Neanderthal seeks Human (Knitting in the City) Read online

  However, I felt certain that I was doing my utmost to spend some time marinating in the end of my relationship. The most emotion I could conjure over its end was a wistful melancholy over the possibility of losing Jon as a friend. Admittedly, I also felt a twinge of regret when I realized I’d already bought him a birthday present.

  Maybe that made me shallow.

  Elizabeth thought I was in shock.

  Whatever the truth was, I reasoned, once enough time passed, the truth will out. I liked to think of myself as Launcelot Gobbo from Shakespeare's the Merchant of Venice; even a foolish man will produce some wisdom, given enough time to drone on and on in unchecked soliloquy. Since most of my time was spent in unchecked soliloquy, I held out hope for some wisdom.

  The job search was in its infancy. Nevertheless, I sent out at least a hundred resumes, applied for every job on craigslist for which I might be the least bit qualified and contacted all the temp agencies I could find in the Chicago area. I was determined to be employed. It wasn’t just the money, I had a pithy savings and likely could not take any prolonged sabbatical from the working class, it was also my temperament.

  The recognition that my temperament was less than ideal for appropriate integration into society was the reason I started tutoring elementary school kids in Math and Science every Thursday afternoon and evening. Although, admittedly, it wasn’t why I continued. I continued for selfish reasons like: the kids liked comic books, they were funny, and I liked doing it.

  If left to my own devices I would eventually become a hermit, sans my weekly tutoring on south side. I knew the longer I was out of work the more despondent I would become. I even considered learning to knit. I think this last revelation is what led Elizabeth to insist that we spend some time being outrageous.

  And, therefore, we were destined for club Outrageous.

  The only items she approved of in my wardrobe were my shoes. In fact, she borrowed a pair of orange faux-crocodile leather wedge heals with a turquoise bow at the toe. I wore a zebra printed spiked heal; the rest of my outfit came from her closet. She said I owned the clothes of a radiologist and the shoes of an OBGYN; which is like the medical doctor equivalent of saying that I dressed like a librarian with a propensity for fuckmeboots.

  We wore the same shoe size but she was at least a size smaller than me everywhere but her waist. There were only two dresses she owned which actually fit over my expansive direr: an olive green button down, Mad Men throwback, 1950s style house dress or a cinch-waisted, almost backless, simple black dress which gathered and flowed nicely over her shoulders and hips but which merely stretched and puckered on me in the same areas. The black dress ended mid-thigh. I looked at myself in the mirror then gazed longingly at the olive green dress still hanging in the closet; it was knee length.

  Elizabeth gave me a dirty look from over my shoulder, meeting my eyes in the mirror, having seen my attention stray to the closet.

  In the end I wore the black dress. Even with the addition of thigh-high stockings to cover my bare legs I felt exposed and, if I must admit, a tad sordid.

  We were able to enter the club with little difficulty even though a long line of party goers snaked around the length of the building. Elizabeth walked to the front and handed two large tickets to a man wearing sunglasses, at 11pm, flanked on either side by two beefsteaks of man-meat. As far as I could tell, the man in the sunglasses didn’t look at the tickets but I got the distinct impression he was studying us behind his dark lenses. He nodded his head, just once, then moved to the side so we could pass.

  Elizabeth tossed me a bright, carefree smile as the clicking of our heels was swallowed by the jungle sounds of the club. I gaped at our surroundings in uneasy wonder; it was definitely going to be an experience. She didn’t communicate to me that the name of the club was actually ‘Outrageous.’ To be honest, ‘Overwhelming’ would have been a better name.

  The inside of the club was quite literally a jungle. Twenty foot replicas of trees native to the rainforest towered above us and I followed the line of one of the taller trunks as it reached to a ceiling, either painted or canvassed to look like the canopy of a rainforest.

  Strategically placed lights filtered through the pseudo-branches creating the effect of twilight in the heart of the Amazon. The ground slanted downward as you entered and it was impossible to tell how big the room was; I guessed rather than saw that the majority of the walls were covered in mirrors which multiplied the jungle atmosphere in every direction.

  428 amphibians, and 378 reptiles have been classified in the Brazilian rainforest; I wondered how many would be represented in club ‘Outrageous.’

  Unlike most clubs I’d had the misfortune of attending; the music wasn’t oppressive or omnipresent. I recognized the music playing unobtrusively over the sound system as The Mix-Up by The Beastie Boys, specifically the song B For My Name; intermixed with 2007 Grammy award winning album for instrumental pop were wildlife calls of the Brazilian rainforest. Just as the bass strummed a low rhythm a call wretched forth from what I guessed was the giant leaf frog, which was found in western and northern Brazil.

  It could have been a different frog species; admittedly, I was not at all familiar with all Amazonian frog calls. But, since I recently read an article about the giant leaf frog and the medicinal potential of its waxy secretion leading to biopiracy of the species, it was the first frog which came to mind.

  At the center of the expansive room a massive arch, which was obviously meant to resemble an eroded sandstone canyon or cave, held an impressively large bar which also appeared to be carved out of eroded sandstone. To one side a man-made waterfall cascaded over the top of the arch into a pool at the base of the bar. The floor around the bar was illuminated with blue lights and, even from our place at the entrance, you could see the water flow beneath clear glass tiles. Furry movement caught my eye and I turned my attention to a previously unseen cage between our location and the center of the room.

  “Look,” I leaned close to Elizabeth and pointed the cage, “Wait, that’s a person. There is a woman in there with the monkey and she... she is naked!” I covered my mouth as I noticed the woman was not alone. “Oh my God, that looks like... oh my God.”

  Elizabeth started to laugh, I presumed it was at my expression and lack of speaking ability.

  Upon closer inspection, I noticed the club did an admirable job of making it appear that the woman was in the cage when, in fact, she was encased in a separate Plexiglas shell within the cage. There were multiple cages in the club; some were at floor level and others were suspended in the trees. Each of the cages held one or more exotic primates or monkeys of the same kind as well as a Plexiglas cylinder which slipped into the center of the enclosure.

  However, the woman was not alone within the shell.

  I did a half spin and gaped around the room, my wide eyes moving from cage to cage, my mouth hanging open. Behind, or next to, or in front of, or wrapped around each naked woman was a man dressed in a furry suit which was obviously meant to match the primate or monkey in the cage; the woman and man were play acting and engaging in what I only allowed myself to term as open displays of affection. It was hard to tell for certain what they were doing without venturing close to the cage and studying them for a prolonged period of time. I felt a little sick to my stomach.

  “That’s distressing.” I swallowed hard, trying to look anywhere but at the strange theater surrounding us. Elizabeth continued to chuckle lightly as she pulled me into the room and I shot her a hard glare. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

  She shook her head; tears of hilarity were pooling at the corners of her eyes as we navigated around trees; “No, no- I swear I didn’t! I think they’re just making out, I don’t think they’re...”

  We stopped at the bar and stood in front of two stools which looked like they were covered in fur. I couldn’t bring myself to sit down. I glanced at her from beneath my lashes and couldn’t help the small smile which pulled at my mouth
. She made no move to sit either.

  I couldn’t speak any further due to my extreme discomfort with the situation and Elizabeth couldn’t speak as she was caught in a new tsunami of giggles. Her amusement finally became too contagious to ignore when the soundtrack of jungle noises included a brief call from a macaw. I couldn’t help the resigned sounding laugh when it bellowed from my chest.

  Elizabeth leaned her elbow on the bar and turned her smiling eyes to mine, “I had no idea what to expect, honestly. One of my patients gave me the tickets. All he said was: ‘Be prepared for something outrageous.’” Elizabeth turned to the bar and signaled to the bartender, briefly inclining her head toward me, “I think they switch it out every few months and try to outdo themselves each time.”

  “Is it always a jungle theme?” I twisted my lips to the side in an effort to keep from laughing as I offered a sympathetic tilt of my head toward one of the cages; “I feel so sorry for the poor monkeys. I don’t want to see that, I can’t even begin to imagine how they feel.” Suddenly, the fine hairs on the back on my neck stood at attention uncomfortably and I inexplicably shivered.

  I had the overwhelming impression I was being watched.

  I skimmed the floor of the club, felt that omnipresent pressure associated with uncertainty and nervous expectation, but couldn’t find any eyes pointed in my direction. I tried to shake off the sensation, hoping it was just the combination of being an unwilling voyeur as well as the lingering distress I felt about my state of undress.

  Elizabeth’s smile faded as she considered me and she frowned at whatever expression she read on my face; “Hey,” she placed one of her hands over mind, “We don’t have to stay. Why don’t we have one drink then get out of here?”

  I pressed my lips together and shook my head, “No, no. It’s ok. I’m good. I just-” I sighed and let my eyes move over the room, allowing myself to look beyond the cages to the crowd of clothed club-goers which I somehow missed when I entered.

  No one was dancing, which was understandable as the music was low and inconspicuous; instead, they sat on large circle shaped cushions which looked like giant lily pads and conversed. There were other groups, mostly in pairs, who snuggled together while encased within booths that had been carved into the bases of the trees.

  Everyone was gorgeous, every single person, in that glossy, shiny, plastic way. It was like being in a room of animated mannequins. Their mouths moved but rarely did their expressions change. I’m sure there were famous people present but I didn’t immediately recognize any faces. I began to feel a familiar comfort descend as I became an observer. No one would notice me in this room of plastic women and perfect, sinewy limbs.

  “I’m good.” I finally met Elizabeth’s worried gaze and smiled as the bartender approached.

  She eyed me with plain contemplation then nodded once, “Ok. But if you want to go then just say the word.”

  Before we could order a bleach blond bartender with big brown eyes placed two glistening glasses of what I surmised was champagne on the bar; he gave us a crooked grin which was somehow perfectly paired with his Australian accent.,

  “Ladies, these are for you. I’ve also been instructed to put anything else you order on the same tab as well. I’m David. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Elizabeth recovered faster than I did; “Uh, I don’t know if we can accept these without first knowing our benefactor.”

  His smile widened and his gaze moved over her silky turquoise dress in conspicuous appreciation, “I can’t divulge that.”

  “Then we don’t want them.” Elizabeth began to push the glasses back to the bartender but he stopped her by leaning over the bar and leveling his lips with her ear. He whispered something which I couldn’t hear and I frowned, my attention diametrically split between their exchange and the rest of the room.

  When he leaned back her gaze followed his movements with obvious suspicion. He merely smiled, the same crooked smile, and winked at her; he added before leaving, “Like I said, let me know if you need anything.”

  I met her pensive expression with one of my own; “What did he say?”

  “He asked me to drink the champagne. He said if I didn’t drink it he might get in trouble.” She lifted the golden liquid to her lips, her inky lashes hiding the movements of her eyes as they surreptitiously swept over the inhabitants of the bar with renewed interest.

  “This is unexpected.” I said, dutifully picking up my glass.

  A short laugh escaped her throat followed by an extremely uncomely snort, “Not really, we look hot.” she tipped her glass against mine and lifted it in a toast, “To looking hot and getting free stuff.”

  I tapped my glass against hers and we took a sip of the champagne; Elizabeth continued her survey of the room over my shoulder when, suddenly, I saw her eyes widen as she half choked on the bubbly liquid. She set her flute down clumsily and coughed. Her hand went to her chest but her gaze was still transfixed over my shoulder.

  “Janie,” she coughed, cleared her throat, then tried again, “Don’t turn-”

  “Let me get you some water.” I started to walk around her but her arm reached out and held me in place.

  “Don’t-” she coughed, swallowed, her voice now a horse whisper, “Don’t move- don’t. Oh, he’s here!”

  “Hey.” A male voice spoke from behind me and it sounded strangely familiar. I turned just my head toward the greeting and was met by the towering form of Sir Handsome McHotpants, clothed in a black suit, open neck black shirt, and startling blue eyes directed squarely at me.

  CHAPTER 4

  My heart skipped two beats. I turned fully around.

  Ohmygod, it’s you.

  “Ohmygod, it’s you.” I realized too late that I said and thought the same thing in unison.

  He gave me a whisper of a smile, his eyes moving over me with a slow deliberateness that made me shiver even as I felt a dismaying hot flush rise to my cheeks: lips, neck, shoulders, chest, stomach, hips, thighs, legs, shoes. His gaze lingered on my shoes before it traveled upward again.

  Finally he said, as his blue stare met mine again, “Yep. It’s me.”

  I was speechless; my usually cluttered brain was blank. I could only gape at him. Thankfully, Elizabeth spoke from behind me, “Hi, I’m Elizabeth.”

  His eyes moved beyond me to where she stood. I took the opportunity to make some semblance of an attempt to gather my wits from where they lay scattered on the floor, on the bar, on the ceiling- like blood from a gunshot victim.

  “Hi, I’m Quinn.” He gave her a closed lipped, socially acceptable for the situation, friendly enough smile and I tried to think of something to say as Quinn and Elizabeth shook hands over the bar.

  Quinn. His name was Quinn. I must to remember to call him Quinn, not Sir Handsome McHotpants.

  The best I could come up with was: “What are you doing here?” and tried not to cringe as it came out sounding somewhat accusatory.

  His attention moved back to me, “I’m working.”

  “Are you a bouncer?” My brain, like a skipping record, seemed to be stuck on stream-of-consciousness questions.

  “My company-” he paused for a moment, as though considering something, then continued, “My company does the security for this place.”

  “Oh. The same company that does the security for the Fairbanks building.” I stated rather than asked about the building where I used to work. I started to feel marginally more relaxed, his presence at the club making more sense. However, his presence at the bar, with us, was still a mystery. Before I could stop myself I asked, “Are we in trouble?”

  His eyebrows lifted, “Are you in trouble?” he parroted.

  I nodded, “What I mean is, did we do something wrong? Is that why you were sent over here?”

  He shook his head, not answering right away, confusion and something akin to uncertainty flickered over his features. “No, no one sent me over here.”

  “Oh.” I said; my mind was blank again.


  He was watching me in that same measured way he employed in the elevator after my episode of verbal nonsense. A moment passed as we looked at each other. Then, he tipped his head toward our champagne glasses on the bar, “Are you two celebrating something?”

  I looked to Elizabeth for help but she was pretending to read the drink menu.

  “No.” I met his gaze again, found him watching me with unveiled interest. His attention was maddeningly distracting; my unresponsive brain felt covered in molasses. My body, however, felt rigid and aware. I felt every stitch of clothing I was wearing touching me: my backless, strapless bra felt too tight; the caressing silky softness of the dress caused goosebumps to rise over my neck and arms; the friction of my lace undergarments and stockings burned my inner thighs.

  I swallowed with a great deal of effort and forced myself to speak, not really paying attention to my words; “No- one of Elizabeth’s patients gave her the tickets and she wanted to take me out because she thinks I need cheering up.”

  “Because of your job?” He prompted, shifting closer to me, resting his hand on the bar between us.

  His new proximity caused my heart to gallop, effectively kicking my brain into overdrive; words began to tumble forth unchecked; “Yeah, that and I just broke up with my boyfriend. Although, I don’t know if ‘broke-up’ is the right term for it. It’s hard to find words and phrases which really accurately reflect actions. I find verbs in the English language to be lacking. What I really like are collective nouns. The nice thing about them is that you can use any word in the English language as a collective noun which allows you to ascribe both features as well as character to the collection or group. Although, some collective nouns are well established. As an example, do you know what a group of rhinoceroses is called?”

  He shook his head as he tilted it to the side, watching me.

  I continued, “It’s called a ‘crash’. I like to make up my own collective nouns for things; like, take that group of women over there,” I indicated across his shoulder and he turned to see where I pointed, “See the plastic looking ones on the purple lily pad? I would call a group like that a ‘latex of ladies’ with the word ‘latex’ being the collective noun. And these cages, with the monkeys and the couples, I would call them, collectively, a ‘vulgar of cages’ with the word ‘vulgar’ being the collective noun.”