Plexus

Power Of Suggestion

Power Of Suggestion

It was a spring night, but was one of those piquant evenings that suggested a cool midsummer evening. As if his skin could not differentiate between the humidity and sweat, Vincent was forming a slick layer of dew directly behind his shoulder blades. It clung to his freshly pressed ivory shirt as he casually walked towards Reductionelle, or simply the Elle. Vincent lived for the perfect mixture of hugging warmth and a caressing cool breeze. It was ecstasy to his entire being, and he smirked with only the slight disappointment he could not take full advantage of this weather beachside with a carafe of black Russian and a delectably roasted cigar.

That must be what retirement is like, Vincent concluded as he was thrust back into reality by the greeting of the professionally clad doorman. This was a necessary indoor evening though, one to be spent with a true friend at the most subtly exotic gentleman’s venue within the city. Tonight signified as much business and pleasure that could possibly mix within professional and friendly standards. It was Vincent who had arranged the meet anyway, and justly so.

As the unassuming outer door was held and the secondary opened, the fresh velvet rope was at once unhinged upon his recognition. Indeed, he was a frequent visitor, but not in the sense that spilt pockets, made noise, or grossed time chasing the talent on stage or behind the skirted black curtains in the corners. This was an exotic meeting place, and only a handful held the distinction of instant recognition, simply from poise, charisma, and a heavy tipping hand that did not stop with the double entry, servers, or stage. There was no need to stop at the bar, but only make eye contact with the tender and tip his hat to signify that Vincent’s ordinary first round was to be served immediately: a black Russian on the rocks. No lapping waves caressed off a tropical ocean breeze, but this environment was still atop his favorites.

Vincent made his way to the left corner booth. It was the center one of five, each professionally sewn with plush leather over deep padding and boasting an extremely high back with curling sides. The openings to the booths were opposite the stage, giving the appearance of truncated eggs. The booths were also able to swivel round 360 degrees via a hand-operated lever which connected to a central pivot column, and metal tracks in the floor. They offered complete seclusion from sight of the entire interior, save for the side waiter station that was positioned to specifically look after the handful of these secluded booths. Not only did they offer isolation if one was inclined to pay for and ‘speak’ with one of the many talented dancers in private, but for actual conversation as well. Vincent was surprised to see a gentle and weathered face already occupied the booth.

Vincent was always first to arrive at meetings he set, a punctual standard he had adopted over a decade ago. The early arrival of Francis indicated that he understood the reason for Vincent’s call. Francis immediately stood with a broad smile, accentuating the golden complexion, procured from years of Florida vacations, that curled up at the lip edges and embraced Vincent with his surprising elderly strength. As Vincent removed his outer suit jacket and sat, the side waiter had already delivered his drink and, as a formality, was again cleaning out the two large glass ashtrays.

“Another please,” said the familiar glossy voice of Francis, “but more olives and their juice.” Francis did not use the term ‘dirty’ within these walls, as he felt it demeaning.

“Certainly sir,” was the reply of the short and stout side waiter as he briskly exited their sight.

As was their tradition, they both calmly sat back in the incredibly plush and comfortable accommodations and lit their respective cigarettes with their respective plated Zippo lighters. As they rotated the booth to face the stage, they sucked in the delicious smoke and absorbed the talented scenery in silence. The club was decadent and classic. There was plethora of black and deep red leather, and velvet garnished by polished silver, not the tacky gold. The polished black granite and highly reflective floor projected the downcast multi-colored lights and bounced flavorfully off the silver linings. The music originated from several large loudspeakers that surrounded the meeting of the upper walls and ceiling. A swanky big band projected, loud but not deafening, which of course allowed for conversation at a normal tone within. The combination of the music, the dark, vaulted ceilings and the décor lent the club a feeling of freedom and conviviality.

Francis broke first, clearly eager to commence with conversation. “Much better than the office drool.” As Vincent smirked at the coy opening, Francis wasted no time in continuing, “Surprised you were not on time, this time.” A professional jab at Vincent’s strict adherence that Francis knew so well, but also signified that Francis desperately needed this meet by way of playful banter. Francis was clearly still in his professional clothing, a plain yet smart grey single-breasted suit covering a fresh white shirt and brown, pinstriped tie. The smoke from his light aromatic Turkish blend wafted towards Vincent, a delectable mixture that Francis specially imported on a regular basis.

Vincent replied, “Glad you could see your way out of the office today,” then paused to puff his American blend. The mention of the office signified that the preliminaries were over, so Vincent commenced with the real purpose of the evening’s discussion. “I am terribly sorry for the loss. While I met Irv only a handful of times, those interactions paled in comparison to the multitudes of his actions, and his work, that I have heard and seen results of. I know the genesis of Plexus stemmed from after the war, and as such pulled a lot of heat and subsequent volatility with it. I have also heard and read enough clippings to deduce that you and Irv were the two driving forces that eradicated such abrasiveness, working your tactical wartime intelligence approach. I can only imagine what your eyes have seen, and your hands have done. One thing is for certain and well understood throughout,” Vincent raised his glass towards Francis, “is that what Plexus is today is a result of both your efforts.”

The responding face hinted sorrow by the squinting eyes. “Thank you for your condolences.” They were interrupted by the arrival of Francis’ second drink, which was cause for a cheers and large swallow between them. Once the side waiter had taken several steps away, he continued, “Irv was a rare man. The term preceptor does not do justice to the lengths he took me on. More like an affluent mentor that widely opened my eyes to the world.” His gaze was no longer on Vincent but had drifted to the intoxicating woman on the stage. “The zenith of a tradesman and trade crafter. A true honor to have even met him, let alone to have such camaraderie throughout the war and peacetime.” He paused for a puff and swig, and Vincent echoed his movements to show he was intently listening.

“You will rarely ever meet such a man. Less than a handful in my life’s endeavors for sure.” Francis’ voice trailed as he continued to watch the stage, but quickly redirected back to Vincent’s motionless gaze. “But like any man, there are limitations. Limitations that can stem or sprout from any front, and any branch of life. It was the revolutionary surgery, here in America anyway, that gave him his extra year.” Francis seemed to disregard Vincent’s questioning half-c****d head and tilted eyebrows. “Of course, you would have never heard of this. Great lengths were taken to ensure that no one would.” He took another long swing and short pull at his cigarette. “It was his heart. A buildup of plaque constricted the arteries that supplied his heart muscle. They took other vessels and surgically installed them to bypass these diseased ones, allowing proper nutrient flow to the muscle. Coronary bypass grafting they call it.”

Vincent finished his first drink and placed it on the edge of their table, signal enough for the side waiter once more. “But Irv knew it wasn’t a cure! Damn it, he knew he needed to rest with the short time he had left.” Francis started chuckling and gave into a full laugh, which informed Vincent his deep reminiscence was complete. “Arlene is an amazing woman. A true wife to him, which he told me, and I witnessed on multiple occasions. But wow! They must have had some humdinger of a night!” He chuckled some more, “I would have been more worried for her, but when I visited the following day, she was the one that joked to me, saying how she killed him with s*x!”

Despite the tragedy, Francis’ line was too good! They both burst into a short laughter. Francis then seemed to simply summarize, “I’m going to miss him. It’s going to be extremely difficult and tedious to fill his shoes. But that’s on my plate now. And no need to discuss it further.” No matter Vincent’s thoughts or feelings on the matter, the subject was clearly closed.

The pair caught up over several more rounds for the next hour. The wonderful kind of conversation between best friends that is riddled with laughter, personal insights, and where time erodes as if it had been minutes. Vincent treasured these times with Francis, especially at this club where Francis was slightly looser due to the lack of listening ears. After their conversation had died down to a long pause, Vincent noticed Francis take a longer pull at his drink than he had over the past hour. Vincent waited for it.

“How are you really doing? I know we don’t talk about her much, but it’s been almost four years.” Francis was referencing Vincent’s late wife that was stripped of him and the world by a tragic automobile accident on her way home from work. Vincent had been devastated, and his well-being was an emotional scab that kept peeling, although the continuance of time lessened each dehiscence.

“Getting along. Some evening flings, but, then again, some nights get very lonely and desolate. Still pissed really. f*****g penny pinching manufacturer assholes.”

Francis let the air between them go to silence. “A while ago I read a newspaper article that the factory of a prominent automobile manufacturer was broken into, and the police found some exposed damning evidence of the company in their hunt for the perpetrator.”

“Read that one too. Should send a thank-you card to whoever did it,” Vincent replied indifferently as he casually puffed his cigarette. “But I know what you’re hinting at. Yes, is the answer. I just have not met anyone of caliber, which would be the first step on a daunting emotional road. Pointless to entertain the rest.”

“Well young man, I never considered myself a match-maker so to speak. However, I do believe I met someone who might fit the bill.” Francis was carefully watching Vincent’s expression, which was not disguised. Francis had never suggested someone, and both knew it. The weight of this slight recommendation was severe. “First, I must deliver the caveat. I know the strength of our friendship, and how deep it has delved in the past on a few of those murky, but necessary situations.” As Francis lit another cigarette of his light aromatic blend, Vincent continued his questioning gaze. “I have only flexed this rule in the past, and now I have decided to completely rupture it, if you agree. It is the protocol of us, and our group. If we continue, know I am broaching the Plexus person’s identity protection clause... and carrying you right with me.”

Wow! This multi-leveled comment shocked Vincent. The intensity of this necessitated a fresh cigarette. Francis realized that Vincent had grasped the gravity. He calmly sat back, turned his gaze to the stage, and waited for Vincent. This Plexus clause was not to be reckoned with. It ensured the personal anonymity of those within Plexus. The clause dictated compartmentalization protection for the constituents, unless it was their own agreement and accord to attend a rare gathering. The group was founded on this principle, so as to not allow personal information to be used as leverage in any deal, or to be told or sold to outsiders.

It was clear that this woman, who ever she is, was a part of Plexus. Francis was now in the sole position of managerial power within the city and had chosen to break this clause for a deep friend not seventy-two hours into his singular reign. Francis’ offering was clearly one of bond towards Vincent and his well-being. In the face of crossing this line, Francis and Vincent already knew that if Vincent were to repeat the conversation it would be fatal for him. But again! For Francis to even suggest someone was immense, and the additive of potential ripples indicated volumes. Vincent was on board. He leant forward and raised his glass towards Francis. The gesture was all that was needed.

Francis reciprocated with clinking his own glass and they both lit fresh cigarettes in their chain-smoking frenzy. “She came to me yesterday to pay respects per protocol. I previously had only seen her file and photograph and was highly impressed even with those items. She was even more stunning in the flesh. Always keeping my boy in mind, I harmlessly probed to discover that she is indeed single.” Another round of drinks arrived. “Needless to say that your meeting must appear natural, so I will only supply her work office address and last name, and you can take the baton.”

Francis would occasionally offer challenges for Vincent’s undertaking as a part of a Plexus hierarchy climb. These included various, but typically fine art, items that were to be relieved of their current ownership and auctioned off within Plexus for charity. All of Vincent’s previous targets had a documented and outstanding negative brush, and thus became ripe for delivered equilibrium. Francis’ Robin Hood outlook on the world always coincided with a Plexus ethos, as a counterbalance between the selfishly wealthy and the humbly destitute. The standard human conditions of confirmed greed and treachery were the common offenses that highlighted targets, as well as dissipated Vincent’s moral feelings for the jobs. This challenge was different, minute, and interesting though. Francis knew Vincent and knew it would add appeal.

Without waiting for Vincent to reply, Francis slipped a small, ripped piece of paper into Vincent’s breast coat pocket. And so it was! They both sat back in silence and continued to finish their drinks in silence.

Chapter 3