When Javier and I re-enter the bar proper, I am a surprised to find forty or fifty customers clustered in small groups around the club. The front doors are now propped open and I can see Teddy perched on a barstool in the vestibule, checking IDs and stamping people's hands as they enter. A few customers wander over to greet Javier, who excuses himself to mingle with his patrons. I stay glued to the end of the bar, scanning the room for students that I fear may recognize me. I am startled when Jesse bursts through the curtained doorway and runs into me.
"Whoa! Sorry, man," he says, while trying to detangle himself from the curtain and juggle a clipboard and a plastic box filled with cassette tapes.
"That's okay. I should get out of the way." I scoot around to the front of the bar and signal Steven by pointing at my empty glass. Jesse leans in close to my ear.
"Order me one too and meet me in the booth," Jesse whispers and then dashes toward the far side of the bar. He looks back and catches me watching him leave and winks. The sound of Steven clearing his throat makes me turn back to the bar.
"I wouldn't play with that particular fire," Steven says, with a hint of admonishment. "I can almost gaurantee you'll get burned."
"I wasn't. I mean... I'm not. I would never."
Steven slides my drink slowly across the bar.
"I need two actually," I say. Steven makes no move to make another drink.
"Is it for Jesse?"
"Yeah, he asked me..."
"Honey," Steven interrupts me, shaking his head slowly from side to side, "Jesse isn't supposed to drink while he's working. I can't."
This makes perfect sense to me, but Steven's attitude suggests something more. I decide to skirt the awkwardness and change the subject.
"So, there's going to be a show tonight I guess?" I'm surprised by Steven's reaction to the question.
"Oh girl!" He yells at me and begins to dance about. His excitement is barely containable. "You couldn't be here on a better night! Sylvia Estrella, Robyn Banks and Peaches LaRue! You're gonna get a big ole' dose of real Texas drag tonight, honey!"
"They put on a good show?" I ask, feigning interest. The few times I had seen drag shows in Ohio, the entertainers were a boring collection of poorly dressed men, pantomiming love songs at AIDS benefits. I'd pay my respects for their efforts and give them dollars for the worthy cause, but the sad show itself was always more of a chore to watch than something to actually enjoy. Steven recognizes my lackluster enthusiasm.
"Where you from?" Steven asks. A hint of irritation in his voice makes me feel scolded, yet again.
"Ohio," I say, with the false bravado that one has to try and muster when admitting their Midwestern origins to a Texan. Steven rolls his eyes and chuckles.
"So, you've never even seen a drag show." This isn't phrased as a question. It is a firm declarative statement. He begins to actually 'shoo' me away from the bar like a bothersome fly. "Go. Go claim yourself a good spot to watch."
"But I..."
Steven silences me with a raised eyebrow and punctuates it by dramatically crossing his arms over his chest.
I take my drink, slide off my stool and head through the nearest archway to the dance floor side of the bar, looking back at Steven like a wounded puppy the whole way. He grins at my corny acting and I turn, just in time to avoid running into Javier.
"Why don't you watch the show from the booth, I have a little problem to take care of," he says, never stopping his forward momentum. In one swift gesture, he physically sets me aside by grabbing my shoulders and gingerly, but firmly, moving me out of his way.
His considerable strength is evident, but so is his care and restraint. The look of concern and determination on his face is both worrying and comforting. That unfamiliar nervousness returns, and for the first time I recognize the feeling. It's that unique sensation of watching a horror movie when you know something really bad is about to happen. That odd sense of doom, offset by the comfort of the theater seat. Nail-biting fear cut by the comforting fact that you are safely ensconsed in a smelly cinema. He moves straight to the door where he and Teddy engage in a heated conversation. I decide to follow orders and head to the DJ booth.
Jesse is hunched over two spinning turntables when I climb the two, steep steps to the booth. With his back turned to me, I can see over his head and shoulders, through a cutout window in the front wall of the booth. The dance floor beyond is occupied by only a handful of people, but the crowd around the perimeter of the room is growing by the minute and some of them have dragged stools over from the bar. While there is no actual stage, you can clearly see that the majority of the people here are oriented to face the far wall of the dance floor, which is draped from floor to ceiling with raggedy black curtains.
Jesse turns, sensing my presence. Tethered to the sound board by his headphones, he takes my drink from my hand and then points to a barstool in the back corner of the booth. He downs the drink in two giant gulps, hands me the empty glass, sqauts to the floor and begins rifling through a metal crate of albums. He removes a cardboard sleeve and gently slides a shiny black record from it with surgeon-like care. He then replaces the sleeve at an angle to serve as a placeholder, gives me a quick, evil grin and turns back to the sound board.
Javier climbs the steps to the booth and begins to approach Jesse, but then backs away slowly.
"Watch," he says to me, gesturing to Jesse with his chin.
With a record spinning on the left turntable, Jesse adjusts his headphones and places the record he has just retrieved on the right turntable. He releases a small lever and the arm of the player slowly drops the needle onto the inky black vinyl. Jesse's head begins to bob immediately. With his left hand on a small sliding knob between the turntables, he uses the thumb of his right hand to act as a brake against the edge of the spinning album. He does this for a second and then, using his index finger, begins to 'wind' the album faster using the paper label in the center. He repeats this braking and accelerating over and over, with the kind of concentration usually reserved for organ transplants and shuttle launches. Slowly, he inches the sliding lever on the sound board to the right. For the first time, I can hear a new beat slowly gaining volume behind the song that is blaring through the club. Jesse's bobbing becomes more prominent and he begins a tight, lock-step dance. Then, with a masterful flourish, he slides the knob all the way to the right and a new beat seamlessly blends into the first. The first few bars of the orchestral Army of Lovers song "I'm Crucified" fills the club - a chorus of singers backed by strings and keyboards. Jesse lets out a 'whoop' and jumps back from the turntables as if he has been shocked. The few dancers on the floor surge with renewed vigor.
"Never interrupt when he's mixing," Javier warns me and slides up behind Jesse and puts his arms around his waist. Jesse turns and pushes him away.
"Ugh... not now," Jesse says and removes the record from the left turntable and tucks it back into its sleeve in one of the crates. Javier rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at him behind his back.
"Okay kids," Javier says, "Showtime in five minutes. Jesse, I don't have a spotlight person tonight. Can you find someone real quick?"
Jesse quickly scans the crowd before turning to look at me. "You think you can do it?" Jesse asks.
My eyes widen with fear.
"It's easy. You just point the light at the queen and follow it wherever it goes."
"Yeah, it's easy Jack. You can do it," Javier chimes in.
They both point to a small step ladder beneath a theatrical spotlight mounted on top of the wall that surrounds the booth.
"Um... I don't think I... I've never..." I stammer, trying to back further away from the step ladder.
"Trust me," Javier says laying a firm hand on my shoulder and looking pleadingly into my eyes, "it's the best seat in the house."
I tentatively climb the stairs as Jesse gives me a rudimentary lesson on the operation of the spotlight.
"Okay folks, it's showtime!"Javier exclaims, and claps his hands together loudly. He winks at me and then leaves the booth as quickly as he came.
I look down at Jesse from the second step of the ladder with a mixture of fear and excitement.
"Welcome to show business!" He says and then slaps me on the ass and presses play on the tape deck.
No comments:
Post a Comment