Her friends, also on the kind of scary side, seem to be getting on well enough. Truth be told, they look almost as if they were separated at birth...one looks like a Canadian goose and the other like a Mallard duck...cousins, maybe. He's tall with milky white skin, silver hair, zero blemishes and a rather large nose, contrasted only by his equally large teeth...like a gopher or guinea pig. Her, by the same token, has fowl features... Her eyes small and beady, her nose long and pointed and her ears...well, a taxi cab driving down the street with the doors open comes to mind. But, hey, I'm no prize myself. I could be taller, could have more hair and could be smarter, I suppose. That's how we come to Sara; perfect in every sense of the word.
After supper, the bird people suggest a little bit of dancing...Eguch!...anything but dancing. Give me film noir,
give me the greased plates at the midway, give me the Elvis-A-Rama Museum, but by no means even suggest anything even remotely close to dancing. It's a well kept secret, between myself and myself, that I am not a dancer...I'm not even a shuffler. I just kind of stand there, shifting my weight from one foot to the other and only if I'm really feeling adventurous, I might hazard a butt squeeze...my partner's, not mine. Though it has been brought to my attention that I touch my butt a lot...usually a quick swipe, like a dusting, if you will. I was oblivious to this fact until it was brought to my attention...now, every time I move my hand, I have to tell myself. "not your butt...leave your butt alone, quit messing with your ass."
So we find ourselves at Club C2K over at the Venetian. The lights are everywhere, the speakers have got to be breaking noise ordinances and the crowd...well, let's say that I'm old enough to be father to over half the people in here, though I wouldn't mind hearing "Who's your Daddy" from some of the ladies. (J) However, as Sara's friends get onto the floor, I see her by the bar with two drinks in hand.
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Jim is awfully quiet tonight, especially after the "key fob" incident. I swear, I thought it was his keys, I swear.
But right now, that's neither here nor there. He's devilishly handsome in that suit and his boyish charm is the icing on the proverbial cake...standing off the floor with his hands shoved in his pockets, rocking back and forth from heel to toe. If I didn't know any better I'd think he was nervous. No, not :"Brass Nuts" Brass. He's seen dead bodies, mutilated corpses and other horrific sights, so why is it that tonight he seems to feel out of place...maybe he needs some education from the Sara Sidle School of Rockin' On With Your Bad Self.
Oooh, the music is perfect...Groove is in the Heart. I hand him one of the beers and take him by the wrist, like a child, as if. I know he's reluctant, I know he can't dance...I've seen proof of it. One time, in his office, I heard "I'm Every Woman" playing on his little boom box and taking a peek through the not quite drawn blinds, I saw him shaking his ass and trying to sing along...Bless his heart, he was trying so hard, but in the end, he just looked like he was having some sort of epileptic fit coupled with an acute case of tone deafness. He was so cute,
I didn't have the heart to tell him he had neither rhythm nor carry. Then there was his rousing rendition of "I Feel Pretty" that nearly made me wet my pants.
All that aside, tonight I consider it my mission in life to see to it that he has a good time. So, again, beer in hand, we begin. His free hand in mine, I demonstrate as he watches me intently. A few quick steps, some pelvic thrusts and a nice bootie shake for good measure, I release him and watch him do his thing, so to speak.
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Her full body sneeze aside, which is what it looks like she's doing, Sara isn't such a bad dancer...heh, look who's judging dancers, now. She's got some nice moves, so to speak. I liked that little pelvic thrust that ground into my...well, let's just leave it at that, shall we? Needless to say, her displays have not gone unnoticed by my body, which, as it seems, has grown hypersensitive as of the last ten minutes or so. Our hands joined, yeah, my palms were sweating...still are. Her eyes boring holes through my soul...still are...and her ample bosom bouncing happily out of the bodice of her dress...thank God, still are. If I were a bolder, younger man and all these people weren't around, I might think about a nice slow dance with bodies pressed against each other, feeling the other person's heartbeat against your chest and the exchanges of oxygen and the light whisps past their ear as they hum and sing along to the tune of whatever Neil Sedaka tune is being played on the upright. But this isn't the 70's and we sure as hell aren't in some smoky, dim lit piano lounge; we're at some methamphetamine paced, perverted, drug crazed nipple ranch...and boy, are the nipples nice...(bouncy, bouncy, bouncy)
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Well, all in all I'd have to say the night went fairly well. The bird people exchanged telephone numbers and once Sara and I dropped the lady off we headed back to her place for some reflection and a night cap. She asked if I wanted to stay the night, given the late hour, so as she changed out of her dress I went out to my car and grabbed my perpetually packed travel bag, within being a pair of jeans, sweats, t-shirt, underclothes and some basic toiletries. Her place is small, but adequate, in that its an open plan flat with just a bathroom, bedroom and open living area with a breakfast bar separating the rest of the flat from the kitchen.
Sitting on the couch, two fingers of Scotch straight, I listen, tune everything else out as Sara changes in the bedroom. I hear her kick off her sandals. I hear her curse as she, presumably, fiddles with the zipper and I hear her call my name. Opening my eyes and setting my drink down, I cross the floor and enter her bedroom. There's what appears to be a Queen sized bed in the centre of the room, back up against the far wall, two bed tables with lamps and some very comfy looking bedclothes...flannel, maybe. Seeing her struggle, I advance...my hands trembling, I know not why...palms sweating again, I can only imagine, and my mind wandering to very, VERY naughty places...but I'm only human, right. Slowly, I slide the zipper down and watch in stunned, drooling amazement as her gown falls to the floor in a loose heap of material that she just kicks to the side as she turns her head round' to face me and with her back still turned, gestures for me to leave the room so she might dress in privacy.
Back on the couch in the living area, and I'm admonishing the little Brass for making his appearance back in the bedroom. Thankfully, since her back was turned the whole time she was unaware of it, but as for me, I was very aware.
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The look on Jim's face was priceless as I watched him staring at my bare back. His eyes slightly crossed, his tongue peeking out slightly and a look of wonderment on his features. I never really gave much thought to Jim as anything other than a friend or superior, but right now, given what he's seen of me and his behaviour tonight, I think I'd have to say that he's an incredibly decent man with some serious self restraint.
He's back on the couch right now, sipping his drink and from the looks of it, he's mighty tired. Its way past both our bedtimes and as I set beside him, I place a hand on his knee and smile. I've come to the sudden realization that I like Jim...I like Jim a lot, and if I'm not mistaken he likes me too. Yeah, he's kind of on the short side, maybe he's a bit folically challenged and maybe he's a little older than I am, but when a good man comes along, you meet, you spend time together and get to know each other, secrets and all, and they accept you anyway, you'd be kind of stupid to pass him up, no? I know he's avoiding eye contact...hell, he flinched when I set my hand on his knee...I'll be gentle with him, I promise.