.”
Vin was setting the expectation that he had no intention of keeping pace with the librarian in the fuck me dirty shoes, and she thought his self effacing humor was genuine. He was as cock sure as any man who had shown an interest in her that she’d met recently, or even in years for that fact. There was a lot of false bravado, and arrogance but it was rare that a man was genuine in his confidence and conversations unless forced to be or driven by more primal urges. Hidden agenda’s were a part of life, this guy was right upfront or at least seemingly so. He said what he wanted, starting with a sharp wit and insults, he didn’t back down and pushed a little himself.
In the few seconds that it took for these thoughts to occur, Donna had made her way across the bar with the Husker in tow, and Vince was telling Steve, “Hurry up with the lady’s drink. And add an Apple-tini and an espresso to the order for her friends.”
“Hey love, how are you?,” the voice was familiar but doesn’t register right away. It’s Donna.
“Slamming and you?”
Fuck, and once again worlds collide, Nadrea thought. Nadrea had completely forgotten that she told Donna where she was going not 30 seconds before walking into this place. The compulsory introductions were made and within seconds the men seemed like nothing more than window dressings. They were nice, something to have at the moment, but like last season’s discarded fashions they were ultimately forgotten about. Still the ladies conversation continued as each informed the other about the horrors of the weekend. Life for Vince was as uncomplicated as it was is the polar opposite of a public figure. Donna was adorned in nothing more sophisticated than a well worn pair of jeans, a casual blouse only bordering with the concept of being at all trendy and a pair of black 2 inch heeled dress sandals. The Husker was in his same worn Levi’s, a tired pair of Nike running shoes, Red Polo Shirt and matching red hat.
Donna’s movements were less than her characteristically intense and measured shifts. Instead she was leaning back in her chair, left leg bent, tucking her foot under her right leg from behind. She was continually stroking her long dark hair, gathering it all in her hands first completely to her left side, fixing it back into place tucking her flowing locks behind her ears to reveal her face, and then gathering it again in her hands not seconds after it had come to rest and repeating the entire ritual to the opposite side. This continued during the entire conversation. Each speaking so quickly and listening so intensely that there was seemingly no time for a breath for either of them. Nadrea discussed dinner with Daddy, the anguish, the confusion, and his typical lack of interest. As the each spoke they became more lost in the conversation with each other, the rest of the world simply didn’t exist. Vincent found his way around the pair to engage the Husker in his own byline of conversation. Boys will always be boys and in accordance with that the conversation was not about how they had met the ladies, or their feelings as to what might become of the interludes. There was no discussion of family or feelings only basic facts and obvious male opinions. Donna paused for a drink, only to again begin primping, passing her hair from hand to hand, Nadrea finished her third since she entered. As the boys talked the Husker switched to Cappuccino & Vince back to soda moving away from his untouched Vodka, the Husker stated that he worked for the Government and Vince in Technology Finance. Both were understating their day jobs, but in general this kept things far less complicated, neither felt like explaining what they did in detail to the other.
While the girls shared more of the details of the day the men talk sports. Nadrea pined on with her usual list of complaints, her daddy issue at hand. Donna was not herself, her newly relaxed manner and not her typical type “A” pushy demeanor may not have been noticed by anyone else there that knew her but should have been a signal flashing bright red that something had changed, perhaps she didn’t even know it yet. One could see plainly on her face that she was tired but continued to talk with girl like enthusiasm, for the moment she wasn’t a poor hick slut, or a professional anything she was nothing more than a friend at the end of a long listless day. The evening wore on and the Husker took his leave, Vincent was not far behind as he said his goodbyes.
“You’re not going to try to fuck me?” Nadrea asked.
“Nope, never my intent, just a little pleasant conversation.”
This sent her reeling, her entire purpose for approaching him was for a potential interlude, if for no other purpose than her pleasure and amusement. She didn’t need or want a friend. Seeing her instant irritation he became intentionally more aloof.
“Really, are you afraid you wouldn’t measure up?” Nadrea struck right for the heart of many a man’s ego.
“Oh no, the Ruler was quite kind to me” Vincent replied, continuing without pause “I’m just not sure you’re my type. You seem like you might be a nice lady.” As he paused he watched her displeasure continue to go. “But I like my companions a little, well a little more liberated. Kind of trashy actually.”
“Fuck You! You Fuckwit!” she yelled.
“See you’ve even lost your great sense of humor that made you so attractive in the first place. Gotta go.” This was where his life was once again uncomplicated, Vincent possessed the simple gift of being able to detach himself from a situation, not put himself in harm’s way and coolly step aside.
“I’m here a lot, if you want to see me again just stop by” he said as he smiled and hugged Donna then turned to offer the same adieu to Nadrea.
“What if I…”Nadrea began.
“Want to have dinner with me?” he added which was not the conclusion to her sentence. Her proposition was going to be a much more forward one.
“I’m here on Thursday” he said with a wider smile “ I eat at 7:00 if you care to join me, if not no worries.”
He was greeted with “Not likely” in a cold harsh tone. The tone was stinging more with the adulation of a petulant child than a woman who had just had a professional swordsman pass on a casual interlude.
“Well, the offer still stands, I was looking forward to finding out what a fuckwit is. I’ve never been called one before. Good night ladies.” And with that he simply walked across the room, stopping for a few brief words with other patron’s here and there before disappearing into the street.
Turning to Donna, “Can you believe that moron?” She was met with the unsympathetic reply of “He seemed nice enough to me.” Nadrea just shuttered “And the serial killer next door is always nice, average, church going guy.” From there the conversation turned to his detached demeanor, his redeeming qualities in Nadrea’s case was his physical presence that was most appealing and held great promise.
When Vince walked away all conversations like the one he had just had stopped, it was now just a part of the past, filed away with no special meaning or associations. If they saw each other again OK and if not it killed some time during a passing interlude.
As he walked up street he thought to himself she’s more like Cosmo than rolling stone he thought to himself causing him to laugh out loud.
Day after day
Day follows night as was most often the case. Day didn’t always follow night and night didn’t always follow day because in some cases one simply continued on to become the other. In this particular case the day that followed the night as was usually the case was a Monday. A Monday filled with gray skies, and traffic and rain. As Nadrea first stirred it was like any other. First, turn up the stereo to kill the silence in her home and in this case drown out the reminders that a few solitary moments of quite might bring of the night before. No victory to celebrate, no conquest to revel in, no new deep dark chapter of her sexuality awakened or no exciting need fulfilled. To the treadmill as the volume of NiN’s (Nine Inch Nails) “Pretty Hate Machine” echoed through the workout room. Sixty minutes later she was breathing heavily and covered in sweat as her recently taxed body tried to cool itself with a mixture of what could have been sweat and the vodka from the night before. But there were things to do and other victories to be had “the silly arrogant bastard” she thought to herself.
In yet another part of town the Husker was up an hour earlier than Nadrea and in his office reading documents, reviewing briefs and dodging, quite adeptly mind you, Christy’s probing questions. Friends come and go, but the business at hand was duty, his responsibility to so many others and his life. Not very often did he have a moment to himself, alone focusing on what he wanted rather than the wants and needs of others. For just a brief second he lost his focus. Thinking of something other than the task at hand, he thought of brushing his teeth Sunday morning before coffee, the freedom of for a few briefs hours in a wired and demanding world of being hopelessly lost to most and completely unaccounted for.
Around the midpoint between the Husker being ever so minutely adrift and the time when Nadrea entered the office with category 4 hurricane force winds and rage. Vincent heard that his flight “Is now above 10,000 feet. You may now use approved electronic devices. However cell phones, an
d pagers are not approved for use anytime during this flight. For a list of approved devices please turn to page 113 of our complimentary in flight magazine.” He removes his Ipod from its case, placed the headset in his ears and spent the next six and a half hours on a plane flying from Regan National to San Jose. He was grateful that he could leave from National, the commute to Dulles was miserable and the train to BWI with bags in tow was not at all convenient. Other than the brief passing intellectual ponderence on whether or not bad airline food was better than no airline food. He was lost in the happy sounds of an innocent era 50’s Doo Wop & the classic sounds of the late great Momma Cass and the Momma’s and the Poppa’s Vincent was lost in his thoughts and calculations. At heart he was a geek, a good looking, heavily muscled, socially adept, cruel, sarcastic geek, but a geek none the less. He spent part of his teen years like so many other outcasts, playing dungeons and dragons, or parked in front of his Atari or Intelivision in his working class Baltimore neighborhood. In High School he took computer classes & developed an unnatural obsession with the laws of probability. It all started innocently enough with taking a “Chances and Gaming” class that hidden somewhere in the glory of gambling theme was a probability and statistics class. The school had a formal statistics class…no one took unless all other options for that period were full. Then an insightful teacher changed the title and the course work to be around the odds of winning in a gaming situation. Viola, it was over registered for every semester after the first, somewhere between a full house and what’s showing in the dealers hand in black jack it all clicked. In college, at the University of Maryland, he majored in Computer Science with a minor in Finance. Code was his gift, the understanding of source code and the probability of certain derived algorithms made him dangerous, very dangerous. After graduation Vincent took his first job as a programs analyst at a large beltway defense software company. There he was not only adept at the numbers but had the unique ability to relate the data both financial and technical to the tech and finance challenged in a compelling and meaningful way.
It Had Been Years Page 4