“Are you sure we’re in the right place?”
“The brunette shushes her blonde friend. Both girls stand on the sidewalk as foot traffic, irritated, moves past them like water parting around a river rock. A quiet minute passes before the blonde loses patience, this time taking her friend by the hand trying to pull her toward where they parked her car.
“Come on let’s go; he bullshitted us. Ha, ha; joke’s on us. Club Bizarre is just an urban myth.”
“You go, if anyone knows where it’s at it’s gonna be Tony.”
“Beth, you just want to fuck him, he don’t know shit. Besides, only crazy people just stand on the street starring at a brick wall.”
“You leave then, Amy; I’d have a better chance without you anyways, you’re too square for Club Bizarre. Tony warned me not to bring you.”
“Fuck you; find your own ride home if you gonna be a bitch.”
Beth doesn’t acknowledge Amy’s ranting as she walks off. Instead, Beth stands as still as she can on the sidewalk just looking at the plain red-brick wall between two businesses, thinking of nothing, which Beth thinks is the hardest thing to try to think of.
Just when she thinks she can see something in the wall she is startled by a car’s horn behind her. She doesn’t turn when she hears Amy; “Last chance; come on, jump in girl.” Beth just holds her hand up, just high enough to be seen over her shoulder, and flicks Amy off. She doesn’t even hear Amy drive off when she sees it through teary eyes from staring, a lone star in the bruised dusk sky, and she makes a wish.
On the wall is a neon sign; pinks and blues and greens twisted together. “Club Bizarre,” and below it, blinking; “Where They Can Be Free.” She takes three steps to the wall/door. On the door she notices a sign telling her; “Yes, we’re open to anything,” and etched into the now real glass door a single word; “DREAM!”
She opens it and steps inside.
Hard, rhythmic pumping of techno music slams into her as if the notes have solid form. Her heart beat becomes as heavy in its own rhythm, matching the bass beat.
She finds herself standing in a hallway which ends in a beaded curtain, too thick to see through into the main club, but the smoke, a blend of tobacco and other less legal substances, attacks her as if they are pushed toward her by the airy pulse of the club’s music from beyond that curtain.
Beth is startled by a very deep and masculine voice to her right; “First time?”
She turns, subconsciously reaching into her purse for her Mace can. The man is a bear; all steroids and iron. Her fingers refuse to grip the small, useless can.
He just smiles, which does nothing to calm her; “I asked; first time?”
“Oh, ah; yeah.”
He taps a sign beside him with a meaty, polish sausage of a finger indicating a sign which declares: “$10.00 Cover.” She laughs nervously; of course they’d have a bouncer. And a cover charge.
.... There is more of this story ...