Venus

Smithsonian Institution. “Holy Eve.” https://www.si.edu/object/saam_1973.130.139.

Lord Byron crumpled up a small piece of paper newly torn out of the moleskin notepad and threw it intentionally out the window of the parked car. It landed among the cigarette butts and dog droppings at the end of the parking lot behind the Home Depot. It was a short distance from there to the Barrel of Dolls, a rail-yard strip club holding it's final domain among the shifting zones between industrial and domestic spaces being carved out in the ever expanding urban trust. For now it was either shop for deck stain or go for a drink at the Barrel, breaking a year or more of abstinence, and take inspiration from the strippers of suburban New York.

Looking out the window into the darkening evening sky was a crescent moon and a bright evening star. That star was Venus, the planet, brightest in January. It wasn't until a day ago that Byron thought about Venus, the planet, always considering it small and distant, though in actuality it was larger and nearer to the earth than Mars. Lord Byron learned this on a radio program earlier in the day so knew where to find it and muse on the circumstance. "She's closer and more alluring," he thought, and this gives rise to possibility. "Which possibility?", Venus answered, but Byron remained silent. "It's not the right time", he thought. The other important and somehow re-configuring fact about the solar system that stayed in Byron's consciousness from that same program was the role of Jupiter, the large one, magnitudes larger and farther, keeping the earth safe from comets and free-roaming celestial debris by acting as a huge gravity sweep for the solar system and pulling in bodies in motion that could otherwise endanger us in their huge elliptical orbits. If these thoughts of celestial bodies were the only ones coming, Lord Byron thought, it would be best to realize both ideas, first pick out some stain to fulfill the practical and then go visit with the chosen few strippers over salty popcorn and watery beer. So it was.

The stain, after careful consideration, would be blue. A darker shade of blue that revealed the pattern of the natural wood beneath. It was either this or the standard red, too red, for the unknowns facing the futures of the place and what it overlooked and what was to be overseen. Blue, however, allowed for the possibility of change, a new dawn, anchored in memory but perhaps more than a memory. That memory cured itself some years ago, I will describe some of them here:

Morning sunshine touches the forest, the apple blossoms, the newly mowed grasses, the slope of a tiered garden, the east facing deck, the window, the kitchenette, the nook, the sleepy faces, the peculator coffee, grandpa's eggs and pancakes, the holy water, Mary, a sliding door, scent of pine needles, the rich dark soil, the soft ferns, a startled grouse, the scent of rain, and all things counter, many shades of life affirming blue.

So blue it was, translucent blue, two of the bigger cans, gripped by soft winter hands, swinging past the tarps and tapes, past the featured power tools, the batteries, the stacked snacks on allure to the beep and pass of the checkout, out into the orange carts, black torrid and neatly stacked autos, between the lines, into the trunk and out. Out to the Barrel and repeat, through the dark corridor, the ID check, the sticky floor, the thump and grind of 80's rock, the reflected neon, rust stained mirror, and hard wooden stool.

Candy came in one motion. "Private dance?," she asked. Byron wasn't sure even for the open one. "Do you want this?", he asked. "It's forty dollars", she replied. He could smell her cigarette breath and glanced down at her dark candy pumps. Her breasts were exposed, supported by a wire frame. Soft white stretch lines ran from her nipples back toward her frayed corset and soft shoulders. Byron had the strongest desire to touch her lips. "Where?", he asked. "First the forty dollars, you can give it to Clive, behind you, the bartender," she gestured. Clive made a glance and plopped an second open bottle of Milwaukee's Best next to his glass, shuffling a small dish of stale salted peanuts closer. In response Byron produced a fifty, clamping it gently under the dish, grabbed the beer and walked with Candy to a back room separated by a split door (the kind that can close but open from the top). Candy pointed to a chair with a small cushion and a wooden back for Byron to sit and stripped down unceremonious to her panties. The light was soft so her skin seemed softer still. She danced in slow motion, turning from behind and arching to accent her form. She turned and climbed on the chair. "You can't touch me," she said as a warning. Byron remained silent and watched her perform looking at her eyes, though she never returned the gaze.

When Candy had finished, she dressed again as unceremoniously as the start and left the room with the top half of the door remaining ajar, leaving her scent of cigarettes and body odor to linger. Byron sat for a long moment before leaving, then walked in one motion straight past the bar without so much as a glance and out into the now dark night. The crescent moon and neighboring planet were too low in the sky and obscured by light from the city to maintain their mention. Byron started the car and headed home, tuning the radio dial to AM classical, Holtz was playing. He grinned at the coincidence but soon his thoughts were back on the deck, the home, and making something of this new reality.

Aldous Harding - Blend (Official Video).