SEDUCER
1993
(Chapter 32 of Senses)
TOUCH
It was a dark room. Of course, the patrons preferred it that way. This was no place for day people; it was a bar.
It was a very good one, but few people knew that. This was also a good thing, for the patrons. It was a comfortable place.
The man who walked in was a regular. He was in his late twenties, with shoulder-length hair. He look unwashed, unkempt, unshaven, and unawake. It was intentional, of course. He squinted to adjust to the darkness and walked in.
He spotted the bartender, who smiled at him with a sly wink thrown in.
"Hello, Jim," said the bartender.
"Mike," Jim returned, taking the Bushmill's that the bartender offered. "How's business?"
The bartender, who's name was not Mike, just shrugged. "I get by," he said. "Especially when you come in. You're still my best customer."
"This is still my favorite bar," Jim replied, tossing back the Bushmill's. The bartender was quick to pour another. "Thanks, Mike," Jim said.
The bartender smiled again. "Don't know why I ever put the bottle away," he said. "You always manage to finish it." Jim laughed in response.
Jim scanned the bar. It held the usual number of people for 3 p.m., about ten. Most were at a poker table by the jukebox, which played an old Beatles tune. One of the men there noticed Jim and stared for a moment, before being nudged back into the game. Jim smiled an ironic smile, and chuckled.
"Always happens, doesn't it?" The bartender asked.
"People are getting better at recognizing me," Jim responded. "Besides, I'm notorious since San Francisco."
The bartender laughed, but without much humor. He had been just as shocked as the rest of the world when Jim Christopher had killed a man. It had been in self defense, and to save the life of his girlfriend, but it was still a shock. The result, other than the death and it's aftermath, was that Jim's albums sold more than ever, but autograph hounds kept their distance, fearful of the man who had killed with a single punch.
Jim continued scanning the room until he found the person he was looking for, passed out under the center dartboard at the far end of the bar. He turned to the bartender. "How long?" he asked.
"He's been here four days," the bartender responded. "Passed out about two hours ago."
Jim expelled a long breath of air. "Hell of a stamina, even if he is a Christopher brother." Jim shook his head. "I know you're open 24 hours, Mike, but do you live here too?"
Mike smiled. "No. The day bartender clued me in on day two. At legal limit time he would order enough drinks to keep him going for the night, and some food, and get a bit of sleep. Not much though."
Jim sighed. "All right. Give me some ice water, would you?"
The bartender gave him a pitcher, anticipating the request. "Good luck," he said.
"Thanks Mike." Jim carried the full pitcher over to the sleeping form.
No one ever accused Jim Christopher of being a small person. At 6 foot 1 inch he wasn't a hulking mass, and was actually a bit wiry, but he was still bigger than the average person. However, compared to the sleeping form of his brother, he was almost a midget.
A.J.'s 7 foot 4 inch frame was sprawled to it's full length along the floor. His breathing was deep and regular, so Jim judged him to be all right and dumped the pitcher of water on him. Jim stared wide-eyed as his brother stubbornly refused to respond and began snoring.
"How many vodkas did you have?" Jim asked of no one. He squatted next to his brother and regarded him for a moment. He then listened to the music coming from the jukebox and began singing along, one-half step sharp. Then one-quarter step.
A.J. sat bolt-upright, shaking his fist at Jim. "I fucking hate that atonal shit," he said irritably.
Jim nodded, holding up two fingers. "How many fingers?" he asked.
"Nine," A.J. responded without looking.
Jim smiled at the private joke. "Good. Can you walk?"
A.J. slowly stood. "I've been walking since before you were swimming in Dad's balls."
"Neat trick," Jim said. "I'm six years older than you."
A.J. sighed. "Oh yeah," he said, beginning to smile. "You son of a bitch. I didn't want to be cheered up."
"Tough shit. And be more careful when you insult your brother."
The two men walked to the bar, where Jim ordered a third Bushmill's and A.J. ordered a Vodka and tonic.
"Wanna talk about it?" Jim asked as the bartender moved away from hearing distance.
"Yeah," A.J. sighed again. "What the fuck. She's gone."
"Carrie?"
A.J. nodded. "You always did have brains."
Jim sipped his drink while A.J. did the same. "What happened?" Jim asked.
"The album, what else?" A.J. responded. "We got into a another fight about the content. I wish she were as easy to work with as you were."
"Thank you, I think. Why..."
"Forget it, Jim. She's a wonderful musician and a marvelous singer, but she can't write to save her life, and she doesn't know it. I can't even try to arrange her work without an argument starting up. We started fighting about one of her songs and she got fed up and she packed up and she split. It's been rough for her, between the album and her Masters Degree studies."
"Not good," Jim noted. He had forgotten that Carrie had returned to school a few months previous, and made a mental note to not forget that fact in the future.
A.J. chuckled. "An understatement, Jim. Not like you." He sighed and finished his drink. "So, after eighteen months, it's over. She was the best woman I ever met, let alone slept with."
Jim smiled. "There'll be others. You never had problems with women before Carrie, no matter what the press says."
"Someone to fuck and someone to be your companion are two different things, and you of all people should know that. If Karen were to leave you, you would you feel? Not that that's likely; you two are fucking symbiotic."
Jim sighed and finished his drink, reflecting that he and his lover of nearly two years rarely fought. He brought himself back to A.J.'s situation. "You think she'll tell anyone?"
A.J. understood the question at once, and shook his head. "No. Who'd believe her?"
"There's always somebody. We're starting to regain some of our privacy. It could be lost so easily by one story."
A.J. just shook his head. "We, Kemosabe? Some things are too fantastic for the general public. No, Carrie and I may not be lovers or working together anymore, but I'd still trust her."
"Fair enough," Jim replied, standing.
"Where you going?" A.J. asked.
"Home," Jim said. "I promised Karen I'd find you, make sure you're all right and try to cheer you up."
"The verdict?"
"I have and you are and I have."
A.J. smiled. "Don't tell me she's rubbing off on you."
Jim laughed. "Maybe just a little. I'm going home. Mike will watch you." Jim began to leave when A.J. shouted after him.
"Jim! Come here!"
Jim walked back to the bar and A.J. motioned him into whispering range.
"You want to cheer me up?" A.J. quietly asked. "Let's begin experimenting again."
Jim regarded his brother for a moment. "It's not that easy, A.J."
"I know," A.J. responded. "You just don't want to fuck with it."
"That's right."
"Tell you what, let's make it a wager. Drunken darts. The winner sets the prize. Mine is to begin experimenting again. Yours can be anything you wish."
Jim was hesitant.
"Look," A.J. continued. "I won't even use the talent."
"You know I can't verify that," Jim responded.
"On my honor," A.J. said.
Jim started to smile as a gleam came into his eye. "All right," he said, "with a couple of provisos. Target darts. Bullseyes non-exclusive. And this bet is between you and me. Karen is not involved."
A.J. held up his hand. "Wouldn't think of it."
"Bullshit and we both know it. My prize will be dinner in Moscow, the night of the World Aid concert."
A.J. raised an eyebrow. Jim was playing with his band Blue Shift at the Moscow leg of World Aid while A.J. would play Los Angeles. It made A.J. a bit jealous. A.J. followed Jim's thoughts as only he could and realized that in order to meet Jim's bet, he would have to play Moscow as well, which he would gladly do. Perhaps Jim does miss experimenting after all, A.J. thought.
A.J. nodded. "I agree to your conditions," he said. "Ten p.m. Right here."
Jim and A.J. shook hands. "I'll be here," Jim said.
"So will half the known world if I know Mike," A.J. responded. "Our matches seem to always draw crowds."
Jim laughed. "Ten p.m.," he said as he walked out.
The bartender walked back over to A.J., pouring another vodka and tonic. "You think it will work?" he asked.
A.J. shook his head and smiled. "Not a chance in hell," he replied, downing the drink. "However, I'm willing to try."
"Jim, don't you think you're spreading yourself just a bit thin?"
At six p.m. Jim and his manager, Paul Cynic, were sitting in Jim's kitchen eating spaghetti and discussing future business plans. Jim was smiling slightly at Paul's comment, which caused Paul to frown. Sometimes Jim thought Paul enjoyed frowning.
"Jim," Paul continued, "were you listening?"
"Yes I was," Jim responded. "I'm waiting for you to make your point."
"My point is that you're overstepping your reputation as a workaholic. You've been involved in sixteen albums in the past decade and now you're involved in four concurrently?"
Jim shrugged. "Well, one is a Blue Shift album. Only three are my own projects."
Paul gritted his teeth. "Only three, the man says. It takes Boston 10 years to do that and you want to do it in ten days."
Jim shook his head, laughing. "Look, I've worked on solo albums and Blue Shift albums simultaneously before, no problem."
"It's going to be a bitch to market."
"I don't think so Paul. The other two albums are going to be a bit different."
Paul raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Well," Jim said, "one is going to be an experiment. I'm just going to sit at a piano for about 50 minutes and improvise. I'll write the rest of the album around whatever I play."
Paul began to frown again. "A one-take album?" he asked, more to himself and unconsciously aloud. "Now that's interesting."
"Not exactly one take, but the piano will be."
"Any vocals?"
"I'll let you know when I get there."
Paul sighed. "And the other album?"
A gleam came into Jim's eye. "Something different for me," he said. "An album of remakes."
Paul didn't look up from his plate. "It's been done. Todd Rundgren among others, remember?"
"Yeah, but not like this. These songs are those great songs no one hears any more, by bands that never became monstrously big. Things like Toronto's 'When Can I See You Again' and 707's 'I Could Be Good For You' and Prism's 'Don't Let Him Know'...things like that."
Paul got a dreamy look on his face. "I haven't heard those songs in ages!"
Jim nodded. "Exactly! These are good songs that have been unfortunately ignored."
Paul shook his head. "Wait a minute! How could you remake a Toronto song? Didn't they have female lead vocals?"
"So?"
Paul stood up and folded his arms. "Jim, your unconventional streak is showing."
Jim wiggled his eyebrows.
"Jesus!" Paul exclaimed. "You enjoy that, don't you? You give your manager ulcers, Jim."
Jim stopped smiling for the first time since the conversation had begun. "Paul, what's with you today? You're a lot snappier than usual. Usually about now you start laughing at your rather ridiculous temper."
Paul sat down and sighed. "It shows, does it? Details of life, my friend. Details of life."
Jim raised an eyebrow. "I don't follow you."
"Jim, let me keep it to myself for now, all right? Just be patient with me."
Jim nodded. "It's a shame you don't drink anymore. I'd take you out for a few."
Paul smiled for the first time. "Appreciated," he said. "Maybe just being in the company of a bunch of drunks will raise my spirits. You going?"
"Later," Jim replied. "A.J. and I are going to have a drunken darts match."
Paul finally laughed. "Those are always interesting. I'll meet you there."
When Jim first walked into the bar, he noticed her immediately. She was a little over five feet tall, and had a small frame, much like Karen, but the similarities ended there. She had long and curly black hair, and what appeared to be a deep tan.
Jim found her striking for two reasons. The first was that she was the type of woman Jim found attractive. The second was that for the first time in Jim's memory someone other than "Mike" was tending bar.
Jim walked through the crowd to the bar and the woman, who Jim judged to be in her late 20's, greeted him with "Hello, you're Jim Christopher."
Jim's reaction, other than to nod, was to note she had no tan but was Hispanic. She poured a Bushmill's and handed it to Jim, who nodded again. "Thanks Angie," he said.
"How did you know my name?" she asked, startled.
Jim downed his drink and winked. "I was right?" he asked. "Damn! I didn't. I was going to call you that no matter what your name was. I take it Mike warned you about me?"
"He did," Angie replied, pouring another drink, which Jim took.
"Where is he, anyway?"
"Out buying a dartboard."
Jim raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked, surprised. "Why?"
"Well," Angie replied, pouring Jim another drink to refill his empty glass, "if I have my story straight, a very large man who was here earlier was throwing darts at the center board for practice a bit hard, and broke it."
Jim laughed. "Must have been A.J."
Angie's eyes widened a bit. "That was your brother?"
Jim shrugged his shoulders. "All I have to do is say his initials and people know who I'm talking about."
"Price of fame," Angie noted.
Jim laughed his ironic laugh. "That and his size. Yeah, A.J. comes here sometimes, although he prefers Malibu. He'll be here tonight, probably in a few minutes. We have a darts match tonight."
"That explains why Mike went to get a dartboard in such a hurry."
As if on cue, the bartender Jim was used to walked in followed by A.J., carrying a fresh dartboard. "Hey big bro'!" A.J. called out while the bartender set up the new board.
"Hey day A.J.," Jim called back.
"We'll be ready in a few!" A.J. said.
Jim nodded and scanned the room, looking for Paul. After a moment he gave up, as there were too many people in the bar.
"Crowded tonight, Angie," he noted.
"True," Angie said, pouring Jim another. "I knew about your darts match, because we've been publicizing it. From what I hear, you're up there with world class."
"And I don't believe you've ever seen one of our matches. True?"
"True. Don't ask why. It's a long story."
"I wasn't going to ask," Jim said, sipping his Bushmill's. "Anyway, I'm better than world class. I do it drunk."
Angie smiled and wriggled her eyebrows. "Best way to do it." She winked at Jim.
"You'd better believe it," came a familiar voice from behind Jim.
Jim turned around on his barstool and saw that his longtime love, Karen, was standing there smiling. She unexpectedly jumped on his lap and kissed him passionately, which he enjoyed and returned. For a moment he was washed with overwhelming desire, then felt it diminish slightly as Karen brought her emotive ability into check.
When Karen gave Jim a moment to breathe he smiled and said, "Greet me like that anytime lover."
Karen smiled back. "Heard you and A.J. have a match, so I came over," she said.
Jim held Karen close and began tonguing her ear. "Busy later?" he asked.
"I can be," Karen replied.
Jim nodded. "Good."
Karen smiled and nodded over Jim's shoulder. "Who's your friend?"
Jim turned a half turn in his seat, so they could both face the bar. "I've been rude, haven't I?" Jim asked.
"What else is new?"
Jim laughed. "All right then. Karen, this is Angie, who has been tending the bar. Angie, this is my lover and friend Karen."
Karen extended a hand to Angie. "Pleased to meet you, Angie. What's your real name?"
Angie smiled. "It really is Angie," she said.
Karen looked at Jim. "That was lucky," she noted.
From his location next to the new dartboard, A.J. shouted to Karen, "Hey little girl!"
"What do you want, you genetic excuse for birth control?" Karen shouted back. Several people in the bar laughed.
"Does Jim have his pants on?"
Karen gave Jim's crotch a quick grab, then replied, "Unfortunately, yes."
"Second the motion," Angie put in.
Karen raised an eyebrow and looked at Angie. "He's mine," she said, "but I like you anyway."
"Good," Angie replied, pouring a Bushmill's for Karen.
"Hey Jim!" A.J. shouted.
"What!" Jim replied.
"Get your fucking ass over here! We have a wager to settle!"
Jim looked at Karen and Angie and said, "If you lovely ladies will excuse me, A.J. and I have business."
Karen finished her drink and kissed Jim. "For luck," she added. Jim winked and walked over to the dartboard.
A crowd had gathered around the dartboard, as the bartender began pouring shots of alcohol. Once he had emptied a bottle of Bushmill's and a bottle of Smirnoff, he stood and asked for quiet.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the bartender announced, "your attention! Tonight, for your enjoyment, we have a special event. Two acknowledged darts masters, who have locked horns before on these premises, have a wager. The terms of this wager we can only guess, but what they have agreed upon is the method of settling their bet; drunken target darts.
"The rules are simple, as this is not a scoring game. One player will step to the board and make his three throws. Then the other player will toe to the line and attempt to match the opponents throws. If he makes all three throws, the first player must then down a shot of his own choice of poison. The first player so inebriated that he can't match his opponent's shots is the loser. Gentlemen, are you ready?"
"Ready," said Jim.
"Let's rock," replied A.J.
"All right then," the bartender said. We can't exactly do a darts toss to determine who goes first, so who placed the challenge?"
"I did," said A.J.
"Fair enough. Jim goes first."
Jim accepted his set of darts from the bartender saying, "Thanks, Mike." He set his place at the eight-foot line, then announced, "A.J., I'll make this first one easy, because I'm thirsty." Bullseye, bullseye, bullseye.
Amidst the applause, Jim bowed and let A.J. up to the line. A.J., in turn, threw three matching bullseyes and turned to Jim. "Drink up, bro'."
Jim picked up a Bushmill's and downed it. Once he had done so, he asked, "By the way are we playing points or values?"
A.J. considered for a moment. "Points," he finally announced. "It adds math to the game."
"Granted."
A.J. stepped to the line and threw a 20, a 19, and an 18. Jim stepped to the line and threw a triple 6, a 19, and a double 10, then watched as A.J. downed his vodka. Thus began the match.
Round 16 began with A.J. throwing 20's for all three shots and saying, "I can still feel the floor. Give me a drink, Jim."
Jim was standing rather shaky, as he was on his thirteenth drink of the day, and pointed a finger at his brother. "You can't say you're not fucked up," he stated.
"You're not fucked up," A.J. responded.
Amidst the scattered laughter Jim responded, "I stagger corrected," and threw 20's with both hands simultaneously, then spun to throw a third. After the throw he spun and bowed and then did a double-take, shaking his head in disbelief.
In a far corner of the bar, away from the game at a small table, sat Paul Cynic and Carrie Fallon, having what appeared to be a romantic dinner. Jim acknowledged the applause for his throws, but continued to stare, until A.J. came up to him asking, "What's up?" Jim pointed to the table and A.J. said, "Oh fuck."
Jim shook his head and began to laugh. "Nice try, A.J.," he said.
"Excuse me?"
"This is far too fucking convenient. You and Carrie split, Paul having problems, this wager. You're trying to distract me into missing."
"What the..."
"Please, A.J. I know how you work. Let's settle this wager honestly."
A.J. stared for a moment, then sighed in resignation. "Hey Carrie!" he yelled.
"What!" she shouted back.
"He didn't buy it!"
"You mean I can't act mad at you any more?"
"Nope!"
Carrie picked up her beer to come see the match, but not before yelling "Shit!" for the amused onlookers.
"Continue the match!" Paul shouted. Others around the bar echoed the shout.
Jim held up his hands. "All right, all right!" he said to the expectant crowd. "For my next throw, I need a volunteer!" Jim shook his head, then said, "No, I take that back! I need a blindfold!"
Karen called out from the front of the bar, "How about a volunteer to cover your eyes?" Several people laughed, including Jim and A.J.
"Dear," Jim shot back, "if you're volunteering I'd recommend waiting until we got back home!"
"You're on! Actually, I was going to volunteer Angie!"
Jim laughed. "Dear, you are so considerate! Angie, do you object?"
"No," Angie said, "but I'm short! I'll need a chair!"
Jim looked around the crowd. "Will one of you new bohemians get the lady a chair?"
After a moment of shifting things around Jim stood up to the line again, with Angie standing on a chair behind him to cover his eyes. Jim let people call out numbers, and then he would throw to match. Double 16, 3, and triple 11, all of which he hit. A.J., using the same technique and having Angie stand on tip-toe, hit triple 15, double 11, and 1. Jim downed his Bushmill's with pleasure. He was feeling very inebriated, and was starting to have trouble walking.
A.J. staggered to the line to begin the next round, asking for no volunteers, once Angie's chair had been removed. He threw three straight throws, hitting 20, double 19, and triple 18. Jim, in turn, came to the line and threw a 20, a double 19, and an 18.
Even Jim's jaw dropped. He had lost.
A.J. walked up to his brother and clapped him on the back. "I don't fucking believe it," he said, "but I accept it."
Jim didn't react, as he was still staring at the board. A.J. waved a hand in front of Jim's face, and Jim didn't even move. "Karen!" he yelled.
"What?" Karen responded.
"You'd better take him home."
Karen joined Jim and hugged him. "Come on hero," she said. "Let's go home."
Jim nodded and followed Karen out the door of the bar, ignoring everyone else.
When they reached his home, Jim went to his own bar and poured himself a glass of 12-year-old scotch. After draining his glass, he found his voice. "I don't understand it," he said, shaking his head. "Hitting a triple 18 is not that hard."
Karen laughed, setting her coat and purse on Jim's piano. "Jim," she said, "you're not perfect. No one is. You're allowed to miss once and a while. This can't be the first time."
"No, it's not, but there was too much at stake with this. Too fucking much."
Karen raised an eyebrow. "Why? What were the stakes?"
Jim poured a second glass of scotch. "Well, lover, A.J. suckered me. He wanted to begin experimenting again, and because I had thought he and Carrie had split up, I accepted the wager to help distract him. Cheer him up just like you had suggested. I just never thought I'd lose." He emptied his glass.
Karen sat at the piano, leaning on the keys. "What now?" she asked. "And since when do you drink scotch? You're a whiskey person."
Jim shook his head. "What I do now is honor my end of the wager. Even I will admit I kind of miss it, the experimenting. Maybe he's found out something new and it will be worth while."
Karen regarded Jim a moment. "You're scared," she stated.
"Absofuckinglutely. We damn near lost control of it the last time. It scares the hell out of me what we could do if our minds couldn't keep us in check."
Karen smiled and lazily played a few random keys on the piano. "Sounds like you need my help."
Jim sighed. "Yeah, I could use it, but I'm not going to ask. I won't force you back into this situation."
Now it was Karen's turn to shake her head. "Lover," she said, "even after all this time it doesn't sink in, does it? Two plus years in the most intense relationship the human race has seen - I mean, the odds that two people like us even met is almost astounding, and we still live in separate homes. You want us to still be our own people while we reaffirm out love every day, whether together or apart. We are lifemates, Jim, lifemates. You and I, we share!"
Jim poured a third glass of scotch, and raised it to his lips, then stopped, saying, "I drink scotch on rare occasions, despite the similarities between scotch and whiskey. The last was more than three years ago. Only when I wish to be truly drunk." He drained the glass. "Scotch, the good stuff, warms you up inside and numbs you. Whiskey or gin I can drink like water. Scotch..."
Jim set the glass down and exhaled a long breath. "I'm not going to ask you to marry me," he continued. "I do not believe love needs to be reaffirmed by a couple of bands of gold or a government document."
Karen smiled. "I know," she replied. "I've been married once. That was enough. Making it legal quote-unquote isn't necessary for me."
Jim walked to the piano and offered his hand. "Come live with me?"
"Here? In Brentwood?
"Sure. The house is big enough. Why? Cold feet?"
Karen laughed. "Feet? No. Where will I put my things?"
"We'll both have to adjust some. What we duplicate we can toss."
"My bed?"
"Our bed. Toss it. You won't be needing it anymore."
Karen stood and hugged Jim. "I accept."
"Good. I now pronounce us lifemates, for the record. You may kiss the groom."
They kissed passionately; the kind of kiss Jim would never get used to, as Karen fed him empathically and he became more and more aroused.
After a moment Karen stepped back, then removed her blouse. She let Jim stare at her bare chest for a moment, then disrobed entirely, saying, "I'm going swimming. Come along?"
Jim followed Karen with his eyes as she walked to the back door, then outside. What the fuck, he mused to himself. As he undressed, he heard Karen jump into the pool with a light splash. Once naked and outdoors, he ran and launched himself into the pool.
From a running start, he flew 25 feet and flipped six
times before hitting the water.