Something Else (3)
Chapter THREE - Discotheque
Mort and I decided to check out the new Disco one summer Saturday night and had to stand in line to get in. A huge neon sign blazed atop a prefab white metal structure. The entryway was flooded with moving lights and disco music blared on outside speakers. There was nothing like this in the whole of north county.
We were a bit out of place, dressed in our jeans and T-shirts and when we finally got to the door the bouncer pointed to a sign that described the dress code. “No T-Shirts and No Hats.” We supposed that the no t-shirts thing was to keep out the riffraff, like us, and the no hats was to keep the blacks and red necks out.
It was early though, so we made a quick trip back to Mort’s place and he loaned me a nice shirt with a collar. We both shaved off the stubble on our chins, combed our hair and returned to find the line even longer than before. By now it was ten o’clock and a new sign emerged next to the dress code sign. “$10 Cover Charge.” Damn.
The foyer of the place was more of the same. Bright moving lights surrounding large posters advertising all kinds of promotions, from Ladies Night to Wet T-Shirt contests, to Bikini contests, to Sexy Legs contests. I’d never been to Las Vegas, but I thought this must be what it’s like. Toto, we ain’t in Kansas no more!
The interior was huge and mostly dark. The walls were black. The clunky seating was dark brown, matching the shag carpet. The focal point was a giant dance floor with flashing lights beneath and an enormous wall that had triangular sections that rotated. It was all mirrors, then it was a screen showing stills and videos, then it was a painted logo of Something Else.
The DJ was on a central platform surrounded by a glass topped bar with stools where patrons could sit and watch him perform his magic. And perform he did; sometimes standing with mic in hand to rouse the crowd, other times sitting and spinning the discs. His favorite line heard every hour was “Welcome to Something Else. St. Louis’ ONLY Honest to Goodness DAZZLING Discotheque.”
The bar was forty feel long, running on the left, all the way across one side of the place. There were three bartenders, a man and two women, dressed in jeans and long-sleeved blue shirts. Patrons were lined up two or three deep, angling to merge in and place an order. It was primarily a beer crowd, so the service was quick. The bartenders were cranking them out.
We noticed right away that most of the ladies were dressed to the nines with lots of makeup. The dance floor was full but not with couples. There were thirty people, all standing in lines facing the same way doing some kind of group dance to a song called “Do the Bus Stop.”
“What the fuck is that?” Mort asked.
I said, “Who the fuck knows.” Then I leaned into the bar after a space cleared and signaled to the bartender, a pretty redhead with a nametag that said Jaycee. She came over smiling and said, “What’ll you have?”
I smiled back warmly and said, “Two Buds, please.”
Jaycee retreated to the reach in, retrieving two longnecks, then returned and said “$7.50.”
I reached into my pocket and found my cash, peeling off a five and three ones, then handing it to her with a smile. “Keep it.” I said and winked. She rolled her eyes and moved onto the next patron.
Mort seemed mesmerized by the flashing lights and remained focused on the action on the dance floor as I handed him his beer.
I turned to my left and noticed a petite young woman about my age standing by herself moving tentatively to the music. She sipped a cocktail through a small straw, and I asked her what she was drinking.
“Tequila Sunrise,” she said with a shy smile.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Trini.” She said. “What’s yours?”
“That’s a pretty name. I’m Jack.”
I’m not usually a very forward guy in these kinds of situations. During my whole time in Hawaii, I only had two dates in sixteen months. One was an older woman who I met at a department store while looking for swim trunks. She managed the department and just wanted my body until she kicked me to the curb when she was done with me.
The other was a tourist from Vancouver, Canada who I met at the Sandcastle Lounge while drinking pitchers of Primo with my fellow GIs. She and her giggly girlfriends stared at us for a while, laughing and pointing, then came over and drank us under the table. I learned never to challenge a Canadian woman to a beer drinking contest.
I took her to dinner the following night and found that she was looking to make memories with a one-night stand in tropical paradise. I hope I lived up to her expectations and that any story she told back at home did justice to my service. It worked for me.
Trini continued to stare at the light show and dancers for a while then turned to me and said, “So Jack, are you nimble and quick?”
I didn’t really understand the reference to the children’s rhyme immediately and didn’t respond but gave her a quizzical look. All I could muster was “Well I guess I can be, given the right circumstances.” So much for clever repartee.
As the song ended there was a momentary lull, and the DJ asked the audience to welcome Charlie and Donna to the dance floor. The crowd cleared the quickly, apparently knowing this couple and there was a round of applause. A new tune began with a light downbeat and soft female voices followed by an accompanying flute followed by horns, then the lyrics “Do the Hustle.”
Charlie was a late twenty-something with perfectly coiffed blond hair, partially covering his prematurely receding hairline and sporting a trimmed goatee. He wore a white polyester jumpsuit over a fuchsia shirt. The open collar featured a sparkling gold chain on a hint of chest hair. His partner was also blond, of similar age, wearing a brightly colored spandex dress that revealed her ample features.
They came to the floor from different sides of the room which was obviously a staged entrance. They joined in the center and embraced, then Charlie took the lead, twirling her left, then right, then turning her round and round. They both displayed professional footwork and were in sync with each other from start to finish. At the end of the song the DJ asked for a round of applause as he merged seamlessly into another crowd favorite called “Disco Inferno.” The excitement was palpable as patrons moved back onto the floor, dancing this time as couples.
Between lively tunes the DJ interjected some idle banter, reminding the patrons to take care of their bartenders and waitresses and advertising the upcoming promotions. Every Monday night was Ladies Night where the ladies drink FREE. Tuesday was the Bikini contest, and all participants drink FREE and receive a swag-bag of goodies. Wednesday it was the Sexy Legs contest, and Thursday was the Wet T-Shirt contest. I guessed that there was no need for a “Men’s Night,” or weekend promotions as business was booming.
Jaycee came back to my end of the bar as I finished my beer. Mort had meandered through the crowd and found a half wall to lean on near the dance floor, still amazed by the action. Two other ladies joined my new friend Trini.
I leaned in at the bar so that Jaycee could hear a question. “What is that dance that everyone does where they form a line facing the same direction?”
She smiled and said “That’s Line Dancing. Is this your first Disco?”
“Well, no. I went to one in Honolulu a few times last year, but people danced together. Line dancing, huh…looks like mass hypnosis.” She smiled again and asked, “Another Bud?” I glanced over at Trini and saw that her glass was nearly empty, and she looked back at me. I smiled and raised my empty hand to my mouth as if taking a drink and she nodded ‘yes’ with a smile.
“I’ll take a Bud and a Tequila Sunrise.” Jaycee saw the non-verbal signals and winked, then retreated to prepare the order.
I danced twice with Trini that night and we had one more drink. We talked as much as you could talk over the loud music. She gave me her number and I said I’d call her. I had to drag Mort out as last call was issued from the bar, reminding him he had to get home to his wife Mary.
