Opening Night – Part 1

Not sure what chapter this is but it’s getting pretty deep. Must not look towards to horizon of the end and stay focussed on getting through the part. It’s the upper arch of the story – it would be at least if I kept track of such things. I can feel it though – so somewhere there’s a nice diagram all drawn out of this thing. Who’s side should be telling this? I like Valerie, and since she just lost her man, it might work well to have her start on it. It’s raining here right now – early again, so lets carry that over and make it a rainy night in San Francisco. I remember writing back then – I filled some fantastic notebooks so everything was right there. I had the experience all put down and stack in those boxes they told me to keep in the basement. When I went down there and found them gone – telling me that the garbage men had taken everything away, I felt my stomach implode. Later I found out that they had taken mostly everything I had and rummaged through it looking for things to sell, then just tossing out the rest on the sidewalk. Not sure what they could have even sold to tell you the truth, but those notebooks had everything in them, and those were discarded because of perceived lack of value. Damn junkies – they really have no idea what their doing. Live just in the immediate. I guess this book is meant to get back at them. Wonder if that’s going to happen or not.

Valerie

Loosing Patrick was liberating. I loved him and, as a woman, love is not the easiest thing to let go. I don’t think you ever let it go, but you move on and carry it with you. Women are stronger like that. We can walk the road with some weight on our backs and not bitch about it. Men have giant vaginas on them for the most part and act like little boys playing guns, crying that it’s not enough or they missed out on something big. I haven’t missed out on anything. That’s the best part about being me – when I finally die – well, even when I lay down to sleep or cum, both of which is like dying just a bit, I’m at peace with what I did to lead up to that moment. Made my money and had my fun and cried over what I’ve lost in this world – everything else is a little silly to me.

That kid Alberto really did a nice job in getting everyone to do their part. I let me highest profile clients know about the event – Nobody who didn’t have their own office or make in the mid six figures was invited. There has to be an exclusive feel to events for them to attract the right people. No middle management allowed at this time. They’d come eventually when we became an entity, but for now – no, just a few select people with money who were looking to exchange it for satisfaction on a grand level.

Vince let us know the best opening time for the event would be 2:00 A.M. and we figured nobody would have problems not going into work the next day if they were high enough up in the corporate ladder. It’s the lower level people who are always there early – that I found out from Alberto, who always dealt only with the workers when he used to make his deliveries not filled with bags of crystal meth. Feel bad about putting him on that road for good when he was only looking to be on there for a moment, but what can you do? People are on all sorts of paths. The plan was for me to arrive at the end and come in with the crowd. I had dressed myself up business awesome (NEED TO INSERT CLOTHES HERE – Nice description) and had taken myself shopping for the entire afternoon. I figured they’d get a kick of being beaten down by one of their own.

There was no light letting people know anything was happening. You not only needed to know, but had to be let in once you knew. We hired a few of Alberto’s more roughneck friends who were out of work and glad to get paid into the night. Once you give money to people, they stop asking questions. Back and forth the discussions had gone on the drugs and whether or not we’d be selling them there. Alberto wasn’t into it at all, but The Photographer (NEED TO GET THIS KID’S NAME DOWN) was pushing for that extra cash. His thoughts were that we could double our intake by having everything ready on the premises.  Vince wasn’t with it at all – he drew the line there because he figured if he got caught doing this, the worst that could happen would be a harsh scolding (after all, who could replace  him? Nobody else knew how to work those damn machines), but if we were dealing there, that means jail time and there’s no fun in that.

In the end, these guys had their own connections with the goods they needed. We agreed to concentrate on the show – it was enough for most of us. The Photographer though, I could tell he was unsettled and wanted more. Everyone wants more. Still, he had his pictures on display throughout the museum. The player piano was put on loop. People started arriving – darting across the Great Highway in their best dressed clothes looking for excitement in the night. I stood just outside the door looking out over the ruins of the old Sutro Baths, which at one time were a roman romping ground of the city’s more liberal folks to come and do whatever they wanted. That’s a good way of putting it. (PERHAPS ON THE REWRITE the idea of the speak easy should come from hanging out in the ruins of the baths).

And here were were about to open up another little palace. The romantic inside of me that gets lost in the black and white old school feel of things likes to think of those people being a higher breed than the ones that were coming in here, but I don’t think that’s really true. Indulgence is rare among working class folks. I think that would be just spending time with their families and not having the little they have taken away from them. Even though I beat people down, drank their blood and left them crying on the floor for a living, I still considered myself working class. I liked relaxing after work.

Vince was milling about inside fixing the blinds that we had put on the windows to keep any light from showing out. He had wanted to dress up, but we convinced him to wear his works clothes and stay in character. People can’t think better of themselves in these situations unless they are above someone. The place was filled nice – not packed, but full. It was time.

I looked out over the ocean devoid of moonlight and thought of Patrick for a moment and how he would have really enjoyed being a part of all this. He had been pushing for us to go bigger, but never doing anything about it. I let out a sigh – allowing myself just a moment of reflection so I could fully feel it all, and then straightened myself up.

It was time to work.

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