<< | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | >>
In each individual, beyond the strata of chemical smoke and perfume and beyond the heavy sweat smells, Vincent began to pick out individual pheromone signatures of states of mind. Here was lust, spiky and sharp, strangely citrus to his nose. A boy alone watched girls in daring party clothes and hatched fantasies about them as he took swigs from his beer bottle, oblivious to his treacherous glands broadcasting his hidden wishes into the air.
A girl with her period, discomfort rising like smoke from her. She smiled with her friends and laughed when they laughed and hid her pain and the darkness of her frame of mind from them. Not from Vincent though, who saw her in his mind unfettered by the visual distractions of flashing lights and fog.
Betrayal was there too, in the landscape of the club. A man out with his friend, trying to persuade two girls to come home with them. Beyond the mellow smells of persuasion and flirtation was fear as his mind drifted sporadically to another he owed his fidelity to. A wife, perhaps, maybe a family too.
All through the complex web of emotions that filled the air with their unique and individual signatures Vincent stalked, he cast aside the familiar detritus of the landfill of human interaction, searching for the one pattern that he’d carefully recorded in his mind.
And then she was there, like a golden coin in the filth.
Vincent passed quickly through the crowd like a breeze. He knew every obstacle, every outstretched leg and turned out elbow and he moved with them and past them like with the grace of a dancer, following the caught scent inexorably towards the bar.
She stood there on tip-toe, straining to identify familiar faces over the heads of the clubbers. She held a glass loosely in one hand, sipping from it occasionally.
Vincent assessed her, rapidly cycling through his repertoire of approaches, searching for suitable beginning. She was looking for someone. Someone she was meeting? Quickly, quickly, before she became complicated and difficult. He bumped her arm, already inwardly groaning at the unoriginality of it. He usually had more style than this.
Her drink tumbled to the dirty carpet of the club, spraying near-by loiterers who hopped comically above the deluge of mixed spirits, their grumbles mostly submerged beneath the music. The girl turned on Vincent, her eyes flaring while Vincent held out both hands apologetically.
“Sorry, sorry!” he yelled.
“Stupid clumsy bastard!” she yelled back.
“Aw, c’mon.” he said, motioning towards the bar. “Get you another one?”
The girl looked at him, angry and then doubtful and then with an indignant righteousness. She nodded sharply.
Vincent propped himself up against the bar and the girl stood beside him.
“Tia Maria and Coke!” she shouted, and Vincent nodded turning to catch the attention of the barman. The barman acknowledged Vincent as he served another customer.
Vincent looked at the girl as he waited. Her eyes were her most striking feature as eyes often were. Hers were green, framed by her errant blonde hair that fell across her face with well-rehearsed allure.