It Had Been Years

by Malflic, Michael

  “No idea. I don’t really keep track.”

  “Guess it doesn’t matter as long as the rent gets paid” her tone bitter and indifferent. Steve still had a genuine interest in her, he still wasn’t catching the intention of her tone just smiled saying, “ I do this a few nights a week to keep busy, it kills time and I get to meet a lot of people.”

  Christy feigned interest. “Really so what else do you do?” She expected a menial job at best some low level office drudgery, in her mind he didn’t seem capable of something nearly as important as choreographing with obsessive compulsive tendencies every conceivable second of an important man like Robert’s life.

  “I work with numbers” Steve offered.

  “An accounting clerk?” Christy asked hoping he would finally realize her displeasure in talking to him and he would go away.

  Steve laughed, it was not like when Vincent laughed, a persistent laugh because he was enjoying every possible second of life he could but because Steve found the mere thought of being an accounting clerk absolutely hysterical. He went on to explain that he spent his days calculating the impossible, the commercial potential of an advertising campaign, the economic impact globally of investments in to a foreign nation, its effect on the standard of living the likely hood that it would be misappropriated by those in power to further their control, their influence and their wealth. Steve looked at Christy as he explained that he had an Ivy League education for both undergrad and his post grad work. He wasn’t insulted, but for once while mindlessly pouring drinks he had a chance to tell someone about his real life. To Christy suddenly, although nothing else had changed, except for a few words he had spoken he was interesting and acceptable, her own sense of reality was that he was doing this as part of a field study, why else would he be standing behind a bar.

  Back in NY sometime later Nadrea let herself into the room to find Vincent parked in front of the plasma TV watching sports, clad only in a thin pair of gym shorts and Adidas sandals.

  An inquiring look crossed her face as she began “Nice to see you’re dressed up.”

  Not looking away from the TV “Nice high end Liberian look.” Vincent said with a smirk continuing “You know it doesn’t do anything for me.” Vincent just laughed with the conclusion of the sentence.

  Nadrea noticed the unmade bed through the doorway into the next room. “Enjoying a bit more company without me?”

  Vincent laughed again “Yep and she was mind blowing. You might want to call housekeeping to change the sheets.”

  Nadrea playing “Or else you can have that side”

  “Better look before you make that call. You might want to have them send up a mop.”

  Now Nadrea was the one laughing, Vincent’s tone was so mocking, it was a dead pan give away. “Why did you wet the bed during your nap?”

  Vincent just smiled at the thought but she had already grown bored with the topic and playful banter re-engaged with what she perceived to be a much more serious and pressing issue “What are the plans for tonight?”

  Vincent looked up and with a sense of in difference “Up to you.”

  Nadrea pretended to be annoyed but in truth was relieved, she felt the pressure of an uncertain evening was off and she was thrilled to be able to proceed with her evening’s plans without dispute or debate. Compromising is not one of Nadrea’s better qualities. Turning on a dime she stated to an open room, “Good, we’ll leave to be at a gallery show at eight, then have dinner with some old friends at nine thirty then off to where ever from there.”

  “Fine”

  It was in fact nothing more than a simple agreement in his intonation. Nadrea hid her own response to his single word reply, which she interpreted to be a curt response full of ambivalence and grave indifference. For Nadrea the stress filled ritual of preparation to go out began, the first of which was to fire up her laptop, connecting the external speakers and launching a favorite iTunes play list, to drown out Vincent’s television audio. The second consisted of ordering enough Vodka, liquors, mixers, and Martini glasses to get everyone on the floor fairly well lit up. As she poured for herself a Kettle One Martini dirty for herself, Vincent wondered away from the front of the TV a place he had occupied seemingly without the intent of moving since before she had arrived home. He poured four ounces of Vodka over a few ice cubes splashing in a few shots of Cranberry juices turning the drink just the slightest shade of pink.

  Nadrea was in the shower rinsing off, buffing away dry skin, and obsessively shaving already smooth sections of her body ensuring that the minimal potential hair growth since the morning. As she stood under the warm streams of water, steam filling the room she was quietly hoping Vincent would find his way in to join her ,but he was still in the other room decompressing, staring mindlessly at information that he didn’t care about and that didn’t matter, it was meaningless data that had no real impact in his life other than being a diversion. For a man who often seemed not to care, he had to work at not worrying about the small things it was the excruciating attention to detail in the few things that impacted his life that mattered. Vincent sat there in his shorts and sandals sipping his vodka, not thinking about much of anything.

  Soon after Nadrea was putting lotion on her skin, doing her hair and contemplating the severity of her makeup for the evening, Her undergarments were chosen and soon she found herself staring at the armoire, unlike Vincent’s gaze hers was intense and mindful. She treated things like the choice of clothing as if it were a world altering event, the message, the perception her look conveyed. As Nadrea fretted over what to wear Vincent ran a comb through his hair, rubbed the five o’clock shadow on his face and slipped into a pair of black flat front gabardine wool pants, and a striped Thomas Pink spread collar shirt, dull black loafers and plain black Armani socks he had picked up earlier in the week from Saks. For as much though as Nadrea had put into laying out three things to choose from, Vincent had dressed completely, looking quite sharp and watched five more minutes of TV.

  While Nadrea pondered her choices Vincent began. “In general I like Julianni, he did a lot of great things, the city is much safer than it used to be but it’s too fucking clean.” Nadrea continued to look over her potential choices as Vincent continued. “And what the fuck happened to the porn, ok get rid of the pushers and the hookers, the hookers all found their way down to the Javits center so where did the porn shops go? Now they sell teddies and sundries to meet the stupid ratio, but what if I want a good magazine?” Nadrea chimes in “Or the latest dildo”

  Vincent almost caring that she joined in the conversation “A decent porno. Might as well order your porn online or through a catalog like you live in the Midwest.”

  “Oh there’s still everything you could ever want here you just have to look a little more. It’s mostly time square that was cleaned up.” Nadrea finally decided on a short skirt and tight blouse, finalizing her decision that she would wear her hair down and only moderately high heels.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To a gallery opening,” she replied.

  “Tell me it’s not going to be all old people drinking cheap wine thinking they know something about art.” Vincent was slowly becoming more of the man Nadrea had gotten to know.

  “Not old people, really old people, and boxed wine” she said coldly hoping to keep his interest while she finished her third drink of the preparation ritual, Vincent sipped lightly on his second but he was standing behind the table watching the Friday afternoon melee on the city streets. The pre-theater dinner and local after work crowd was being joined by the mostly and overtly non native New York idiot tourists, most of who probably hadn’t seen a high rise let alone live or work in one. Nadrea decided that her look needed a little bit of stimulation and went to a higher heel and slightly brighter lipstick than she originally intended.

  “Pour me another,” she called putting the finishing touches on her outfit with earrings and accessories.

  “Why so I have to carry you ar
ound tonight?” Vincent answered already pouring her next martini.

  “Sounds fun to me. Being thrown over your shoulder, mmm delicious possibilities”

  Vincent was only moderately amused “Like leaving you passed out in an alley propped up on the trash bags when I get tired of carrying you. With your ass hanging out from under your skirt”

  Nadrea annoyed “Not quite what I had in mind, I was thinking more of a rugged cowboy type throwing a protesting me over his shoulder and carrying me away”

  Vincent has just poured his third drink. “Last time I checked I have never ridden a horse” “Never fucked a fat girl, huh?” She was feeling playful adding, “I’m only suggesting, I didn’t say you had to wear chaps and a cowboy hat Vin.”

  “That’s good because I hate the cowgirl look even more than the librarian look.” He laughed but she was getting defensive.

  “I’m a lawyer, I have to look professional.”

  He continued to laugh as her annoyance began to show. “Might want to go change your outfit.” Nadrea was now becoming self-conscious she absolutely hated that, it wasn’t often that she was filled with doubt, but Vincent had a way about him that she questioned all the little things she obsessed about even more when he was around.

  Her tone softened to an almost shy, “Why?”

  “Because all the old fucks at the art gallery are going to be hitting on you, while extolling the virtues of Viagra. You might cause an unhealthy spike in erectile dysfunction drug usage.”

  Nadrea grinned at the thought of a room full of hopeless men wanting her, it is what most often motivated her, her looks were by nature exotic with her angular eyes and dark hair complemented by the sexuality that she worked quite hard to make sure came through, although it always looked effortless to others. She was very much a sexually driven being, not accustomed to feelings of doubt and insecurity, a point that she chose not to dwell on. Her own self worth was largely based on her perception of how desirable she was to others, being lusted after by everyone mattered to her whether or not she had an interest in them wasn’t at all relevant.

  Steve continued to babble away at Christy back in DC, she still had an overly important perception of her life and what she did. Finally though she had begun treating him as a second class citizen which was amarked improvement from her previous view of below subhuman life form.

  Unnatural Acts

  Steve finished his time behind the bar and found his way to the other side to join the Husker, Donna, and Christy, who was tolerating his presence almost as well as Donna was tolerating hers. Steve had a genuine boy like attraction to Christy, he despite his pedigree, was not the type of man she imagined herself with. As the night wore on her own sense of growing paranoia began creeping up her butt. She felt blocked, she felt separated from Robert. She had not received any of his attention other than trivial pleasant conversation since Donna had arrived. Christy had been separated physically by her nemesis’ position and emotionally by Robert’s lack of focus on her. He was not intending to ignore her but still it was if she wasn’t there. The Husker was lost in Donna, much the same way that so many people are lost in each other during those first intense and crucial lasting moments in a new relationship.

  Still Christy felt ostracized, much the intention of Donna’s territorial behavior, physical contact, and relentless engagement of Robert’s conversation. She felt not like the Capulet’s and Montague’s separated from her lover by a misunderstanding and a foolish distrust and feud. She didn’t feel like she had been set aside temporarily, but was still loved and valued while something more urgent was tended to. Rather she felt like she had been cast out of heaven, damned to hell eternally separated from God’s love. For Satan was once also the son of the morning, he too was a thing of beauty an angel most high, his heart was lifted because of his beauty, because of pride and intention to sit not in the glory and power of God but because of the delusion to supplant it. Christy felt an unexplainable cold, a jealousy, and contempt that was growing. Why had she been cast aside like the morning star she had not risen against the power that she served, she had not risen against God but she had been risen against, still she in her own mind had not committed an act of mutiny, not an inkling of defiance. She continued to drink, her caution wavered, her coordination impaired, and her judgment diminished. As her feelings of isolation grew so did her desire to confront her tormentors but before that she had decided to disappear into the back of the restaurant. As she returned from the restroom Donna and the Husker had vanished in to the night like the demons she imagined them to be taunting her before slithering away into the night.

  “Bitch!” Christy proclaimed raising her glass to her lips. Then for the first time needing an ear to listen she began to talk to Steve in earnest. “I hate her. Everything was perfect until that little slut came along.”

  Steve innocently offered “She seems nice enough to me.”

  Christy drew a troubled heaving breath “Well she’s not, she’s a jezebel, I hate everything about her. She’s always in the middle of everything, disrupting what is important changing how things are done to the point that he isn’t spending time where he needs to.” “Did you and Robert” pausing to look for her reaction “use to date?”

  Christy growing angry at the stupidity of the man before her “No why?” her tone cruel like he was once again suddenly subhuman not worthy of the time they were spending together, he was suddenly once again an annoyance who was breathing her air.

  “So why do you care?” he inquired.

  He was a moron, why was she wasting her time but she needed to vent, someone to listen to and since her cat didn’t provide an ear he would have to continue to do.

  “I used to know everything. I was part of every second of his life, everything he did. I knew his inner most thoughts and feelings I helped to shape his plans and goals. Now he’s with her disappearing, doing things that he has never done before, things that he never had an interest in.”

  Steve had to ask “Does he know every second of your life?”

  “No!” she snapped knowing damn well that it was a lie, Robert in fact knew every second of her life in painstaking detail. He knew her complete devotion to him although he had never asked for it, he knew all of her select group of friends and each and every social engagement that she kept both personal and professional although he never asked. Robert however, only knew these things because she told him, it was how she proved her devotion.

  Christy finished her drink. “Let’s go” she said standing to her more than slightly intoxicated feet. “

  Where?”

  And in a bitter tone in her voice “Somewhere he would never expect.”

  Soon after Steve was standing outside an apartment building as she opened the door looking back over her should asked “Are you coming or not?” Moments later they were in her modest living room talking away, alone, unencumbered and lost in each other. Across town the Husker and Donna were saying good night, three hours later as the last of Christy’s buzz faded, emotionally exhausted she leaned in and kissed Steve. The kiss was shallow and awkward, it did however tingle, her lips came alive with the soft sensation as her soul began to lighten. As their lips separated Steve waited, she thought about how long it had been since she had kissed anyone, not to mention with romantic intent, she thought more about how long it had been since a man’s touch had caressed her skin, the years had passed, she never could admit to herself how misguided and lonely her journey had become. Placing her arms around him she kissed him again.

  “Thanks for listening.”

  He kissed her back. “You’re welcome.” Steve stated as he began to stand, his feet uncomfortable his posture wavering and unsteady.

  “Is something wrong?” She stood her arm around his neck.

  “I just keep hoping I’m not dreaming.”

  She leaned back arms still reaching up around him looked squarely at his face replied, “Why would this be a dream?”

  Steve blushed emb
arrassed by his inevitable response, which despite his discomfort he gave honestly. “Because I’ve been behind that bar for a year, hoping someone would notice me, take the time to talk to me. It was something I was doing to create a life beyond my job.”

  Christy focused the words were all too true, they cut her like a knife. Her grasp around him loosened, she stood phased by his answer as he offered, “I’d better go” he felt exposed, like he had said too much. The words however heartfelt and honest perhaps ruined the dream, in the seconds after they left his lips he thought he could feel the magic just disappear, that was after all the very nature of magic it often disappeared mysteriously into thin air.

  “No” she answered softly, her own deepest fears from earlier in the week coursing through her mind. “I want you to stay” pausing “longer.” Steve was not use to being invited to a woman’s house. Now it has happened twice in two weeks he stepped towards her “If you don’t mind. Are you sure it’s OK?”

  There was no answer at least not verbally instead she took him gently by the hand and led him back to the sofa where he sat instinctively. The pair talked until the light of day, each bearing their souls to each other openly allowing the other to see what was so beautiful inside of each of them. Steve eventually left and Christy once again not only woke up alone but went to bed the same way. Some things just take time but each them spent their last waking hours that early Saturday morning thinking that what had just happened was just like heaven.

  Haunting Images, Self Doubt and Erotica

  Part One

  Haunting Images

  Nadrea and Vincent arrived in Lower Manhattan looking like they were dressed for an edgy photo shoot just add some black grease, saturating light and props. Nadrea was in her skirt and black heels offset by a dark sleeveless blouse and neckline that plunged beyond her breasts nearly to her navel. Vincent’s muscles and lean waist were obviously straining parts of his shirt. Dinner was salads and a few more drinks which kept the couple buzzing nicely in a semi intoxicated state as they arrived at the gallery. The rooms were dark with models set in staged scenes throughout. Upon entering there was a roped off area with the first set of models bathed in warm red and hazy green light, each of them and their pale skin and undernourished bodies were more reminiscent of heroin addicts than of models. The night wasn’t about still art and beauty but it was about the expression of nontraditional beauty, images that were all to real, depicted not by professional models but the wretched and pierced tattooed youth of the underground club scenes, the audience was a depraved mixture of the Manhattan elite and the Goth and punk rock underground. A mixture of soft blonde haired patrons in dresses and suits were meandering through the make shift gallery next to girls with pink and blue hair, worn out combat boots and suicide heels. Their ripped opera hose and tawdry attire typically failing to cover their abundant piercings, in direct contrast to the well manicured art crowd set. Moving past the opening display next to the bar against a worn exposed brick wall is the next display an haunting image titled one last time. The model on the floor legs spread and pierced breasts exposed her dark fire engine red hair cut into a short bob her nose piercing hanging ominously downward just above her blood red lips. Her head thrown back held there as if in the throes of passion a hand reaching between her spread legs, at first glance it looks like nothing more than an alley way masturbation image but on closer inspection her wrists looked split and she was sitting in a pool of blood drops set in place as if frozen in time droplets hanging paused on the tips of her fingers motionless as they headed toward the floor. Other props floating seemingly motionless, suspended horrifically in the air. The models face twisted in a mixture that’s contours alluded to exquisite erotic pain, the point of release and resolution of tension.