An ape with a military style haircut, buried in a watch cap that he periodically took off to roll nervously in his fingers demanded identification.
I told him plainly that I did not have any. I told him that I accidentally left my identification at home.
“You walked here?” he asked me, with a feigned concern in his voice.
“Yeah, I came to get drunk and see some titties. I don’t want to get popped for a DUI.”
“Well, you look old enough.”
I started to walk in the door and the ape grabbed me by the shoulder.
“Hey man,” he said, “its a five dollar cover charge.”
I peeled off a greasy five dollar bill from my roll and handed it over. He pocketed it. He stamped my hand with a blood red, “PUSSYCAT.”
I entered the dark room through a narrow passageway. I overheard one of the strippers arguing with the manager in hushed tones in the corner. His stomach overspilled a tucked in black shirt. His bow tie, askew on his neck – it looked like his blind mother dressed him. The woman had been crying. Her mascara dripped down her face. It looked like she had been given two black eyes.
The manager said, “Look dearie, if they want to touch you, they’ll touch you.”
“You said no touch.”
“We threw him out,” the manager said.
“This place is loaded with perverts and sickos,” the young lady said.
“You get back in their beautiful, you’ve got customers waitin’,” the manager implored her.
“I don’t know. I’m starting to hate this place. It’s really starting to creep me out.”
She looked up at me.
“Nice track suit,” she said through her tears.
She grabbed me by the hand and led me into the club through a pair of burnished steel doors. I followed her like a reluctant sinner.
I hate 1980s music. I always believed that the 1980s were the absolute lowest point culturally that humanity ever reached, probably due to a combination of factors. Reagan was president and people just didn’t care to produce anything lasting any more. The music inside made me cringe. The club was suprisingly warm inside. A gang of Japanese businessmen all wearing suits of the same color with uniform neck tie lengths had taken up prime real estate in the front of the club.
The strippers milling about looked just like strippers from my era except they all had pubic hair and the hair on their heads was poofy and hairsprayed. Otherwise, the club could have been shot into any era, it would have been the same dynamic inside.
The Japanese were sitting, heads fixed, in the thrall of a goddess. The woman on the stage commanded complete control of the room, a strange high priestess in a sun god religion. Latina, or some variant thereof, she looked like one of the beautiful virgins that the wrinkled old Aztec priests sacrificed to their cruel god. Her hair rippled down her back to her waist.
Her ass was the perfect ratio of fleshy girth. The Golden Ratio. When I saw her behind, my penis swelled uncontrollably. I sat down and watched her dance in the blue lights which flashed to yellows and reds before melding into green. I watched the slobs try and put their hands on her. I watched old men leer from corners licking their lips in her direction.
I decided that I had to rescue her from this place. I decided this in the space of five minutes, watching her. Some women burrow right into your soul, or rather their appearance does.
As she walked around the room after her routine, I kept my eyes on the other men as they whispered things into her ear, or shouted over the music. As she got closer to me, I felt that she was my sister and I her jealous brother. I wanted to keep her safe. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to see her in something besides her stripper uniform.
Five minutes. An eternity. Time buries itself in your brain with a gnawing root of expectation. A very staid looking young man talked to her when she exited the break room. She wrapped her arms around him. It wasn’t a stripper hug. It looked like she may be his girlfriend. I don’t know why, he looked like a dork – even for the eighties.
The young man was handsome with longish hair. I could see why she liked him. He hugged her again. I stared at her while he left. She watched him go.
She scanned the crowds looking for a mark. I made eye contact with her through the smoke. She parted the sludge like a graceful shiv, tiptoeing towards me with a smile on her face. She took my hand.
“Shall we?” she asked.
I floated with her on the contrails to the back room. The subject of the young man came up. I think I brought it up. She told me the young man was her boyfriend. I burned inside. Here, I had found the perfect woman, and had not even heard what was on her mind. Did it really matter? She asked me if I had a girlfriend. Did it really matter?
“No.” I replied.
“Why not?” she asked.
“I’m too shy,” I said with a smile.
“You don’t seem very shy to me,” she quipped.
She leaned forward in the dim light. She smelled of flowers. A bouncer leaned his head in the door, piercing the darkness like a gunshot in church. She looked back and smiled at him. The air inside the VIP lounge around her aura smelt of faint sweat and broken vows.
Nothing is as it seems. It merely is. Thought is an abstraction.
The song began and she began her rhythmic movements, a slow grind on my midsection that removed my lungs of whatever breath I had stored. She sent the blood packing from my brain, stampeding towards my shaft.
“That’s nice,” she said, grapsing my rising penis through my uniform. I pulled her hand away. I was ashamed. I placed it on her naked thigh and began to work my way up to her rear.
“No touching,” she said curtly.
“I didn’t know,” I said into her ear breathlessly.
“Pay extra and touch me where ever you want, stud,” she said matter of factly. My heart sank.
“That’s not the way I want it.”
“Why not?”
I didn’t want to tell her that I didn’t agree with her side project. I came up with a pathetic excuse that revealed an opening.
“Your boyfriend will mind.”
“That idiot? He’s too busy with his studies to pay attention to me.”
“Where does he study?”
“Physics at the University of Chicago.”
“He must be pretty smart.”
“He’s a bore.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I’m a physicist too.”
“You boring?”
“I don’t know, am I?”
“Not really. Where are you from?”
“Chicago.”
“Where are you from. You look Latin.”
“I think we’re from Europe. My family. I don’t know. We’re orphans.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah. Mom and dad left us at the Sisters of Charity. Or maybe mom. I don’t know.”
“I’ve was told in the orphanage that my mom was a smart and beautiful woman. I got the looks, my sister got the brains.”
I thought about asking her sister’s name, but the chorus to the song started and I could no longer hear.
I watched her rear as she shook it slightly, self consciously because large round asses would not become vogue for at least two decades with the advent of J Lo. I bade her to come closer with my finger and told her, “Don’t be so nervous, you’re beautiful.”
She smiled, I could see the reflection on her teeth of all the beer signs in the room. Her smile lingered, slightly capriciously. I could not tell whether it was a genuine smile or not. She remained by my side, not moving as the music throbbed decadently around us. It coursed through my chest, raising my heartbeat and pulsing through my lungs. Her hand searched my lap and found my penis again. It throbbed as she rubbed it.
“I like this,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
“What’s your name?” she asked, not moving her hand.
“Paul.”
“What’s your last name, Paul?” she asked before realizing her mistake and correcting herself, “I mean you don’t have to give me your last name.”
“What’s your name?” I asked her to cover up for the faux pas.
“Candy,” she answered with a coy smile.
“That’s your real name?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure if I want to go home with you or not,” she said.
“What do you mean?” I gasped, made shy by her forwardness.
“You’re cute. I like you. You want another dance?”
“Not here,” I said. ” I don’t like this place.”
“Why not?”
“This place strikes me as being quite sinister.”
“Why?”
“Look around.”
“It looks like any other place to me.”
“I want to see you outside of here.”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“Don’t think too long about it. When do you get off?”
“Why, you late for a plane or something?”
“No, I’ve got an experiment I have to get to.”
“You’ll be up all night?”
“Yes. I can’t sleep.”
“Meet me at a diner after I get off.”
“When do you get off?”
“A couple of hours.”
“What’s its name?”
“Oh its right down the street. Can’t miss it.”
“I’ll meet you down there.”
“Ok. I’ll be off at four in the morning. I’ll go down there. I promise.”
The words melted off her tongue. I was in her trance.
I walked out of the strip club in a daydream. The cold air made me gasp. I stumbled through the bitter snows, hacked my way through snow drifts to the diner, glowing in the distance. In the parking lot I passed her boyfriend, who was on his way into the club. He must have forgotten to tell her something, or maybe he was there to propose to her. Either way, I figured I’d have a bowl of chili and some coffee, and she would never come through the door.
The Diner was sparsely lit. Patrons smoked, supping third shift lunches, workers from the factories nearby barely looked up from their greasy bacon and english muffins when I burst in. The scene was already dead to me. A bearded man wheezed and blew his nose into a handkerchief that he deftly folded into his pocket of his well worn jeans. I sat in the corner so I could watch the door and waited patiently for the waitress to approach with the menu. I was famished, but at least I was warm.
“Wow,” the waitress said when she handed me the menu. She was older, about fifty, so I did not take the compliment as having sexual content.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Your eyes. They’re really green.”
“Thanks.”
She stiffened up. She reeked of cigarettes and had perma stained fingernails that were slightly peeling. She looked like she may have been pretty twenty or twenty five years ago, before children and life beat her down.
“Whatchoo want hun?”
“Some Chili and some coffee.”
“Alright,” she said as she marked the order on the reciept like a professional golfer keeping score.
A man in a stained John Deere had coughed ominously.
The door opened. The bell above it tinkled in the wind and snowflakes gusted in around the periphery. A decrepit old man entered, flanked by two hulking beasts of men who looked around the room like mercenaries, nary an emotion on their faces. The old man stared at me like he knew me. A sudden look of glee spread across his wrinkly face, like he found something valuable that he had misplaced.
The old man sat across the booth from me, shaking his snow covered fedora on the table. I glared at him.
“Nice to finally see you, Herr Doktor.”
“Who the hell are you?” I asked, trying to be menacing. One of the burly men shook his head to remind me that he would rip my arms out of their sockets and beat me with them if I tried anything.
“Professor, surely you recognize and old friend.”
“You are old. But you’re no friend of mine.”
“You are correct. I have aged profoundly.”
“Who are you, old man?”
The old man laughed, like a king bullfrog croaking in a summer’s pond.
“Surely you recognize your old friend Eggers.”
“Dear God, what happened to you? Why are you here?”
“I waited for two weeks to see if you would do what you came to do you bastard. You didn’t do any of it. The advertisement should have appeared in the newspaper instantaneously.”
“Theoretically.” I corrected him.
“Yes, you and your damn theory.”
“You’re trying to fuck me aren’t you Herr Doktor.”
“No. Something must have gone wrong. I haven’t purchased the shares yet. I’m going to.”
“Not good enough!”
“Why the hell did you come back?”
“I fucked up, Herr Doktor. The machine sent me back to 1943. They thought I was a German spy. They put me in jail. This cold here? No. It’s nothing compared to that Kansas Concentration Camp I was in. Something strange happened to the machine when you went back. Parts on it started breaking. No explanation.”
“Theres and explanation, Eggers. Whatever you did in the past. You fucked up. We’re probably stuck back here. What the fuck do you want with riches? You’re too old to enjoy them.”
“Its the principle, Herr Doktor.”
One of the large men cleared his throat, intending it to be a signal to Eggers.
“Oh yes. I must introduce you to my friends. Anatoly Cherkashin and Sergei Zabonanov.”
“Russians?”
“I told my Russian friends all about the future, Herr Doktor. My predictions have come true. I told them about you. I told them we would find you. You’ll give them the formula. I’m regarded as a great mystic. Greater than Rasputin, that old fool. You know the Russian fondness for mystics. Village idiots. I told them about Chernobyl. I told them we’d be introduced to the world’s first time traveler. Wait…you know what. I guess I’m the first time traveler. I did go back in the past further than you.” Eggers said, laughing.
“My silent friends here are interested in the science behind the machine and the theories regarding its operation.”
“What machine and what theories?”
The larger of the two bear-like men spoke in broken English.
“Comrade Eggers and Order of Lenin is great friend to Russian people, Diplomat Cherkashin and I agree that you must also become great friend to Soviet people and aid us in scientific endeavor, as your noble friend Order of Lenin Comrade Eggers has.”
Internally I was screaming. On the outside, I was as calm as a porcelain doll.
“What theories, and what machine?”
Eggers looked at me. The smile melted off his face.
“This isn’t a scientific endeavor he’s been leading you on. He’s a fortune teller,” I said to the two Russians who looked at each other incredulously.
“But Mr. Eggers is Order of Lenin and great friend to Russian people,” Anatoly said looking around.
“Really? Because he made some predictions that came true? That crises have been averted? Postponed? Nothing has to happen gentlemen. Nothing at all. In another world Chernobyl blows up. In still another world, International Communism blankets the globe and perhaps it is a world of peace. Maybe a world of tyranny depending who you ask. In another world I was not born because my mother never felt a twinge of lust when she saw my father. Time is not a chain of events. Time is not a circle. Sorry, gentlemen, I hate to disappoint you. I must be going. I cannot help you.”
I stood up, thinking they would shoot me. The Russians no longer looked at me, they looked at the decrepit Eggers.
“How do you know he isn’t a CIA operation?” I asked them.
I walked towards the door. The beautiful woman from the club was coming inside. I grabbed her by the arm.
“Come with me,” I said to her.
“Don’t you want to eat?”
“Some old friends that I no longer like showed up.”
I had to get to the portal to see if it was still open. There was no way I could now. Candy drove me to my apartment and told me that her name was really Alice. I asked her about her boyfriend, and she told me that she let him go tonight because she found someone more interesting. She said she was a modern woman who didn’t get too attached. We went back to my motel room and made love until early in the morning when the sun was rising. She told me that her sister would worry about her if she didn’t make it home before she came back from her laboratory job. It was probably the last time I would see her. She gave me her phone number and told me to call any time I was in Chicago.
I walked back to Mescherman’s Diamond Merchant to claim my money. I would probably need it to start a new life. There was no telling how much Eggers screwed up in the past. Mescherman glared at me when I walked in.
“I don’t know why you’re trying to play me,” he said angrily, “but these diamonds are already located in a vault in the DeBeers Company Headquarters in Antwerp. For some reason you’ve given me exact replicas. I don’t know how its possible. Those are real, and these are real. What the hell are you trying to pull?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. Where did you get them?”
“From an associate of mine.”
“These are registered to a vault in the goddamn DeBeers Company! One of them is slated to go into the wedding ring of a lady in Rochester, heavens to betsy!”
“I can’t explain it. Just give me the sum we agreed upon.”
He laughed. ”I’ve got it in my right mind to call the FBI on you. Have you hauled off to court.”
“Give me my damn diamonds back!”
“The DeBeers Company ordered me to seize them. Sorry they carry more weight with me, than you.”
“Fuck you old man! Give them back!”
He raised the telephone.
I breathed deeply, trying to regain my composure.
“No. You’re right. I’ll leave.”
He smiled at me. I backed up to the door. I still had the money from the diamond chips. I suppose I could find a job somewhere and just live in the past. I hailed a cab out on the road and directed him to take me to the shopping mall.
The mall was bereft of shoppers. I made my way to the Macy’s service corridor easily. The clothing manager was distracted with a customer, so I opened the door. It creaked on its hinges like an old man’s knees in morning. I dashed down the stairs and turned the corner. A janitor gasped.
“What are you doin’ down here, it’s off limits!”
I dodged past him. I thought I could out run him. I heard him right behind me. I turned. Planted. My punch caught him square on the nose and send him flat on his back. He curled up. Unconscious. I ran to the junk room, out of breath. My hands burned with anticipation as I turned the knob. It wouldn’t turn. Locked.
I picked the janitor’s keys of his limp body. I tried the keys one by one until one fit. I threw open the door. The room was black. The portal was gone. There was nothing in the room but some old broken up furniture. ”Eggers!” I screamed.
“Freeze!” the security guard, a man as big as a house, screamed. He pointed a dingy old revolver right at my head.
I put my hands up. Two more of them arrived and forced my arms behind my back. They took me to the Chicago police station and I was booked for one count of assault and battery, a count of trespassing, and robbery, for stealing the janitor’s keys. I was given one phone call. I called Alice. It was the only number I knew and had on my person.
She answered softly.
“Hi. I know we just met, but I’m in jail. I need you to bail me out.”
“Oh damn. I thought you were a nice guy.”
“I am a nice guy. I just need you to help me.”
“Why should I help you?”
“Because, I need you. I promise I’ll pay you back ten fold.”
Bail was $500.00. Cheap. I didn’t intend on making my court date. I guess I would live out my life as a fugitive in the past. She started grilling me the second I was in the car. I owed her some answers.
“Why the hell were you trying to break into that room in Macy’s basement? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m the first person to ever travel through time,” I said.
“Bullshit, fuck, you’re insane.”
“I’ll prove it to you.”
“Where do you want me to drop you off at psycho?”
I grabbed her and looked into her eyes.
“I don’t have anywhere to stay.”
“Oh Jesus, you’re homeless and insane.”
“I’m not. I’ll prove it to you. Please, give me a chance.”
“Oh fuck, why’d I even come here?” she said out loud, a thought that escaped as spoken words.
“Because you’re bored and intrigued by me.”
“I’m not bored.”
“Yes you’re are. Its a damn good thing you’re not going to go to work tonight.”
“Why?”
“A madman is going to shoot up McDonald’s and the police are going to chase him into the Pussy Cat. He’s going to barricade himself in that place after shooting that nice bouncer you have there, and about five other patrons.”
“Bullshit.”
“No bullshit. Just watch your television, tonight. Promise me you won’t go to work.”
“I’ll get fired.”
“No you won’t. I’ve seen the other girls that work there. You’re staying with me.”
“Okay.”
“Take me to your house. Where do you live?”
“Not far.”
“I share it with my sister but she’s a the laboratory all night long.”
She parked her car on the street. The wind gusted, chilling me to the bone. I would soon be warm beside her. She shivered and fumbled with her keys. She finally opened the door. It was a small, homey house, sparsely decorated. A Madonna poster stood out prominently on one wall, out of place in the otherwise grandmotherly decor.
“Who’s is that? Your sister’s?”
“Nah…she’s older. A stick in the mud.”
I looked around in the semi darkness. She had many photos of herself in the place. She was obviously into herself.
“You’re beautiful,” I said.
“I know, you’ve told me several times, so are you lover.”
She called her work and told them she wouldn’t be coming in. It was a short phone call. She approached me with her arms outstretched. I caught her and kissed her lips with mine. Living in the past would not be so bad.
“She’ll be home tomorrow though, there’s nothing wrong with you staying tonight,” she said.
We made love four or five times and she was snoozing on my chest when at 11:15 PM the first news reports splashed across the televison about the murder spree at McDonald’s. Timothy Gentry, a recently fired employee, burst into the restaurant with a Kalashnikov and a backpack of ammunition and banana clips. I woke her.
“See,” I said. ”I’m not lying.”
She sat up, gasping. ”Oh my God.”
“Oh my god!” she wailed.
“How did you know this was going to happen!”
“I told you the truth.”
“I should have told them! I should have told them all when I called! Why didn’t I warn them!”
“They wouldn’t have believed you. Much like you didn’t believe me.”
She beat her hands on my chest, “My friends! My friends!” she sobbed.
“What is done cannot be undone,” I said hugging her to me. I covered her with a blanket and she opened the door to the living room, saying she needed a glass of water.
A screech came from her wall. In the dim light, I looked up and noticed a clock on the wall that looked like a monkey. ”I had a clock like this as a kid,” I said to her as she walked in the kitchen. A key hurriedly turned in the lock. The door burst open and a woman entered, turning the light on. The woman looked just like my Aunt Frieda.
“Oh Jesus, Alice, you’re okay! They told me some maniac was shooting up that strip club you work at!”
The monkey clock screeched again.
I ran from her bedroom, quite naked, past the two women, into the frosty night air.
The Man With Bright Green Eyes is Copyright 2011, Jeffrey M. Hopkins and Hard Oak Press
