rhythm section which maintained a steady beat more like a rapidly beating heart, was anything but melodic, but did provide a fascinating challenge just to maintain movement within its frenetic framework of time.
Song segued into song. Subtle changes in the music led to subtle changes in our movement. My body began to improvise as my thoughts drifted into the ether.
The crowd on the dance floor grew. As Nicole had promised, youths in black lined the walls, their eyes lined in black, their hair black, their expressions dull as if boredom were fashionable. On the dance floor, a couple of women in shorts and tie-dyed shirts flailed their bodies, bouncing off the tightly packed, sweaty crowd, their long, straight hair flying to and fro. Other women danced with other women. Men danced with men, with women. A short, gray-haired Asian fellow danced with three women simultaneously. A tall, sinewy fellow, with not the slightest amount of body fat, danced by himself, merely jumping up and down in the same spot, arms pinned to his sides. Apparently, this energetic fellow was rather famous and was simply known as Marco Pogo. And, in the middle of it all, an exotic Latin American woman in high heels and a white dress, the neckline plunging deeply, danced a Tango with a middle-aged black man in a polyester suit with no tie, the collar of his jacket tucked underneath his shirt collar.
The beat pounded. The dancers' hearts pounded in many small voices, circling around this great monolith, until one by one these small hearts joined lock step behind their bigger counterpart. Just as the room filled with a single, unified booming heart, Nicole grabbed me by the arm and dragged me toward the small bar at one side of the room, Maggie following.
"Yer wearing me out there, Count." She smiled, her brow covered with little pearls of perspiration. "Vodka cranberry," she said to the bartender who promptly handed her the bright pink concoction in a plastic glass with a little red straw.
I felt myself smile, even at the "vampires" who sipped their drinks, their hair lacquered into points at the top of their heads, ears pierced, noses pierced, probably various other body parts pierced and covered with tattoos.
"Having fun, Al?"
"Yes." I kissed Nicole on the cheek, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed lightly. "Yes, this is fun. This sound is not music, but I do not care. The passion it ignites in this unordered way. The energy it takes to dance. It takes me back. It reminds me of those nights - long ago."
"I hoped you might like it. I wasn't sure, but I'm glad you do."
"I'm going for some air," Maggie said. Her face was bright red, and her cotton T-shirt clung to her. Nicole downed her drink, and the two of us followed her friend.
The night air felt cool against my heated skin, which was moistened with perspiration, though not as much as my two lovely companions.
Nicole stood almost as soon as she sat on the curb in front of the bar. She smiled casually. "What the hell? Guess you don't buy vodka, you only rent it. Be right back."
Maggie punched my shoulder lightly after Nicole departed. Perspiration pasted curly strands of darkened hair to her broad forehead. "You know, Al," she said, "I gotta say, I really like you."
"Oh?" I replied, wondering if this was, as the Americans say, a come-on. Or a set-up for one of those bits of lasciviousness for which Americans have a reputation.
She slapped my thigh, seeming to read my mind. "No, I mean I think you're a good guy, and I'm really glad Nicole's going out with you."
"Thank you," I replied. "That is most kind of you."
"Yeah, well, usually Nicole's got a real knack for picking 'em." She shook her head. "Christ, her last boyfriend was a real creep, and I thought she'd really dug up the scum of the earth before."
"Indeed." What else was there to say.
"Just be good to her, okay? She's been through a lot, and she's not really herself right now, so be careful, okay?"
"Well, I know it must have been difficult for her, with her father - "
"Her father!" Maggie's voice rose a couple of octaves. "Did you know her father - "
"Hey, whaddaya guys talking about?" Nicole chimed in, having returned quickly from the WC - too quickly, for I wanted to know what Maggie had meant when she said that her friend was not truly herself.