A Well-Formed Vocabulary

CW: Sexual acts are described in metaphor.

I picked up the redheaded guy by his collar and carried him towards the door. My colleague, Harold, had control of the bearded dude so the fight was definitely over. The bartender, Lilian, gave us an appreciative glance as we rid the bar of the two troublemakers.

To be honest, this was my favorite part of the job – pulling fights apart and tossing guys into the parking lot. I did it as often as I could. Well, second favorite part. My favorite part was when Doreen came into the bar on Thursday nights. My god, she was a beauty. Doreen was her real name but a lot of men knew her as Tawny. That was her hooker name. The owner, Bernie, had a no-prostitution policy at the bar but Doreen was the exception – everybody knew it. Doreen, or Tawny, never did business in here. She came her to just be a normal woman and I was happy she did.

Doreen was in her late thirties but looked younger. Tall, thin, long legs, big boobs, probably fake, blonde hair, cut really short and a smile that could melt an ice castle. I loved her and she seemed to like me, but not in that way. I guess I’m obsessed with her, at least a little. I don’t know if she’s ever had any boyfriends, she certainly never talked about them to me. Probably hard to do with “the life.” I think she prefers it that way – no complications, just sex.

I know what you’re thinking – no, I never got with her – pay or no pay. Couldn’t afford it on my wages. She had a website and I had been there hundreds of times. Nice tasteful photos of her in lingerie, etc. and even a list of prices – one hour, two hours, whole night. Way beyond my finances. Which is cool, though, because the thing I liked most about her coming in was how the rest of the people acted around her. For me and the rest of us working here, Doreen provided high quality entertainment.

This was a Thursday so I thought we might see her again, unless she had an appointment. But it was already after eleven so I didn’t have my hopes up. Except for the fight between the two dinglebrains, there wasn’t much going on. We were what most people would consider to be a “dive bar” so we didn’t have live music or even a jukebox, but the people in the neighborhood still enjoyed coming here. Lilian and the other bartender always gave generous pours and it was a fun enough place. And there was me and Harold in case things got rough. We prided ourselves on making sure there was no broken furniture or blood or brains on the walls.

I was about to go chat with Lilian when Doreen appeared in the doorway. Whenever she walked in, everything in our little world brightened. She had on a fantastic yellow number that barely covered her gorgeous ass. There was a spray of sparkles that shot down from the neckline in a winding river to the bottom hem. Sleeveless, so her long, freckled arms showed from shoulder to fingernail. High heeled slingbacks, of course, her signature, also in yellow. I took a quick breath and I think the other guys were doing the same.

There was always fresh meat for Doreen. She sat in her usual booth and I went to say hi. She smiled and playfully tapped the front of my chest. It burned.

After the waitress had brought her usual drink, Jack and Coke, I stood behind her booth like I always did. It wasn’t so much that I was protecting her, although yeah, but more so I could hear the conversations as they happened.

Victim number one was already looking her way from his bar stool. She made sure not to look at him, making him even more interested. He looked like a douchebag, honestly. He wasn’t a regular, and most women would probably think he was good looking. Tall guy, thick mustache, black hair that was swooped across his forehead. Sure enough, he started walking towards Doreen’s booth. I braced myself.

He had a big grin on his stupid face as he walked up. The bar was loud so I didn’t hear the back-and-forth, but I knew how it would go. He would say “Mind if I sit here?” and she would say no go away. He would try to start a conversation, she would shut him down in some embarrassing way. He would try again, she would offer a verbal jab that would make him wobble on his feet. Yep – there’s the wobble. Usually that was the end of it, but not this fucking guy. He made one last attempt as he whispered in her ear. Why do guys think women like that? She just smiled and lifted a manicured finger for him to come closer. He leaned over and she whispered back to him, lightly holding his chin. He jerked back, unsteady on his feet again. Was he crying? He wiped his face and practically ran to the men’s room. Doreen looked over at me and smiled. I was smiling too. It was the highlight of my week to see these guys reduced to little bitches when she tossed them aside like clean bones.

Like most Thursdays, this would happen several times a night. The regular single guys knew better than to approach her. They had all tried and failed. So the new guys were the ones, and everyone else got a chuckle out of it. Mean? Cruel? Yeah, I guess, but it wasn’t any worse than these reality shows.

It was almost midnight when another man started walking towards her. Almost looked like a little boy. Short guy, skinny, black-framed glasses, gaudy short-sleeved striped dress shirt and I think he had a slight limp. In short – a nerd. Good god, what would Doreen do to this guy? She would tear him up and sell him for parts.

I moved closer so I would be able to hear the exact system she used to mincemeat this dude. This was going to be fun.

“Hello miss,” he said as he came up to her booth.

“Hello, what’s your name?” Doreen asked pleasantly.

“I’m Earnest,” he said. His teeth were a bit misshapen but he did seem clean and well-groomed, he just didn’t have much to work with. This is what a guy who plays Red Dead Redemption all day looks like when he goes out and tries to get laid.

“Nice to meet you, Earnest. I’m Doreen. What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a computer programmer but I also play the trombone.”

And what do you have to say to me, Earnest the trombone-playing computer programmer?”

“Well,” Earnest began. He didn’t seem nervous. “I have a pickup line that I wish to use.”

“A pickup line?” She laughed. “Let’s hear it.”

“It’s about five minutes long, so it is more of a pickup conversation. Are you agreeable to that?”

She leaned forward. “Sure, Earnest. Let’s have a pickup conversation.”

“And you’ll participate?” Earnest looked at her with his googly eyes.

“I will. I’ll play along. I promise.”

“They call me The River!” Earnest said as he puffed out his chest.

“And why do they call you The River, Earnest?” Doreen was grinning.

“Because I have a tongue like a paddle and a boatload of patience!” He looked at her very directly.

Doreen laughed. She had a beautiful laugh. I had to chuckle a bit myself. That was pretty good.

“That didn’t take five minutes, Earnest,” Doreen scolded him.

“That’s not the whole conversation.”

“Okay.”

“Would you like to know my favorite sexual position?” Earned asked. He spit a little on the word “sexual” but none of it sprayed on Doreen. This guy is moving too fast, I thought.

“Sure, Earnest, what is your favorite sexual position?”

“Cunnilingus,” he stated.

“That’s most women’s favorite. That’s your favorite?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“Do you have a dick, Earnest?” Doreen asked. Oh boy, here we go.

“Yes. My penis is slightly above the median in size and girth.” Earnest pushed his glasses back up his nose with his middle finger.

“That’s good to hear. But you don’t like to use it?”

“Yes, I like to use it, but I was telling you my favorite.”

“Why is carpet munching your favorite position? Most guys don’t even like it.”

“I like it because it reminds me of a symphony.”

“Like Beethoven and stuff? You play symphonies on the trombone?”

“Yes I do, Beethoven, Mozart, Haydn, et cetera, et cetera. My favorite to play is Dvorak’s New World Symphony.”

“I don’t know that one.”

“Yes, it’s very good. A good symphony starts out very slowly, sometimes you can barely hear what’s happening. Often it’s just the violins and violas gently vibrating, a sweet melody that touches you but just slips through your fingers, like a ghost butterfly.”

“Okay, that sounds nice. I’m sorry Earnest, but I don’t know much about classical music. It has never interested me that much.” He started out strong but he’s losing her.

“That’s okay, I’ll explain the terms, Doreen. So we’re starting out Largo – that means slow. Largo is lazy. Largo takes its time. Languid music, languid motion. Relaxed. Nowhere near the sensitive parts, in fact, everywhere but there. The music shifts around like steam coming from a volcanic pool. Wafting, drifting. As the recipient of this music, you may be wondering where this is all leading.”

“I do wonder, Earnest.”

“That’s okay, it’s all part of the symphony. It’s good to wonder, to anticipate. After a little while, the cellos come in. Cellos are like a big violin and they have a deeper bass sound. There is a vibration to a cello that no violin can copy.”

“Vibration, you say?” Doreen smiled in spite of herself. This guy had already lasted longer than the other competitors. I had underestimated his ability to keep Doreen’s attention. At this point, Doreen seemed to be more entertained than interested. But that moment was coming, I knew.

“Yes, vibration. The cellos provide a foundation for the other strings. But things are only getting started. We are still Largo. Things move slowly but the warmth is starting to rise because we’ve added the cellos. At each beat, the tempo increases a bit more until we have Adagio.”

“What’s Adagio? Sounds Italian.” I edged closer to Doreen’s booth without being too obvious.

“It’s just a bit faster tempo. Faster beat to the music. Faster motion. Nothing frantic yet. Composers tend to build the tension slowly. Largo to Adagio. Patience is the key. A woman’s thighs are surprisingly sensitive.”

“What?”

“What.”

“What...if I don’t want you to be patient?” Doreen gave him a smoky look. Ha ha, she was luring him in for the kill.

“It’s not your choice. I’m setting the tempo, Doreen.”

“Oh okay,” she pouted. “Please continue Mr. River,” Doreen said, setting down her drink.

Earnest scratched his elbow awkwardly. “Adagio is a nice pace. At this point, we can bring in the French horns with a light counter-melody. French horns can play softly, sometimes they even mute to keep the sound light and airy.”

“What about trombones?” Doreen asked, fingering her earring.

“No, absolutely not,” Earnest gave her a sharp look and cracked his knuckles. “Trombones are brassy, we can’t have them yet. We’re still Adagio. But we can bring in the flutes, as they whistle like songbirds under the strings. Music is all vibration, Doreen. It’s why it feels so good to us. So now we have violins, violas, cello, French horns and flutes. And quietly, ever so quietly, we can begin with percussion.”

“Sorry, what does percussion mean?” Doreen asked. I leaned in a bit more. I had given people concussions before but didn’t know this word either.

“Percussion means things you hit, like drums. Timpani, snare drum, xylophone, things like that. Now in our symphony, we will introduce the bass drum. You might think a bass drum would be too loud but it can be played very tenderly. It forms the structure of the music. Boom, boom, boom,” he tapped Doreen’s table. “It gives a feeling of anticipation.”

“Are we still talking about music?” Doreen asked.

“Yes, symphonic music as well as cunnilingus. I thought that was clear from the outset. Are you following?”

“I am following, Mr. River,” Doreen said quietly. I stepped back a little. In my mind, Doreen was an untouchable harlot, a dominator, not a follower of anyone.

“Very good. The bass drum is there, pounding but soft. It lifts us, lifts us from Adagio to Andante.” Earnest held one hand in the air like a conductor, pulsing the beat with his hand.

“Andante? I guess that’s a little faster?”

“Yes, exact-a-mundo. A little faster. Now you can have your trombones and baritones. But no trumpets.”

“Still too brassy,” Doreen sighed.

“Too brassy, right. But the first little bit of brass is always exciting. It moves us closer to the excitement, and may even touch it briefly but then pulls away before edging back closer again. A symphony is an expression of emotion, you see?”

“Yes, I see.”

“Since we are Andante, things are getting heated. But no composer will just take you on a ride from Largo to Andante without falling back again time after time. Increases tension.”

“You called it edging,” Doreen smiles.

“Edging, yes. We push forward and then fall back again. Forward and back. You think we are working towards a climax but then we slow down again. Which leads us to the next stage.”

“What’s that? What’s the next thing?” Doreen seemed to be steadying herself with one hand gripping the table and the other in her lap.

“Allegro,” Earnest said, staring at her directly. I could feel Doreen’s cool facade melting ever so slightly. My elbows were touching the back of the booth, but I was still trying to be as subtle as I could.

“When we move to Allegro, Doreen, we can bring in the tuba and the bass violin. They push the tempo forward with their magnificent, vibrating tones. We’re moving pretty fast now and it seems like the climax is coming very soon. But not yet. Climax denied...for now. We have a few detours, diversions and distractions. But things are starting...to...get...loud.”

Doreen’s eyes were glued to the nerdy little fella’s mouth. I could have sworn I saw a bead of sweat coming down her forehead, which was strange, because the bar was usually too cold if anything, especially for skinny women in skimpy outfits.

“Allegro is not for the faint-hearted, Doreen. It moves fast and can be intimidating for the musicians and the audience. A person’s heartbeat will often quicken as the music quickens.”

“My heartbeat is doing something right now,” Doreen whispered. Was this little guy turning her on?

“Yes, it is normal behavior. For the people who can handle Allegro, there is often a problem when they try to survive the next level.”

“Next level?” Doreen’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, but we should probably stop at Allegro.”

“No, I want to hear about the next level,” Doreen said.

“I’m not comfortable talking about it. We’ve just met. The next level is very personal to me.”

Doreen reached across to where Earnest was standing. Strangely, he still hadn’t taken a seat at her booth and Doreen hadn’t offered it.

“Take me to the next level, Mr. River,” Doreen eyes had a purple glow. Somehow, the rest of the bar had disappeared and it was just Doreen, Earnest and me.

“Okay, but you have to tell me if it’s too much,” Earnest said matter-of-factly. “Molto Allegro.” Doreen emitted a quiet moan at the words.

“It is faster, yes. But that’s not all. Molto Allegro is a bit dangerous. It’s loud, it’s freaky, it can cause a person, a woman, to descend into absolute madness. You have a feeling that you might just fly apart into pieces if it keeps going, keeps pushing, keeps...paddling.”

“I want to keep going,” Doreen croaked.

“Since you asked, we’ll keep going. You must hold it together because we are so close. Always the music is pushing faster, then falling back, but those cycles happen much more quickly now. Each cycle faster and harder than the last. Until, until…”

“Until what, Mr. River?” Doreen was begging. I was getting a bit overheated myself.

“Until the climax,” Earnest whispered. “The music explodes like a planet that has overheated at its core and pieces of it fly out into the blackness of the universe. The conductor makes his final downward stroke and the audience is left in tears, perhaps, or even unable to walk initially. All the tension is gone. All thoughts have disappeared. Melted.”

“Melted.” Doreen was sweating now and was pushing her back against the wall of the booth.

“Yes, Doreen. Thanks for participating.” Earnest smiled for the first time. He looked different.

Doreen smiled weakly.

With that, Earnest walked back to his table where he had been sitting by himself. He got the check from his waitress and was getting ready to leave when Doreen left the only booth she had ever known and walked over to him. She touched his shoulder and talked into his ear then went into the ladies’ room.

As the waitress was clearing Doreen’s glass and wiping off the bench, I went to Earnest and patted him on the shoulder.

“You know, no one has ever seen that side of Doreen, dude.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, dude,” Earnest said without looking up.

“What’s your secret?”

“A well-formed vocabulary,” he said, and finally looked up at me and pushed up his glasses.