With or Without You

by Alison Tyler

  But the room at the end of the hall is the most popular: Cinéma Vérité. Anyone can go into it, knowing ahead of time that they will be filmed, and that their antics will be projected onto the wall of the dance floor. Although I’ve never been in that room myself, I’ve always liked it best. Every time I go to Nora’s club, I pretend to be watching dancers on the floor, but I stare at the amateur porn stars, getting into the mood in that small mirrored room. There’s a part of me that wants to be as free as the customers who head to that private paradise.

  Right now, an enchantingly pretty Asian girl with long blonde dreadlocks was entering the room. I watched, mesmerised, as two attractive men followed her in – one dark, the other light. The dark one had on leather pants and a tight-fitting red T-shirt. The other was dressed down in jeans and a button-up white Oxford shirt. As I watched, the two men began to kiss the girl – kiss her face, her neck, her breasts. It was as if the threesome had been plucked from some other world, where people did this sort of thing on a routine basis.

  Nora reached out and touched my hand. When I looked at her, she let me know she was going to order us more drinks. ‘And check on my bartenders,’ she added. ‘It looks as if one of them is getting ready to fuck one of the patrons.’ From the way she said the words, I couldn’t tell if she was pleased about this or not. Would that be a no-no in Nora’s club, or the sort of thing to get you a bonus? Then, with a nod towards the screen, she indicated that I should keep watching.

  I gazed back at the screen, focusing once again on the vision above the dance floor and the music playing in the background. I knew the song, because I’d heard it so many times at Nora’s: ‘Stuff Me Up’. Peaches and someone named Taylor Savvy. It was a perfect soundtrack for this sexual scenario, Nora’s favourite by the singer aside from ‘Fuck the Pain Away’. I think she likes that one simply because she enjoys saying the words, like the way her patrons adore ordering sexually charged drinks at the clubs: ‘Give me an Orgasm,’ ‘I want Sex on the Beach,’ ‘I’d like to order a Blow Job.’

  Had the trio in the not-so-private room been ordering drinks like this? Something had definitely gotten them in the mood. It was as if Nora’s DJ were paying attention to the needs of the people in the Cinéma Vérité room. And most likely, she was. When I gazed over at the DJ – the always stunning Miss Take – I saw that she was following the antics of the trio as willingly as were the rest of the club’s patrons.

  The music in the club suddenly reached a crescendo, and the threesome reacted with even more outrageous behaviour. I stopped thinking about the soundtrack and started paying attention fully to the lovers. There was something about the way that they moved, kissing one another so passionately, hands overlapping, bodies pressed together, that fully captivated my attention.

  God, they were pretty.

  The girl was especially luscious, her mouth painted the dangerous dark black-red of a ripe cherry. Her golden skin gleamed with some sparkling silver fairy dust. She had those long blonde dreads that made absolutely no sense with her features, but somehow added powerfully to her allure.

  The two men were focused entirely on the pleasure of their female partner. They took turns kissing her mouth, first one, then the other, until all three were wearing the remnants of her dark lipstick. The boys looked so sexy with the red stains on their lips, and the girl looked positively in heaven, her eyelids fluttering as she kissed first one, then the other.

  I stared, unmoving, until my cellphone rang. I felt the phone rather than heard it. The smooth vibrations worked through my computer bag against my thigh, and I reached into my bag and lifted out the small device. It was Byron. Big fucking surprise. Undoubtedly, he wanted to continue our argument. The one thing that Byron hates most in the world is losing a fight. I slid the phone back into my bag without answering the call, and then looked up at the screen once more.

  I watched as she continued kissing one man and then the other, and I shifted my hips against the vinyl of the booth, unable to help myself. The vision was more of a turn-on than I would have known. I always see the unexpected at Nora’s clubs. Sometimes you’ll read in the gossip magazines about starlets who dance on bar tops, or slip off their bras and pin them to the ceiling of a local watering hole. There isn’t much left for people to do to shock the A-listers. But Nora always manages to draw in an interesting crowd: drag kings and drag queens, customers whose clothes are literally painted onto their skin, people who come to the club solely to have sex where others can see them.

  That’s apparently what this trio had in mind.

  The girl kissed her blond partner in a way that let me see that they both had pierced tongues. The tiny silver barbells gleamed in the light as the lovely minx just barely touched the tip of her tongue to his. I wondered what it would feel like to kiss someone with metal in their mouth. I could ask Nora. I’m sure she knows. I watched as the girl then backed away from her partners and nodded, giving a silent instruction.

  Instantly, the two men started making out with each other. I caught my breath. It was fantastical, watching the way they embraced, as if under the command of the female member of their party. Even though she was small, she was clearly in charge. There was no doubt about that. She could have been dressed in head-to-toe leather, holding a whip in one hand, and she would have looked divine. But she didn’t need faux dom attire. Her power emanated from within her very person – tiny though she was. I recognised that ability from seeing Nora in action.

  Watching men kiss wasn’t something brand new to me. Art students are by definition liberal. You can’t view naked bodies on a day-to-day basis without being at least somewhat open minded. Still, this sultry threesome was eye-catching, if only for the sheer beauty of the players. I wondered: Was this something they’d agreed upon before heading to the club, or were they strangers, having come together only moments before on the club dance floor?

  Which concept did I find more erotic? The possibility that this was an organic experience – as well as an orgasmic one. Just as Nora, Dean and I had come together unexpectedly, I liked the idea that these players had simply hooked up while dancing, not even knowing one another’s name. But the more I watched, the more certain I felt that this was a fantasy come true for this team of three. That they’d talked it over, planning every move ahead of time, taking the time to discuss their every desire. This concept was sexy, too. Maybe they’d gone out to dinner at one of the better restaurants: Ivy on Robertson, Shecago on Main. Over lobster or sushi or something expensive, they might have talked about what each person hoped to win from the evening.

  Regardless of how the players came together, they were hypnotic.

  I stared, mesmerised, as the two men continued to kiss. They looked so hungry, the way the dark-haired man cradled his blond beau’s face in his hands. The brunette was the top of the two, I could tell, moving his partner to suit his own satisfaction. I hadn’t known I’d find an image like this so sexy. Sure, I liked My Beautiful Launderette, Another Country and My Own Private Idaho. But what did that say about me? That I enjoyed art-house films?

  This was real life, with the men devouring one another, kissing as if they’d never stop. I watched, spell-bound, as they made out. They both had their eyes closed, lost in the total pleasure of the moment, and then the girl joined in, parting them like the sexual choreographer she was, getting in between them. Awestruck, I suddenly realised that I was the only one so intently focused on the room. Yes, the dancers on the floor were watching, but they were also still dancing. I wouldn’t have been able to move from the booth. I was wildly turned on, shifting again in the booth as I sensed how aroused the scenario had made me.

  And then things got sexier still.

  Chapter Five

  The door to the Cinéma Vérité room opened and I realised with a sudden shocked intake of breath that Nora had just entered the tiny space. As if needing to verify the vision on the screen, I looked over at the bar, surprised that she’d been able to pass by the booth with
out my noticing. But I’d been lost in my thoughts, trying to pen them in, make sense of them. Now, I stared as Nora pushed the two men aside and kissed the girl. A raucous wave of approval from the dance floor greeted this new erotic antic. Customers were definitely paying attention now, focused as Nora made her way down the girl’s body, following the zipper on the girl’s vinyl dress with her own berry-glossed lips.

  The blonde closed her eyes and leaned back against the mirrored wall as Nora started to kiss her. I wondered how far my best friend would go. I’ve always known that she likes to divide her attention between men and women. And I’ve witnessed scenarios in the past that let me know she’s fine with more than a bit of exhibitionism. But was she actually going to have sex in that room, right now, with the whole club as her witness?

  Nora’s universe is so alien from mine. Even after ten years as friends, I am still in awe of her ability to captivate those around her. This skill was what made Waxe Wod so popular back in college. Nora sells a bit of herself with each club that she owns. She doesn’t hide behind the scenes, she steps right up to the front of the stage and MCs them.

  I suppose that I shouldn’t have been surprised by her actions. Had I been paying more attention, I would have realised she was planning on playing in public this evening. Nora had worn her white mink fedora to the club. She has a code – she’s described to me in the past – a hat code the way that some gay men and women have hankie codes: bondage top (grey), wants oral sex (light blue), dildo user (light pink). Of course, Nora explained, it also matters which pocket the hankies were worn in.

  ‘But what if you didn’t mean it?’ I’d asked her. ‘What if you just had a cold or something and you tucked a hankie into your pocket and someone –’

  ‘What? Fucked you against the bar? There’s always a discussion first, silly. It’s not like you don’t still have a will of your own. It’s just a way of letting people know what you’re into. It cuts to the chase.’

  With a hat, there was only one choice of how to wear it – no right pocket, or left pocket – and very few people know the codes to Nora’s desires. Only me and a few select bed partners. Still, Nora owns a breathtaking assortment of fedoras. Some are rhinestone studded, others made of mohair. Each one signifies a different desire.

  What might I have if I were to choose a similar code system? A book – that would do it for me. If I had a black book with me, that would mean I wanted … wanted what? Wanted a fantasy life like Nora’s? Wanted Anthony? I didn’t need a book to know that, and apparently Nora had understood what I’d thought were my hidden longings only too well.

  On screen, Nora was now pressed up against the blonde vixen, her hands on the girl’s breasts, her lips still moving over the woman’s slender body. The men stood on either side of the Asian girl, and they were kissing her as well, working their mouths along her neck, down to her breasts, touching and kissing her all over. The girl looked as if she might swoon from the pleasure, as if she would melt away if not for the support of her friends. Nora had her mouth now against the vinyl fabric covering the space between the girl’s thighs. The vinyl looked wet under the bright lights, and I was sure that it was wet for real under Nora’s ministrations, wet on the inside.

  The camera in the room didn’t move. It was set firmly on its pedestal, able to catch only the motions that were within the eye of the viewfinder. So when Nora disappeared out of the screen, the customers on the dance floor had to use their imaginations. Was she moving her way down the pretty blonde’s thighs? And if so, what was she doing down there? We all knew. Of course, we did. But wondering made the concept that much more sexy. I could imagine what Nora was doing. I’d seen her work Dean. I knew that she had well-developed oral skills.

  I stared back at the dance floor, pondering this thought, and I would have stared on longer, but Nora suddenly poked me. I started, as shocked to see her in person as I had been to see her up on the screen, still believing that she was up on screen, off in that room.

  ‘Where were we?’ Nora asked, passing a fresh drink to me.

  I couldn’t believe her. She actually wanted me to get back to my story. Apparently, she’d slipped out of the room stealthily, leaving the trio to their own erotic endeavours, satisfied with playing her role as the match that sparked the flame of lust. Not that they’d really needed her assistance, but they’d definitely enjoyed the help.

  ‘You really want me to keep going?’ I asked her. I saw that her lipstick was slightly smeared, but she still looked plenty put together. The Cinéma Vérité room was still up on the screen, the men now with their shirts off, sandwiching the Asian girl between them.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I was only giving the crowd a little thrill.’

  ‘A big thrill.’

  ‘People expect something special when they come here,’ she said, unconcerned by my shock. I have been at the Pink Fedora often enough to know that she was telling the truth. She makes the gossip rags on a regular basis. Celebrities feel free to let their wild sides show. Nora has a loyal staff. She hasn’t caught anyone selling stories to the grocery-store magazines. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t spill a few choice secrets herself every once in a while – how else to stay at the top of her game?

  ‘Go on,’ she said now, pulling a lip gloss out of her purse and retouching her make-up. ‘You were describing how you felt when you found those papers.’

  I watched as she redid her lips without the help of a mirror. She was using her favourite brand of gloss other than her own, one called Delux Beauty, which is known for naming their lip glosses after men. One of the reasons Nora has so many cosmetics is that she is the head of her own Pink Fedora make-up line. She considers buying cosmetics part of her job. She keeps an antique goblet filled with the different mini-lip glosses at home, each one featuring a different man’s name. Nora has told me in the past how much she likes the concept of having an assortment of her favourite men in her pocket: Edgar, Rowan, Riley, Melvin, Jasper, Marshall, Gus, Antoine. I suddenly wondered if there was a Byron. If there was, she’d have to throw that gloss out.

  ‘Eli,’ she said, pulling me back to Earth. ‘Tell me.’

  How Nora could stay on track like that was amazing. I suppose this ability is also why she can run three clubs at once. She’s eerie in the way she’s able to compartmentalise her different emotions. I’m organised in my work, but disorganised in my feelings. I hesitated one more moment, doing my best to gather up my thoughts. My cellphone throbbed again, and I took the time to see who it was. Nora grabbed it from me.

  ‘Byron,’ she said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Why don’t you go in that room and join the lovers? I’ll take a photo of you and send it to him on the phone, so he can see what you’re up to.’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘We know you’re not so shy,’ she pressed on.

  ‘What we did back at your house is different from barging in on a threesome of people I don’t know.’

  ‘I’ll introduce you,’ Nora teased. ‘The girl is one of my bartenders. This is her night off.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Then why don’t you go into the ladies’ room and take a shot of your ass? You can send that to him. You know, with some text message that says: “Kiss this!” ’

  ‘And then what? He’ll email it to all his friends?’

  She sighed. The things that Nora would do and the things that I am willing to do are often polar opposites. ‘I could send him a picture of my ass,’ she suggested.

  I started laughing. I couldn’t help myself. She would do it, too. If I asked her. If I handed over my phone and told her to email a picture of her derrière to Byron, she would do it in a heartbeat. ‘That’s what friends are for,’ I told her and, when Nora grinned at me and sipped her drink, I could tell that she was pleased by my response.

  ‘Go on, Eli,’ she said, ‘tell me the rest. You’ve been dying to. And then I’ll tell you my big news.’

  It was diffi
cult, but I gathered my thoughts, and then I explained the sensation in the very best way I could. ‘It’s like when you go outside, out in the desert or up in the hills. You can see all the sky, and you think that people have looked up at those stars for thousands of years. It makes you feel tiny, totally insignificant.’

  ‘You speak well after a few drinks, don’t you? You’re positively poetic.’ She wasn’t buying any of this.

  ‘No, it’s not that.’ I flushed. ‘Well, yes, it’s probably that, but also it’s why I work in a museum. You always tease me about becoming as obsolete and unused as the ancient objects I categorise and write about. But I love it. All day long, I’m surrounded by terribly old pieces of art, and I can daydream and think about how long they’ve survived. The fact that they were here thousands of years before us and that they’ll be here, barring other human errors like my fight with Byron, thousands of years from now. After we’ve been reduced to dust.’

  ‘Lovely,’ Nora said sarcastically. ‘Every day you think that? No wonder you’re always wearing those stiff black suits and mundane dresses. You’re fashioning yourself after a mortician. What a morbid way to spend your time.’ She sniffed, disgusted.

  ‘Not morbid,’ I corrected her. ‘It’s not. It’s peaceful.’

  ‘How many papers are there?’ Nora asked, dismissing what I’d just said with an impatient shrug. ‘There must be only a couple to be able to fit into the case with your computer.’

  ‘I left the computer there. I put it on the table and put the papers into the case.’

  ‘You what?’ She looked at me with narrowed eyes, and I could tell that she was trying to guess whether or not I was kidding.

  ‘The computer was totally thrashed. I hit the urn hard enough with the computer bag to shatter the top of the PowerBook.’ I stared at her. ‘Fuck the computer, the papers were more important.’