The Last Dance

** DISCLAIMER**
This is my perspective of the events as I remember them happening. They are neither colored by the fact that the other person involved may end up reading this, nor by the fact that he’ll probably say I’m being judgmental again. :)
***

When I found out that my friend James had officially commissioned into the Air Force and would be leaving for medical school in August I was sad. Not only was I losing a hot guy friend that I could use to make my girl friends jealous, but a damn good dancing partner. My immediate goal was to see if I could convince him that we should go out dancing one more time. The last time had been hilarious since I’d been the one to get drunk and had fallen out of his lifted Chevy truck. All of that aside I’d had such a great time dancing with him that I really wanted to change things up this time and go somewhere that wasn’t Hip hop.
Not seeming completely against the idea, James had mentioned going on a Thursday night again and if that didn’t work, then he would shoot for the weekend. His enthusiasm still had me wondering if he really wanted to go out, and being a seriously busy guy I figured Thursday would never happen. I went to work, doing an evening shift that I only do once every other month, without the idea of doing more than going straight home when I clocked out.
So of course that’s why I got a text message from him about an hour into my shift saying that indeed he wanted to go out that night. Wanting me at his house by nine I flew into a flurry of calculations. I wouldn’t get off work until nine-thirty at best, a half hour drive home, a half hour to get ready, and a half hour to drive to his house. That was not going to be a quick little adventure. The other lead on duty suggested I call in a favor and get my clothes delivered to me at work in order to cut off at least an hour from my calculations. Now I was faced with the weird task of mentally flipping through my closet in order to choose my outfit for the night. Then it was a matter of remembering all the little details to go with the whole affair: make-up, jewelry, heck even the right underwear to go with the slacks I wanted.
Half way through my shift the delivery was made and the hand off was successful. Now came the realization that if the pieces I chose to throw together into an outfit looked terrible, I was completely stuck. I could only hope it was all going to look like I had pictured and that I hadn’t forgotten anything important. The rest of my evening was spent in preparation for getting out of work as soon as I could. Any seconds I could save toward this whole affair would be helpful.
As with the theme for the night, all the seconds I thought I had shaved off in my grand preparations for closing that night were totally lost. There were delays and lots of other things that were out of my control went wrong. By the time I had closed and locked everything up, it was a sprint to my car to see if I could cut time that way. Speeding away to James’s house I tried to stay optimistic with the idea I had ultimately saved time by having my stuff already with me along with the fact that I would be getting ready there.
Walking through the front door, there James sat like a disgruntled date that had been stood up. It was more than obvious he had been dressed and ready around the time he had originally wanted me there. Now he sprawled across his couch watching TV to kill time and had managed to work his way though half a bottle of wine in the process. I felt terrible. One way or another I was always late, and if this was to be our last little outing to the clubs, I didn’t want to be wasting time. It was still about ten o’clock and I had yet to tackle my own appearance.
As I hurried to the bathroom with my stuff I make a joke about how I was upset he had started drinking without me. This only got me a grumpy comment about the fact he had only started drinking about the time I was supposed to have been there. This only added to the fact that I had shown to be the most unreliable person when it came to being somewhere at a certain time. On the whole I am a completely punctual person, but so far all the times I had told James I would be somewhere, stuff always came up. It was completely frustrating, yet I had no defense.
Commandeering the bathroom I set about transforming myself from Worker to Dancer. At this point the night and my luck were finally starting to turn around. The outfit looked as great as I had hoped and nothing was missing from my normal Clubbing Queen preparations. Emerging from the bathroom in record time, I felt a little over dressed compared to the casual jeans and shirt James was sporting. My only goal was to look good so that he’d at least leave and remember me that way. I could be a hottie too when I tried.
Cleaning up to head out, we met up in the kitchen to either finish off the wine or cork it. Then came the discussion of what he had around the house so that I could get a drink or two in me in order to catch up. No such luck, no vodka or anything other than beer. I was never one for wine but I took a chug for good measure. For once it didn’t taste as terrible as I had remembered in the past. I could also tell that would be a dumb way to get sick quick if I kept that up.
Telling him that I didn’t have money to drink at the club anyway, it didn’t really matter in the long run. At this he protested, since I was driving we’d just have to stop somewhere and get my beverage of choice. Not caring about the alcohol I pouted at the idea that we wouldn’t be taking his truck. I really have no idea how far back my thing with big trucks goes. I’m sure most of it came from the guy I crushed after in college who’d had this monstrous suburban that only got eight miles to the gallon, but it was so fun to go off-roading in. There’s just something really powerful about looking down at the rest of the traffic on the road.
As I continued to give James my deepest, most heartfelt pouty face, I think he did actually start to felt bad. I just wasn’t sure if I’d get to ride in his truck again before he left. I was also selfishly hoping to redeem myself by managing to get in and out of the truck successfully the whole night. The standoff didn’t last that long, one guilty look from James and I felt childish. It was really my turn to drive and his turn to drink. I did have an angle though. The slacks that I was wearing had no pockets and I needed him to hold my keys, ID, ectera for the night. After promising no feminine products would be included I handed over all my stuff and we finally stepped out the back door.
The first stop was the Shell station. A six-pack of Smirnoff Ice and three cans of Diet Sparks filled a shopping bag. The clerk asked for both our ID’s and as James handed them over he jokingly stated that the one with my face was his and vice versa. This lead to the clerk, who was a gentleman looking to be in his fifties, launching into a story. Apparently, back in the day, he had been out with some buddies and after meeting some girls had exchanged ID’s to laugh at the pictures and such. The next day when he tried to get into a bar, he pulled out his ID and found only one belonging to one of the girls from the night before. Telling his story to the bouncer, they let him through because there was no way a guy like him could have the ID of such a cute girl unless he was telling the truth.
Finally James and I headed into the night, at last, fortified and somewhat pumped for our evening to come. Parking in my usual spot James reached behind the seat to grab a can of Sparks. Taking a sip I did have to admit that, as much as I hate the smell and taste of most energy drinks, Diet Sparks wasn’t half bad. It did actually taste like liquid candy. When most people tell me something tastes like candy I can usually shudder over the alcohol content or some other nasty after taste. I didn’t love it enough to drink one of the cans he had bought; I figured I had a six-pack of Smirnoff so he could have the Sparks.
There we sat in the parking garage with a terribly romantic view of a cement wall, and cars parked along the street through a chain link covered window. I had turned the car off completely so my usual house background music wasn’t playing. Two twenty-something’s dressed to go dancing, busy getting drunk in the car to avoid the charge at the bar. It wasn’t silent though; we were talking. For all intensive purposes we were finally talking.
It wasn’t exactly the topics we were talking about, but the fact that I just felt like I was finally talking to him without holding myself back with the fear of him thinking I was lame. The guy had a BioChem degree which puts my BA in Bio to shame and I absolutely can’t stand people thinking I’m stupid. I respected him for his accomplishments and the fact that, as far as we had come hanging out together, he’d never proven to be the typical asshole guy I’m so quick to stereotype and judge. Because of that I’ve been afraid to accidentally fall into any stereotype that he might have for women on a whole. Not that I should expect to stick out as something special, but it was a nice thought for the ego. A couple drinks in me and now I could finally talk to the guy without all that stuff weighing on my mind.
I was quickly reaching Fuzzy as I was downing drinks and James was reminding me of that little boy I found so endearing when we first met. Looking at my watch I was shocked to find that it was almost midnight. For all my rushing and here we sat drinking in my car. We hadn’t even made it to the club yet! Then again the goal was to spend time with James as much as everything else. So really I just needed to relax about the whole adventure. Yet the last thing I wanted to do was come home and post to my blog about having dressed up to drink in a parking garage.
Chugging down one last Smirnoff Ice together, I paid for parking finally and we walked toward the club. Surprised to see a line at the door, it still only took us a moment to get in. The joy of there being no cover means you only have to wait on the bouncer checking your ID, not the fool in front of you digging around in his pockets looking for his big pimpin’ money clip that he somehow miss placed now that it was time to pay. I will never understand why people can find their ID’s super fast but when it comes to paying for cover, money is some foreign word they need a translator for. Of course this usually only happens to me when I decide I can go without a jacket for the distance between the car and the club entrance and it’s freezing outside.
The inside was definitely busy and the dance floor was already crowded. Looking around I saw a lot of the usual crowd as James and I headed toward the bathrooms. When ever I hit up a place like that and don’t see the people that are there EVERY week, I start to worry that I missed some flyer or memo of something way cooler going on in the city. I didn’t have to worry. There was even the guy that I see at every House Music club I go to. Whenever something good with House Music is happening and I find out about it, this guy is usually the first one I notice. The strange thing is, as much as I’ve mentioned this guy and pondered my own narrow mindedness when it comes to musical enjoyment, this guy is the most average looking person. He’s not some trendy House Music type person. No Mohawk or track jacket, no Puma shoes or obvious undying need to dance every second of the night. Usually dressed causal in a t-shirt and jeans, he’s got average features. I’ve seen him dance from time to time, but that doesn’t seem to be his focal point of expression. He’s always been the one sitting back with a beer, bobbing his head. Not that I’m saying anything is wrong with him or the way I perceive him. I just find it interesting that for someone who is so faithful to the House scene, he’s never “gone native”. Even I find myself sporting the track jackets and brandishing my Pumas. I think he’s the same guy he ever was with a deep love for the music.
Still crowd watching I stood on the far side of the dance floor by the bathrooms waiting for James to return. A little part of me was antsy that he had all my belongings. Not that I dreamed James would do anything to purposely strand or hurt me, it just made my independent nature a little nervous. If something should happen, anything, it could be complicated by the fact that James had my ID and car keys, all the important things. All my worries quieted when emerging from the packed in corner by the bar that disappeared into bathrooms, James smiled and stood with me to check out the scene.
I didn’t want to waste another moment. The clock was swiftly approaching one o’clock and we hadn’t even hit the floor yet. Grabbing his arm I maneuvered my way through the crowd to an open spot and we both started dancing. After all the protesting he had done early that week about being a terrible dancer, along with that evening, I was just as pleased and impressed as I had been the last time we had gone. Completely willing and able to keep up with me, I got no static from him about hitting the dance floor straight out, nor did he dance one song and retreat. The guy had moves and I was glad to have him with me.
We took a quick break when it was my turn to visit the bathroom. I was lucky that I picked a good moment to duck behind the simple curtain that served as the restroom door; I was met with no line. This club only had two bathrooms and the one on that particular floor had to support the main floor and a balcony of people drinking. Three stalls in the women’s restroom doesn’t quite cut it. A lot of people don’t know there is a downstairs or don’t venture down there because they don’t like Drum and Bass. Of course that only adds another three stalls, but in most cases that’s the express lane of restrooms.
Upon my return I had to search a bit for James. He wasn’t where I had left him. After doing a little walk through of the dance floor and the seating area, I came to find him talking with the guy I had spoken about early. The Regular. As if the world wasn’t small enough James knew the guy. This guy had been in his fraternity of all things. I find this completely ironic in retrospect, but as James introduced me to the guy, I couldn’t hear the name. The look we exchanged was a strange sort of, “I should know you but I don’t care to”, sort of recognition. The one guy I recognize everywhere I go but I never knew his name, I finally get the formal introduction and I’m still at a loss.
Now that I had started drinking and had the chance to dance for a while, I wanted to keep my Toasty state from dipping back toward sober. Heading to the bar I asked James for the twenty that I was only carrying in case of emergency. After guzzling three Smirnoff’s in a half hour, my idea of emergency was definitely broadened. Only wanting water, James stood back from the flow of people crowding the bar and let me dive in alone. I wasn’t expecting anything from Shannon this week. In my past few posts, I’ve mentioned that Shannon had seemed less than happy to see me the last several times I had approached him with a drink order. A little disappointed that my Rock Star hook up was at an end, I was done with my hopeful expectation of getting my first drink for free as had been his style in the past. But that had started at another bar, and another time. Everything changes.
Ordering a bottle of water and a Lemon Drop, Shannon knocked me out with a brilliant smile and squeeze of my hand. Handing the bottle of water through the crowd to James, I asked Shannon how he was doing over the music. Smiling and nodding that things were going well he handed me my shot and handed the guy next to me a bottle of beer. Holding up my twenty in the silent intention of paying, Shannon shook his head. Holding someone else’s money over his heart he mouthed that it was on him. At that he got a brilliant smile from me and I thanked him more than once as I stepped out of the way of the bar. Returning to James I handed back the twenty and he gave me an impressed look. Finally after all my boasting to other people about knowing the bartender, I could smile at James and have a little Rock Star moment. On the other hand I had to ask James if he had any smaller bills because I wanted to tip Shannon. This had gotten to be a sort of game back in the day. When I originally met everyone at this club down south, both Shannon and Mondavi (who I dated for too short of a time) were the ultimate ‘Cocktail’ style bartenders with flying shot glasses and the whole nine yards. I was the Dancing Queen back then, starting the dance floor for the club, and the boys were only charging me for one or two drinks. It got to be a game of leaving huge tips then, which always got me a head shake from Shannon, where as Mondavi would get all flustered and refuse to charge the tip to my card. When James handed me what he had in singles, I returned to the bar and caught Shannon’s eye, it was the long lost smile and head shake that I got as I tossed in the dollar bills into the vase that was his tip jar.
Back to the floor, I was having a total blast dancing with James. The music was awesome and when the opportunity arose I only spent a couple songs up on the platform. I was more interested in hanging out with James while there was still time. I knew it had to be closer to two in the morning than I wanted to admit, I was just going to keep on dancing until the lights came up. But not without one more stop for refreshment. I bought us both a Lemon Drop shot, and I knew that had to be the very last thing I drank for the night. Fuzzy was a little too close and I was the one that was supposed to be driving.
When the lights did come up, I remember being so disappointed that I had to stop dancing. I’ll never know what James was thinking; he may have felt relieved that it was time to go home. I’d like to think he was having as much fun as I was. Another night and he had totally kept up with me, proving to be a great person to go out dancing with and to dance with. I hope that one day he’ll realize he’s got great ability, but also that he stays modest about it. He’d be a tough one to deal with if he got as arrogant as some of the jerks that I run into night after night. Dancing with a guy like that is like being in constant competition. One missed step, one off rhythm and he’s immediately gone, off looking for the next challenger.

The only regret I have is that I didn’t get a picture of us before we went out. But then again I guess I’ve still got a couple weeks to steal some pictures of the guy before he disappears to another state to become James MD.