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Excerpt
The music had
become upbeat since we entered. Nellie gently swung her hips while one hand
snapped in rhythm to the beatnik-like tune. The drummer and the guitarist
played it hip in dark sunglasses, as if posing for a fashion shoot. The spiky
haired bass player soulfully strummed his instrument like it was an extension
of himself. I wanted to be his groupie ready to take on his deep throbbing
melody.
Around us, groovy
patrons found their swing. With arms waving and bodies gyrating, they crowded
the floor.
“Is this jazz feel
too cool for you, Guy?” I asked.
He propped his chin
on both hands, staring at us through blurry eyes and gesturing more gracelessly
as the orange liqueur took hold.
“In this state,” he
mumbled without moving his jaw, “I could even listen to Barry Manilow.”
He downed his drink
as if it was water waiting for a marathon runner.
“Come on guys,” I
said. “There’s a party in full swing. Why aren’t we dancing?”
I shuffled my feet
into the crowd, holding hands with my drinking companions. We oozed into the
jumbled rhythmic pulse of the bodies twisting and spinning around us. There was
no Warwick or Pedro here to make me sad, just a group of friendly strangers
sharing the beat.
Guy created his own
tempo as his hands clapped out of synch. Even his wings got into the act,
making him look like a seagull caught in a fishing net. Maudi’s upper half
gyrated back and forth, yet still poised like the cultivated lass she was.
I danced with them
but somehow in my own space, wanting to shed my skin and take the joy of this
party home with me, albeit with just the bass player. The primal pulse of his
talents would inject the same life into me as he was to his instrument. We’d
come alive, sweaty, breathless, ecstatic!
“Allan, darling,”
said Maudi. She leaned over to my ear like Mata Hari about to share a password.
“That bass player is sober. You are drunk.”
“So?”
“So if you approach
him you’ll look like a sleazy rogue.”
“How did you know I
was interested in him?”
“Sweetheart, nobody
here can miss your unsavory curiosity. You’re slobbering over him like he’s a
juicy peach.”
“And how I’d love
to nibble on that peach. And that banana as well.”
“Dear, take the
matter in your own hand. No one will get hurt.”
“What about
friction rash?”
She shook her head.
As she pulled away, Guy gazed at me, clawing his hand and purring like a tiger.
Was he sending me up or saying he was horny as well? I considered it. My sex
life was on life support, but would I go to hell for sleeping with an angel?
From that moment
on, the rest of the soirée was a bit of a blur. I recall being chatted up by a
sexy bald headed gent in a white safari suit, or at least I’d like to think he
was chatting me up. Guy danced on one of the tables to a jazz version of
“Shaft.” Hearing Nellie croon “Shaft” was equally bizarre. A dreamy guy was
sung “Happy Birthday” while blowing out candles on a cake. Some poor elder tripped backward onto the
cake. I think a group of girls helped him scrape the baked delights from his shirt,
but they seemed a little anorexic so perhaps they were just hungry. I believe a
man was dancing in white boxers, or maybe he was a stripper?
“Here, try this.”
While my head was
filled with delightfully twisted fantasies of me and the bass player, the
birthday boy sidled up and shoved his finger in my mouth. Rich gooey white
chocolate melted down my throat.
“Is that the sample
pack?”
“If you play your
cards right. Besides, I have a mad desire to show off my birthday suit.”
“Do I get to blow
out the candle?”
He grabbed the back
of my head and pulled my mouth to his moist lips. Our tongues swam, locking us
to each other. An addiction I didn’t want to break. I could hear the bass
urging me to take this man home. Its sensual strum wouldn’t lead me astray. But
this man would, with all the right moves.