"I can't believe you actually got us in!"
I almost couldn't, either.
This club,
Pristine,
was fairly new on the scene, and its clientèle were, by and large, big money types — wealth, affluence, influence. On any given night, the club's square footage housed a higher concentrated net worth than the entire rest of the city combined. If your name wasn't on a list, on a clipboard, in the meaty hands of the bouncer guarding the front door, you probably weren't getting in. Your average night-hawk didn't stand a chance.
"How did you even manage this?" Liam asked. We'd barely moved beyond the entrance, but he seemed almost entranced by the interior. He was really soaking it in, the light work, chic design, the energy and heartbeat. It was an impressive space, admittedly, but I was more concerned with Liam's reaction than the club itself. This was a gift to him.
"Called in a favor," I explained coolly.
If Liam had asked even a single follow-up question, he would have discovered this to be the understatement of the millennia. The truth was, I'd called in
many
favors, spent a small fortune, and there might have been a little begging, as well. I'd worked sound in the area for a few of the more prolific, local DJs, which gave me a foot in the door, but even with connections, it took special leverage for me to get our names on the list for tonight. I decided I might have undersold it, adding, "A lot of favors, actually."
Can't be too humble.
"It's fucking amazing," he said, and I found myself in a surprise hug, "Thank you so much!"
"It's your night, man," I said, and we voyaged beyond the entrance, tracing an exploratory path towards one of the less crowded bars. The music was at a roar in this section of the club, and I found myself practically shouting, "Sorry I couldn't get the whole party in!"
It was difficult enough procuring two names on the list. Liam's whole bachelor party group was around a dozen. Maybe if I were Jeff-fucking-Bezos.
"You did amazing, Jack," Liam said.
"I planned for an hour or two, and then we'll meet up with everyone else at
Lagoon
," I said. Another club, more bread-and-butter. You could walk right up, wait in line, and nobody would ask what line of private jet you preferred.
"Oh, I love that place," Liam said, though I could tell he was barely registering anything I was saying. He was eying the dance floor with some unholy combination of yearning and lust.
"Just go already," I said, rolling my eyes and giving him a little shove toward the mass of undulating bodies.
Liam didn't resist and he had almost disappeared into the crowd when he seemed to realize something and came back to stand beside me at the bar. He leaned in, saying, "Are you gonna be okay on your own, you know, with...?"
"I've been to gay bars before."
"I know. I feel bad, though," he said, "There are like,
no
women in here."
"That's the only reason Zoe let me tag along," I joked. I'd tried to convince Liam to take his soon-to-be husband as plus-one, but he'd insisted it be me, and Zoe acquiesced. "Just go. I'll grab us some drinks."
Sufficiently absolved of babysitting responsibility, Liam vanished onto the dance floor.
I watched him go, feeling not even a little envious. Unless I was on the job, doing sound for a gig, clubs weren't really my thing. I'd met Zoe at a club like this, years ago, and that was the last time I'd set foot in one as a partier, and not only because I preferred the mellower side of night life. Zoe was bit paranoid about clubs, one might even say
insecure
. I guess, since that's how we met, she worried I'd meet someone else the same way, but who knows. I wasn't going to pull the thread on that one.
A gin-and-tonic appeared in front of me and I took a long sip, surveying the club's many congregates. There really weren't any women here. I'd tagged along with Liam to a handful of gay bars in the past, but there were usually at least a couple girlfriends — friends who were girls — lurking about. I guess nobody was keen to waste their plus-one to such an exclusive space on someone who wasn't even gay. I mean, that's what Liam had done, but still.
I was effectively a non-player here, romantically speaking, being both straight and taken, though the other patrons didn't always perceive that, and some just didn't care. This was the only part of gay spaces I found awkward, having to turn down the odd advance or drink offer. It's not like gay men were tripping over themselves to get to me, but I didn't like to lead anybody on, and sometimes it felt as if I was doing that by my mere presence.
This time, I managed to down two full drinks before being approached.
A man, rather tall, maybe thirty or so, slid onto the empty stool beside me. I gave him only a curt nod, hoping to send the appropriate signal, disinterest.
"Hey you," he said, "What are you drinking?"
"Oh, uh, gin and tonic," I said, and then cringed at myself for clumsily adding, "But I'm straight. Just so you know."
"Nobodies perfect," he said congenially, apparently unfazed, "You're Liam's friend, right?"
"You know Liam?"
"I know everybody," he said, and then extended his hand, "I'm Charly."
"Jack."
I thought that might be the end of it, but Charly seemed intent on conversing, and it's not like I had anything better to do. We chatted, mostly inane stuff, smalltalk, though I couldn't hear half of what either of us was saying. I was nodding, and then smiling periodically when I guessed Charly might have made a joke. He bought me another drink, which I declined, but he didn't understand, or couldn't hear me, or maybe pretended not to. I took a sip.
"Listen, there's a quieter section on the other side of the dance floor," Charly said, motioning toward a dimly lit area on the far side of the club. My line of site was mostly obscured by all the perspiring bodies shifting around.
"Oh, uh..." I started, searching for a polite way to decline. Quieter sounded nice, but I didn't want Liam to lose track of me. Although, come to think of it, I'd already completely lost track of him.
"Come on," Charly said, and before I could conjure up an excuse, which I predicted he would ignore anyway, he grabbed my wrist and practically dragged me in tow, though when it was clear I wasn't going to run off, he let go, and I followed him willingly as he weaved us through the crowd, dodging dancers, dodging drunks, until we'd reached an enclave of sorts, a cordoned and curtained-off area at the back of the club. We walked right in, passing a bouncer, who Charly acknowledged with only a slight nod. I wondered whether that meant Charly was some kind of VIP.
"That's better, isn't it?" Charly sighed, and it was. The music was less oppressive here, the blistering highs softened, the percussion muted and dispersed, "Do you want to meet some of my friends?"
"Why not," I said. I barely knew Charly, but what the hell. I'd been getting kind of bored sitting alone at the bar, and I knew Liam would be a while. This part of the club was littered with cushions and sectionals, arranged organically, almost chaotically, throughout the space. We approached one of the couches, this one arranged in a half-circle around a low, marble table, pre-littered with half-empty bottles. There were three guys lounging there and they seemed pleased to see Charly approaching.
