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Distance

"There's a crystal view, from my window.."

Now this was more like it.

After so many nights of shitty modern music, he had almost forgotten how good it was to hear the old stuff in a setting like this.

He looked around the dark, smoky room, watching the pale folk in black whirl and dip to the familiar melodies and knew that all was well with the world. Just for once, he didn't feel like he was out of touch with those around him. At this moment, there was no compromise, nothing that seemed wrong or out of place.

He was home.

He had hoped that this "old favourites" night would afford him a respite from the repetitive modern music that he usually didn't mind but had become quite bored with of late. He didn't know how long it would last, but this was just what he needed to hear tonight. It was a pity Simone was still overseas - she would have enjoyed it too.

"I live for the burn and the sting of pleasure.."

Peering through the smoke, he noticed that there was also not a white t-shirt or denim jacket in sight. It seemed the old music was even driving away the bogans that usually wandered down to perve at the sexy death chicks. He didn't like to feel like a snob, but the yobs here were in a class of their own. Just for now, it was nice not to have to share.

It was fairly early, and the crowd was still small. The smoke-filled floor was taken up with dancers in various shades of black making the most of the elbow room that would later be reduced to shuffling space.

In one corner of the floor was group of somewhat conservative looking guys, dancing extravagantly in long black coats. There was nothing concrete he could put a finger on, but something clearly marked them out as role players, a species unknown in his old days. They were obviously as enthused about the music as he was, so as far as he was concerned they were his kin. (Or should that be Kindred?)

You got all sorts in this scene - that was part of why he loved it.

"Desire burns, beyond good and evil.."

He scanned the crowd for people he knew, surprised to find not one. In fact, there didn't seem to be a person here who he even vaguely recognised, which was unusual. Since he'd started going out again, he'd come to recognise a number of faces who seemed to decorate every club or night he went to. But tonight everyone was a stranger to him, which he didn't mind at all. He didn't feel the need to socialise tonight. He felt like being a watcher.

"The spirit is willing and the flesh is craved
You tease and you taunt, with the pleasure of pain.."

He remembered the first time he had come here, almost two years ago, on Halloween no less. From the first moment it struck him as his sort of place, an impression which hadn't changed. While he didn't like everything they played here, he could always depend on hearing a decent amount of good music through the night. And if he did hear something he didn't like, a quick toilet break and a wander of the back room would be long enough for the style to have changed again to something more to his taste.

Of course that also meant that this old-school theme would have to end, but while it lasted he was happy to reminisce.

As if on cue, the tempo changed and another, far too familiar rhythm filled the room. Almost instantly, the room was also filled with rednecks, either swaying drunkenly on the dance floor or checking out the remaining black clad girls (who, as always, seemed to suddenly begin dancing like strippers once this song came on). Michael smiled as he remembered an interview in which this singer joked that this song had made his work into "music for titty-bars". He also wondered where the hell these bogans had come from so quickly.

He swigged the last drops from his now warm bottle of beer and wondered whether to shell out the ridiculous price for another. He remembered that they had beer on tap at a reasonable price up on the bogan - sorry - "indie" floor above. Normally he kept away from that floor and headed straight down to the lower level where the sarky comments were less frequent, but since half the drunken yobs seemed to have filtered down here early, there seemed no point in paying twice the price for bottled beer.

He edged past a group of goateed macho boys with bored expressions and heavy metal t-shirts and headed for the staircase. As he neared the upper level, he could hear the rain beating down on the street above. He often wondered how these places stayed free from the water pouring into the storm drains. In the end it didn't matter as long as it stayed dry.

On the upper floor, he saw that the crowd was much smaller than most weeks he remembered, though it had been a while since he'd been here. Perhaps half of this floor's crowd really was downstairs, though he wondered why those randy boys didn't stay here to talk with the girls they might actually have a chance with. The important thing was that the path to the bar was relatively clear and he soon had his hands and lips on a cold lager.

Returning with his prize to his own floor, he noticed that the room once again belonged to figures in black, though several white t-shirts glowed in the ultraviolet from the edges of the room. His favourite lurking corner was still free, so he settled into place to sip his beer and watch the building crowd. Come to think of it, he could see why the indie boys preferred to ogle the girls down here. After all, that's what he was doing just now also (much as he kidded himself it was for higher cultural and aesthetic reasons).

Two figures caught his eye on the far side of the room.

It was David and Trisha. They must have arrived while he was upstairs, and didn't seem to have spotted him yet. He would go over and talk to them later. For now, he was quite happy where he was. They hadn't exactly been exuding sociability last time he saw them anyway, though he expected that was due to the fact that Simone and Trisha didn't get along. Still, that was between them, and for once he wasn't going to get caught in the middle.

There was enough smoke and people in the room now to avoid any perceived snubbing, so he stayed put and watched the crowd continue to grow.

Almost without thinking, he began to play that old game, scanning the crowd and imagining who he might have been inclined to chat up back in the days when he was single. The point of this exercise was unclear to him, but it always kept him amused.

Oddly enough, there wasn't really anybody who took his fancy tonight. That is, there were lots of beautiful, exotic creatures who were lovely to look on, but there was no-one whose aura made him think 'now, she is the sort of girl I could fall for". No-one that he could tell at a glance he would have risked certain humiliation and embarrassment to approach. No-one that really "jumped out".

But it was still early.

Anyway, that wasn't what he was here for.

--

Four more songs and he was in need of a toilet break, and figured he might as well go say hello to David and Trisha. He slipped over to their side of the room and squeezed David on the shoulder. The couple both smiled and gave him a big hug. They appeared to have been drinking for some time and were in quite an exuberant mood. It turned out they had been at a party all afternoon, slowly getting sloshed on whiskey and gin. Michael wondered how they could still be drunk and bouncy after that many hours boozing, but figured they probably had a better head for grog than he had. Not to mention a better bladder. He excused himself and continued on to the toilets.

On returning, via the bar with another drink, he found them dancing on the cram-floor, as it had now become, and took a seat nearby while he still had the chance.

The crowd was building up quite a bit now, as the fashionably late decided it was fashionably late enough to make an appearance. He began to browse again.

Though there were probably twice as many people here as when he first started playing, he still didn't take a fancy to anyone in particular. Perhaps he just wasn't in the mood. Whatever the reason, there just didn't seem to be anyone out of the black clad lovelies that especially caught his eye. Well, except maybe for that girl.

Actually, now he thought of it, she was quite exquisite. He wondered why he hadn't noticed her earlier. In fact, he wasn't sure if he'd ever laid eyes on her before. She did look vaguely familiar, though that was not unusual. Everybody looked familiar to him. But yes, at a glance he knew that this was someone he would definitely have been willing to make a fool of himself for, back when that was an option.

He saw her glance in his direction and quickly averted his gaze. It was hard not to smile as he felt his cheeks flush red.

His thoughts were disturbed by a glowing figure who flopped into the seat next to him, white shirt and stonewashed jeans shining like a beacon under the blacklights. (Where did you get stonewash denim in this day and age anyway?) The fellow steadied himself, then leaned in close to shout in Michael's ear.

"Haayur gowan?"

"Pretty damned good, actually. Yourself?"

"Wha?"

"Not bad."

"Wha?"

"NOT. BAD."

"Thaz good. Thaz good."

The fellow's breath smelled strongly of beer and bourbon, with just a slight essence of vomit. He had obviously started early. He stared around the room vaguely, nodding quietly to himself. Michael braced himself for more ear damage as the guy leaned in again.

"Wuz ya name?"

"Michael".

"Wha?"

"Michael. What's yours?"

The fellow just nodded.

Okay, then.

Michael watched his new friend compose his thoughts, then cocked an ear as he leant in again. But instead of another slurred earful, Michael felt an arm slide across the chair behind him, the other hand falling on his thigh and moving slowly upward. Oh god! This dork was trying to pick him up. He probably didn't even realise he was making a move on another guy (must be the nail polish). This was too much.

Michael removed the offending hand and summoned his deepest macho voice.

"Look mate, I don't think so."

The fellow withdrew quickly, offering an apologetic handshake. Michael accepted the gesture and returned it with his firmest grip, only to find his hand being dragged insistently toward the cretin's snaking tongue. One swift move was enough to pull free, leaving sleazeboy to slap himself in the mouth, slip off the chair and slink away.

Michael laughed and shook his head, looking about for someone to share the hilarity with. Unfortunately, nobody seemed to have witnessed the incident, so he strolled off for another toilet break with a beer chaser.
Amazingly, his seat was still free when he got back.

Scanning the crowd of dancers, he found the cute girl and watched as she and her friend bopped along to some song he didn't recognise. She had a quaint way of dancing, almost like the good ol' two-step, but the sort you do in big army boots instead of a bulky skirt. He definitely would have been tempted to approach her, back in the day.

Her eyes drifted his way again and he held her gaze just for a moment. Exactly what he would have done if this was for real. He really liked this game.

Trisha spied him again and slid across to ask if he wanted to dance with them. He liked this song, but didn't feel much like dancing tonight. Politely, he declined. Tonight he preferred to sit back and watch everyone else strut their stuff and put in the effort for him. He just wished this place had more spots to sit other than between the speakers, as it was really starting to hurt his ears.

--

It was always interesting to try to work out just what it was that made someone attractive. Sometimes it was the clothing - not just sexy gear, but a certain something in the style. Something that spoke of an attitude that he found appealing. Attitude was a big thing, whether it made someone desirable in a sexual way, or whether it just made them seem like the coolest person on earth. There were other things too, like a nice smile that made him want to be someone's friend, or a playful glint in the eye that evoked a more carnal response.

It was hard to put a finger on what it was about this girl. She had great hair and nice clothes (her outfit reminded him of what he used to refer to as Simone's "biker chick" look) and was obviously very pretty. But what set her apart from every other girl in the room was something subtler. There was something about her expression that he found charming. She had the style of someone who was no novice in the scene, with her tough leathers, tattooed shoulder and metal spike through her lower lip, yet she danced with that concentrated expression of the shy newcomers and uncertain beginners. He always was a sucker for contradictions. Maybe that was the lure.

Or perhaps it just was that she was pretty after all. Why not? Did everything have to be complicated? Why couldn't he just be a sucker for a pretty face? Sometimes it was better not to analyse the reasons. Sometimes it was better to just experience the feeling, a thing of beauty in its own right.

One of the good things about monogamy, as he had argued so often, was that you could be attracted to whoever you want, for whatever reason, and there was absolutely zero pressure to decide whether to do anything about it or not. In fact, since there was absolutely no question of doing something about it, it didn't really even matter whether or not you were attracted to someone. You could just ignore, acknowledge or enjoy the feelings as you pleased without any complications.

Of course, it meant you didn't get to sleep with new and interesting people, but that wasn't everything.

The song finished and the girls moved off the dancefloor towards the toilet. Another look came his way. He knew this would have been when he would have been ready to make a move. If it was real, that is. He closed his eyes, wondering just what he would have said to her..

--

The music was going downhill again, so he decided it was time for a wander.

He strolled out to the back room and stood for a while by the pool table, watching a girl with predatory eyes wipe the floor with a nervous looking boy. The coloured balls took on an eerie glow in the blacklight, as the white flash of the cue ball wreaked havoc among them. The last of the 'bigs' fell and all eyes watched the black blink out of sight. Michael hoped the boy had done something to deserve the humiliating defeat he had just received, not to mention the ribbing of his mates.

As the next victim stepped forward, Michael decided to try his skill and placed a coin of his own in the queue.

Once his turn had come and his ritual humiliation was completed, he decided he should investigate the dance floor and see if he couldn't make himself look any sillier than the smirking girl had.

There was still nothing he wanted to dance to, so he found a seat and waited for something better. He couldn't see her anywhere, though the floor was not quite as crowded as it had been. Then he caught a glimpse of her, standing with her friend near the bar. He watched her in brief flashes as the sea of dancing bodies moved and flowed, allowing him an occasional window of visibility.

Just as he was hoping to catch her eye again, he saw the pair move towards the door and exit towards the stairs. He felt a sudden pang of disappointment, though he was not quite sure why. It was as if he really had been meaning to approach her and now his chance was lost. He knew it was only make believe but somehow it seemed that the night was now a wash-out.

With a sigh, he started to look around the rest of the crowd, laughing as he realised he was looking for a replacement candidate.

Old habits, eh?

--

A movement of white drew his attention to a nearby corner of the room. There he discerned the unmistakable figure of the white shirted sleazeboy from before, now engaged in a frantic pash with a girl in a top hat. At least someone was getting lucky tonight (though he wondered if the chap would be capable of delivering his end of the bargain).

He wondered why he felt a pang of jealousy.

Time for another drink.

No sooner had he placed his order than he heard a new song and he decided he was ready to dance. Quickly stuffing the change in his pocket, he gulped a mouthful of beer and pogoed onto the dancefloor in his best Iggy Pop impersonation. He was still in good spirits and didn't care how he looked, mouthing the words and sinking his drink on cue.

His enthusiasm took its toll and he was exhausted after just one song, slouching out of breath onto to the seat by the speaker stack.

He really needed to get some exercise.

Still, a short rest for the next song and he would be ready to go again, as long as the music stayed good. He'd had enough watching for one night.

As he drained the last of his drink, he noticed her standing back near the bar with her friend. He felt strangely cheered to see her, but uneasy at the same time. Had she seen him make a spectacle of himself? Did he care? Who did he need to impress, anyway? He had to keep reminding himself that he was not out to win anybody's hearts or minds.

Now the next song was starting. He couldn't place it, but he liked it and was going to dance. He didn't care if a million sexy death chicks were watching. An especially dense blast of smoke gave him a welcome screen to hide in and he spun into the thick of it. He wondered where David and Trisha had gotten to. Maybe they had left while he wasn't paying attention.

Four songs of more restrained dancefloor action and he was about ready to sit again. But now there were no more seats left. Typical.

And of course, she would be one of those that had taken them up.

Eye contact lasted a second too long and he suddenly felt awkward.

A tall figure with a red mohawk strode by and tapped him on the forehead. Shawn! (Why do punk guys always spell it Shawn?) Michael slapped him around the back in a big blokey hug. He knew that he was being watched, and that he was playing up to it. Shawn was an impressive guy to be seen chumming with. It was all rather juvenile really. But terrific fun.

This was just like high school. All that was needed was someone to pass notes and a bunch of twits giggling about who liked who liked who. That and the cool kids showing off with all the other cool kids. The only difference now was that he was one of them.

Anyway, enough daydreaming. That was the Damned they were playing now, and he was damned well going to dance to it. Would have been better if it was one of their punkier tracks, but still. He closed his eyes to lose himself in the music and forget about any causal glances that might drift his way.

Why did he care so much about showing how much he didn't care?

David and Trisha appeared out of nowhere and joined him on the floor. More pretty friends to be seen with. He bet if he checked he'd find himself pulling his beer gut in as well. Typical male. What the fuck - it was all fun and games.

Fun and games lasted one song more, another half-recognised track of dancefloor posturing before the music suddenly took a right turn and some featureless disco track was thrust upon them. Without a word, Shawn strode off toward his punk mates, while Michael, Trisha and David made a beeline for three newly free seats.

If he had planned it, he probably wouldn't have chosen to sit next to her, but the choice wasn't his. He tried to listen in on David and Trisha's conversation, to distract himself enough to be able to breathe, but the music was too loud to catch much. He pretended to listen anyway. This was getting weirder and weirder.

Now it was her turn to dance.

He found the contours of the roof and the supports for the lighting rig fascinating, the motions of the disco ball hypnotic, the neon sign behind the bar perfect for staring anywhere except towards her. He tried closing his eyes for a second, but his head began to spin.

Eye contact - half a second.

It was quite incredible the way he was feeling.

For all his thoughts about enjoying desire without the pressure of doing anything about it, he couldn't remember experiencing it like this.

This was a new kind of desire, as if his whole body ached with a hunger to.. what? He didn't want to chat her up. He didn't want to touch her or sleep with her, he just felt this attraction, a desire without an objective. Perhaps that was what pure desire was about.

It was fascinating, if nothing else.

David and Trisha stood up and announced it was time for them to go. They asked if Michael wanted to come back for coffee with them. He declined and said he would have to head home soon himself. Perhaps another time. At least with these two, he knew they really would mean coffee. With too many of his other friends, you could never know just what you were agreeing to. It was nice to know that some others played the monogamy game.

As he watched them sweep out of the room and up the stairs, he wondered if he really should be going too. But something made him want to stick around.

She was sitting beside him again, and he had an uneasy feeling that something was unfinished. He felt there was something he had to do, but didn't know what. He wasn't going to hit on her, he knew that much.

Amongst the feelings that were racing through him, he began to detect a sense of guilt, of having done the wrong thing tonight. He'd been watching her for the past few hours, and knew that she must have noticed. For him it had been fun and games, but what about her?

He'd felt some cheap thrill in those moments when he knew she'd seen him staring. To him it was a beautiful thing, a pure (if not entirely innocent) appreciation of a stranger's inherent beauty, but what did that all mean to her? What did she get out of it except the knowledge that some creepy guy had been staring at her all night? If, at best, she had taken it as flattery, then surely she would wonder why he hadn't tried to talk to her. What if she had been waiting around for him to make a move? Then he would have been leading her on all night and wasting her time. He knew he was flattering himself there, though the thought lingered at the back of his mind as an awkward possibility.

Someone moved in front of him. He looked up to see a tall, thin girl with long green dreadlocks and shiny latex clothes. He had half noticed her around earlier in the night. She mouthed something he didn't quite catch and motioned towards the back room. He wasn't sure whether she was trying to pick him up (it had been a strange night after all, though the strangeness was mostly in his own head) but he was curious and followed to see what it was that she wanted.

The door to the back room had been blocked off for the night and there was no further to go in that direction. The girl hesitated. Michael gestured for her to move into the doorway, where it was a little quieter and he might stand a chance of hearing a word she said. She shook her head nervously and gestured not to worry about it. There was something odd about the way she backed away. Did she think he was suggesting they go the grope right there in the doorway? He cupped his hand to his ear and shouted "sorry, I can't hear a word you're saying".

"It doesn't matter," she shouted back, "umm, have you got the time?"

He peered at his watch, barely visible under the blacklights. "It's.. quarter to four, no.. five."

She thanked him and made a hasty retreat.

Strange.

Whatever it was that she wanted, he would probably never find out.

As he sat down again, he found himself glancing at her. She was watching, but looked away as their gazes met. He wondered what she was thinking. Did she think he was going to go home with that girl? Well, it would have been an obvious guess, but not the case. As if he was going to go home with anyone but her tonight.

What the fuck? Perhaps he had had one drink too many. He wasn't going home with anybody and he knew it. He was going home alone, to the bed he shared only with Simone. It seemed he was getting a little too carried away with this game, forgetting what was real and what was fantasy. Yes fantasy was exactly what it was, even if it was being played out here and now and did not end in an imaginary sex scene. He wondered if it was some kind of infidelity to daydream about another woman in real time, even if the sex was left out of the scenario. He began to think it really was time to go.

But something else was playing on his mind, lingering in the background since he saw her watching him with the dreadlock girl. What had she been thinking at the time? If she had been waiting for him to approach her, or had been considering making the move herself, then what would have gone through her mind as he walked off with that girl? The feeling hit him like a breaking wave, as a final piece of memory flooded back to him. All those nights of his earlier years, the memories of watching some girl who'd caught his eye, trying to work up the courage to talk to her, then seeing some other guy make the move first. Watching her talk to another, eyes smiling in encouragement. Seeing them kiss, embrace, touch, then watching them leave together, knowing that they would be doing what he had dared not hope for. What he had dared not.

So many other sensations flowed in with this - memories of jealousy and longing, of nights spent trying not to think of what he knew was happening in a bedroom next door, memories of passion that he wished had been for him, memories of memories of when it had been him. It was as if some emotional genie, that had been locked away when it was no longer required, had now been released to wreak havoc on his emotions.

Feelings that had been buried for years resurfaced and made his head spin with the dislocation of time and place. And he loved it. What had been abject suffering at the time now returned with the bittersweet pain of nostalgia. Softened by the buffer of time, the hurt and sting of disappointment took on a new meaning, as a feeling of passion and pathos, something to be experienced and, yes, enjoyed.

This was what all of tonight had been leading towards. This was what it was about - feeling. Whether pleasure or pain, it was still feeling, emotion, passion. It was all part of being alive, part of the experience of living, and this was a taste of something he had not visited in a long time. Not that he would go back if he could. Happiness held its own rewards, its own passions and surprises, and he would never trade what he had for the uncertainty and doubt of days before. But, just for tonight, just for here and now, it was a thrill to be a tourist in his own past emotions.

But then there was her.

All his notions about desire and passion were well and fine, but the fact remained that there was another person involved here, someone real that he'd been quite simply perving at all night. It was no different to the gawking bogans that hung around drooling after the exotic babes. Did he really think it made it okay because he had been gazing at someone's face and not her arse? That it made it less sleazy or might give her the creeps less? Well, maybe it did, but he couldn't know for sure. Then there was Simone. While he was smugly confident that he would never cheat on her, was it right for him to be here thinking these sorts of things while she was on the other side of the planet? Actually, thinking was not the problem. He had been watching and making eye contact with this girl for half the night, flirting in anybody's language, which surely must come under the heading of "doing something about it". Much as he'd enjoyed the game, and the sensations it produced, he knew that somehow it was not quite right.

So, what should he do? Was it better to finish the whole thing and just go home? It was pretty late, later than he'd intended staying, and closing time would not be far off. Perhaps it was time to leave. That was the only sensible thing. Tomorrow this would all be an alcohol blurred memory, and he could try to make sense of what he'd been feeling with a clearer head. He swigged the last of his beer and thought about heading for the door.

A song and a half later, he was still thinking about it. His eyes looked toward the door but the knot in his stomach told him he was not going anywhere. She was still there, sitting not five feet away from him. Maybe it was an echo of old ways, or some long forgotten instinct that said that this was the time to make a move (though he wondered what the point was when there was no move to make). Somehow he knew he had to talk to her. Why was she still sitting there, a few feet away from him, as the club wound down and the crowd thinned out to a handful? Was she waiting for him to make a move? Had she been waiting all night? One way or another, he had to say something. He couldn't just flirt with this girl all night (and let's face it, he had) then get up and waltz out the door. He had to tell her.. something. What the fuck did he want to say?

He began to regret that last beer he'd had, as his mind struggled to make sense of his racing thoughts. Perhaps he shouldn't have had that speed, either. He felt that he needed to compliment her, to tell her that he thought she was beautiful, that he wasn't just staring at her because she was female and there. This place was always full of sleazy guys trying to latch on to anything in a skirt and he didn't want her to think that's all it was. The tricky bit was how not to make it sound like a come-on. He just wanted her to know that he thought she was very attractive and that he'd meant no harm in staring. That he hoped she wasn't offended and didn't think he was trying to pick her up. Yes, that would be it. He just had to find the right words.

He felt the knot tighten in his stomach, together with a growing weakness in his legs. The thrill of remembered emotions was incredible. This was just how it felt when trying to work up the courage to chat someone up for real. He felt like grabbing another beer to steady his nerves, but he was having enough trouble finding the words as it was. Instead, he decided to grab a glass of water.

He saw her eyes blink away as he returned from the bar.

Closing time was approaching, so he made a pact with himself to approach her as soon as he finished the water. As the last mouthful slid down his throat, he rose to his feet, moved toward her and continued past her and into the toilet. Standing weak-kneed at the urinal, he knew that this was the last excuse he could delay with, or else he'd just have to give up on the idea altogether.

Returning to the main room, he slipped onto the seat beside her. She was turned the other way, in conversation with her friend. This had always made it hard in the past, making the approach just that one quivering step harder (but god, what a rush). He reached for her shoulder, hesitating a moment before touching her skin. Her face was blank as she turned to him.

What the fuck was he going to say again?

"Umm, sorry if I've been staring at you all night. It's a bad habit of mine to stare at pretty girls".

"Sorry?"

The quizzical look on her face was the first expression he'd been able to read all night.

"Sorry, I'm just drunk and talking shit. Have a nice night."

"Umm, okay".

He saw the girls exchange a classic "what the fuck?" look of bemusement, before he wandered away, smiling at his error and the familiarity of it all. He noticed the studied air of nonchalance with which he glanced at his watch and strolled to the door. Passing through, the adrenaline reservoir finally broke its banks and sent him bounding up the stairs. He shook his head as he reached street level.

A bad habit of staring at pretty girls?

What was he thinking? That was only the exact opposite of what he wanted to say to her.

Oh well, at least he got to tell her she was pretty. He got at least one bit right.

That's if she heard a word at all.

He laughed out loud as he strode into the dark, wet streets and headed for home.

What a weird fucking night.

stranger..

July 2001.

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