Curtain Number One

Originally written Sunday, December 19, 2005 (continued)

After I introduced Jeanine to the vampires (albeit not as “the vampires,” of course), we headed to the bar. I convinced her to allow me to pay for the first round of drinks by promising she could cover the second. That’s when the first misstep of the night occurred. As I was digging into my bag for my wallet, I felt a vibration. Thinking it was my phone, I pulled it out along with the wallet: with only one thumb grasping it, I didn’t have enough sensory input to recognize the shape. Of course it wasn’t my phone, and I realized it only the moment before Bella’s charm came into view. This would not have been a problem if it hadn’t still had the chain strung through it, making its function as an accessory apparent. Before I could shove it back into the bag, Jeanine had snatched it up from the counter:

“Oh wow, this is just perfect for a place like this! Let me put it on you.”

I tried to make my protest sound nonchalant. “No, no, that’s OK. I wasn’t planning on wearing that tonight. I’m not sure if it really goes.” I could have said I’d brought it along to pass on to Patrick, but then I might have had to explain why he’d want such a feminine trinket.

“Actually, I think it’ll go really well with what you’re wearing. I’ve never seen anything so unique.”

And thus, while I was adding her use of “unique” as a comparative and not absolute adjective to the list of potentially condemnable charms, I pulled my hair away from my neck so that she could fasten the clasp behind me. I had to admit that the round black coral looked perfect where it rested below my clavicle and above the lacy bustier (I had deposited the velvet blazer at the coat check). I reminded myself that Patrick and perhaps Dennis would in all likelihood be the only people there to recognize it as anything more than a distinctive piece of jewelry. Besides, it made sense that now that I knew how it could influence me, I could be more capable of resisting it. I thought to myself that it was a good thing that wooden stakes don’t vibrate (a moment later I suppressed a peurile giggle at my unspoken Freudian slip).

For that matter, I took note that as soon as it was in place over my heart, it took up its familiar synchronicity with my pulse, having stopped vibrating shortly after I'd grabbed hold of it and before Jeanine had been able to pick it up; within moments, the pulsing too was gone and I felt nothing from it at all: its weight seemed to diminish as it warmed to match my body temperature. At no point did Jeanine make any indication that she had noticed it move on its own.

We circulated around the club. As more people filtered in, the music grew louder. We swung by the sound booth to say hello to Jeanine’s DJ friend, Joey. He was thrilled to see her and attempted to chat while going about his business. We hung around the booth for a while, Jeanine watching him do his work and I watching Trudy and Moshe do theirs from what proved to be possibly the best vantage point in the club. They danced for a short time, but for all the transforming effect Moshe’s new look leant him, it didn’t make him any better a dancer than he was the night I’d met him at the contra. I saw Trudy make eye contact with a tall and scrawny young man in a fishnet shirt. He smiled and nodded hello at her as though he knew her. Moshe followed as Trudy danced over to him and the plump and busty young woman who seemed to be with him. The man bent down while Trudy yelled something into his ear; he looked, grinning, at Moshe, and then took his companion by the hand. The foursome headed to the bar, where it was probably marginally quieter.

I watched the vampires order drinks for the humans (on Moshe’s dime, it appeared). They formed a tight little circle and shouted over the music for fifteen minutes or so before resting their empty plastic cups on the counter and disappearing through a curtain-draped door in the side wall. I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room and hurried to the stairs. I wove through small groups of people dancing or trying to talk, sometimes pausing to let others pass through the same scarce holes in the crowd from the other direction. Finally I reached the door framed by heavy plush fabric. As I began to push aside the curtain, I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard Jeanine’s voice close to my ear:

“I don’t think there’s a restroom that way. I think it was back upstairs.”

“Are you sure?” I answered. “I asked the bartender a moment ago and I’m pretty sure she said it was this way.”

“Oh, well, maybe. Anyway, I have to go, too. You know when you don’t realize it until a minute after someone mentions it to you?”

The door led to a staircase that led down into what seemed to be a basement room below the dance floor. For a moment, it felt like illicit territory, but as my eyes adjusted to the thick darkness and the door upstairs closed on the loud drones of heavy bass, melodic percussion, and a sultry female voice speaking rhythmically in German, I was able to see that this was merely a second level to the club. The only sources of light were in the stairwell, over the small, quiet bar to the side, and a few torch-like lights emitting black light toward the ceiling at intervals around the wall. Mellow experimental music was being piped in through speakers. It only took a glance to see that this was essentially a make-out room. Squishy-looking couches lined the walls and filled the space in the center of the room. Couples and a triple or two lined the couches. While everyone looked to be fully dressed, there were hands and arms inside the vehicle while the bus was in motion… so to speak.

“Guess there’s no restroom here,” said Jeanine.

The events of this day to be continued...