I laugh. “Honey, first of all I’m going with you to a g*y men’s club. I sort of have the wrong plumbing to garner any attention. Besides, everyone’s going to be looking at your hot ass in those pants. And I definitely can’t compete with drag queens. They’re gorgeous. So, my part in this evening is to go with Shelly as the straight friends, the only women in the place without penises. I’m going to dance my ass off and have the best night Minneapolis has to offer.”
“Will you at least wear heels? Oh, and something sparkly on top? Do you have anything with sequins? If not I can let you borrow something.”
I love his enthusiasm. “I’ve got it covered.” I smile as I walk toward my own room.
I return a few minutes later in my tight black jeans, black heels and a low-cut black, sequined tank top. Gus calls this outfit “Johnny Cash chic” because it’s all black. Clayton squeals when he sees me. “Oh my stars, your chest looks amazing.”
I can’t help but laugh as I look down at my cle**age. That’s the first time it’s garnered a genuine compliment completely devoid of any sexual motive or innuendo. “You can never underestimate the power of a good push-up bra, my friend.”
We pick up Shelly and I speed off toward Minneapolis. By the time we get to Spectacle and find a place to park, it’s almost 10:00.
Clay pries his fingers from my dashboard and clears his throat. “Katherine, I’m going to preface this by saying that you know I adore you.” He clears his throat again. “But that was the most frightening car ride I’ve ever experienced.”
I look at Shelly in the backseat, where she nods agreement. Her huge, unblinking, dark eyes are fixed on me and her breath is shallow. “Kate, I don’t scare easily, but that was f**king terrifying. I think I pissed myself.”
I shrug at the over exaggeration. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know if the speed limit in California is 95 miles an hour, because I realize you guys probably do things a little different there, but it’s only 65 here, which is about how fast you take f**king corners.”
I look from Clay to Shelly and back again. They’re both nodding, wide eyed and pale. I hold up my right hand and close my eyes. “I promise to slow it down a little on the way home.”
“And use turn signals,” adds Clayton.
“And use turn signals,” I promise. And then I throw a question silently to God. Why didn’t you tell me I’m a shitty driver? Is California just full of shitty drivers? I didn’t think I was so bad. I’ve never been in an accident. Anyway, thanks for not letting me kill anyone I guess. Later.
The line is long out front. They’re checking IDs at the door and Shelly gets a wristband since she’s twenty-two. I get a big black X on the back of my hand. The music inside is loud; the bass is thumping deep in my chest. The lights are flashing and the dance floor is already packed. I’m itching to get out there.
“Come on Shelly, let’s dance!”
She gives me a look and points to the bar behind us. “Oh no, I need some liquid courage first. There’s no way in hell I’m going out there sober. You two go ahead.”
Clayton takes my hand and we walk to the edge of the dance floor and stop there so we can keep an eye on Shelly. The music hums through me. I love this feeling. More people pile in and before long we’re pressed against each other moving to the rhythm of the music. We both know the song and we’re singing every single word. Clayton looks so happy amongst this sea of beautiful men.
Clayton and I dance our way through a few more songs before I notice a guy right next to us, eyeing Clay from behind. He’s handsome: medium height with skin the color of dark chocolate. His head is shaved bald, emphasizing his majestic chiseled face. He catches my eye and raises his eyebrows toward Clayton as if he’s asking permission. I smile and nod my head. He taps Clayton on the shoulder. Clayton turns away from me and before I know it I’ve been abandoned for Mr. Cheekbones. I shrug. That’s why we’re here. Besides, I’ve watched Shelly throw back two shots and a beer. It’s time to dance.
I maneuver back to the edge of the floor and motion with my pointer finger for her to come join me. She looks a little more relaxed than when we walked in, but she polishes off the last of her beer before she joins me.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she mutters resentfully.
I smile because even though she’s scowling, her features have softened. I feel like I’m about to see a transformation take place. “Shelly, relax. Listen to the music. Feel it. You’ve got this.” I take her hands and hold on as the beat sinks in.
She grips my fingers tightly and tries to mirror what I’m doing. She’s stiff and self-conscious, but by the second song she’s relaxed enough to let go of my hands.
“Your inner dancing queen is so happy right now! The revolt’s been aborted!” I yell in her ear over the music.
She sticks her tongue out at me, but then she smiles and it’s the sort of happiness that’s totaling freeing. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or if she just decided she doesn’t give a shit.
Just then I feel hands on my waist, taking me by surprise. But they’re gentle, and they belong to the person that’s now pressed against me from behind. I don’t look back, but whoever it is can keep up with every move I make. I love dancing with people who feel the music the same way I do. And this guy definitely does. We dance to two more songs before he yells in my ear, “Damn girl, you can dance! I don’t usually dance with women, but I couldn’t resist. Thanks.” He kisses me on the cheek. I look back and smile. He winks at me before he moves away back through the crowd toward the center of the floor. Damn, he was good-looking. Oh well. You can’t win em’ all.