Chapter 5: Cleopatra’s Temple

The discreet basement club is tucked away on a small side street away from the main night-time flow of tourists. It’s the sort of place you need to know exists, as it is unlikely you would find it by chance. Bea guides me through the nondescript door and down a flight of steps. Only at the door at the bottom of the steps is there a sign giving the club’s name. Since the name of the club is Cleopatra’s Temple, it doesn’t come as a surprise to me that the theme is ancient Egypt. What does come as a surprise is the charge for admission. Prices like that will certainly ensure the club has an exclusive group of wealthy patrons. However Bea gains us free entry by simply asking for two yellow tokens. The woman at the entry desk asks Bea if she’s sure that’s what she wants, before handing over the requested tokens. The bouncer at the interior door checks our tokens and waves us through towards the cloakroom.

“What’s the significance of the token’s colour?” I ask Bea while we wait in a queue of people clutching their own red, blue or green tokens.

“The club has an ancient Egyptian theme. The colour of your token determines the costume the attendant will provide, and your role in tonight’s activities.”

“Let me guess ... yellow means that you and I are slaves and we’ll be required to do degrading tasks.”

“No, no. A person wanting to play a slave gets a green token and they must pay for entry. Free entry is only granted to those who are willing to provide entertainment.”

“What sort of entertainment?” I ask.

“In your case, I suggest you repeat the dance routine you did earlier. I can come up with something for me to do before we are called on stage. Once we’ve completed our performance, we are free to enjoy the rest of the night.”

By now the people in front of us have handed over their tokens and received a costume in exchange. They disappear into the changing rooms. I hand my token to a female attendant.

“What sort of act are you performing?” asks the attendant.

“Dance,” I reply.

“Your dance needs to be in the Egyptian style.”

“Um ... I’m a belly dancer, is that okay?” I ask, unsure what she means by ‘Egyptian style’.

“Yes. That’s fine,” replies the attendant as she gauges my size before rummaging among a rack of costumes behind her. “This one should do the trick. You can change in the rooms over there. Use one of the vacant lockers for your own clothes. You’ll be called onto the stage at ten o’clock. See the stage manager beforehand if you need music or props.”

“Thanks,” I reply as I look around for Bea.

Bea has already been provided with a costume by another attendant. She instructs me to meet her on the other side of the changing rooms when I’m ready. I enter one of the large well appointed cubicles. The costume I’ve been given is much better than the makeshift costume I used at the villa. Dressed like this I feel like a real ancient Egyptian dancer.

I find Bea waiting for me when I emerge into the club’s main room. Her costume is far simpler than mine, consisting of a white cotton sleeveless dress with an ornate wide belt.

“You look gorgeous in that costume,” compliments Bea putting her arm in mine. “Come on, we should see the stage manager about some music for your performance.”

“What sort of act are you doing?” I ask.

“I can play a lyre, so I’m going perform a musical piece I know.”

“Does the club have a lyre?” I ask.

“The club has a fine collection of ancient Egyptian musical instruments. They’re replicas, of course, but they are well crafted. I’ve been here before, during my studies.”

Bea’s comment explains how she knew about the yellow tokens to gain free entry to the club. The stage manager has no problem in providing her with a lyre. When I discuss the music for my dance, he vetoes the use of my own preferred track on the grounds that it’s too modern. I point out that a belly dance is also a more recent development than in Cleopatra’s time, even though it has origins in ancient dance.

“Then you will need to perform your dance in the ancient style,” says the manager.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” I reply. “I’ve never seen an earlier form of the dance I perform.”

“I’m sure your dance will satisfy the club’s audience. However, ancient Egyptian dancers did so naked above the waist.”

I’m about to refuse to do that when Bea reminds me that a refusal could result in us being ejected from the club, and our night out ruined when it has only just begun.

“You have a beautiful body, Becca,” coaxes Bea. “You mustn’t be shy about showing it. Why else do you perform a belly dance if not to tease your audience with the promise of hidden delights?”