James always looked sharp. His
bell-bottoms always wore a sharp crease and his platform shoes never went out in
public sporting scuff marks or cigarette butts stuck to their heels.
One day James convinced me to accompany
him to Club Venus over at Perring Plaza to pick up women who were amenable to
dancing under the big glass ball.
"But”, said James, “we gotta take
you shopping for some new threads. I
have seen your wardrobe man and frankly it sucks. Might work for those big
Mother Earth, Ms Natural types I see dragging you around, but the women over
to the Venus need you to step up your game. They have some class. They
actually shave their armpits and use lipstick.”
He could tell I was a tad
miffed. He turned me to face the big
glass doors on the front of the Towson State University library. “Look at yourself fool. You’re a schlub, what with all that tye dyed
hippie shit cut off jeans flip flop look you are sporting. Really Bro, time to
pick up your game. No sulking, we are
hoofing uptown to Hutzler’s. Besides, what are you going to spend that paycheck
on anyway, more weed?”
So we began the hike up York
Road. James strutting in his everyday
best and me flip flopping beside him in my everyday worst. After a short stop at the bank to cash my
check, we crossed the street and entered the department store.
Forty five minutes or so later we
strode out of Hutzlers looking like twin brothers of different mothers. I had transformed from an ugly ducking into
an imagined swan. Tucked into a pair of baby blue bell bottoms was the classic
“Fever” shirt with the big collar and puffy sleeves opened of course to show
off the authentic fake gold chain. Toss in those outrageous 3” platform Disco
shoes and Jack, I was ready to kill me some ladies. Least ways, Jack said I was gonna knock em
dead.
Thursday night came. James called me. Something about being jammed up and he would
meet me at Club Venus around eight.
Bummed a ride with some other folks from the dorm and walked in the
club. A banner over the entrance to the
ball room claimed in three foot letters, that this night was the first annual
“Rainbow Night”.
Not placing any special importance to the notion of “Rainbow Night”, I walked onto the massive dance
floor. Disco Jacks and Disco Jills were
getting their grooves on. I was maybe
halfway across the floor when it dawned on me that I was seeing mostly bucks dancing with bucks and does dancing with does. ……………
“That goddamned James, …..I’ll
kill the bastard", I thought. I smiled instead. James thought he had been safely
living in the closet. He had no clue
most of his friends knew he was gay and didn’t care. …… “But yeah where is that little bastard?” I finished crossing the dance floor and found
the 50 foot bar. Ordered a shot and a
beer, I settled onto a bar stool and watched the light in the loafer folks do
their thing.
Into my second shot and second
beer, I noticed a woman heading in my general location. She was taking disco to an ultimate height,
fashion wise. She was wearing a one
piece silver hot pants outfit, thigh high silver platform boots, and topped off
with an albino afro, two and a half feet across. Woah, she wanted everyone’s attention. She would not be ignored. She smiled at me and……….. Damned, if it wasn’t James, doing his best tranny act and pulling it off to boot. He
looked perfect. But then James always
looked sharp.
All I
could do was grin and head out to meet him on the dance floor for his first
coming out dance. Had a blast that night
with him and all the friends he used to keep in his closet.
________________________________
First written in Fall of 2018 for a writing class I was in.
Cross Published in the original "Lost in the Bozone"
