As with all things in London, mid-afternoon is almost a time for civility. Even at Phantasmagoria, the mundanities of business management must be addressed. The parquet and iron are cleaned and polished, and the distributors show up with the last stocks of alcohol and supplies for the night. The club may be open six nights a week, but there's always something special about Wednesday through Saturdays.
     Silence fills the three levels of the club. No flashing lights, no moving cages. The music is gone. But things are not totally dead. Belinda and Mitchell examine boxes, earmarking them for the various bars in the club. Rich examines a clipboard and schedule. In the offices, bills are being paid. In the blackened ceilings, catwalks hold electrical service teams.
     For his part, Julian walks. He's anxious in the afternoons, when the vacuum of the mornings turns into eager preparations. Dressed in black slacks and an unbuttoned lavender shirt, he seems rather awake. Many around do not. Nights are long at the club.
     "Jules!" calls Belinda, moving from Mitchell to head towards her boss, "I guess you added the Camus to the invoice?" No, Belinda doesn't make orders for 60-year old brandy for the bars.

     He's the new guy. New guys get the short end of the stick in social settings. Conversations always end when the new guy arrives. People just aren't comfortable around new people. People aren't willing to emotionally invest in someone that might not be around very long.
     But this new guy already has made in-roads. How long has he been here? A week? He already knows the dancers names. Knows everyone's names, before many of them have been introduced. Smart enough to always get introduced as well. Rumor has it that he used to be a priest. Heaven knows why he is now a bartender. Rumors, in places like this, travel fast.
     "Hello, Dot is it?" Alex smiles, perfect teeth. The woman is stretching long limbs, preparing for a long evening of work. "Alexander. I'm new here as you likely guessed. Haven't had a chance to introduce myself yet." a hand idly gestures towards his 'station' at a low bar. "Seen you dancing, you're really good." A touch of awkward compliment, just to feign 'new-ness'. "God, I can't believe I got the position here." A tidge of fawning to spice the mix.
     Alexander is making himself just like any other first hire. But already he looks like he is here to stay. The uniform fits him, suits him. He moves like a professional. He can list the ingredients for any drink you might want, and make it without looking. Alexander has been memorizing everyone's favourite drinks, just for added measure.
     He knows the wash the bars, and check the glasses. Not that they need cleaning, but it looks good to be picky. He always looks busy, always doing what someone at the bottom of the totem pole should be doing.

     During the day, Dot dresses as she dressed from high school to last week. Shirt two sizes too small with a tiny cartoon kitty flipping off the world, a pair of plaid short-shorts with red being the feature color. Her Art Deco hair cut is dyed a bright candy apple red, goes with her great complexion her her painted lips. She was a punk princess in the Oxford Circus scene until last year. Now, she's a premium dancer and sex-a-teer.
     Why? Because she likes it.
     Dot stands with a grin. "Yah," she says, plucked eyebrows (also dyed red) lifting. She pauses to give a wave to another dancer passing by. In about an hour, they'll start getting undressed and lotioning up. Up and down her brown eyes go. "Thanks, sweetie-darling," distinctively West London. She beams and removes the shirt. There's nothing underneath except for metallic red nipples. "Nifty, wot? They're made to order, made to size, made of vinyl actually." She hops up on a stool. "I don't think I've actually met you before, Alex. You've been here...? How long? Course," she snorts a laugh and smiles quite pleasantly. Lovely thing, really. "I've the brain of a silve. Do you have a cig, sweetie?" she coos.
     "Oh, yeah... this place is the shite. I love it. I started as a waitress, worked my way up to a cage. Now I'm in the penthouse fucking suites." Literally.

     Julian stops and pivots. Where he was heading, is anyone's guess. But now, he stands not so far from the main bar, with Belinda between him and it.
     "What?" he asks, baritone clear and resonating. A squint of his eyes and he looks down at the clipboard Belinda sticks out in front of his face. "Oh, right, yeah, that was me. I had Christine add it. Sorry, B," he murmurs, hand running through his black hair. "Have her take it out of my books," he says softly, shaking his head and blinking. A clearing of the fog. "Should have mentioned it."

     "Brilliant, Jules, it's alright. Just making sure it was you," Belinda says, turning to head back to Mitchell and the inventory.

     "A week, yeah, not long." Cigarettes drift from a back pocket, carried by deft fingers. "Haven't made an ass of myself yet, and I don't intend to. This place doesn't seem like the place where people stick around if they mess up."
     Alex's eyes drift as he speaks, noting Dot's glances, catching the turn of her lips. Gaze focuses past her to see the main bar, and Julian. But quickly, his attention comes back to the dancer.
     The metallic nipples. "Do you have to go in and get sized or something for those?" An awkward question, to help break the ice. Make him seem endearing and non-threatening. Silly, not serial-killer.
     Perhaps she noticed. Maybe that will give her a cue to talk about him. Possibly.
     A lighter is brought by his other hand, as Dot takes the cigarette. Such wonderful little creations, cigarettes. Like humanity itself: terribly poisonous to those who enjoy them.

     "A week? Christ on a stick, you're a newborn," Dot purrs. "Oh and the nips? It's a specially made vinyl apoxy. Gina ...oh, you probably don't know her yet, she mainly works Fridays...anyway, she's a vinyl artist. She dances to support her vinyl habit and 'lifestyle'. She made the apoxy and applies it. She's working on an edible version." Dot winks and blows smoke in a ring. Yes, she has an expert mouth.
     "Better be careful not to spread that info around too much," you being 'new' and all, "... the girls may want to call you Baby. And that includes the girls with cocks." She laughs, her cigarette miraculously not stained with her lipstick. "Jules is a great boss. This is slick shite, this club. I love it. I fucking live here." Practically.
     Dot swings about on the stool, legs lifting, a backstretch that sends her ankles past her ears. Limber little thing. "He's supah," she lowers her legs and hops off the stool. "I'll be in cage number three until nine," Dot blows Alexander a kiss and points to said cage, "After that, I'm upstairs only."
     The rooms where you have to be Somebody to get in...

     Julian nods at the departing Belinda, then lifts his gaze to look around the club. There's a glance up, then to the main doors. A slow turn left, then right. He remains in the spot he's in, and a hand slips out of his pocket.
     What to do, what to do.
     Weird. Julian's eyes turn to the moving Dot - always a spectacle - and to the sound of her feet landing on the parquet floor.

     "Aw, I figure that if they want to call me baby that is their right." He smiles, a slight blush hits his cheeks. Almost innocent seeming. "I figure they all know I'm new here anyway, I so nervous I feel like I'm shaking like a leaf" He isn't.
     "Edible epoxy, who would have guessed." Another poison for the masses, one assumes. How could you have a vinyl habit? Is vinyl really that addictive? Something to learn about, Alexander guesses.
     He watches her stretch, watches as Dot prepares to leave by giving the usual 'I'll be here and here' speech. He smiles.
     "Thanks for chatting, I enjoyed it. Have a good time up there." Alexander says by way of farewell to the dancer as she heads out to finish her pre-work prep.

     "Alright then, Baby," hands on her vinyled hips. Dot grins. When she swings her head to get back to her pre-work stretching, prior to the rest of her preparation, her bright red hair swings around. "Don't forget," Dot calls back, twisting and puffing out another ring of smoke. "Cage number three. And I like Stoli!" she notes for the record.
     Oh, there's Jules. Dot approaches, with the intent to pass by. But she likes to get her hugs in. "..'allo there, Mr. Love," she murrs, an arm coming up to surround him.

     "Dotkitty," Julian murmurs, the honey fast to his lips. His smile pulls askance, and his arms snake around her waist. "Nice," he growls, leaning down to give her a pulling kiss upon her lips.
     That's when he sees Alex. Bent over a woman, his height giving him visual clearance and a target ahead.
     "Mmph," he says softly, "...things alright?"

     He taps his temple "I don't forget." And then under his breath "Anything."
     "Cage Three. Stoli."
     Julian. Alexander really should stay out of that one's way, until the time is right. But things aren't always in Alexander's control.
     A broom is nearby; someone got called off in the middle of the job. The floor could use sweeping. Alexander isn't busy. So, 'The Baby' starts to sweep. Such a good new employee.

     The lipstick is a modern miracle. Nothing left behind on Julian's lips but Dot's pressing finger. "Thank you," she beams. "Will I see you upstairs at all tonight? Should I ...work another floor?" Dot leans in, bending to tug at his earlobe. "...like whatever floor you're on...ooh, naughty thing!" She laughs and gives you another kiss and a hug.
     "Things are super. I'm going to go to the back and finish getting ready. Oh! I read about this new restaurant, Asian Fusion joint. They're using naked Japanese chicks as tables..."

     Already, he's distracted. But Julian looks down to Dot again, trying to seem engaged. "Ai-ryo," Julian says. "I know it," he smiles.
     "Come see me later, hmm? Say, about 430?" he says absently, looking ahead to the man sweeping. Hand pats Dot's hip.

     "You got it, Jules." Her hand reaches around and gives a little squeeze and Dot slinks away, heading for the dressing area. Dot goes like no other woman in the club. She's a lead dancer for a reason...

     The sweeping carries Alexander slowly away from Dot and Julian. Slowly, 'The Baby' gravitates towards one of the bars. A quick stoop, and he sweeps the dust and detrious into a bin.
     He is at his station. So, still needing to seem busy, he arranges all the bottles. Again. Turning all the labels so they are clearly visible. Not that they weren't before, but a millimeter here, a millimeter there, and perfectionism raises its ugly head.
     Or does for appearances sake, anyways.

     Julian's hand lowers slowly from Dot as she leaves. If he were wearing hard-soled shoes, his determined walk to the other bar would be audible. As it is, in socked feet, the energy swirling in the air is enough. A rising intensity. Curiosity. Daresay...pending annoyance?
     "You're new," Julian states as he comes to a halt near the bar's edge opening. If the paint were peeling, he'd perhaps know it. He tries to see the man's face from his angle, but the trashbin apparently is more interesting.

     Well it had to happen eventually. Alexander is inwardly amused that it took this long before the fateful meeting with Julian. A week is a damned long time to be unnoticed in someone's home.
     "Uh, yes sir, I am." Alexander turns, from his task. "Just a week now."
     He seems nervous. "Is there anything I can get you sir?"

     There's a slight knitting of Julian's brow. Gah, you seem familiar. "Do I know you?" Julian asks, right hand settling on the bar's edge, the other running over his hair again. The lavender shirt parts, showing torso and stomach beneath.
     Oh, he's certainly one of Andrealphus' choir, a rather ideal specimen at that.
     "What's your name?" he asks abruptly, head tilting to the side. Eyes glance at the bar. Seems you've got a bar job. Okay.

     "Alexander Neimes, sir." It is amazing how memory fails to serve some of the others. "Yes sir, We met in passing once, weeks back." Yes, innocuous as that sounds, it should trigger memory. 'met in passing' indeed. His dark eyes never break with Julian's. At least, not by Alex's choice. Not looking away.

     Oh.
     The light does come on, though the details may not all be there. Phantasmagoria's owner pushes off the bar, coming upright, eyes moving from Alexander's head to his toes.
     Then up again.
     Julian snorts, his jaw shifting though his lips remain tightly pressed. "Right." If Julian had any comments to make on that event, or even this one now, they do not come forth. There is silence as he appraises the new employee again. And again. Expecting that he'll happily accept such scrutiny.

     The club begins to hum. The activity of pre-opening now moving past foreplay into the coital motion of actual setup, dress and prep, make-up. Beautiful women, beautiful men. They are beginning to show up for the afternoon dancer's meeting, review of routines where needed. Soon, the soundchecks will begin...

     When he doesn't know what someone is thinking, it positively kills Alexander. The urge to know, just burns inside. But he suppresses it, like any good person would.
     Instead, he stands there. He feigns a touch of nervousness. He is good at feigning. Pretending is second nature. Sometimes he wonders if he is who he thinks he is. Has he fooled himself?
     Alexander pulls his thoughts back. Moments stretch on. A bit of discomfort at the scrutiny is then played out. "Can I get you anything, sir?"

     The staring goes on for another few seconds, Julian's brow finally arching.
     "No, Mr. Neimes, thank you."
     For effect, you know.
     Julian's lips purse again and he takes a step back, allowing Time to move once more. "Welcome to my club. I'm sure your managers will help you, if you need anything." And keep an eye on you, because, well, that's what I pay them to do.
     "I'm also sure we'll see each other again."

     He nods smartly. Briefly -- just for effect -- the corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk during that nod. So brief most might not notice. A knowing smirk, that was meant just for the observant.
     "Yes sir, thank you sir, I'll keep that in mind." Then he stammers out, quickly, obviously fawning "I won't screw up, sir."
     All those 'sirs' are going to get downright annoying soon. Alexander is alreading ruing the decision to use that word.

     Julian continues to stand there, despite Alexander's departure. Watching. He seems unsure quite of what to do, save what he was already planning to do before all this transpired.
     A turn on his socked feet, and Julian Kane continues the afternoon walk through his club.

     There is laughter issuing from somewhere, hard to place in the large club. Dressing rooms most likely. Click-click of high heels sounds on the floor as a striped capri and polka-dot shirt wearing Moira makes an Art Deco bee-line for the back. "Hi, lover!" she shouts out to Jules, giving a pin-up girl smile as she hurries to her meeting.
     Just another cog of the great 'machine' moving into place as afternoon begins to switch gears into evening...

     Alexander finds himself a chore which will give him good vantage of the room. Sweeping it is, again. Easy work, and work that others don't really like to do. But it lets him roam, and listen, and watch.
     Three things he really is quite adept at.

Posted by rowan at September 18, 2003 10:18 PM