Casually Compromised - Book 1

Down with the Get Down

A dozen pairs of eyes pressed up against Vera and she could feel it, or at least she used to feel it in the beginning.

I often imagine the start. That first dance, that first routine, the sense of coordination, action, practice towards perfection. Who was she before this? Has she changed? Is she still the girl she was 10 years ago?

I take a deep dive into Vera's soul, exploring the fragments in my mind, all bits and pieces, too little to go on yet enough to wonder.

Like finding an old vintage cocktail recipe, just the right allotments of spirt, spice, sour and sweet. This cocktail was created, no it was envisioned, manifested 50 years ago and yet its here once again, did it embody the same essence once before?

Now in this moment against the mirrored plates, it was routine, of course you wanted her and she wanted you and your homage, and then she'd go home, enjoy a bottle of wine, play with her puppy and debate what to do like anyone else, or better yet she'd sleep the day away as the sun pierced the clouds pooling its light around her through a skylight overhead.

I was a lucky idiot to have met this girl, yet sitting here in the moment staring into Vera's eyes seeing myself within, I wondered if I should be here.

"You're a grown man..." she said to me, recalling her expression in my mind.

I forget the question or what prompted the statement other than the obvious rolling around in my head. Yes it was true. I was a grown man.

I didn't stumble into this place, I wanted to be here. I wanted to see the women, I wanted to feel with someone. I knew exactly what drug I was taking and I knew its related side effects.

Vera keeps me honest.

She's a part of my subconscious now, reminding me just how far past the edge of acceptable reality I may be treading.

And there it comes, the wave restless boredom, the twinge of fear, back in that swallowing hole of darkness. Nothing. I deserve nothing.

She continued her routine. She was here for the time allotted and then soon be back to her tour, looking for the next man have a chat, net a dance or VIP room.

Her back bent with ease, a sudden roll and she was on it, lying in a position that I can only define as "fucking amazing" like someone pause the tape, I gotta analyze that frame!

I was enjoying the show to say the least, I had seen it a dozen times before, saving it to memory- filing under who, context, desire, year, date, general season, location, happiness level, alone or in the presence of others, color palette, brightness levels, presence of alcohol, related emotions, guilt and shame levels, oh and the song playing at that time.

A song related memory often pulled up the best feelings captured- my brain eager to recall the memory, and instantly manifest hormones in my mind to relive it, over and over. I'd like to think my brain storage was infinite but the record keeper often lost the manifest of exactly who or what these memories would be, saved for, and recalled when.

Joe was lost in his daze.

I knew that look. Its as if he left his post and came specifically in this moment in time to see her. Commanded by some force perhaps I thought to myself.

He rarely watched a girl like he watched Vera.

Sure he patrolled the club as expected, his dominion, his empire of sparkles, intoxicating spirits and his harem of women. But he rarely watched. But how could he not, he picked these girls, he was altering the subconsciousness of every man in this room.

A kind of puppet master I'd think to myself? No, he didn't hold the strings.

No one was holding Vera strings. She was commanding the moment, her aura catching us in her gravitational field.

The manager, Joe, was in his mid sixites, dressed in all black, a medium big belly build of a man. He had white hair and was seemingly simple in nature, approachable, friendly yet with a twist of darkness, we all had that I figured.

In the club our weakness is obvious, we're here, we caved, we came crawling to the temple of flesh and desire. I enjoyed the amplification of romanticism in my mind. I'm a futurist, I thought to myself, I project and envision what I see is possible and it usually occurs maybe not instantly but the future is a bit known to me. Maybe its the reverse, the future knows ME and it as waiting for me to be here.

He's intimidated by her, as am I.

He sets strict rules for Vera, knowing her well to an extent I suppose. She was a bit dangerous with alcohol which amplified Vera to her fullest extent.

Her "Get Down with the Get Down" trust embodied persona, had its own issues. She once explained to me in detail her stage name- Vera, a word that means "to trust", derived from the german language, as she was half german or born in Germany, I forget.

Trust her?

What better way to embody the want and desire we all wish- trust. At 127 pounds with a willing personality- trust that? I couldn't trust myself obviously- how'd I get here. How did I get to this point? The new job was what I wanted right? I mean I was free to be everything unchained and yet I'm chained to a new stress- me, my quest, my empire. Maybe I was in the bottle and Vera uncorked me?

I'm in a cascading free fall of loss. My fathers death a year ago, my realization of golden handcuffs in the corporate world too tight and the pathway of obvious momentum laid before me, simply asking me to step through the door.

I did.

I stepped through and on the other side strapped in and riding the rocket ship built on my own foundation I had laid for years. I was here now and I worked, all the time. Perhaps I lacked a support system letting the restless boredom gestate into something more sinister.

All I wanted now was to be someone else or to destroy who I was because I didn't recognize myself any more. I wanted to explore the full reaches of emotion. To feel.

I realize I give Vera far too much credit. She isn't perfect, far from it. She was a good excuse at the start. I wish I knew her in a different circumstance. The mind tends to favor its own complimentary views on reality, protecting the host at all times. I pieced that logic together from countless sci-fi movies. But I used it on clients all the time- we're all biased about our product, we think its shiny, wonderful, perfect.

I wonder who owned Vera more, the girl that created her or the reality matrix in my mind. There it was, delusion, never escaping it, how are you doing my old friend.

Was the manager delusional too?

No, he protected his high value assets, preferring they be perfect in every way possible- at least in ways that benefited his pocket. He had a tense relationship with Vera. He knew far more than I on her perhaps destructive nature at times.

He stared on, crowding out my own view of her as she slid across the stage floor. His stare was not one of pride or joy, just simple acceptance of this girl.

Vera stood up and walked over to a man standing ringside, her routine complete. In a blink of an eye Joe was gone, as if he was never there.

My memory closes.

I shake my head waking up from my memory and follow Vera back to the table as 7 AM slides by, her dance complete, winking at me with a smile.