The Presidio, Pt. 4: Dissonance
Posted on June 10th, 2021 by Scott Ammora

San Francisco, Earth, May 2397
Starfleet Academy Dormitory & The Presidio Nightclub, Saturday Night

Polished and stylish. Refined and sophisticated. Handsome. Scott stood in front of his mirror in the ensemble that Annabelle had put together. It was more black clothing than he was used to, but he appreciated the fashionable touch of the gold collared shirt with the edges of the collar popping out at his neck. And the more he looked at it the more he realized that it matched his watch, the gold of his belt buckle, and even the way his shoes shined.

It was horribly uncomfortable – mentally. He felt like a peacock, presenting himself to a potential mate. And he was nervous – why was he nervous? Scott rarely got nervous. Angry or mad, yes. Sad when the moment called for it, of course. But nervous… never other than randomly strange circumstances. He guessed this would qualify.

Scott pulled down his sweater, smoothing the wrinkles that no one could be see anyway, and nodded. Scott Ammora, you clean up pretty well. Ready? Smirking, he moved to the door. Then stopped. He looked at his watch and realized, with a flash that sent him halfway to Horrorville, that the guy had never given him a time. Did he? Oh shit, he couldn’t remember.

And the mental rollercoaster started up the opening hill. With each click as it headed to the apex, Scott’s mind raced faster and faster. His heart leapt into his throat because he hadn’t dated at all at the Academy; and dating in high school wasn’t even dating. Click, click, click. If he got there too early and no one was there, he’d look desperate. If he got there too late, he’d have to stand in line and risk this guy thinking he bailed. Was there even a sweet spot for arrival at a club? He didn’t know!

“Okay, be rational about this, Scott. If you show up early and no one is there you have the opportunity to talk to him. You show up late and he’ll be busy serving drinks. If he’s too busy, you become the bar-top rat obviously digging on the bartender that everyone notices.” He was pacing now, and starting to sweat from anticipation and/or stress. “So what’s the better play?”

Click, click, click.

Holy hell, now you’re talking to yourself.

There was a chime at his door, snagging him in a tractor beam back to reality. “Come in!”

Pasha Pruitt, in amazingly elegant glory, stood in his doorway. A sparkling navy blue dress was wrapped around her exquisitely poised frame, a matching shawl draped delicately over her shoulder, and a fancy clutch in her hands. Scott knew it was empty. Well, maybe a phaser, but definitely nothing like lipstick or make-up. “Hey handsome, looking sharp.”

“He didn’t give me a time.” Scott’s eyes were probably bulging.

Pasha rolled hers, “Oh, Scott, you flatter me. Yes, I did spend two hours getting ready. I appreciate you complimenting the time it took to look this ravishingly beautiful. Too kind, sir, too kind.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing. Is it too early to go? You’re dressed and ready to go. But the sun hasn’t even gone down and won’t for another hour or so, so is that a thing? Like you club at night, but don’t dare show up before sunset? And how desperate does it look to show up alone?”

“Thanks for inviting me in.” Pasha had moved to the center of the room, obviously irked he had missed her insult about her wardrobe not being noticed or commented on.

Scott’s pacing had recommenced, briefly, before he stopped. “Wait, why are you dressed that way? Are you coming with me? Oh, God, that’s awesome, so if we’re on female time then you know when the right time is for us to leave and arrive, right?”

Pasha held up a hand to stop him. She then motioned him over. As he did so, she smiled. “You know that I adore you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And that I want the world for you.”

“I know.”

“And that anything I do is out of love and affection.”

Scott nodded, “Of course.”

She slapped him.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?” He said, aghast, rubbing his face.

“Get it together! You can be a bad ass in our training scenarios doing things I would never risk, you can hit long-range targets like they’re three meters in front of you, but you can’t figure out when to show up to a freakin’ nightclub!?” She said the last sentence through a laugh. “I love you to death, Scotty, but I’ve never seen you this wound up before. The club opens, you go in, and you sit at the bar and order a drink. There’s no test, there’s no multiple choice answers… you just do it.”

Scott paused, the tingling sensation in his face faded away, and he pulled down his sweater… again. “I look okay?”

“I’m not giving you two compliments in a row. Comment on this,” she motioned to her own outfit, “Now.”

“I’m sorry! You look great, Pash, you always do! I’m kind of jealous because I don’t want you to look better than me. But, regardless, I’m glad you’re coming with me.”

Pasha dropped her head, “I’m not. This is for Jason. He asked me to join him for dinner at Sentinel Hill.”

Hoping that the cadet in the dormitory below him was out, or at least able to dodge his dropping jaw that went careening through the floor, Scott almost choked. “Sentinel Hill?! How in the hell does he have the ability to get into that place? My parents, with enough service and weight in their own right, had to book their 10^th wedding anniversary dinner there while on their honeymoon!”

Pasha blew it off, “I don’t know. He offered, I said yes, and here I am. And here I go. Have a good night, Scotty. Be smart, be safe, and frequently dab your forehead.” She winked and was gone.

“Have a nice night,” he said, still completely unsure of when to show up to the club. He’d give it a while longer. How much time, he didn’t know. But he plopped down on the sofa and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

*****

He had waited too long. He hadn’t dated in too long. Most importantly, the line was too long. Everything was taking too long. He stood amongst the throng of revelers waiting for admission. He glanced up the line and back behind him, stretching as far as the eye could see. Couples and groups were scattered in between each other… and then there was Scott. From an aerial perspective, Scott was sure one would see masses and then one hollowed out segment of the queue that was just him. Alone.

It had been nearly an hour he had waited. He had made sure to wipe his forehead, though he was thankful for the light breeze off the bay that made him perspire far less than was his custom in this type of situation. “Come on, come on, come on…” He said under his breath as the line moved another meter forward as another set of patrons were ushered inside. “Almost there.”

“Going stag tonight, Ammora?”

Scott wheeled around to see Tyson Maniscalco walking past him, his two friends flanking him on either side. They never went anywhere without each other. It was borderline disturbing how they always were ever-present as a triad. “Nah, Meeting someone inside. Got here a bit late.” He put on his best airs of confidence, but he felt that bead of sweat starting to form again. He refused to dab at it in front of them. It was a sure sign of weakness. God, you’re overthinking everything. “You guys having a good night?”

“Always.” Triad Groupie Number One stated matter-of-factly, barely moving.

“And the night is still young.” Wow, more than a three-word response from Groupie Number Two surprised Scott.

Gazing back at the door, noting the lack of movement, Scott nodded, “Yeah, for sure. Well, I hope you guys have a good evening. Nice to see you.”

“Need some help getting in?” Tyson asked, motioning to the long line of people ahead of Scott. “If not, you’re out here for another 45 minutes easy.”

Don’t say it, don’t say, you don’t need this guy’s help. “Sure.” You’re a fuckin’ idiot.

Scott followed the group to the head of the line. He must have looked uncomfortable as hell, avoiding all the glances from the rest of the people waiting. He didn’t like asking for help, but he hadn’t really. It was offered and he took it. There was still a shot to his pride that he felt, but it was better than chilling ousidet by himself for the next hour.

“Maniscalco, party of four.” Tyson said flat. “Should be on the list there.”

The bouncer, the door man, the entrance attendant – whatever – looked at the PADD and tapped it a couple of times. “Friends of the band?”

No hesitation: “Yeah.”

“Welcome.”

And they were ushered inside past the crowd of onlookers wishing they were in the company of Tyson Maniscalco. Scott still wasn’t sure if was a blessing or a curse. Nothing came without a price. Him and the ’Triad’ weren’t friends. Not even acquaintances. They were the ones in the corridor you gave a jutted chin upwards towards the ceiling as you passed each other before going on your merry way. Scott wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of owing anything to anyone.

The club was vibrant as ever, the music pulsating at just the right decibels to be rhythmic but not uncomfortable. Lights flashed at the right levels and speed to give off a cool vibe, but not induce an epileptic seizure. And the crowd was just large enough to make the place feel full and energy-packed, without eliciting any feelings of claustrophobia.

“Thanks, man, I appreciate it.” Scott said, standing beside the group of people he normally wouldn’t directly associate with.

“What are friends for?”

Friends? Ha. “Yeah, of course. I’ll see you around!” Scott departed their company and headed to the bar. He was, truly, thankful for getting in ahead of schedule. That was on him, and his lateness, and he knew it, but he was happy to be there. What he was going to say or do when he saw the handsome stranger was still up in the air. He had options, ideas, everything in between, but those were fleeting thoughts that disappeared as quickly as the strobes pulsating overhead.

Sidling up to the bar wasn’t an easy feat. It was a chess game of waiting for people to come and go, matching the politeness of people there first coupled with the presence of… couples. He eased his way through a group of four, shifting his weight to duck around a trio who seemed hell-bent on planting themselves in the same position without any intention of getting a libation, and finally found an empty barstool after it was immediately vacated by a Katarian who looked like he would rather have been anywhere else.

“Whiskey, on the rocks. On the rock. One. Uh, please.” Scott said to the bartender as he passed. After the drink was placed in front of him, he motioned again for the man’s attention. “I’m looking for a guy.”

“You and half the crowd, buddy!” The guy behind the counter shouted.

“No, I’m looking for a tall guy, great hair and great smile…”

The bartender didn’t flinch, “That’s me.”

For the love of… “Yeah, but he’s got cute dimples and has a suave demeanor about him…”

“Still me.”

“I’m sorry, but did you work last night?”

“No.”

“Then not you, so help me out. You know who I’m talking about. He works here.” Scott took a hefty sip of his drink and set it on the table more harshly than he wanted to. “I’m sorry.”

The bartender nodded, “You’re talking about Tower.”

“I’m sorry?”

The guy laughed, getting another drink for Scott even though he wasn’t finished with the first. “You apologize a lot. You should stop doing that. You’re talking about Tower, that’s his nickname around here. You know, he’s tall, like a Tower. Get it? No? Anyway, he’s not working tonight. Stick around long enough and you’ll find what you’re looking for.” And just like that the man serving him was on to another customer, leaving a bewildered look on Scott’s face that would be apparent to anyone watching him.

What. The. Fuck? Scott’s mind was racing. His first drink was finished and he moved to the second. How had he allowed himself to be lured into a false sense of flirtatiousness? Rookie mistake. He should have known better than to show up after receiving a weird midnight-hour invitation on a foggy viewpoint after a night out. Flights of wistful fancy led his companions away from him, leaving him alone and melancholy the night before. To clear his head, he had traveled solo into the crisp night.

Even Scott would admit his mind was wandering. The chain of events was beginning to sound like a Sherlock Holmes tale and this was the start of the story where the author sets up the murder. That was it. Step one, awkward encounter and invitation. Step two, dumb character shows up against their better judgement and finds the event was under false pretenses. Step three, dead. Staring into his glass he smirked at himself. It was probably poison and bartender number two was in on the whole thing.

“Another glass of poison?”

“I’m sorry?” Scott’s eyes widened as he looked up at the bartender who was apparently reading his thoughts.

“Stop doing that. You know, a drink. Pick your poison. Turn of phrase? I’m just not hitting my mark tonight,” he smiled as he handed Scott his third glass without permission. “What’s your story?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“You’re on your third drink – ”

Scott glared, “You keep handing them to me.”

“You aren’t refusing them. And you’re at the bar top, with no company, searching for a guy. Figured there’s more there. And, ultimately, as a bartender, a really good one mind you, better than Tower if it matters, it qualifies me to make it my business. So, what’s your story?” The guy took a step back, got two drinks for two people that Scott didn’t hear order anything, and Scott didn’t see the bartender acknowledge any request, but they were served anyway. He was good, Scott would give him that.

Scott swirled the whiskey in his glass, the single rock dancing against the side, “There’s no story to tell.”

“Come on. Is it an unrequited advance? A spurned lover? Academy intrigue? I’ve really heard it all. You can’t surprise me.”

“You’d be… surprised.” Scott smiled, taking another pull off his drink.

The music stopped, the crowd died down, and there was a moment of silence before a voice came over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome to the stage our musical guests this evening, the one and only, Warp Drive!” And the masses cheered as the band took the stage.

Scott chuckled and said out loud, sarcastically, “Warp Drive. Original.” He turned towards the stage as the sound of applause echoed throughout the venue. And there he was, walking across the stage. The mysterious stranger. Tower, apparently. The man with the great hair, dimples, and boyish good looks. “You have to be kidding me.”

“Told you.”

Scott’s head would have come clean off his neck with the speed in which he turned, staring down the bartender. “You said he wasn’t working tonight!”

The bartender grinned, “He isn’t. He’s playing. And I told you if you waited long enough, you’d find what you’re looking for. Maybe I’m more on my game tonight than I thought. Want another drink?”

“Please.” And he dabbed at the sweat collecting on his brow.