Temujin's Journal

by
Jason Temujin Minor

Clint Winters will earn his kill tonight. He knows his prey and is an expert hunter. He’s been on this hunt for twenty years now and has lost count of his trophies. Sure, there are plenty of younger bucks out there, but experience is his edge.  Besides, he’s still a damn good-looking man – and he does say so himself. Clint knows he is cunning, smooth, and charming. His tactics have proven sound and he knows they will serve him again. Clint Winters knows a great many things, but what he doesn’t know is that tonight is going to change his life forever.

The chaotic sea of people undulates to the rhythmic THUMP, THUMP of the base and the dimly lit dance floor bursts with sudden flashes of strobe lights. This is his hunting ground and, with his chest out, his shoulder and pelvis thrust back, Clint struts through it like a king. He adjusts his Ray-Ban sunglasses and flashes his cocky grin from one shapely form to another, scanning for the right target. The choice of this club is no accident. The Millennium is pricy and upscale, enough to scare some of the bucks away. They also have a strict policy of letting only the young and beautiful does past the ropes. Clint feels like a fox in a henhouse. His fine charcoal gray, mohair suit catches the strobe lights, giving it a subtle sheen. His purple tie draws attention to the single white rose pinned on his lapel and invites conversation. They set him apart from the gaudy silk shirts and gold necklaces of the younger bucks, denoting Clint Winters as a player with class. To emphasize this point, Clint maneuvers between couples, whenever he can, to steal a quick dance with some buck’s date. It reminds them who is boss.

The first catch of the night, Clint thinks, eyeing a fine little thing who might be all of twenty-one. She dances alone next to one of the mirrored columns that outline the dance floor. The mirrors are another reason he likes the Millennium, Clint enjoys watching himself play the game. The girl’s platinum blond hair is the first thing to catch his eye, and then it’s her soft round face, pert breast, and thin waist. But when Clint sees the glazed look in her eyes and the half-empty drink in her hand, he knows she is ripe for the taking.  Before he wades into battle, Clint double-checks his arsenal. In his right trousers’ pocket, he keeps a small drawstring baggy filled with condoms, some lubricated, some not, and some flavored. He also carries a tube of Binaca, a small bottle of his Yardley cologne, and enough cab fair to get him home. His left pocket is “Plan B.” Here he keeps a similar drawstring baggy containing narcotic seduction – a vile of cocaine, a couple hits of ecstasy, and a joint or three. Clint finds these to be affective and far more subtle than Roofies. It’s excessive but all’s fair in lust and whores.

He sways up next to her and flashes his killer smile. She backs away a bit but doesn’t run. The prey is spooked but Clint can tell she’s intrigued. “My, my, you’ve got some moves there, sweet thing.” He nudges closer. “Looks like you’re running a little dry. How’s about I fill you up?” He motions towards her glass and starts to wink but remembers he’s wearing sunglasses and arches his eyebrows instead.

“Ahh…real nice, I don’t think so…” She flips her hair aside, turns, and stumbles off.

Clint admires her firm round ass and strong calf muscles as she teeters away. He feels a small pang of disappointment. To hell with it, she wasn’t really his type anyway. The dance floor is dead, Clint decides, and makes his way to the bar. Maybe Stan is working. He always knows where the best action is, and he gives Clint half-priced drinks.

“Stan, Stan the bartendin’ Man! The usual please,” Clint shouts across the bar. Stan is typical for the Millennium, young, good looking, and everybody’s friend.

“How’s the “P” train tonight, Clint the Flint?” Stan slides a Gin and Tonic in front of him.

“Just gettin’ started, my friend. But don’t you worry; I’ll be takin that train through the tunnel before the night’s out!” Clint fashions a couple of guns with his thumbs and index fingers. He lets off a couple of shots to emphasize his point.

“No doubts about that, my man, no doubts.” Stan’s smile has the look of someone amused by a joke only he is in on.

“Any hints? Who’s vulnerable?” Clint says with a conspirator’s whisper.

“Actually, it’s pretty cold tonight, not a lot of play around, just a lot of cock-teasers. Your best bet might be the brunette in black at the end of the bar.” Stan gestures, “She’s a bit older than your usual fair but she IS looking. Been looking all night.”

Clint casually lets his eyes wonder to the other end of the bar. There, he stops and cannot look away, there he sees the most beautiful woman he has ever encountered. Her hair is a handsome shade of brown and falls like silk, framing her perfectly chiseled face. Her figure is without flaw, thin in all the right places, round and firm in all the others. He feels a momentary stillness within him, as if every part of him stops to appreciate the view. He tells himself to breathe again. She is a lot older than his typical catch. Still, she is probably five or six years younger than him and that gives him some confidence. Only a little, his palms have actually started to sweat. “SHE has been looking all night?” Clint asks.

“Yeah, not for lack of options, she’s attracted lots of attention. Just picky I guess. But who knows? Maybe you got what she’s looking for.”

“Oh I got exactly what she’s…looking for.” It is a typical comment for Clint but, as he takes in the angel at the end of the bar, it feels a little flat in his mouth.

Before Clint can summon the courage to make his approach, a handsome young stud beats him to the punch. The guy is clearly and experienced player and Clint’s heart sinks. Normally, he would just slide his net on to the next fish…but he wants THIS one tonight, not just anyone. The woman listens quietly and without noticeable expression, to her suitor’s pitch. She studies him from head to toe, poker face unchanging, and saying nothing. The stud finishes, smiling, he’s confident. She just continues to look him over. At last, she looks the stud in the eye, shakes her head “no,” and then turns back to her drink. The stud shouts something nasty but she ignores him.

“I told you man, picky!” Stan cracks up laughing and Clint wonders if this is a set up. Did Stan point this woman out so he could have a good laugh when she rejects Clint? He’s never been suspicious of the bartender in the past but this was a night of firsts. For instance, tonight is the first time since he was in high school that he has been afraid to talk to a woman.

“What is she drinking?” Clint asks, hoping to find an in.

“You still want to take a run at her after seeing that, huh? You are brave, my man, very brave. Get ready for this…she’s drinking water.”

“Water? You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Nope,” Stan smiles at Clint’s look of defeat. “Hey my man, don’t let it stop you. Like I said, she’s looking, I can tell. And I would bet that she’s looking for someone just like you.” Again, Clint wonders if Stan is setting him up.

“What makes you say that?”

“Bartender’s intuition. Hey, I see a lot from behind this bar; you start to get a feel for these kinds of things.” Stan can see Clint needs a little more encouragement. “Come on, my man, what’s the worst that can happen? Sure, she’s hot but she’s just another club chick. She puts her panties back on one leg at a time like all the rest. Don’t tell me the Pussy Pirate has lost his nerve?”

Clint doesn’t know why but he is a little offended by Stan’s characterization of the woman. He also realizes that Stan has thrown down the gauntlet and Clint must answer. He finishes off his drink and stands. “One thing you can set your watch too, my friend, Clint Winters will never lose his nerve over a woman. I know you think you’ve seen a lot from behind that bar but sit back and watch, because you are going to see something new tonight.”

“Now that’s what I’m talkin about, my man! Yeah!” Stan cheers and slaps Clint on the shoulder. “Take her down, baby, take her down!”

“She won’t know what hit her.” Clint says as he turns to make this woman his. It’s all bravado. Clint is actually scared. Fear is something he cannot have. He cannot let a woman have that kind of power over him – it would be fatal. He has to meet her. He has to conquer her. And if he can’t…where does that leave him? Just a washed up, old player, who lives alone, pathetic and unwanted. No that was NOT who he was and he would prove it.

On his way into battle, Clint composes his line of attack but nothing seems to work. “God must be crying tonight, his best angel has escaped.” Too cliché. “Beauty like yours is only missing one thing…me.” Too aggressive. “Excuse me miss, I don’t want to bother you but could you point out your date, I want see the luckiest guy in the world. Oh, you’re alone? That’s a crime we must remedy.” He is toying with the last line when Clint realizes he is standing next to his prey, and has nothing prepared. Before he can say anything, she turns her perfectly structured poker face towards him, fixes him with the most brilliant blue-green eyes, and says nothing. She waits.

“I…I was just watching you…from over there, admiring you I mean…” he pauses. This is not going well. Her face betrays nothing. Should he struggle through or just go away? He feels humiliated and decides to wrap it up quickly. He takes his sunglasses off and looks her in the eye, “You seem like an extremely interesting woman. I would love to share a drink and get to know you better…if you’d allow me.” She begins to look him over as she did the stud. Clint feels small, scrutinized, and painfully aware of his every flaw. She is grading him, as Clint has graded so many others. What has happened here? He is not supposed to be on this side of the fence. Nevertheless, he stands his ground and awaits her eventual rejection – he is not in her league, he is not suitable, he is not worth her time. Then, her poker face breaks into the single most brilliant smile Clint Winters has ever seen or will ever see.

“Refreshing” She whispers.

Clint actually feels his heart flutter. He hasn’t felt like this since he was a teenager and it is…refreshing. She used the perfect word. He can only smile at her in astonishment.

“You said something about a drink?” She doesn’t break eye contact and continues to smile.

“Oh, yeah, another wat…ah, what would you like?”

“What do you drink? I’ll have that.” She pushes her water away.

“Do you like Vodka or Gin?”

“Vodka”

“Stan!” Clint raises his had to get the bartenders attention. It isn’t hard; Stan is staring at them in awe. “One Vodka Tonic and another Gin and Tonic.” Stan shuts his mouth and gives him a nod.

“Is that okay?” Clint asks.

“It sounds delicious.” She places her elbows on the bar and rests her chin on interwoven fingers. “Are you going to have a seat and introduce yourself?”

“Well that would be the next step, huh?” Clint laughs at himself as he takes the seat next to her. “Clint Winters is the name. I am pleased to meet you Miss…”

“Carolyn Summers,” She gives him a wink.

“You’ve got to be kidding, that can’t be your real name?” Clint hopes she isn’t having him on.

“I’m afraid it is, mister Winters.” She turns in her chair to face him. Clint is able to take her all in, from her angled face to the elegant cross of her legs. The black sequined evening dress is classy and clings to her form. It provides an amazing view of her cleavage. There is a small mole at the base of her long neck where it meets the collarbone. Clint has an instant urge to kiss that mole and work his way down. He closes his eyes to regain his composure.

“Well I guess we are two of a kind,” He manages and hopes the comment makes sense even if it isn’t funny. He considers adding something like; your warm summers can heat up my cold winters anytime, but thinks better of it.

“Maybe so,” She smiles. It isn’t a laugh but it will do. She glances down at his sunglasses and Clint realizes he is fumbling with the Ray-Bans. He considers putting them back on – he would feel more in control if he did. Instead, Clint tucks them into his shirt pocket. “Good choice,” she gives him a devilish look. “I do so love a man’s eyes”

Clint feels naked and encouraged all at the same time. He also sees the opening. “Really, so what do you see in my eyes?” He normally wouldn’t care about her response – it was just banter – but with Carolyn, he is actually afraid of what she might say.

“I see someone who came here tonight with one expectation, probably the same expectation you have most nights you go out. You are all dressed up and you have that rose on your lapel because you know women just love weddings. You know they will ask about the rose. You’ll make up a romantic, picture-perfect wedding in which you were the best man or a groomsman. It will fulfill their expectations and you’ll have your in. But now, something is different. You are a little off your game and don’t know exactly what to do.” She looks at him very seriously. Clint is speechless. Carolyn has laid him all out. Was it playful ribbing or did she just toss him on the pile along with the last stud who wanted a piece of her? As he debates what his response should be, Carolyn throws him a lifeline. “Could I be that something, Mister Winters?” She is being coy now, fishing, and that gives Clint some footing.

“Wow, uh, yeah, you are truly something. Yes, something special and new.” Clint blushes. My god, what is happening to me? Stan finally shows up with the drinks.

“A Vodka Tonic for the lovely lady and a Gin and Tonic for the luckiest guy in the club.” Most girls would eat up such remarks but Carolyn seems unmoved by Stan’s repartee.

“Keep the change and thanks, Stan.” Clint slips him a twenty.

“Sure, no problem my man,” Stan hurries off, perturbed by Carolyn’s reaction.

“So, are you married Mister Winters?” her complete focus is back on Clint.

“Please call me Clint, and there are no rings on these fingers.” He says showing her both hands, his fingers opened wide.

“That wasn’t the question, Clint.” Smiling, she arches an eyebrow to tell him she is interested but doesn’t care for indirect answers.

“No, I am not married Miss Summers…”

“Carolyn.”

“Carolyn then. I was married once, for three years, but it didn’t work out.” He says taking a drink for courage.

“Do you still keep in touch with your wife?” Her comment causes him to choke and he coughs up some of the liquor.

“Ah no…lord no!” Clint wipes his chin and tries to compose himself. “That was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. She had…issues.”

“Don’t we all.” Carolyn smiles; it is kind and sweet. His vision swims a little.

“I guess we do.”

“So, any girlfriends, anybody important?” She is all business again.

“No, nobody that matters. How about you, Carolyn, any boyfriends or husbands I should be looking over my shoulder for?” He takes another big gulp from his drink.

“No, never married and my boyfriends come and go.” She sips from the stir straw in her vodka tonic. Clint thinks of an off-color remark to her last statement but bites it back.

“Well that surprises me. I would have figured a woman as beautiful as you could have any husband she wanted.”

“Well I’ll take that as a compliment but I haven’t found the husband I want yet.” Clint doesn’t know how else she can take his remark but doesn’t care to call her on it.

“All the luckier for me, then,” he sees her blush a little but maybe it’s his imagination.

“We’ll see about that.” Another devilish grin from Carolyn sends Clint’s blood to his collar.

“Ah, I…” He is stuck again, the usual vault of comebacks and innuendos failing him. He tries to un-stick himself but there is just dead air. “So…what do you do for a living, Carolyn?” Is the best Clint can come up with and Carolyn smiles.

“I’m in marketing. I find ways of making crap irresistible.” She laughs at her own joke. It’s a quick, lyrical, laugh – but intoxicating. “And what do you do, Clint?”

“Well, I do something similar. You could say I am a freelance traveling sales man.” She leans in closer to him and he can smell her perfume, sharp yet feminine. It makes it hard for him to concentrate. “I travel around the world and sell corporations on the encryption software my company invented.”

“So you are a software writer?”

“I was but this particular software was the brainchild of my partner. He retired off the patents and now I sell it to the highest bidder. I sell, sell, sell, and then I cut him a check, take a few months off to enjoy myself and then hit it again.” Clint realizes that he is running on and wraps it up. “Not the most interesting profession but it leaves me with a lot of free time.”

“Oh, it sounds pretty good to me. But it does sound a bit lonely. Any family?”

“A brother who lives in Akron, Ohio but we…rarely talk. Our parents died when we were teenagers.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Carolyn looks deep into his eyes and puts her hand on his knee. It sends chills up Clint’s spine.

“That’s alright…how about you; you say that you’re in marketing? Anything I might have seen?” He gulps down the rest of his drink and Stan is there with another.

“Well, it’s funny you should bring that up.” Carolyn’s look becomes playful as she takes a second sip of her drink.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I just did a hell of a marketing campaign for the very suit you are wearing. It was some of my best work.” She smiles and waits to see if he catches on.

“Really, well…” Clint remembers what she makes irresistible and understands why Carolyn is being playful. “Ah, okay, so my suit is crap. Well you must be really good at your job then because I had to have it.” Clint throws up his hands theatrically and Carolyn burst out laughing. Her laugh is so beautiful and infectious he can’t help but join in. They laugh together and tears well up in Carolyn’s eyes.

“I think I like you, Clint.” She says dabbing at her eyes with a napkin, slightly smudging her mascara. Clint suddenly has wings. Nothing she could have said would have made him any happier. In his head, he can hear Stan, Stan the Bartendin’ Man cheering: “Now that’s what I’m talkin about, my man! Yeah! Take her down, baby, take her down!”

***

The crowd at the Millennium began to thin out around 2:30am. By 4:00am, only a handful of people remained. Clint and Carolyn sat in the same place, talking as they had all night. Clint was dunk by now and Carolyn was nursing her second drink. He was also in love and it wasn’t just the alcohol. He would never tell Carolyn that. Never tell a woman you love her until you’ve dated for at least a year. That was his rule.

Clint told her about his parents dying in a car wreck and how the State moved him and his brother from foster home to foster home. A kindly old couple finally adopted them. Clint lived with the couple for five years before going to college. Clint also told her about his first wife. It had started out good. Then he came home to find his wife in bed with his brother. It destroyed his marriage and he didn’t speak to his brother for years. He did try to patch things up once but it was too late. Carolyn was sympathetic and kind. She listened to every word. He told her things he had never told anyone, let alone a woman.

Carolyn opened herself to him as well. She told Clint about her childhood, growing up in New Jersey and then moving to upstate New York. She told of how her mother was committed for a short time due to an unknown illness. It was just Carolyn and her father and they never got along. She left home and worked her way through college. She wanted to become a famous artist, however, advertising “paid the bills” so that’s where she’s been stuck ever since. Carolyn told him about the artwork she does on the side. It is a form of sculpture but her style isn’t for everyone and she can never find a buyer. Carolyn continues to do the work, it pleases her if no one else.

That was when Carolyn mentioned how much she would love to show him her studio, it wasn’t far and there was a bed. As late as it was, he could just spend the night…if he wanted to. Oh, he wanted to, he really wanted to. Stan was in his head again; “Take her down, baby, take her down!” But he also knew he wanted more than the usual “wine and dine, bump and grind, see ya ‘round next time.” He wanted to see Carolyn again and again, for the rest of his life. He wanted to say to her “I would love to see your studio and spend the night making love to you, but I think I’ll escort you home, gently kiss your perfect red lips – if you’ll allow me – and say goodnight. Because I don’t want just one night, I want them all.” But Clint couldn’t say that. What if he had miss read her? What if she wasn’t talking about sex? It sounded obvious but he was drunk and didn’t trust his judgment. Clint would look like a fool if he presumed wrong. Even more than that, however, was the primal truth. He wanted her. He could not live with himself if he passed up this chance. In the end all he said was, “I would love to see your studio.” She smiled, looked deep in to his eyes, and gently bit her lower lip. She laid her hands on his shoulders and ran them down the length of his arms. Carolyn took his hands and guided him to the door. As she tugged him out into the street, he remembered his “Plan B” pocket. That would bring up questions he didn’t want to answer. Clint slipped his left hand free and threw the bag of drugs into a trash bin. He felt the weight lift off his shoulders. It was refreshing.

***

Carolyn fumbles with the lock and swings open the metal plated door. The studio smells of mildew, turpentine, and clay. The room’s only light comes from the moon, shining through the windows. Clint can see the outline of a bed and several small and misshapen silhouettes standing around which he assumes are her sculptures. The floor is too shiny. Clint realizes she has covered it in plastic and supposes it protects from the paints and clay artists slop around. Carolyn embraces him in a long, passionate kiss. Her firm breasts press into his chest and her silky tongue slips into his mouth. Carolyn’s lips are soft and moist against his and Clint feels himself grow hard. Her hands explore his body and slips off his mohair jacket. She unbuttons his shirt and pulls it down to his waist. The Ray-Bans fall to the floor but Clint doesn’t notice, not that he would have cared. He steps back and unhooks his belt. Carolyn slides out of her dress and thong in one move. She peals her bra away and stands like a carved statue. Carolyn smiles. The prize is unwrapped and Clint can only marvel at the vision before him. The pale moonlight reflects off her exquisitely formed and erect nipples, turning her soft skin into alabaster. Clint has never been so aroused in his life. Carolyn moves in and pulls his pants down. She kisses her way from his slight potbelly to his enlarged penis and takes him in her mouth. Her hot breath and wet tongue send Clint’s eyes to the back of his head. Just when he is about to burst, she pulls him to the floor with more strength than he expected – the plastic crackles under their weight. With her hands clenched behind his head, Carolyn pulls him on top of her, forcing his mouth to hers. They kiss deep and a trail of saliva stretches between them when they break, it glistens in the moonlight. “I want you in me!” She says through clenched teeth. Clint slides himself inside her and warm electricity flows up through his body. They push in and out of each other in one fluid motion, slowly at first, then faster, and harder until they each explode in orgasmic chaos.

Then Carolyn shows Clint her artwork.

***

Sara McClosky is getting a late start. It is noon and she’s already missed her morning meeting.  That’s what she gets for staying out late. Sara slings her black leather purse over her shoulder, picks up the large shopping bag by its handles, and locks the apartment door behind her. It has taken six trips to get everything packed but this is the last one and Sara is exhausted.

Outside, Sara opens the trunk of the old rusted, brown Buick. She pulls a bundle, wrapped in newspapers, out of the shopping bag. It is about the size of a basketball and Sara tosses it into the trunk with the other wrapped bundles. She is satisfied but takes one more peek in the shopping bag to be sure. Something has slipped out. Sara reaches in and pulls out a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses. There is a small reddish-brown spot on the right lens. Sara frowns. The glasses were really too much, she spotted him the second he came into the club. How could she not? Strutting around like some absurd peacock. Sara hated peacocks. She starts to throw the sunglasses into the trunk and then pauses. He wasn’t all-bad, he gave her a laugh and he made a wonderful canvas. She pulls a tissue from her purse and scratches the lens clean. She inspects them again to make sure they are unsoiled and slips on the sunglasses. Wow, she thinks, this must be how he saw the world. Sara takes a deep breath and savors the moment.

The beeping PDA reminds her of the Jacobi and Rusmire pitch, it’s her baby and Sara can’t miss it. She checks her watch. If she leaves now she might beat the traffic. There is no choice really; she’ll have to dispose of the peacock later. She tosses the soiled tissue into the trunk and slams it shut. She digs through her purse, searching for her keys and finds them resting against the two spongy globes she had wrapped carefully in a cloth napkin. Souvenirs to remember last night’s fun – Sara does so love a man’s eyes. The keys belong to the blue Honda Civic parked across the street. This is her “day job” car, the one her co-workers know about, the one registered in her name.  She clicks the remote to unlock the Civic, grabs the empty shopping bag, and climbs in. Sara laughs to herself as she fastens her seatbelt – Carolyn Summers – that was a good one. Maybe next time she’ll pick Carolyn Winters.

End