Tales from an Unknown Corner

CHAPTER – 46: “Clubbing”

Dana and Sarah left their coats at the coatroom, and the girl behind the counter kindly offered to keep the package I was carrying—the nylon bag with our purchases. A young man, dressed immaculately in a suit, opened a glass door and stepped aside. We found ourselves in a short, narrow corridor that opened up into a slightly wider foyer (cum hallway) which was part of the main room, separated only by a series of screens set at regular intervals: black wood paneling that sported diamond shaped lattice-work, and extended from floor to ceiling. The wall, on the other hand, was covered with wide panes of floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and in between them, black wood paneling was used; stylish wall-lamps affixed to them provided a low but pleasant light. I realized that the foyer was actually narrower than it looked at first-glance. The sense of spaciousness was a carefully constructed illusion; a result of attention to detail and tasteful mix of materials, colors and lighting. The mirrors on the walls faintly reflected the diamond-latticework, thus hiding the existence of mirrors to some degree. The black panels in between the mirrors acted as a frame, yet blended very well with the reflection of the screens, and more to the point, they were positioned to coincide with the open spaces between each screen, avoiding a break in the pattern. All in all, setting up a very pleasant atmosphere!

At the far end of the foyer, I could see two pairs of stairs: one led down to the facilities (as indicated by the sign hanging from the ceiling), and the other went up—probably, to the manager’s office, as there was a thick red cordon across it, and a small plate hanging from the rope had “Private!” stenciled on it.

Dana stopped and turned to quickly check her appearance on one of the mirrors, with Sarah following suit, once she realized what they were.

“I like it. It’s very nice,” I murmured.

“Thank you,” Dana replied distractedly.

“I was talking about the design of this foyer,” I said. Actually, I was talking about the foyer, but she had misunderstood my statement. The end result was an unintended quip which earned me a dirty look from Dana and a slap on the shoulder from Sarah, with an admonishment to ‘behave myself!’ I must have been in full control of my mental faculties at the time, because I did nothing to change their perception. Worse, I continued to act in a manner to perpetuate the notion that I was teasing them. [Does that make me a liar? Insert a remorseless grin here and you know my answer. Sue me!]

“Well... nice doesn’t describe you. Beautiful, magnificent, breath-taking, lov—”

Dana cut me off with, “Enough, dearie! We get the point. And you are forgiven,” while Sarah tried to hold in her laughter.

“But, don’t repeat the offense again,” Sarah warned me with a haughty tone, before she broke into giggles.

“Yes, Ma’am!” I retorted, quickly moving to stand at attention.

They both smiled at my antics, before they moved to flank me, and hooking their arms into mine, steered me into the main room through the first opening between the screens.

At first glance, I liked what I saw. The foyer style—black theme and mirrors—was continued in the main room as well; the walls sported black wood paneling that rose about a meter from the floor, and continued to the ceiling with narrow strips of dark mirrors set at regular intervals. To that, gleaming chrome-steel on the furniture, and a little bit of brass here and there were added.

“Impressive,” I commented.

Dana was pleased with my reaction to the place and let me know with a soft smile.

We were at the back of the room, which I took to be the main sitting area. It covered about half the length of the room. The seating, consisting of black-top square tables, and black armchairs (vinyl or leather finish, I couldn’t say without close inspection), was organized to offer an intimate yet relatively private atmosphere to the clientele. It was possible to accommodate couples or larger groups by rearranging a table or two and a few armchairs, with little or no compromises of intimacy or privacy. To tell the truth, I was truly impressed, because most clubs tended to crowd tables too close. For a brief moment, I wondered about the tab we would run in this place.

Fuck it, Mitch! These ladies deserve the best. And you only live once!

Yep! You’ve got that right. Nothing less than the best will do for my lovelies!

I forced myself to put aside the urge to check my wallet—did I have enough cash, did I forget to take my credit card?—and tried to smile at my silliness.

“Ladies. Where would you like to sit?” I asked looking over the rest of the room.

The bar was situated at the other end, occupying the left hand corner and ran half the width of the room. There were a few people sitting on stools or standing at the bar. In front of the bar, a large empty space was set aside, flanked by the screens to the left. The bottom was partly enclosed by several high tables and stools that were arranged in a zig zag pattern in a wide cluster, that ran along a gentle arc (to the left), and the remaining portion (to the right and all the way to the middle of the room) was enclosed by the low lying tables and armchairs. I could see half the tables in both areas were occupied.

The remaining space to the right of the bar was set up as a stage on a raised dais for a live band to perform, and it extended past the bar in a semi-circle, allowing it to be viewed from every part of the room. I could see mikes, and a few musical instruments at the back of it. The front of the stage, on the far right side next to the wall, a small area was set up as the DJ’s stall, with a commanding view of the stage, the dance floor and the rest of the room. Today being Sunday, the stage was empty except for the young man in the DJ’s stall. He looked busy with a mixer, with headphones hanging around his neck. There were shelves stacked with LPs, CDs, as well as a small rack with various equipment attached to the wall.

The dance floor was located in front of the stage. It was spacious, and it extended from the stage almost one third of the length of the room in a half-circle. Starting at the DJ’s stall, low brass railing segments ran along the right side of it, making a gentle arc that curved away from the wall, and partly enclosed the dance floor. This left a strip behind the railing, that started narrow, but eventually widened as one moved further away from the DJ’s stall, that could hold a number of spectators who might want to stand closer and watch either the dance floor or the stage. It also provided for the clientele an easy, out-of-the-way route to the DJ’s stall (to put in music requests, for example). They could walk right up to his corner, behind the railing, without having to cross a crowded dance floor or disrupting the viewing of an ongoing show on the stage. The bottom end of the dance floor was partly surrounded by high tables and stools to the right, and low tables and armchairs to the left and middle. Furthermore, the dance floor partly spilled over to the empty space in front of the bar. Looking at the arrangement, I suspected they might need the space, when it got too crowded, or the couples that would be sitting at the bar might make use of the space instead of moving to the dance floor.

The dance floor looked empty, except for a few couples. However, the seating areas around the dance floor looked more crowded compared to the rest of the room. If it were up to me, I would have taken a seat closer to the bar, in one of those comfortable looking armchairs, where some of the clientele were. Of course, it crossed my mind that we would be a bit(!) far away from the dance floor. Unfortunately, right that moment, the girls’ sixth sense—or was it their telepathic skills?—failed them miserably, and they steered me toward the wrong end of the room; toward the dance floor!

“I think it’s quite crowded over there,” I remarked.

Both of them stopped and turned to me.

“Mitch, honey. You’re so transparent, sometimes,” Dana said, after giving me an amused look.

“Transparent? What do you mean, transparent?” I responded innocently. “As you can see it’s pretty crowded in that corner. Everybody seems to be on each other’s lap.” I pointed to the seats by the bar side. “Whereas on this—”

“It’s closer to the dance floor,” Sarah cut me off. Dana nodded in agreement.

“Is somebody stealing the dance floor?” I asked assuming a haughty attitude. “And how do you think we’ll be able to talk over this blaring music?” My last remark was a blatant exaggeration, and I couldn’t keep a straight face. The girls knew it, too, and awarded me with barely hidden amusement while trying to give me an admonishing look!

“All right,” Dana said with a very accommodating tone. “Let’s put it to vote,” she suggested with a straight face as if opening the morning session of the Senate.

I grinned at her. “That’s hardly necessary. A gentleman should always try to accommodate a lady; ladies, in this case!”

“Oh, my!” Dana exclaimed, before she turned to Sarah. “Isn’t he just fabulous?” she remarked with a sickeningly sweet tone, as if honey was dripping from her mouth.

“Yes, a very remarkable man, indeed,” Sarah returned with a fake British accent.

“Now that you had your fun, shall we?” I asked.

“Lead on, my good man, lead on,” Dana replied.

My eyebrows furrowed a bit seeing Dana keep on ribbing me, but she just smiled. Leaning closer, she whispered, “You can give it, but can’t take it?”

“It’s not that. I’m wondering how I’m going to survive the rest of the night if you two keep on ganging up on me.”

“By being very careful, my dear. By being extremely careful,” she returned with a playful grin.

“But, Miss! I do prefer living dangerously!”

“So the more reason to be careful, young man,” she returned with a motherly tone. Giving me a quizzical but amused look, she asked, “You are really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“More than you can imagine, Dana. I haven’t had so much fun in a long time.”

She leaned closer again, and whispered, “Let’s not forget about Sarah.”

As if on cue, Sarah asked, “What are you two whispering?”

“Well, my dear. I’m busy trying to employ an old tactic. Divide and conquer,” I replied.

She chuckled, while giving me a “You, silly boy!” look. “Remember the Sisterhood, Mitch?”

I slapped my forehead with “But, of course. How silly of me!” expression on my face.

We ended up by the dance floor, still chuckling and laughing at our antics, while looking for an empty table, when Dana located one. It was a circular black-top high table, with a chrome-steel center post and a wide disc base. The stools were a matching design; they had swiveling black vinyl seats (with a leather-look finish) on top of a chrome-steel center post sporting a sturdy foot rest in the middle, and a wide steel disc at the base. To my surprise the seats were quite comfortable. I was still wondering about their choice—most women, and some men, would rather not sit or perch on a stool—when I noticed how it showed off their legs.

Following my eyes, Dana gave me a wink that said “Aren’t you happy?” Or did she mean, “Aren’t you lucky?” From where I stood, that hardly mattered, except the view! And that was... well! It was fabulous—stealing her word from a moment ago.

After settling in the seat, I went about giving the place a serious once-over. It was something I did instinctively, and was a far cry from a casual scan. I mentally mapped the entry and exit points, located who the bouncers were, where they were located, and finally the patrons in nearby tables, trying to get a feel for the place, and the rhythm around my immediate vicinity. Perhaps it was a habit that had become second nature from living and working in a dangerous environment. Even far away from that place, back in civilization, I found myself performing the routine.

Now, reflecting on it for a moment, I was coming to the realization that I might have spent too much time in the wrong place. An incident from two years ago—and I still remembered it as if it happened yesterday—was a good example. That summer day I was sitting in a cafe by the main street in a coastal town, enjoying a cold beer, and reading a newspaper. One moment I was relaxing, and the next moment I was scrambling from the chair, ducking, because I had heard a loud ‘bang’ nearby, before I realized it was only a backfire from an old car passing by. It had been embarrassing as hell. How could it not? People at the nearby tables stared and snickered at me as if I were a lunatic. How could I explain that just four days ago, while driving to the office, someone had opened fire on a police car that was not even 50 meters away? So I did not, and instead I picked up my newspaper, and buried my face behind it, trying to ignore the stupid chatter and snickering around me. Here, by the beach, more than a thousand kilometers away from all that shit, it was another world, but nobody could leave that kind of crap behind, or forget about it in only a few days. It’s been four years, now, and I wasn’t ready to leave that place and the work. But, these little things kept reminding me how it was affecting and changing me. I was becoming more aware.

Are you?

Wasn’t I always aware?

Nope. You always ignored it! Shrugged your shoulders and said ‘shit happens!’

Well, I—

Oh, cut the crap, will you! You knew how it’s been affecting you, but now you have a reason—two very good reasons, in fact—to realize what you’ve been doing.

Perhaps there was some truth in that—

Perhaps?... Some truth!???

I could almost hear the snicker. I took a moment to reconsider. I hated to admit it, but there was perhaps too much truth in what my inner voice was telling me, and I didn’t want to admit it. I felt alive, maybe more alive that I ever have, since I arrived home, and not like a ghost that was drifting through...

I gave an internal sigh in resignation, and put the thoughts aside, before I turned my attention back to the job at hand, scanning the room systematically, carefully. I noticed a few bouncers dressed in comfortable suits, keeping a low profile at strategic spots, covering the place. I counted only six of them, in pairs, and considering it was a Sunday night, the club wasn’t too crowded. I took in the stares from the nearby tables, some of them couples, and a few young men in groups of two or three, checking out our table, but especially the girls. It was to be expected, especially the way Dana and Sarah exuded sexiness, coming by it naturally without trying. What’s more, they were dressed to kill. I didn’t mind the jealous eyes of some of the women, or the stares from some of the guys. However, there were three guys at one table that were staring more than anyone else, with a barely hidden hunger. Compared to the others, that group seemed to be louder, and by the number of empty beer bottles, they had had quite a few drinks, and that made me uneasy. Over the years, I had witnessed drunken brawls over girls in the bars I’ve been to and I hated the disruption they caused.

I felt Dana’s hand on mine, and when she caught my eye, she said, “Relax. This is a nice club, and the patrons behave themselves.”

I nodded, reminded myself that this wasn’t one of those places that people got into drunken fights, and let the tension slip away. A waitress came and took our drink orders. She returned shortly with our drinks, and we settled down, enjoying the music and watching the few dancing couples. The DJ was playing an easy slow kind of music, perhaps to entice more couples to dance, and I noticed Sarah gently swaying to the music on the stool. Sensing Sarah wanted to dance, but was waiting for me and Dana to have the first one, Dana encouraged her. Despite my claims of being rusty, Sarah pulled me to my feet, and we walked the gauntlet of jealous females and staring males as she led us to the dance floor—already wiggling and jiggling in time with the music. She sure looked hot and sexy, and the way she moved to the tune, I felt a stirring in my nether regions before we even stepped onto the dance floor.

It had been quite a long time for me, and I wasn’t much of a dancer, being a shy person, but I knew I had a good sense of rhythm, I was light on my feet, and I hadn’t forgotten the dance lessons. Once I loosened up and fell into the rhythm, I could dance fairly well. Sarah proved herself a very good partner, and easy to dance with. At first, I let her lead us, until I could warm up to it, and she made it look like I was leading, earning a smile of gratitude from me. Not long after that, we found a natural rhythm and stayed out for three songs. It was a delight to feel her body and the sensual way she moved in my arms. She was soft and sexy, and the subtle way she kept rubbing against me was having the desired effect, giving me a hard-on. I had forgotten about other people around us, and when we were walking back to our table, she had her arm around my waist, still wiggling to the tune—as if she was just starting to warm up—and I noticed we were getting a lot of stares.

Back at the table, Dana quipped, “Sexy! I bet he’s hard.”

With an unabashed smile, she nodded. “He’s hard, and a good dancer. You’ll enjoy it.”

Now that I got my feet soaked, why not go the whole distance and swim, right? So, before Dana could say anything, I pulled her to her feet, and led her to the dance floor. Like Sarah, she was a good dancer, and she melted into my arms. She pushed herself against me, trying to feel my hard-on, as we kept moving around the dance floor. Before the song ended, she pulled my face down to hers and gave me a soft kiss. Unfortunately, the next song was a bit faster, and we decided to leave the dance floor.

Sarah asked why we quit after only one song, and I told her I wasn’t good with faster songs, and wanted to catch my breath after dancing with two very hot and beautiful women. She told us we had quite a few spectators, and Dana responded that Sarah and I had caused a bit of a stir as well.

“We’ll give them something to talk about,” Sarah quipped, before leaning to whisper something to Dana, and getting a mischievous grin from her.

We sat for a while, listening to the music, and watching the dancing couples, but as the DJ changed from slow to faster music, the dance floor started to empty. Eventually he slowed the pace. At a particular song with a good beat, Sarah exchanged a look with Dana, and both girls stood up. When they reached for me, I tried to excuse myself claiming the music was too fast for my taste, but they pulled me to my feet. Hooking their arms into mine, they led me to the dance floor. In the meantime, I was trying to figure out how the three of us were going to dance. What’s more, I was very much aware of the stares we were getting; apparently the other people were wondering the same thing, considering the music was a cross between a slow and a medium-fast. Sensing my discomfort Sarah demonstrated a few steps and moves, then the two girls moved in, sandwiching me between them, and we swayed and wiggled to the tune. Before we were half-way into the song, we were moving in unison, in synch with the beat. It was fun, sexy, and very suggestive, almost like making love on the dance floor, without being blatant. We took turns sandwiching one, so that two would be lavishing attention on the one in the middle, and each of us got the same treatment. When one of the girls was being sandwiched, it got really sexy, and I was sure most of the guys were as hard as I was. It was a huge turn on, and a show hard to miss, but luckily I didn’t have much time or opportunity to reflect on the situation, as I was caught in the intoxicating sensual mood of the moment.

Perhaps the DJ was heartened by our show, because he kept playing the same kind of music only changing the pace some, to give enough variety, and we danced closer or slightly apart depending on the pace. We were on the floor for quite a while, and had a blast. The DJ was a nice guy, and he gave us a thumbs-up when we drifted to his side of the dance floor, and the girls returned the gesture with polite smiles. Before we left the dance floor, we thanked him for the great music, and he thanked us for the entertainment.

As we made our way to our table, a few couples smiled or nodded in way of appreciation, but the majority of the couples, especially the women, looked to be jealous. We all were feeling great, until we heard a loud comment from a table we were passing by that wasn’t too far away from our own. “Hey, pal! One hot babe isn’t enough?” It was the table with the three guys. Ignoring the outburst, we continued on to our table; after the great fun, we weren’t inclined to let anything spoil our mood. We were thirsty and did quick work of our drinks, laughing and joking. The girls were surreptitiously checking out other tables, and commenting on the stir they had caused, while giving me a hard time about other women who had been checking out the concealed weapon I was carrying. I thought to myself, the women would have to have X-ray vision to be able to see anything, since I had my jacket buttoned, which helped hide—partly—the lump in my crotch.

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” Sarah teased.

Dana added fuel to the fire with, “They can look but they can’t touch!”

“You girls aren’t going to change your panties? I can smell you from here,” I returned fire.

Without losing a beat, Dana deadpanned, “Who’s wearing panties?” while Sarah smirked.

“Uh–oh. I hope you weren’t dripping on the floor. It would be embarrassing to see someone slip on the wet spot and have the janitor called to wipe the floor dry,” I teased, getting a shriek and a laugh from both.

When she collected herself, Sarah slapped my wrist, and said, “Behave yourself.”

“Look who’s talking?”

“If you keep it up, you’re going to be in soooo much trouble when we get back home,” Dana warned.

“Promises, promises,” I chuckled. “All talk and no—

“Don’t you dare finish that!” Dana retorted, stopping me in mid-sentence. “Unless you’re prepared for the consequences.”

I gulped! I mean, I literally gulped after her delivery. She might have been joking and teasing, but she sounded very serious. So I kept quiet, and she flashed me a smile that said “scared you, didn’t I?”

Sarah was coming up with another retort, but Dana interrupted her by asking her to accompany her to the powder room. Just as they were leaving the waitress arrived and I ordered refills. When she collected the empty glasses and left, I turned to watch the girls heading to the ladies room, and caught another comment directed at them from the same table, although I couldn’t hear what was said. The girls acted as if they hadn’t heard anything, and continued on. I was getting ticked off with the assholes, and hoped the bouncers would intervene, and get rid off them. I didn’t want to have a scene that would spoil the night and the mood. I looked around for the bouncers and saw only three, but they didn’t seem to be aware of anything out of the ordinary. I was wondering why there were only three, when I realized, there were more empty tables than when we had arrived. Because it was a Sunday night, people were starting to leave. I checked the time; it was almost midnight. The waitress returned with the drinks, and I asked her to inform the bouncers to keep an eye on the particular table for possible problems, and she promised she would pass my complaint to them.

I saw Dana and Sarah returning, but my attention was on the table with the three guys, who seemed to watch the girls’ approach. I stood up with the intention of escorting them, but Dana saw me and waved me back. As they were passing by, one of the assholes said something, and looked like he would make a grab for her, but Dana must have been expecting it, because she carefully side stepped without a break in her stride, and quickly slipped by him.

When they were at our table, Dana, seeing the irritated look on my face, tried to calm me. “Just some drunken idiot, Mitch. No need to get worked up by something like that and let them spoil the night.”

“I don’t want a scene, but they make it mighty difficult,” I replied.

“If they get out of hand the bouncers will take care of them. Please, just relax.”

I wasn’t convinced, but since she had been here before, she probably knew how things were handled, so I tried to relax, hoping the waitress would pass on the message. However, it was short lived, because I noticed one of the guys approaching our table. Instead of taking my seat, I stayed on my feet, leaning on the table, facing the girls, while I watched the figure sauntering toward us from the corner of my eye.

“I think trouble is headed here,” I warned the girls with the intention of handling the guy.

“Leave it to us, please,” Dana said. From her tone she made it clear she didn’t want a fight to break out. Despite my misgivings, I nodded acquiescing to her wish. To put her at ease—and perhaps to convince her—I shrugged and relaxed my shoulders visibly. My ploy worked, and she smiled, patting my arm. Sarah, on the other hand, seemed totally unconcerned, until she caught me preparing myself. I was inconspicuous about it, getting ready mentally and physically for any eventuality, but she must have remembered the few occasions she had seen me prepare when I had practiced at home, and recognized the telltale signs. I smiled like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and with a wink I urged her to keep quiet about what she had seen. She nodded her understanding, but it was obvious she didn’t like the idea of a fight breaking out. She was pleading with her eyes to keep my cool—if I read her expression correctly.

By then, the guy was at our table, and he asked Dana for a dance, but she politely turned him down, at which point he got more insistent. Putting his hand on Dana’s arm, he asked again, and before I could get into it, Dana gave the guy a look of ice, the kind she once gave me, and sharply said, “Take your hand off!”

Her tone was not only cold, it was made of steel, and the effect was like a slap on the face. He instinctively recoiled, letting go of her arm. Getting over his momentary shock he made a move again, but this time Sarah warned him with a similar tone, “I suggest you leave the table, unless you want us to call the bouncers,” which gave him a pause.

In the meantime, Dana noticed I was going to get involved, and subtly tried to warn me to stay out of it. However, she wasn’t subtle enough, and it gave an opening to the guy.

“What? The hot-shot isn’t man enough? If you need the bouncers you are with the wrong guy,” he said, trying to provoke me into a confrontation. I ignored his attempt, because I didn’t want the situation to escalate. The girls seemed to put him off and have things under control, and I was hoping that as long as I stayed out of it, the testosterone might not come into play. One thing I really didn’t care for was the general expectation ingrained in the society, that of the macho attitude, insults and responding to insults with violence. It was a common trait in almost all the cultures and countries that populated the Mediterranean, and this one, in which I grew up, was no exception. Most of the time, even the kindest of guys would end up responding to an insult with violence, because that was what was expected. The study of martial arts and the true nature of violence taught me the foolishness of such reactions, but still what was in the blood was sometimes very difficult to ignore.

“We aren’t interested,” Dana replied with a dismissive tone.

I saw him stiffen, and I knew he was going to get belligerent. Before he made a move to Dana I intervened, knowing that the point was long past where he would listen to any reason.

“Why don’t you go back to your table?”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Sarah was trying to get the attention of the bouncers, but my eyes were on him, as he slowly turned to me.

“Oh, the hot-shot finally found his tongue. Do you always let the women do your fighting?”

“I usually let my women decide what they want, and respect their wishes. You don’t seem to understand a ‘no’ is a ‘no’,” I countered with dead calm.

“You have a big mouth fella. You could get hurt!”

Physically he was a big guy, swarthy, with a surly look, and at least two inches taller.

Typical bully, trusting his size would intimidate me.

“Do you really want the trouble with the bouncers?”

“You’re a pansy, ain’t you?” he asked, his mouth curling with contempt.

When I didn’t respond, but stood my ground, refusing to be intimidated by him, he put his finger on my chest, and pushed hard to make his point. I was very much tempted to respond. He was making a mistake, giving me the opening I was looking for. I wanted him to initiate the physical contact, so that when I took him down, I could claim self-defense. Sarah must have sensed I was getting ready to make my move, and softly said, “No, Mitch. Don’t. He’s not worth the trouble.”

I reconsidered the situation, because I didn’t want to look like one of those macho assholes, looking for the first opportunity to get into a fight, and decided to take her advice.

Encouraged by my lack of response, he said, “You’re a real sissy, ain’t you?” while jabbing me with his finger again.

I didn’t want to look like a sissy, but I also didn’t want to be seen as looking for a fight. I was tiptoeing, mostly because of Dana. Somehow, I had this instinctive feeling that it wouldn’t leave a good impression on her if I didn’t make a serious effort to avoid a fight—not that I wouldn’t try to avoid a fight, but... Also, I wasn’t sure I wanted her to witness what I could do, which might lead to some explanations... things I didn’t want—I don’t like—to talk about. However, I also knew I had to take control of the situation, one way or another.

Those thoughts flashed through my mind before they gave way to...

This is no time for thinking! Don’t clutter your mind!

Mind-No Mind!

The voice of my sensei... lessons from the past... reminding me the moment might be coming. I let instinct take over, as I went about setting in motion what I thought would precipitate a favorable outcome with the least damage—in all senses of the word ‘damage’! I wanted any physical encounter to start clean and end quickly, with him down, while avoiding a possible image problem with Dana. Sarah, I wasn’t concerned about; she knew me, she had known me for a long time!

“I’m definitely not a bully who tries to intimidate women and children,” I replied, knowing that it might provoke him. The childhood memories were not far away; how I had handled the one bully in my life before. I wasn’t proud of what I had done at the time. This time, however, I knew what I was doing. I wasn’t going to hurt him, but I wasn’t going to evade the confrontation if it came to that. I knew I had not insulted him, but it was a fine line, and I suspected he would take offense at my calculated response.

“Why you prick—” he cried, and tried to take a swing at me.

My hands flew—I doubt he even realized or saw me move. I had his hand and wrist firmly locked in a basic Aikido grip, stopping him dead on his tracks, completely at my mercy. While applying pressure to keep him under control, I said, with a quiet but commanding tone, “I suggest you calm down, and return to your table, or you’ll get hurt. Badly! Do we understand each other?” When he didn’t respond, I gave a little twist, and was pleased to hear him grunt in pain. With the same commanding tone, I repeated my question. “Do we understand each other?”

He still tried to resist, but a little bit more pressure—applied promptly on a nerve bundle—finally convinced him of his folly. “Yes,” he gasped weakly.

I wasn’t satisfied with his response. I pressed my thumb deeper, knowing his arm would go numb in less than a few seconds. “Don’t be stupid. I will hurt you bad! I will also press charges. Are you getting the picture?”

This time he was quick with his response. “Yes, I understand,” he hissed, while straining not to cry out from the pain.

I turned him around to send him on his way, and came face to face with two bouncers. The older one, who looked to be in his early 30s was burly, and muscled, with a quiet countenance; his name plate said Pete. The younger one looked to be early 20s, about my height, but with wider shoulders and more muscled than I. Jones—his name plate said—had an air of danger about him, as if he had been in too many street fights, and he didn’t try to hide the tough-guy look.

“Is there a problem?” Pete asked.

“No problems. The gentleman was just leaving,” I replied. Turning to the guy, I asked, “Isn’t that so?”

With the appearance of the bouncers, the bastard got enterprising. Instead of making his exit quietly, he said, “Can you do something about him?” to the bouncers.

“Please, release him, Sir,” Pete said.

“Sure, as long as you keep an eye on him,” I replied, and let go of his hand and wrist. Rubbing his wrist, he quickly took a few steps away from me, and in a rush, he began complaining to the bouncers, how he was attacked and got hurt. While he was telling his fairy tale, I kept quiet with a nonchalant posture, and checked out the bouncers, especially Jones. What made the hair stand up at the back of my neck was the way he was sizing me up with an eager look, while listening to the woes of the asshole with a half-ear. I took him in carefully. From the easy way he was standing on the balls of his feet, the slightly bent knees, I realized I was facing another student of martial arts. I dug through my memory trying to place the particular stance. I realized he most probably studied karate or tae kwon do, the most common martial arts.

Here’s a dangerous one. Street wise, tough, experienced in dirty fighting, and studied martial arts. The only thing he’s lacking is discipline.

At first I didn’t want to jump into any premature conclusions regarding his lack of self-discipline; after all it was obvious he studied martial arts, and self-discipline is a major part of all martial arts, but I also knew not all the dojos put the same or correct emphasis on various aspects of the Arts. However, his over-eager attitude made me conclude I was correct in my assessment of him. From the way his eyes roved over me, he had already made up his mind that I was another student. Not only that, but the look he gave me told me that he saw me as dead meat, my carcass already discarded aside.

Yeah. Total disrespect for your opponent!

Well, you better keep that in mind and not underestimate him!

My inner voice was right. I wondered about the look I received, when I stumbled on to something else! Perhaps he recognized what I had used; it was a basic grip from Aikido—beginner’s stuff.

Jeeez! Talk about bad luck. I hope he doesn’t turn out to be an asshole!

You can use it to your advantage, especially if he’s thinking you’re a rank beginner. Just be careful, and don’t provoke him unnecessarily!

Unfortunately, I would be doing just that in a short while!

Although his attention was on the guy, and listening to his story, Pete glanced at me a few times. He didn’t miss how I patiently waited while the asshole was telling his story in an animated fashion. At one point, the guy said Dana had come on to him, and wanted to dance, but I had attacked him. Dana was very much irritated, and looked like she was going to say something, but when I smiled and shook my head, she settled down. Pete, of course, saw our exchange, and gave me a long appraising look.

Once the asshole was finished, Pete turned to me, and asked my version.

“Pete?” I addressed, and getting a nod, I told my version of it, in a calm and unruffled manner. “About five minutes ago, I had sent word with one of the waitresses to your friends, regarding this guy and his friends to prevent just what happened. While my friends were passing by their table, they,” I pointed at the table the rest of the group was sitting, “verbally harassed my friends several ti—”

The asshole cut me off with, “Bullshit. He’s lying.”

Pete turned to him and politely said, “Sir, please return to your table, and let us handle this.”

“He’s lying. Didn’t you see what he did?”

“Sir, please return to your table. We’ll handle this,” Pete insisted. When the guy looked like he was going to object, he added, “Sir, do you want us to escort you to your table?”

With an angry look to Pete and me, he turned and headed back to his table.

“Thank you, Pete. Much appreciate it. As I was saying, he harassed my friends several times. Then he came to our table and asked for a dance. When my friend rejected his advances—politely I might add—he got belligerent,” I said, and glanced at Dana, who gave a short nod to Pete to confirm what I told him. “I tried to stay out of it, but eventually, I had to ask him to leave the table, at which point he tried to provoke me into a fight with insults. I didn’t want a scene, so I kept my cool, hoping you guys would show up in time to prevent an incident, but... Well, he took a swing at me, so I had to subdue him. It was in self-defense.”

Nodding in the direction of the troublemakers, I said, “If you check with the waitress who was attending our table, she’ll tell you I already lodged a complaint about that group. They were loud, impolite, and as you can see from the number of bottles on their table, they are most probably drunk.” I turned, pointing at our table and my more than half-full glass, I added, “This is my second drink, and I’m not drunk or disorderly. If you ask around the nearby tables, I’m sure the people would confirm the verbal harassment and other things. That sums up what happened. I’m sorry it happened, but I just wasn’t able to prevent it.”

“I understand, Sir,” he said. Turning to the girls, he said, “I’m guessing, that’s exactly what and how it happened, is it, Miss?”

“Yes. He even tried to get physical with me without my permission. My friend, Sarah, warned him that we would call you if he didn’t leave us alone. Mitch stayed out of it, when that guy tried to provoke a fight with insults. I must say Mitch showed a lot of restraint. When all else failed, he took a swing at Mitch,” Dana answered.

“I see... I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name, Miss. You are?”

“Miss Conor.”

“Miss Conor, do you want them out of the club?”

At that point, Jones got into the conversation. “Pete, that guy has a legitimate complaint. He,” nodding in my direction, “hurt him.”

“So what are you suggesting, Jones?” Pete asked with an amused tone.

“I think they should leave the club. I’m not sure I believe his story. We saw what he did to him,” Jones answered.

“Excuse me, but what exactly did I do?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself, because Jones’ comment took me by surprise. Not only that, but his words indirectly implied both Dana and I were lying. I would let an insult (in fact, most insults) slip by—under certain circumstances—if it were directed only at me, but I just couldn’t let it go when it involved a lady friend.

“You were taunting that guy,” Jones replied.

“Taunting him?” I gave him a pointed look. “If you had said I was coercing him, I might agree—with reservations—however, I’d rather call it as it was. I defended myself by subduing him when he tried to assault me... Assault, as in getting physical, taking a swing at someone, you know? And as to this little explanation... it is obviously a demonstration of taunting... if you haven’t got the idea, yet!”

Needless to say, I was ticked off by Jones, and against my better judgment, I took a pot-shot at him. As I finished, Jones’ face darkened and he made a move to me, but Pete was quick to grab his arm, and gave him a warning look. I acted as if nothing untoward was happening, but I was still running on adrenalin despite my calm appearance. “And I find your suggestion that I should have played the punching bag for his amusement more than absurd.”

Jones made an effort to calm down, once he realized he couldn’t free himself from Pete’s hold without making a scene—it became clear who was running the show by then. “Fighting is not allowed in this club. We handle the trouble,” Jones retorted, deciding to keep our disagreement verbal.

Although it came a bit late, it finally dawned on me that it was futile to argue with Jones, but deep inside, I knew what happened, what was happening. I had been reacting to Jones, and perhaps taking out my frustration on him. The adrenalin was still coursing in my veins after the short encounter with the asshole who caused all the trouble. I went through my shallow breathing to clean the last traces of adrenalin from my system. Finally, I addressed Pete, who by this time had released Jones’ arm but looked ready to restrain him if he tried to get out of hand again. I really didn’t want to get into a protracted argument, or worse, I didn’t want to take advantage of Pete’s neutral stance in the whole situation. But I also didn’t want to concede any points. “As I said, I wasn’t going to get my face punched until the cavalry arrived. It is unfortunate, but the fact of the matter is that you guys weren’t here to handle the trouble right then. No offense meant, Pete, but it’s not my job to keep an eye on the drunk and disorderly, is it? And, coercion—or subduing, if you will—and fighting are two different things,” I said with my eyes on Pete, but talking for Jones’ benefit as well. “But if you insist we leave the club...” I gave a shrug, indicating I didn’t care about it one way or another.

Pete nodded, still with an amused smile in the corner of his mouth, but Jones was pissed again because he thought I was calling him on his fault—well, I kinda was, since he hadn’t been around, or hadn’t kept an eye out for trouble. He tried to take a step toward me before he felt Pete’s hand on his arm again. “Are you trying to teach me my job?”

I didn’t even bother to acknowledge his outburst.

“Back off, Jones,” Pete said, pulling him back. With a quick smile, he continued, “He can stay. I don’t think he needs to be thrown out.”

“That’s against the rules,” Jones said, still trying to get at me.

I had enough of his crap. Since Pete seemed to be running the show, I ignored Jones, and turned to take my seat.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I turned on my heels, and slowly looked him up and down, as if inspecting a distasteful creature, before setting my eyes on his face again, and gave him an icy stare. “It is ‘What are you doing, Sir?’ to you! Didn’t anybody teach you how to talk to a client politely? You should watch Pete and take lessons,” I answered against my better judgment. Pete tried to control his grin, but Jones was another matter.

“You have an attitude problem, don’t you?”

Without bothering to answer him, I turned away. Addressing the girls, I said, “I’m sorry ladies, but I’ve really had enough of clowns for one night. I’d like to go someplace else where we can have some fun before the night is spoiled further.”

Jones took an exception and cried, “Who are you calling a clown?”

Pete had to interfere again. “That’s enough Jones! Shut up!”

I turned back to Pete. “Pete, can you call up the waitress with our tab, please? I’m sorry, but I’m not inclined to leave a tip... after the kind of service we've had. It’s nothing personal, you understand?”

“Yes, Sir. I do understand,” he replied with a curt nod, yet the amused smile never left his lips, although it got a bit smaller.

Dana chose that moment to interrupt the proceedings. “This is outrageous, Mitch, and has gone on long enough,” she said. Turning to Pete, she asked, “Where’s Ulysses?”

It might have been a simple question, but the delivery and tone left no doubt as to the meaning! It was an attention grabber, demanding an immediate response.

Interestingly, Pete was right on the ball. “On his coffee break, Miss,” he said. “Do you want me to call him up?”

“Yes, please,” she answered, but despite the polite words, her tone was resolute.

“Certainly, Miss Conor.” Turning to Jones, he said, “You heard the lady.”

“You know he doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s on his break,” Jones answered, for some reason obviously reluctant to fetch Ulysses, whoever he was.

“I think you should worry about getting a complaint from one of his friends, by the looks of it. I seriously doubt he’ll mind meeting Miss Conor, or for that matter, the other lovely lady,” Pete answered, flashing a polite smile at them.

When Jones didn’t make a move, Pete said, “Get going, Jones. Now! I’ll take the responsibility.”

Jones gave me a sharp look then turned on his heels to look for Ulysses. As I took my seat, I motioned Pete to the table, and made the introductions.

“Miss Conor, Miss Morgan.” Extending my hand, I said, “You can call me Mitchell or Mitch, since I’m being informal and calling you Pete.”

“Mr.?” he insisted.

“As I said, Mitchell or Mitch will do just fine.”

“Nice to meet you, Sir,” he responded, choosing to remain formal, while he shook my hand. He had a firm handshake, almost testing my grip. Then I felt him feel the edge of my hand with his finger tips, and a second later it dawned on me that he was trying to feel the calluses from my training. I didn’t have much, as I didn’t do any hard core training with punch bags and similar, but years of training left its telltale marks. The guy was sharp. I saw his eyes tighten momentarily, before his face resumed the same amused look again. I raised an eyebrow and then flashed him an amused look to let him know I knew what he had done. Somehow I liked this guy, he was cool.

“You have my personal apologies,” he said with a formal and serious tone, before a slow smile appeared on his lips, again. With laughter in his eyes, he added, “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Mitchell.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Pete.”

I was still wondering why he hadn’t come down on Jones harder and earlier than he did, but I decided not to ask (even though I was dying of curiosity), instinctively feeling it would be a mistake and I would lose points with this guy. The hand check had been enough of a give away. But, angels of luck must have been looking over me, because Dana would ask the question I didn’t want to.

“Pete, I think you know what happened, don’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Conor. I’m sorry. As soon as Ulysses gets here this will be sorted out.”

“If you knew it, why did you let Jones hassle Mitch?”

Giving an embarrassed look to the girls, he said, “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Conor, Miss Morgan. Jones is a bit of a hot head. He needed to be taken down a peg or two. I thought Mitchell had things under control, and could put him in his place. He’s new here, and we’re trying to show him the ropes, but he doesn’t take to the supervision easily. He thinks he’s good, and is trying to prove himself, but doing it the wrong way. I thought if he ran into trouble with a client, got complaints, he would have his ear bent by the boss. So he might not repeat the mistake.”

“It’s an awful risk and not a very nice way to treat a client, don’t you think? What’s more, those people at the other table caused the problem, not Mitchell.” Dana said. She didn’t hide her irritation at Pete.

“I agree, Miss Conor. You have my apologies. I promise we’ll get to them shortly.” Casting his eyes on me, he said, “I ... ummm... I think Mitchell and I had a certain understanding,” while giving me a questioning look. When I smiled and nodded in agreement, he continued with, “He’s certainly a very capa—”

My eyes hardened, cautioning him with a sharp look, and my smile faded immediately, not certain where he was going, but uncomfortable with what he might say. He must have taken the hint, because he stopped mid-sentence, and turning to the ladies, he said, “He’s certainly very protective of you ladies, and rightly so. You both are very beautiful.”

I had to smile inwardly at his smoothness. He was good, gliding out of trouble, and both girls were pleased with the compliment, and thanked him, while I let out the breath I was holding.

Unfortunately, right then Sarah took me into the very subject I was trying to avoid. “Well, Mitch. All that training seems to have paid off.”

That drew a puzzled look from Dana.

“She’s talking about the time I have spent at the gym lately,” I replied as calmly as I could while warning Sarah with my eyes to keep away from the subject matter.

Although surprised, she realized she had made a gaff, and quickly nodded. “Yeah. When I saw him the first day, he looked like he had worked himself to death in the gym,” she said.

“I don’t understand the fascination of men with body building and getting muscled up like that. I think it’s unhealthy, and too much testosterone is a real turn-off,” Dana replied.

“Dana, I don’t work out to build muscles, just to keep in shape, and exercise. My work involves quite a bit of physical activity, and if I don’t exercise for a month during my off time, the first few days at work could be difficult. I might even get injured. Do you really think I’m the testosterone type?”

“I’m sorry, Mitch. I didn’t mean it like that. I was talking about that guy, and Jones.”

“He has a yummy body, not muscled like an obscene Hercules,” Sarah quipped with a lecherous grin trying to ease the momentary tension, and received a smile from Dana.

However, I wasn’t in the clear, yet. “How did you manage to stop that guy?” Dana asked.

“Oh, that. That was a simple trick I picked up in the service a couple of years ago. It’s very effective in subduing drunken people who are very slow,” I replied casually.

Pete was listening to the exchange while trying to be inconspicuous about it, but I knew he didn’t buy my story if the minuscule arching of an eyebrow was any indication. Sarah also looked perplexed, probably wondering why I would lie, since we both knew the truth. On the other hand, Dana seemed satisfied. Trying to change the subject I asked, “Who’s Ulysses?”

Pete answered, “He’s our boss. The head honcho, if you will.” He said the last one with an apologetic look to Dana. “I gather you know him, Miss Conor?”

“Yes, I do. He’s a friend, and a terrible flirt,” Dana replied with a soft smile.

“Strange name,” I blurted, unable to help myself.

Laughing, Dana said, “His mother loved James Joyce, and named him after the book. The name kind of suits him. He’s an intellectual. And a bouncer as well.”

“Must be an interesting person.”

“You’ll see,” Dana commented cryptically.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Jones coming with another guy, slightly shorter than me. He was wide, and not only around the shoulders, but overall, with a powerful build hidden beneath a carefully tailored dark suit. He was wearing round-rimmed glasses perched on a hawkish nose, and the whole image was acutely strange. I wouldn’t figure him for a bouncer, or an intellectual, perhaps a manager of a sports team or a coach. Pete caught me watching the approaching figure and stepped away from the table to meet his boss. He talked briefly with the man, nodding in my direction, and I caught a hand sign. I wasn’t sure what it meant. However, the newcomer briefly glanced at me, and I caught Pete nodding. I suspected, Pete was passing some information about me, but what? At one point Jones tried to interrupt, but the man shut him up, listening to Pete, and than gave some instructions. From the look on his face, Jones wasn’t a very happy camper, especially when the man looked like he was giving him an ass chewing, while glancing at our table. Now that I knew Dana knew Ulysses, I surmised, Jones had stepped on the wrong toes, offending the friends of his boss. After a few more words, Pete and Jones left for the table with the three guys, while the man walked to our table.

* * * * *