Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,43

to go see Dave Chapelle live in the future, each delegating between snickers who’s gonna pay for what. Ideas of shared hotel beds ignite blushes in his cheeks, and promises of giving me a personal afterparty spark the color to creep into mine.

Post the comedy duo, who had a couple of great jokes but still needs more polishing, are a couple of guitarists – one acoustic, one electric, both performing cover songs rather than originals – and one heavy metal-inspired magician. Throughout the pieces, Hugo keeps me in his arms. Softly strokes my shoulder. Toys with my bowtie. Feathers the strands of hair along the back of my neck. Every move, every smile, every look is flirty and aimed directly at me. Getting up to introduce the entertainers easily becomes my least favorite part of the night when it’s usually the opposite.

Upon the show’s closing, I always do a small dance set. It varies from breakdancing in a laser light show to ballet moves in a bubble tornado. The goal is to always be fresh and fun and remind people to embrace what some would consider unusual because that’s what the club is all about. My original performance was dropped like last season’s holiday heels when Hugo agreed to come.

Here’s to hoping the last-minute shit I switched it to and practiced all afternoon goes over well.

At the very fucking least, I hope he appreciates it.

“You guys know what time of the night it is,” I announce into the microphone, fighting the unexpected tangled nerves. There are cheers of excitement from the crowd that lead me to chortling, “You tryin’ to make me blush and shit. That’s rude.” Laughs and snickers are given a brief moment to appear again before I return to introducing myself. “I thought tonight I would take you all back to my childhood for a few. How does that sound?”

Happy applause and hollers receive a wide grin followed by a finger point to the D.J.

The opening of “My Boo” by Usher and Alicia Keys pours through the speakers, instantly winning over many in the crowd. Singing along to the easy opening, I keep my movements sharp and assigned to appropriate key lyrics as well as beats. When the music shifts to the speaking moment, I encourage the crowd to join in on the crooning. I push away from the mic during the first verse and turn the stage into a pantomimed playground. Using pop and lock techniques along with some breakdancing freezes, I act out the words and memories that some of them instill – like a session of hopscotch and getting stuck in a tree. Everyone in the crowd, except Hugo, is unaware of when these things actually occurred but are, nonetheless, amused by them.

Upon the arrival of the chorus, I slide into the audience and sprinkle bits of gold glitter from my pocket stash on the guests anytime the word Boo is sung. Women giggle like schoolgirls as it falls into their hair. Men chuckle and brush it away when it lands on their arms. Both continue to sing along, sing to each other, sing into their liquor glasses. Alicia Keys’ verse returns me to dancing in the middle of the crowd. Unlike the first half that was hard hits, these are smooth. Filled with flows and rolls and glides around the makeshift stage I’ve made. The chorus, again, brings out my sparkles, though this time they’re pink. I cover toes and fingers and even let a lady pull out a pinch from my pocket to sprinkle on me. With only one unique hunk of the song left, I snake my way over to the booth where Hugo is beaming brightly. He continues to do it despite me using our table as my last prop station in which I make the glitter that I have left rain down on him. I feed off the crowd’s energy and happily feed it back to them, encouraging them to get out of their seats and sing at the top of their lungs. As soon as the song fades, I thank them all for coming, remind them to drink responsibly, and slip around backstage rather than in the front.

I swing by the office to grab my paycheck for the night and receive the round of praise Dorine has a tendency to give when the club is this packed. Her squeals and excitement are adored, yet it’s those of a sexily dressed, 6’4 hockey defenseman I am genuinely curious about.