Sic. It’s the only way I know to describe the scene at 1692. I mean when it really gets going. Early in the night you’ve got your stupid couples, the floor’s not that full. People there to drink. Those people are done around 1am. 2am. Date couples are gone, except the ones who are really trashed..or the ones who haven’t been drinking at all. When me and my friends go we go to dance. It’s a fucking dance club. I mean damn. Liz’ll come up from the booth and no one new is coming in. Mick stands by the back door and makes sure, after about 2am, that anyone who leaves, doesn’t get back in. There’s no exceptions for that, not me, not Liz, not anyone.
Outside it’s like an Old West scene. People throwing up on the asphalt—I mean face-down in the parking lot. And people smoking pot in their cars. And people shooting their guns off. Hey, you know. This isn’t New York City, this is Ohio. You can shoot your gun off for a while before the cops show up. If it’s late enough, no cops are gonna show up. Say: around 4am.
Around 2am it gets good. That’s when we dance. 2am to 4am. None of that meat market bullshit. I lead Jules right out there. She follows behind like a fox, making fox ears with her cupped hands. She’s one of the only black people here. This is a white club, mostly. There was a black couple here earlier. I think they left.
When I turn, Jules is dancing. I thought I was a freak. I’m a geek dancer, a dork dancer. I don’t really know how to dance. But when I dance, I dance anyway. People stay away from me and Lizard when she’s here. No one dares get close to Zombie Liz. And I tear it up.
But Jules does none of this. She doesn’t tear, she doesn’t rip, she doesn’t smoke it, she doesn’t build it up. And she doesn’t break it down.
If Johnny Depp and Charlie Chaplin had a baby, dancing, that baby would be Jules.
I thought I didn’t care what people thought, but this girl.
She never gave a fuck.
She never even had a fuck to give.
She’s boppin it like..I don’t know..like someone who’s pregnant with a baby giraffe. She’s with giraffe. That’s the only way I know to describe her. Five-foot-ten black girl in this club where everybody’s white, and she’s not acting cool. No. She doesn’t have to do that because she’s Jules. She doesn’t have to dance like black people dance. She doesn’t have to dance like white people dance, either. She doesn’t dance as corny as me. She doesn’t dance as sexy as them. She’s not trying to get anything. She’s definitely not trying to blend in. And she doesn’t look like she’s trying to get anyone’s attention—nor is she paying attention—to anyone but me.
And when the high note hits, when the song goes opera, when guys in the light booth decide to kick us with everything they’ve got on the grid overhead..then she breaks it down.
And I’m outclassed. And I don’t even care. I’m outclassed in every category ever invented and then some, in categories no one’s ever thought of. Jules outclasses me in categories that people who invent categories would be afraid to think of.
All I can do is watch her. I’m dancing. I’m with her. But all I can do is watch. I don’t even pretend I’m not watching that girl, like if there was only a minute left of oxygen in the world, I wouldn’t pretend not to breathe it.
It’s not easy, not pretending not to watch her. I don’t want to lose her. And she’s not even mine! What does that say?—When you’re afraid to lose someone you’ve never even had.
Jules has Penelope. And now Penelope has Chad. Chad and me are rocking off and I come back to Jules. And I have her a little bit, in a dance-floor way. I feel her sweat. I taste her hair. She’s got her butt in my crotch and she’s banging it. We’re banging it together. Chad is on me and I’ve got Penelope’s hand somewhere. Where’s Jules?
There she is. I turn to her. It’s just me and her. It’s Juliet and Matthew. And we’re dancing. We’re dancing. I’ve never even kissed this girl.
She’s got her arms up, and she’s dancing slow, and I grip her sari. I didn’t even know I did it. Just grabbed her on the waist. And it’s thin fabric, the thinnest, and I feel her skin and the swoop of the front of her, where it goes down. I accidentally undo her knot, or loosen it, cause she’s holding it and her other hand is on my shoulder and she’s panting, smiling with her mouth open, and looking down at her knot. She pushes me away and says “I’m going to the bathroom.”
I’m with Penelope and Chad, leaning back. I think they’re holding me. Ashley’s at the bar.
“It’s time for the bags,” I say.
I turn to Penelope and Chad.
“Get the bags.”