For those of you who have been waiting for the next part of the story, I have decided to post the first half of Chapter Seven Part 2. My apologies for the delay, but life sometimes intrudes. I hope you enjoy, and please do send me feedback. I love reading it.
Chapter 7 Pt. 2: X
The shadows began getting long around 7:00 pm in Chicago even though sunset was still technically over an hour away. I was standing in my bedroom in a nothing but a towel staring at my closet wondering what did a 30 something woman wear to a 20 something club. Fuck how did I get old?
As I selected and discarded my third outfit Rachel came out of her room and into mine. She apparently had no such dilemma. I turned and almost did not recognize her. She was wearing black fish net stockings that outlined her tanned sensual legs and disappeared under a black skirt that was barely able to function as much more than a belt. She wore a thin white "wife beater" tank top with no bra, but covered that with a silky maroon blouse that also was nearly see through. Her make up was applied thicker than usual giving her usually innocent looking eyes an appearance of worldly experience and hardness.
"Holy shit," I said.
She grinned at me and through her outward appearance I could see the glow of her true self come through. "You like?" she asked.
"Where in God's name did you get that get up? I know your mother didn't buy THAT for you.," I said.
Rachel giggled and said, "No mom would freak. But I went out one night with a friend who took me shopping on the miracle mile. I couldn't afford anything there so we stopped by this store she sometimes goes to and found this. I bought it more to make her happy than really for me, but tonight it seemed appropriate."
"And who is this friend?" I asked not recalling her telling me about a new girlfriend.
"Oh just a girl I met at work." She said. "She is kind of wild and has been trying to get me to go out with her and her friends, but I have always said, 'no'."
"I see." I said wondering if that would continue.
"What are you gonna wear?" she asked me staring over my shoulder at my array of casual and work clothes. Apparently I had somehow phased the 'going out to get laid' section of my wardrobe out over the last couple of years.
Rachel giggled and began pulling clothes out of the closet and discarding them much like I had been doing, but at a much faster rate.
Finally I/we settled on a black skirt that was too short for my usual tastes, but still longer than Rachel's, a red silk shirt, a push up bra, and a pair of red thong underwear. I put on the clothes and was reminded of how I felt in St. Louis some months ago when Michelle had dressed me for a strip club. I recalled that night had also started out with a phone call to call off work. What the fuck was I doing?
When we our outfits were complete, Rachel poured us both a double shot of Absolute Vodka that was in my freezer and the immediate burn in my stomach slowly turned to a relaxed and giddy feeling that only alcohol can provide.
Rachel picked up her camera off the table and checked the film and some settings and said, "Ready?"
"Well I guess I am as ready as I will ever be." I replied truthfully, not sure if I was ready or not.
We hailed a cab and within 15 minutes were on the beach at Lake Michigan witnessing an amazing sunset. Rachel snapped a few shots of the skyline and continuously fiddled with the variety of settings on her camera. I watched her work silently, and her face was hard and intense like I had never seen it. She worked the camera across the skyline, pausing to change lenses every few minutes.
I watched her work with professional intensity. She was clearly passionate about her work and handled her camera with the mastery of long practice. I enjoyed this side of her and respected the skill and ambition with which she plied her trade.
When she finished she looked up and me and smiled. "How about a shot of you?" she asked swinging the camera my direction. Gone was the professional intensity and her eyes sparkled with humor, much like a professional basketball player who was playing a game of horse in his old neighborhood.
I smiled and the camera clicked. "Turn toward the water." she commanded, and I did. "Click" the camera went again and I giggled feeling a little self conscious. I twirled once letting my blond hair whip around my shoulder as the camera clicked on. I was enjoying myself now and struck a variety of poses for Rachel who was also smiling and giggling as she snapped more shots of me.
The camera made a spinning sound and I knew the roll was finished. Rachel waited for the rewinding film to stop and deftly plucked it out of the back of the camera and reloaded with another, quickly and efficiently, like a soldier reloading a weapon.
She snapped the cover closed and said, "Let's go have some fun."
We walked up Lake Shore Drive and hailed a cab. It was 8:48 by my watch when we stepped out of the cab 14 blocks north and 8 blocks west in front of "X." It was not a tall building by Chicago standards, and from the outside it looked almost like a warehouse. The last of the sun was fading and the neon "X" that blazed white against the dark bricks above a single door was the only indication that something other than rats inhabited the building.
I drew in a deep breath and had a sudden sense of foreboding. I was not sure why, but Rachel apparently did not feel it. She was out of the cab and on the third step up carrying her camera bag before I could pay the driver and follow. I caught her just before she entered and grabbed her right arm above the elbow.
"Are you sure you want to go in there?" I asked.
She looked at me with wide innocent eyes and then smiled. "Sure why not?"
I shook my head and tried to let go of the heebie jeebies I felt and wondered why I was being so skittish. "No reason. Nevermind." I said not entirely successful in letting go of my feelings, but unable to place a finger on why I felt so anxious.
Rachel looked at me a moment longer and then said, "Let's go."
She opened the door and I followed her in.
The first thing that I noticed was that it was dark. Not black, but dark. My eyes slowly adjusted and I could hear music throbbing away somewhere deeper inside the building. Just inside the vestibule was a large black man in a tuxedo. He was easily six and a half feet tall and must have tipped the scales at well over 300 pounds. He was not fat; he was big. His bald head held piercing black eyes of a predator. A single diamond stud ear ring decorated his right earlobe. He wore a black tuxedo over a white shirt that was so bright in the place that it seemed to glow. His shoulders were broad and his body looked as if it might be carved out of a piece of stone. He did not move when we entered, but I could feel his eyes moving over us appraisingly.
"Good Evening Ladies." He said in perfect English. When he spoke a single gold tooth gleamed in the right side of his mouth. This had both the effect of making him look more sophisticated as well as harder than before if this was possible. I smiled nervously. Rachel did likewise. This was one hard case, and I would feel sorry for the person stupid enough to cross this guy.
"Hi," Rachel said smiling. "Can we come in?" she asked.
The black man smiled slowly at her and said, "The cover is $20.00."
Rachel handed him two twenty dollar bills and he stared at us again questioningly and then shook his head. He stepped aside and unbuckled a velvet rope that hung between two brass poles protecting a staircase leading down into darkness.
"You ladies have a good time." the doorman said as we passed. He was obviously a bouncer and also probably security, but his perfect diction and graceful elegance with which he carried himself only added to my nervousness although I still didn't know why.
Later I would wonder if when we crossed that velvet rope was when the trouble began or if it had been sooner than that even. I would never know, but the consequences would be larger than either I or Rachel would have ever imagined.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"X" was an assault on the senses in every way, and I was once again reminded of my trip to St. Louis with Michelle. The basement we stepped into at the bottom of the stairs was filled with smoke and from the smell of it, not all of it was from cigarettes. The room was expansive, and the warehouse feel was accurate. There was a bar running 50 feet the length of the short side of the room. The room was only half full as it was still very early for the type of crowd this place attracted and I wondered if we would still be here in the short hours of the morning when this place really cranked up.
The only lights were black lights over the bar with a few pin lights on the various bottles. The rest of the room was lit by colored disco lights hanging from the ceiling. The floor was tiered on many levels to break the size of the room into smaller, more eye pleasing spaces that felt more intimate. The bar was on a raised platform that allowed those sitting at it to see over the sea of people. At the other end was a stage although it was currently being used as a dance floor. It was Sunday night after all. Above it were two platforms that stood 10 feet off the ground where two round, human sized, bird cages hung suspended. They were empty now, but I could see scantily clad women dancing in them over the hundreds dancing below in my mind's eye.
The overall effect was to create an underground club so cliché that it could be on a movie set. And what made it even more absurd was the clientele. This was not an underground sub culture rave hangout. It was a bar that offered young professionals a place to pretend they were part of that sub culture. It was an illusion: a fraud.
So of course it was the most popular place in town with the 20 something crowd that had enough money to spend to come here. The irony was that the subculture they were pretending to identify with by coming here could never afford the cover and drink prices. I smiled to myself at the absurdity of it. This place was built on the young professional's fantasy of rebellion. And here I was with Rachel.
Now I understood the big black guy out front. The elegant dress and polite manners were all there for the rich yuppies along with the fantasy of a big black dude there to keep the peace. He was window dressing for the customers and security for what the customers would consider scumbags (or people who had mistaken this club for the true underground).
