Doormen Confidential

[jack_babalon]

Doormen

A true story that I just made up

The Place: "OUTTA CONTROL", Friday night at 688 Spring Street.
The Time: The early 90's sometime back in the 'Day'.

Rick is sitting on a pilfered barstool, propping open the clubs only source of ventilation - the front door. He's hunched over a well thumbed Elmore Leonard novel and smoking a Basic cigarette. When he's on the clock he wears a 'Hard Man' look the way a Suit might wear hir tie. He frames the scowl perpetual under a tight fitting 'CAT' baseball cap and the drapes of his dirty long hair. I'm sitting on a matching stool of my own explaining the metaphysics of pre-Hollywood John Woo.


Rick's doing his best to tune me out with a fresh murder on page one hundred whatever- but it's no easy task:

"I mean the resurrection symbolism couldn't be more obvious if you tried... in fact we see the same motive being played out in here as we do in all the world myths: eternal actors forced to play the same roles over and over, only the masks and sets change - Osiris, Dionysus, Gilgamesh, Uylsses... all those Fucks. It doesn't matter their name or what particular peril of beast or battlefield they have survived! The result is invariably, the same: The Hero is forced into the Grave Womb of Oblivion by the Adversary, cast into the Pit of Night where not even a flicker of hope is allowed to burn... and it is only there that he will finally be reborn by the flames of his True Will. The result is invariably the same: A bloodbath of both absurd and epic proportions..."

"What's this now?" some part time vampire asks as he fishes out his ID from a chained wallet..

"John Woo's Hardboiled" Rick says with failed stoicism, letting a deep breath out while folding the book around his left index finger and checking the veracity of the card.

He checks the date. The math sliding easily in his head. Places the face on the card to the face in front of him and hands it back: "Five dollars."

"Is that that the Hong Kong one?" he asks obviously oblivious that there might not be more than 'one'.

"Yeah...the 'Hong Kong' one" Rick snorts placing the five in a wad of bills. We don't do the change box. Too easy to lose. Rick's the better bank. He's good friends with both the promoter as well as the owners. That and he has terse sense of honor. Ask anyone. Rick don't steal or squeal.

"Right hand" I cough, the vamp-temp complys, I stamp him on the back of his hand. He skips the 'thanks' opting to venture down the tunnel entrance and disappears into the miasma of chain smoke machines. I click him off on the counter. That's my job.

Hey... Lucky 33!

"... a bloodbath that has literally become a kind of baptism. In fact the bodycount from Tequila's 9mm induced rampage rivals some of the greatest battles of the Illiad itself..."

"I keep tellin' you Jack... it's just a movie. Two super bad ass cops. A psycho gun runner, an army of seriously armed thugs, a killing machine named 'Mad-Dog' and two hours of Ho-Ko action ... what it's not is the 'something-something of the Aeon of Horus'.

"Archetypal Invocation... and it so was!"

"Hey excuse me!" we both look over and there's this lanky kid, bed head, Socialist black rimmed glasses, a Joy Division shirt for an album that's older than him and a smile so nervous you just know somethings up.

"Whatchawant?" Rick snarls. Rick's got a bloodhounds nose for the Bullshit and you best believe he'll bark before he bites... not instead of, as most doormen seem to do in this town.

"Oh- uh... well here's the thing... i'm on the Guest List, right?"

"What's yer name?" Rick asks, leaning down and reaching for the clipboard with the whole 'Who's-who' on it.

"Well... I might not be on there... but I should be..." Rick stops reaching for the board and looks up at me. We exchange glances. His reads: "Man fuck this kid. Tell him to walk, Jack or I will." but mine says "Oh this might be funny, let's hear him out."
My look wins.

"It's stupid, but 'Sin was supposed to put me on the list but I forgot to call him..."

"Well he's right inside" I offer with a diplomatic smile, "Want me to get him?"

"No! I mean, no, man I don't want to be troubling him while he's busy..."

"But you don't mind 'troubling' us?" Rick says in that calm matter that clearly implies he might not be any minute now.

"Oh no, no, no... it's just that..."

"It's just that you aren't on the list. You're probably either too broke or too young to get in and looking at you i'm betting it's a little of both. So you figured you had nothing to lose so you'd come up here with what sounds like the poorest rehearsed bullshit story in the world and see if we were just stupid enough to buy it. Something like that?"

Rick was one of those kids who read a lot of Wolverine and Punisher comics and took to them the way some kids are forced to take to the bible. The kids face go pale. Well paler least ways. He looks like he knows the gig is up and he's just going to slink away but he turns and, Rick & I eyeball tailing him catch this young little Baby Noir Grrl waiting over by the corner of the building that leads into the parking lot. She has her arms crossed and you can see the 'Pissed off' coming off her head in waves. The kid turns back to us.

"Okay here's the deal" he hisses the whisper anxiously, "... she doesn't have an ID and neither do I?"

"Come back when you do." Rick shrugs, already the Elmore Leonard is being opened back up.

"...but I do have a little money on me and I thought maybe..."

"...maybe i'd be willing to lose my job?" Rick doesn't even waste the shrug this time, the pages of the novel are being flipped through.

"How much you got?" Me? I'm always up for a good bribe.

"Ten bucks?"

I make a too bad smile and suck the air through my teeth to hiss out a 'that's not gonna cut it' sigh. I try to explain: "Sorry man but it costs that much apiece to get in. If you had the ID. Which you don't, so i'm going to have to ask you..."

"Okay, just listen to me. Five minutes, okay? Just give minutes! C'mon... there's no one else on line."

"A'ight." I say with a good natured shrug. Rick shoots me 'Fuck You' eyes wide and hostile. "Five minutes Rick..." I say, I lean down and pick up my Nuclear Iced Tea which is down to the last day-glo blue sips clinging for life on the ice. It rattles when I suck it through the straw. Rick lights up another cigarette, regretably having to abandon Elmore once again.

"Look, y'see that girl down there..." he stage whispers and shoots a nod at Baby Noir. We both shrug compliance. "... look i've been trying to get with that for over a year now. I've tried before but... well y'know how that goes. But finally, last week at this party, right, she's got a few beers in her and we got to talking. She tells me how she's been dying to come check out The Room, but she's only 17 and she can't get past the door..."

Rick blinks the international code for 'So what?' at him.

"Well I start talking how I go there all the time... I know I shouldn't have but c'mon... just look at her" we do. Cute. Bit thin for my tastes but I could see why a young mans thoughts would turn her way. "...the next thing I know i'm telling her that I know this guy who knows the guy who promotes The Room and that I could get us in no problem. Now, I know I should've kept my mouth shut, but when she shot me that look.... oh-my-god! So i'm begging you, please, Please, don't send me back there to make an asshole out of myself. Just this once...."

"Sorry. You should've thought of that before..."

"...you've never been a horny teenager that would tell a woman anything she wanted to hear to get laid?" he snaps desperately.

"I didn't have to." Rick says dryly with neither bluff nor bullshit. He can smell it, sure, but he don't give none.

Me though? That's another story completely. Truth be known i've said a lot worse and still ended up taking my palm home like a drunken prom date.

I cut kid off with a single finger. I lean in to Rick. I whisper "aww c'mon let's let him in".

"No!" Rick snaps and turns to the Kid, "Absolutely not. I'm sorry for your troubles, try the Point maybe..."

"Rick, c'mon. Remember when we were stupid punks?"

"I didn't know you when I was a punk, I don't really know you now as a matter of fact so don't be trying some old back in the day bullshit."

"Yeah you do. You know enough. You know i'm at least kinda alright or I wouldn't be up here right now. Just like I know about that story where you snuck into the Lydia Lunch show a few years back and how you always tell that story about how you walked in on her going down on Henry Rollins in the Mens room, whenever you've had more than a beer in you."

Rick and I just stare at each other for a long second. The kid nervously shuffles his weight from one boot to the next. Right now his luck is having a duel. On the side of his getting laid is me. On the side of him being condemned to jerk off to the one who got away Rick is representing. There is no right or wrong here. No karma to collect in bundles of come uppance. There is no reasoning, there is no bargining. There is the reality of the job versus the nostalgia of who we were before the job.

Rick says nothing. He flicks his cigarette out and opens the book to keep reading. We both just stare at him waiting. Finally:
"Well shit, I guess i'm just sitting here reading. So if someone wasn't a complete dumb ass they'd probably grab their woman and head on in before I decide to look up, huh?"

The kid's eyes light up behind the Commie lenses. He waves frantically to Baby Noir, who comes running over at a deceptively quick speed. The Kid goes to say something to Rick, but I shush him real quick and slap the couple with a pair of stamps.

He takes her hand, she let's him. They both walk in, at that exact and only exact moment, they are the two coolest kids in town.

"Your ass if this comes back to us!" Rick says turning a page.

I nod. I drain the cup. I hold it by thumb and forefinger and kick launch it into the street. "... so finally when we see both Protagonists come bursting out of the morgue slab, guns blazing, we realize (on at least a sub-conscious level), that this is Horus in his form as wrathful avenger..."

Rick roles his eyes. Three more hours of his having to sit there and listen to my pot induced drunken ravings while the beautiful people inside seduce each other with attitude and gossip. He gives the slightest, almost imperceptible shrug, as a gesture to the Gods, that may or may not hover on above, that there's worse ways to pay the rent.

Comments

[featherynscale.livejournal.com]

what it's not is the 'something-something of the Aeon of Horus'.
Boy, if I had a dollar for every time somebody's said that to me... ;)

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

Yeah, I was a horribly precocious twenty something. I look back at some of the shit i'd rant about (usually fucked out of my head) and just wince!

I made the dreadful mistake of confusing what i've just read with actual knowledge and would apply it the most god(des) awful ways.:)

Thanks for reading!

Haha!

[destructodeluxo.livejournal.com]

Naw,you werent "that" bad.
Good entertainment & much better than gossip.
Good lil tale there.
Cheers!
Have a great holliday at the folks!

Re: Haha!

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

Thanks man, glad you dug it.

Hope you have a great T-Day yourself!

Re: Haha!

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

I do notice that I script "Rick" like Big Pete Boudurant though:)

Big Pete

[destructodeluxo.livejournal.com]

Hahahaha!
"Big Pete needs a woman,extortion experince prefered"
One of my favorite Ellroy guys of all time!

[mindcontrol23.livejournal.com]

My vague recollections of my ranting days usually involved Quantum Mechanics, Erisian Psycho-Babble and the more improbable depths of Conspiracy Theory. This was usually accompanied by too much cheap vodka and psycho-active substances. Now it is Swedish vodka, the monthly toke and rousing games of "If I was a serial killer...."

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

I didn't rant so much as "Babble" myself as well, which most folks assume is the origin of my online nom de guerre(sp?)

Ahhh to have been on the Livejournals then!

For some reason, I always enjoy the "Rick" stories...

[piratebecky.livejournal.com]

He's hunched over a well thumbed Elmore Leonard novel and smoking a Basic cigarette. When he's on the clock he wears a 'Hard Man' look the way a Suit might wear hir tie. He frames the scowl perpetual under a tight fitting 'CAT' baseball cap and the drapes of his dirty long hair.

Yeah, he's a handsome motherfucker, all right...

Just like I know about that story where you snuck into the Lydia Lunch show a few years back and how you always tell that story about how you walked in on her going down on Henry Rollins in the Mens room, whenever you've had more than a beer in you.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Oh, holy shit, I have heard "that story" so many times... oh god, my eyes are tearing.

You should be the Poet Laureat of our home "Casa de Scorpio" as you can capture the essence of a person, place or situation like nobody else.

Kick Ass, Jack.

Re: For some reason, I always enjoy the "Rick" stories...

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

Well thank you kindly ma'am (and a happy belated birthday as well - two Scorpio's under one roof? I can only imagine:))

[efire360.livejournal.com]

Damn, I missed you on a $5 night?

[jackbabalon23.livejournal.com]

I was just the assistant doorman. No one really noticed me there (no regrets) but thinking back I think it was 5$ if you were attired properly and ten otherwise.