Rhythmic Trance: Chapter 3

I’ll never forgive Raven for this. 40 minutes on the floor, in these shoes, is criminal. I scuffle over to my favorite seat at the bar and practically leap out of my heels, as graceful as possible. I pull my legs underneath me and begin to massage both feet, desperate to restore blood flow to my toes.

“A blister or two?” Jesse asks, peering over the counter.

“Or five.” I moan unabashedly, as the delicious pressure spreads through my tight muscles.

“That was a hot set. I didn’t think you could top last week’s run, but you did. I thought you were going to dislocate your hips on that Desi song.”

I smile and continue to press my thumbs into the soles of my feet, while Jesse recalls my dance in extraordinary detail. It’s a little reminiscent of an after-school test discussion. I hated those.

“You could’ve converted me with that little belly dancing routine you had going there.” I hear the tease in his voice and untangle myself from my cross-legged position. My flexibility is a blessing at times like this, but my calves still burn from the dance and I can’t ignore the searing pull of the muscles in my legs.

I laugh and place my feet on the marble footrest attached to the bar. “Jesse, you’re gay. And I don’t need Adam hunting me down. So, please, stay gay.”

I sigh with relief when the cool stone eases the excruciating pain that pulses in the soles of my feet.

He pours me another drink and I gulp down half of it at once. The cold liquid flows down my throat and instantly cools my hot body. 

“So, I saw you.” His voice trails off and I peer over my glass.

“Saw me?”

“Saw you groping that sex god of a man.” I choke on my drink and lose my grip. The glass bounces off the edge of the counter, the contents spilling onto me. I clench my thighs together and the glass lands, safely, in my lap. Liquid seeps through my crop top and strategically evades my belly ring. The remaining fluid sinks into my pants, leaving a dark conspicuous spot between my legs.

“I’m ignoring you.” I snarl at him and pull the glass from my lap, smacking it on the counter. Miraculously, it stays intact.

Jesse waggles his eyebrows and chuckles, “Oh, come on Cam. I’m not judging. You have all the right in the world to be as promiscuous as you want to be. Just next time, watch who you dry hump and where.” 

I throw him with the dishrag I used to clean up the mess. He catches it just short of his face. “So, how was he? Was it an ‘Okay another night in the club’ or a ‘sweet baby Jesus take me now’ type of kiss?” He fans himself with the rag and I drop my head in my hands. Oh my soul, he is relentless.

I feel the heat spreading from my neck upwards and I’m thankful for the partial darkness that hides my flushed face. If he saw me blushing, I’d never hear the end of it. “Jesse. Shut up.”

“You should be careful, Cam. He’s Raven’s special guest.” My head whips up from where it was buried in my hands and my eyes widen at his words.

“He is?” I ask, praying for a different answer but Jesse nods.

“I saw him on the manager’s balcony when you took to the floor. He was stripping you down to your best g-string.” I roll my eyes at his reference to my underwear and croon my neck towards the deck but all I see is Raven’s platinum curls bounce in the reflection of the lights…

An excerpt from Rhythmic Trance: Chapter 3

My best friend made me laugh when she said Camille is her spirit animal. She’s an escape for many of us who live a fast paced life. We can slip away and enjoy her dance and her journey. I enjoyed creating Camille and sharing her with you and as weird as it may sound, I love reading this book. Her uptight attitude falls away when she’s on the dance floor. Her wacky relationship with Jesse is adorable and her loyalty towards her friends is fierce and powerful. She is someone who escapes her world through dance and its that dance that led her to Nathan.

Follow Camille’s journey to love on Wattpad

https://www.wattpad.com/903787052-rhythmic-trance-chapter-3

Rhythmic Trance : Chapter 2

….

“What the hell was that?” Hector asks, taking a long drag of his cigarette. 

I groan. He saw me. 

Shit. 

Normally, I wouldn’t give a damn, but that dance was personal, intimate. I want more. More of the sultry stranger with the cock bait body that had every man in the room in an uncomfortable state, similar to my own. 

I saw her enter 20 minutes ago and my plans for assessing the viability of The Bridge flew out the window. She was sex on legs, not to mention the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in my life. It wasn’t just her body or her face that had me lusting after her from a distance. There was an aura around her that drew me in. Ensnared me. I watched her with increasing interest as she conversed and laughed with the bartender. The quick kiss on the cheek she gave him, before she made her way to the center of the dance floor, made my veins burn with jealousy. My control fizzled when I saw her move. She was captivating, hypnotic and her dance was downright dirty. Rational thought became an illusion the minute I flew out of my seat and joined her on the floor. I reveled in the pulsing energy that cackled in the air between us. I basically dragged the woman against the wall and fucked her with her clothes on. I have no idea who she is but I want her. 

“What was what?” I play it off but I sigh internally, already knowing he won’t let it go. 

Hector sits forward and I want to wipe that smug grin off his face, “Your little bedroom display with the bartender.” 

I glare at him, “She’s not a bartender, she’s a clubby.” 

“Uh, no, Nathan.” He shakes his head and points past me. I turn and my jaw clenches painfully. Serving drinks behind the bar is the vixen I just rode against the wall, in a TB jacket, zipped up to just beneath her breasts. “And here I thought you don’t date.” 

“I don’t,” I growl at Hector. Women are the last priority on my list. I despised the little club bunnies that threw themselves at me in places like this. What they see is money, and I’m not stupid enough to be caught in the trap I saw so many men fall into. But that little fuck tease dance I just had with the busty brunette, had me thinking otherwise. 

Anger rages in me and I press the call button on my table. A few seconds later, a neatly dressed waitress walks in and greets politely. I grimace at her sweet demeanor, not in the mood for drooling women, “Get me your manager. Immediately.” My words come out gruffer than intended but I need answers, like why the fuck was the woman I just kissed behind my bar? The young girl flinches and scurries away. I sag into the deep red couch and rub a hand over my face in frustration. 

“I’m going to find someone to dance with. Who knows, maybe the bartender is available.” Hector stands and straightens his clothes. I want to wring his neck with my bare hands for that comment but he laughs and descends down the stairs. 

My anger grows with every passing minute. I’m seconds away from flying out of my seat when Raven Gallagher-Detrick walks in. She’s dressed in a full black suit and her platinum blonde curls tumble over her shoulders, reflecting wildly in the rainbow-colored lights. A familiar pair of green eyes stare at me in confusion, “Mr. Gallagher, you requested me?” 

I hate the formal way she greets me but right now, it’s a welcome reminder of the power I had over this club and the reason for my visit. “Why was your bartender dancing, and not working?” My anger is edging closer to irrational but the reality of the situation pissed me off. She is an employee and I want her beneath me. 

“I didn’t know Jesse took to the floor.” 

I glare at her and point down the balcony, “That woman. Who is she?” 

Raven peers over the railing and turns back to me, her body resting against the sturdy rods, “Camille Adams. She’s my assistant manager and my lead hypster.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question. Why the fuck was she dancing?” 

Raven doesn’t flinch at my outburst and I’m impressed. The woman has a spine of steel, but that’s to be expected since she is my cousin, and a Gallagher does not bend nor break. “It’s her night off. She’s not supposed to be working. Jesse took a break and she’s helping out.” She leans against the railing and gives me a pointed look, “It’s not unusual for my staff to dance in the crowd. That’s their job.” 

My brows furrow, “What the hell do you mean it’s their job?” 

She lifts one shoulder, “The hypsters. Marybelle, Jesse, and Oraiah. They hype up the crowd, feeds them energy, and make people dance and drink. Camille is the lead hypster. When she dances, the party booms like never before. She has a different vibe to her and people love it. Her natural rhythm makes people want to dance with her. They want to be in her energy. The floor becomes immovable when she’s there.” 

“And you didn’t think to inform me of this new position you created?” 

“You threatened to close us down, Nathan. We had to come up with something.” Her tone is accusatory and my face hardens. I mentally catalog the information Raven spews at me and a wicked thought forms in my mind. 

“I want a demonstration of this energy.” 

She cocks an eyebrow at me, “Of course, I’ll request Marybelle to…” 

I shake my head, cutting her off mid-sentence, “I want Camille. If she’s the best then I want her.” 

“I don’t think you heard me, Nathan.” She pushes away from the railing and comes to stand in front of me, sparring my view of the bar, “She’s not supposed to be working.” 

“Well, she is now, so show me why I need to keep this place open.” The subtle warning in my last comment was unwarranted, but it serves its purpose. Raven straightens and walks towards me, perching herself on the edge of the sofa. To be honest, The Bridge is the most profitable club I own. There is no way in hell I’m closing it, but if using my power to see Camille dance again was a low and dirty move, then I’m happy to be labeled an ass...

An excerpt from Chapter 2 of Rhythmic Trance

…

I’m grateful for the overwhelming response that Chapter 1 received. I have published the complete version on Wattpad and I’ll post the link below. Chapter 2 has also gone live and this is just a little sneak peak into the development following Camille and Nathan’s little dance.

I laugh when I recall writing this chapter. I actually have a playlist complied on my phone with the songs in Camille’s run. I blasted it on full volume, placing myself in the setting of the club as I burned up my poor keyboard. It is amazing watching these characters grow and evolve. The story writes itself, I’m just the hand that puts it to paper.

As promised, below is the link to the first 2 chapters of Rhythmic Trance.

https://www.wattpad.com/902143209-rhythmic-trance-chapter-1

https://www.wattpad.com/902492262-rhythmic-trance-chapter-2

A Disingenuous Moment

Not my finest moment as a writer…

I was amused when my boyfriend yelled at me, “You have the potential to be a great author.”

I laughed at him, “I don’t consider myself an author. I see myself as a writer.” He didn’t understand the distinction. Writing is something I do to drown out the noise of a chaotic life. Yes I’d share a few paragraphs with the friends but they never knew the extent of my writing. When inspiration struck, I would plant myself in front of my computer and disappear for hours. I write for me, for my own enjoyment. It’s my escape.

My reality is not miserable. On the contrary. It’s nice. I have a steady job, a great family, decent health and some pretty scandalous guilty pleasures. But writing is my solace.

I never thought of my writing as something to share with people. I didn’t want them to know what goes on in my head. What I dream and think of. What churns in my gut every minute of every day…Now I sound psychotic. I’m not. But the longer I sat with broken chapters and story ideas that never went anywhere, the more anxiety it gave me. At times, I’d become frustrated when life became too chaotic and I couldn’t find the peace to work on my stories.

There’s nothing like having a moment in the day when something grabs your attention, makes an impression and sticks in your brain. It replays like a broken record and you notice all the little details of the moment. That’s when I dive for one of the six notebooks on my bedside table and try to keep up with my mind as my hand cramps to jut down everything I’m seeing, thinking and feeling. It’s usually a disaster because my train of thought travels at the speed of light and halfway through, I’d get lost and become frustrated with myself. But that’s part of my process and I love it.

Earlier this week, I posted an excerpt from a story I started working on and the reception was better than I could’ve hoped for. Many of the people around me were pleasantly surprised to learn that I write and that it’s actually readable. But there were a few who made subtle jabs at the story. One of them said, “The story sounds a bit like erotica. It has that vibe. Not very tasteful.” And I immediately started altering the original premise of the story in my head, to make it less sexual, less sultry. I decided to change it on Wednesday. But, when I returned an hour later to start the rewrite, I sat frozen behind my computer for 20 minutes. Getting into that mindset took work, and I actually failed to write anything. “Maybe you’re just not inspired.” My rational brain tried to explain the situation but I knew that wasn’t the problem. “That’s impossible. I could look at my closet knobs and become inspired. My stories inspire me. And the outline is already complete. I know where the story is going, or at least I thought I knew.” Usually, all I needed to do was read through the outline and my fingers would be flying over the keys within seconds. However, this time, I was irritated when I tried to write the story with the new adjustments. I haven’t written a single word on Rhythmic Trance since.

I’ve been under immense stress at work these past few days. And how do I deal with unpleasant experiences and emotions? I write. Thursday, I tried my hand again. This time with a different story. I tried to incorporate my feelings regarding the unrest in the world, into Chapter 2 of Cross Ties, the first installment of the Cross series (I completed book 2 a month ago and I’ll post chapter 1 soon). This series centers around a young woman finding her feet in the world of criminal investigation, while simultaneously dealing with the havoc in her personal life. But the following morning, I reread the piece and I was horrified. I just couldn’t do it. My character’s voice was lost and replaced with my own. My feelings were too strong and it ruined the character and her journey. I’ve been stuck ever since.

I realized that I didn’t write what I wanted. I was trying to write what I thought people wanted to read, and it was the worst week. I have always been a people-pleaser. It’s an affliction I can’t seem to shake but I want to write what I like. Something I don’t mind rereading a few times. I write what I enjoy reading. And I have a vast taste in fiction but gravitate toward romance and detective stories.

So, after a grueling internal battle with my nature and my desire to live unapologetically, I have decided that Rhythmic Trance will remain an erotic novel, without the corrections and Cross Ties will remain a detective story, that focuses on the development of the main character in her new found identity as a detective. Because that’s my narrative.

That’s my voice and, these are my stories.

Rhythmic Trance

…

“Camille, you just saved my marriage. Have I mentioned I love you?”

Jesse drags my body halfway over the bar counter and wraps me in his burly arms. I pull away, laughing, and take another quick sip of my drink. The DJ, Harper, starts to spin a Latin pop song, and my hips instinctively start to move. Jesse stares at me and a stupid grin forms on his face.   

“Go shake your booty baby. I’ll hold your drink.”   

I smile broadly, leaning over the counter. I smack a kiss on his cheek before sliding off the bar stool and plowing my way through the sea of people. I spot my friends in the middle of the dance floor and join their circle.

There is something about Latin pop that makes me lose myself in the music and I tend to shed all my inhibitions when the beat overtakes my body. Luis Fonsi is my favorite and Harper knew this. I glance up to the stage and he blows me a kiss, a second before the bass drops and the musical tidal wave sweeps me away.  

I start to move to the rhythm flooding the space and my friends follow suit, allowing the music to possess them. They’re watching me, unabashedly. This is not new. It’s my job. In my line of work, I’m considered crowd bait. As the lead hyper for the club, The Bridge, my main objective is to get the crowd dancing to the point where they become thirsty beyond measure. Thirsty club goers means more drinks will be sold. I have grown accustomed to people staring at me in a professional setting but this is different. I not working and yet, I’m feeding the crowd with my energy. I feel the atmosphere of the hall change and enthusiasm builds as the song blares through the speakers.  

There is something primitive and therapeutic in the art of dance. My body moves on its own accord, my hips tracing circles and my arms begin to flow above my head, guided by the tempo. My African heritage gives me natural rhythm and I take full advantage of it.  

As my body echoes the feel of the music and sway from side to side, I feel a pair of strong hands settle on my hips and I spin around and stare into two dark pools of sea green eyes. Unable to snap out of my rhythmic trance, I start to dance with the stranger. He matches my movements, pulling me closer and we move as one entity, bass pounding beneath our feet. The song is riddled with rhythmic breaks and bass drops but the overall mood of the track is intimate. I mindlessly respond to the man leading me, losing myself once again in the vibe of the song. He dances as if he’s in my head, responding to all my cues, adjusting to my flow and guiding me into a salsa. We burn up the floor and I become mindful of my precious Cinderella heels that aren’t built to withstand this much scuffling.  

“Stay with me.” His deep voice causes the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He grabs my face and his eyes bore into mine, not breaking his rhythm for a second. I look at him, puzzled and he bends down to whisper in my ear, “Get out of your head.”  

I retreat, turn and step away, but he yanks me back with so much force, I spin back on my heels and smack into his chest. He glides a hand down my neck, down my body and settles with a firm grip on my hip. With one swift tug, he pulls me back into the euphoria of dance… 

An excerpt from Rhythmic Trance

Shortly after I returned home from my highly anticipated trip to the liquor store, I received a phone call from an acquaintance in Woodstock. We talked for 5 minutes, mostly expressing our joy and excitement about the partial lifting of the alcohol ban. I told him, “As soon as all of this is over, I’m going clubbing and I’m gonna dance like no one’s watching.”

That conversation inspired Rhythmic Trance, the story of Camille and Nathan, which I will share, once it’s done and the first draft doesn’t sound like word vomit.

June 1, 2020

So today is the 1st of June 2020. Currently not a day of significance, but it’s a day that will go down in history and a happy day for many of my countries’ people. 

Today marks the first day we are allowed to purchase alcohol. Now, we’re not some isolated country where we don’t know what alcohol is. The photos and videos that circulated on social media proved we are well aware of what alcohol was, and what it meant for us, good and bad.  

A bit of background: The Covid-19 pandemic had the world by the balls. Fear, panic and uncertainty became the norm for billions of people in hundreds of countries. South Africa has been under a strict nationwide lockdown since March 26, 2020. The lockdown was an attempt to curb the spread of the virus as much as possible and allow the country to prepare for the devastation that it will bring. To date, we have 34,357 confirmed cases of the virus, 705 deaths and 16,808 recoveries. I reside in the province with the highest number of infections. So, I’m staying indoors as much as I can. 

One of the restrictions we had to endure was an alcohol ban. For the past 67 days, the purchase, transportation and on site consumption of alcoholic beverages was considered illegal and was banned throughout the country. This ban caused quite a bit of unrest, riots and looting of stores. It also aided an illicit market and people became so desperate for a drink, that they’d pay thousands for a bottle of…anything. It’s a similar case with the cigarette ban, which is still in place.

Happiness flooded social media when the President announced a partial lift of the alcohol ban, which will take effect on June 1st. This was the first time I’ve seen people excited for Monday.

I woke up at 6 and powered up my laptop to start my work day (I work from home a few days a week and only go into the office when necessary). And then my phone went off. My colleague sent a photo of the comical sight of people queuing outside the liquor store well before 9 am, the scheduled time it was set to open. I joined that queue 20 minutes later, observing 2 metres between me and the other customers and my mask practically glued to my face, fogging up my glasses. 

I don’t drink often. I enjoy a glass of red wine after a tough day in the office and occasionally when I’m writing. A G&T on the days I just want to relax and a cold Castle lite when we’re having a braai. The people in the queue weren’t heavy drinkers either. One guy said, “I just want to enjoy a beer. God knows we earned it.” And I didn’t disagree with him.

The pandemic, the lockdown, the restriction of basic movements had a dystopian feel to it. I cannot begin to describe what it was like in the beginning, walking to work and observing the silence of the city. No movement, other than people in uniform. Grateful to still have a job, but worried about the possibility that they may become infected, and expose their families. It was necessary for the survival of mankind, but it didn’t make it any less difficult. Something as simple as walking on the beach, or hugging your best friend, was no longer allowed. It was hard. Still is. But we’re slowly moving towards a better life, even under the reign of terror brought forth by Covid-19.

I applaud every person on this planet, making an active effort to keep themselves, and their families, safe. The essential workers that, before all this, were not recognized. People that helped you live your life.

They deserve a beer. 

A Haven

“Write until you’re ready to show the world what you’ve done.” – Dan Brown 

I don’t think I’m ready. Not even close. My fears rule me, every minute of every day. What if it’s not good enough? What if people hate it? What if I’m not original? 

Daily thoughts have the power to debilitate us. Doubt freezes us in time. We are so afraid to express ourselves in a time where expression is encouraged. I look around me and I’m jealous of everyone living their truth. Doing what they want to do without caring what the rest of the world thinks of them. I haven’t grown to that mindset yet.  

I thought it is some mythical ah-ha moment, where I’d say, “Screw this. This is me and I’m going to do what I want to do, unapologetically.”

It’s not. If it was, discovering yourself would be a one-stop shop. You had your moment…now what? No one would feel the need to watch what they say and calculate strategically what they show the world. But we do. Every word, every action is carefully planned.

Your thoughts + your actions = what the world thinks of you.  

Predictable behaviour. Like mathematics.  

Many of us live an altered truth. A truth that is acceptable in society. A truth that is not frowned upon by the masses. A truth that shows the world only a fraction of who you are.  

There are few admirable gems in this world, that live the way they want to live. They’re heroes in my mind because they’re not afraid of who they are. They’re not afraid of what they’re capable of or what the world thinks of them. I’m not one of them. Negative comments get to me. One wrong look from a colleague or a slight change in tone from my manager and I’m pulled into a destructive spiral. I overthink and create a good number of worst-case scenarios to the point where I’m cowering in fear. A fear that I created in my mind.  

My ah-ha moment wasn’t a single occurrence. It was a culmination of time and thinking and endless arguments with myself that led to this.   

“You opened this account more than 2 months ago and you haven’t written a single word.”  

 That was the scolding I received from my subconscious this morning when I powered up my laptop and saw an email from WordPress. I thought it would be a good place to keep a journal, to share my thoughts and my feelings. Cliché, I know, but that was the intention. During the months that it’s been sitting on my bookmark ribbon, idly, I’ve come to the conclusion that it will never be a journal. My life is too boring for that.  

I’ll write about me, from time to time but there’s not much. I work a 7 till 5 job in finance. I love my family, and my siblings drive me up the walls, but I can’t imagine life without them. I have three close friends and a boyfriend. That’s it. So, to purpose this blog for a journal would be a waste. What it is, is my writing corner. 

 A place where I can pour out all my thoughts and feeling and release the deep desire to write. A space where I can share my work, the stories I dream up in the dark of the night and am dying to tell someone about. I’ll write about anything I want to. If I feel the need to express an opinion, I’ll do it here. I won’t give day to day updates on my life (that’s what Instagram is for). Maybe I’ll post a short story or two, or a chapter from the countless books I have stored away on my hard drive, but mostly, it will be my haven.  

So, am I ready to show the world what I’ve done? Hell no. But when will you really be ready if you don’t push yourself out of your comfort zone and into the beautiful reality that is your personal truth?