BOOK FOUR

THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS

(a book of self-discovery)

Chapter 1:

In Search of…

After his restful nap on the plane, Nathan found himself wide awake and with a hankering for company, which was problematic only because it was past midnight. The possibilities were limited. Still, it was a big city, and the young tended to live it up at all hours. Nathan decided that venturing into the night was much better than going home alone—which is how he found himself at Club Wet.

The bar ran the length of the club. Comprised of cold polished stainless steel, the bar lent its cool facade to the leaning patronage. Off the bar was a dance floor, sticky with spilled alcohol, crowded for a weeknight, with a cornucopia of urbanite culture: suits, gangstas, breakers, coeds, club rats... On the opposite wall sat booths, tables, and their occupants; too drunk, too sober, too proper, or too petulant to join in the hip-grinding, limb-flailing melee of the dance floor. There was a second level to Club Wet; something of a mezzanine, open to the dance floor below, with catwalks, pool tables, and another bar. The drunk and overconfident used the catwalks to shake their goods. The voyeurs used it to stare down at all the fish below.

The loud earth-shaking music of the club never stopped. It shifted endlessly from bass-heavy riffs and rhymes to smooth groove ambient electronica and back again through all the current hits, modern dance classics, and underground indie music that was always at the bleeding edge. The patrons ebbed and flowed, influenced by the unseen currents of the music. They washed on and off the dance floor, around and over, searching for familiar faces, an unoccupied bar stool, the restrooms, a drink, or someone new to talk to; feeling nothing but the alcohol, the beats, and a yearning to connect on a variety of often conflicting levels. All of this was done under low lighting in every color of the rainbow, punctuated with strobes in strategic locations, most notably above the dance floor. For so many of them, this was leading to the big dance after the dance—ideally.

Marvelous sat at the bar, crowded by the other patrons. He’d talked to a few that were friendly enough, but he never had much to say, and most of them found him to be dodgy or strange, so they invariably wandered away. Several asked about his pet rock, then laughed when he claimed he picked it out of the desert after it fell from space.

“You picked it out of the desert?”

“Well, not me personally,” Nathan admitted. “My friend.”

“And where is he now?”

“Locked up, waiting to be court marshaled...”

Who would believe such a story?

Nathan watched the lights play on the glassware as he searched the faces in the crowd and wondered at what people wore in public. He knew nobody, except as he learned about them here. There was the rambunctious but good looking girl in the leopard print half-shirt and cream-colored mini, black hair curled at the tips, seemingly accepting drinks from anyone that offered. There was the stocky suit who’d come in with co-workers, became violently drunk, and was nearly tossed out. He was now dancing away his aggression with the short blonde in orange who had ample curves and acne. There was the brunette in the loose fitting sweats: baby blue with black and white trim. The outfit hugged enough to show off her athletic body, yet covered everything so that she appeared amazingly modest in a place that demanded a flaunting attitude—especially from the ladies. She moved easily through the crowd, at times polite, at times openly rude. She didn’t drink, she didn’t dance. She walked, talked, listened, and watched, and as she traveled. Nathan tried to figure it she literally owned the place or just moved like it.

Sipping on a beer as thick as oatmeal, and fingering chicken tendies soaked in grease, Nathan wished alcohol affected him as it did everyone else, that he could be just another fool at the bar, that he could lose himself to intoxication. He could catch a glimpse at the attractiveness of the drug, if he hammered back several in quick succession—but when he did, he often had to find another bar, as four or five shots in quick succession pressed upon the standards of even the loosest establishments.

By the time he found another place to sit, the effect had worn off. The beer still tasted bad, the music wasn’t getting any better, and the girls weren’t getting any prettier. So he sat, totally aware, sipping shit-brown beer, noshing over fried bits, and hoping to blend. Apparently, he blended too well, as nobody paid him any attention. Was it always the extremes? Did people either flock or forget? Was there any middle ground where one wasn’t pestered or ignored?

He could always go home, he thought, but knew that was indeed the one place he wouldn’t go. If he went home, he wouldn’t leave. He’d sleep on the couch, watching daytime soaps, where he would begin to rot, yet again.

Nathan was anxious. He wanted something to happen—no—needed something to happen. He needed interaction, to be among people, even at two in the morning—but he didn’t know how to go about it. His people skills had atrophied along with his interest—only now, he had his interest back. Still, his people skills couldn’t cut butter. He thought of boarding a plane, of returning to Nevada and doing whatever he had to do in order to free Davies. It should be easy enough. He had the money and quite possibly the influence to get Davies released in quick fashion. Then, the two could hit the town, and he’d study the easy manner of his new found friend among the twerking, gyrating public. But that was not what he wanted either. He did not want Davies to serve as a crutch. He felt he was going about things the wrong way. What was he expecting? What was he looking for?

Marvelous glanced down the bar to see the girl in leopard print approaching. She’d walked by several times, heading for the restrooms, looking for attention, beckoning someone, sauntering back and forth between people she knew and people she wanted to know. She made it look so easy. She’d smile, say a few words and have anyone’s attention—even the other girls. They’d smile back, converse, say nice things about each other’s bags. Whatever her reasons, she was in constant motion. Marvelous wondered what she was looking for. Was it a man? Was it money? A fast car? Ripped abs? A good time? Perhaps she didn’t know. Perhaps she hoped to know it when she saw it. As she walked by yet again, Marvelous didn’t think about it, he touched her lightly on the arm as she attempted to pass.

“Excuse me,” he said, the words pouring out. “Would you like something more to drink?”

“If that isn’t sweet,” she smiled and gave Nathan her full attention. Wherever else she was going, whatever she was doing, it was now on hold.

“What’s your name?” Nathan asked.

“What’s your name?” She repeated.

“Nathan.”

“Hi, Nathan. How about that drink?”

Nathan turned to the bartender, “Another Guinness—and for you?” he turned to the girl.

“The usual,” She winked at the bartender.

The bartender gave her a smile and turned to his work.

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?” Nathan asked.

“I didn’t.”

“Oh.” Nathan paused, “Why?”

“There’s power in a name,” the dark-haired beauty explained.

“Really?” Nathan queried, “Exactly what power does a name have?”

“Names are a gateway into people’s lives. They allow for familiarity and give opportunity for manipulation. To give you my name would be to welcome you into my life, to promise friendship, or at least, association,” she told him. “Other people sell their names lightly, whoring out their identity to anyone that asks. People slough their names off on each other, forgetting as often as remembering. It’s actually kind of sad.”

“Bullshit,” Nathan said, taking his beer from the bartender. He passed Davies' credit card to the man.

The girl leaned in. “What did you say?” she asked, then took a long sip of her drink.

“I called bullshit on your whole name thing. Names are just a label, a way to identify one thing from another similar thing.”

“Tell me, Nathan, what do you do for a living?”

“What do I do?” He shrugged. He wanted to tell her he was a computer salesman, or worked at some insurance company, just to see how she’d brush him off. But he also wanted to see how hard it really was to get her name, which he figured was easier than making the drink she sipped. Which way to go? What to say? He’d have to decide soon, while she’d still believe whatever he said.

“How do you pay the bills?” She helped, an edge in her voice.

Nathan shrugged and decided to speak the truth. “I haven’t done anything for such a long time,” he said.

“Are you a student?” she teased. Running her hand over his bald head, she added, “I imagine you're far too old for schooling.”

“Not a student,” He admitted. “I guess I’d have to say I live off the interest.”

“The interest?!” her eyes bugged. “Right! So, either you’re independently wealthy without any hobbies, or you’re an artist, and you mean to say that you have no money, that you live on your interests alone.”

“Which is worse?”

“Wealth,” she said. “If you have money and find yourself bored, I'd imagine it's because you yourself are quite boring.”

Nathan snorted. “Can I get a new question?”

“Related topic,” she replied. “How do you pass the time?”

“Lately I’ve been studying,” Nathan noted. “And traveling.”

“I thought you said you weren’t a student,” She quipped.

“I’m not.”

“What have you been studying?”

“Astronomy, physics: Hard science. Boring stuff.”

“And traveling?”

“Internationally,” he dodged.

She smiled and offered her hand. “My name’s Julia.”

He took the offered hand. “Good to meet you, Julia,” and with that Marvelous realized the problem with knowing a name, because now she would expect him to talk to her. She would expect something in trade and not just the information he’d already given her. There was an agenda, or there would be. There would be games of give and take, questions of reciprocity, concerns about needs and wants, and if she was like everyone else, it’d be all about her needs and wants. All at once, Nathan remembered why he hid from people. His face flushed with frustration, apathy, and irritation. He hid his reaction behind his beer mug.

Julia took the opportunity to finish her Tom Collins. “Listen, I have to attend the little girlie’s room, but I’ll be right back?”

“Perhaps,” he half-smiled.

Julia shrugged, though she offered a smile, then turned and cut through the crowd, saying a word here and there as she slipped away from the bar. As she moved away, she also slipped from Nathan’s mind. He was on to other things and only half cared if she returned. With Julia gone, Marvelous noticed a shift in the atmosphere. Suddenly, he noticed all the play, all the strategy of the other patrons. He saw several eyes staring hostility at him. These were the guys who had already put in a bid with Julia, hoping for her attention, her affection. They were predators. He saw their eyes track each girl that walked by. These girls were little more than flesh: attractive, sculpted, hump-able flesh—yet half of them were not innocent either. He saw them set their traps, predators in their own right, Venus flytraps smelling of rotten meat. The communal feeling of being among amiable others was lost. These were not people seeking social connection. These were people on assignment, under the influence of alcohol and hormones. The only connection longed for was of the physical sort, a connection as temporary and fleeting as possible. Then, they would roll over and sleep, and hope that she or he had the decency to leave before the sun came up. The only commonality was that they all preyed for the same thing.

Julia approached, but Nathan did not see her. She wrapped an arm around his neck and whispered in his ear, “So, how do I know you?”

Nathan was taken aback. Panic lit in his eye. “What?”

“You look really familiar, but I can’t place you. Do you come here a lot?”

“No.”

She shrugged. “Neither do I...” Julia shifted, looking around the bar, suddenly burdened, suddenly tired. “I’m starving. Would you like to get something to eat?”

He held up half a basket of chicken tendies.

“No, that’s not...” she held up a hand and shook her head.

“What have you got in mind?” he asked, realizing whatever he wanted, whatever he sought, it was in Julia as much as it was in the rest of the club. More so, perhaps. He wondered if he was just as bad as the others.

Instead of answering, Julia took his arm and pulled him toward the exit. The two stepped out. On the way, Marvelous caught one last glance of the brunette in the baby blue jumpsuit. Now here was an anomaly, a fish in the sea, but not of a school. She seemed surprisingly content, as if simply being here was a prize in itself. There were no furtive glances at any of the men wearing Armani. There was no posturing. She was simply here, a witness to all the strangeness. Was it true contentment, or a show?

The lady in baby blue looked over at him. He wondered what she thought, expecting to see some reaction. Would she be judgmental? Would he see an indignant curl on her lips as he took the leopard print half-shirt away? Would she grin, cynically? The brunette watched Marvelous walk out with Julia on his arm. The only sign she gave him was a slight smile, as if to say, I see you too.

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