Club Bizarre
This story is based on the techno song of the same name as covered by Brooklyn Bounce. If you want to listen first you can see it linked below:
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?”
The brunette shushes her blonde friend. Both girls stand on the sidewalk as foot traffic, irritated, moves past them like water parting around a river rock. A quiet minute passes before the blonde loses patience, this time taking her friend by the hand trying to pull her toward where they parked her car.
“Come on let’s go; he bullshitted us. Ha, ha; jokes on us. Club Bizarre is just an urban myth.”
“You go, if anyone knows where it’s at it’s gonna be Tony.”
“Beth, you just want to fuck him, he don’t know shit. Besides, only crazy people just stand on the street starring at a brick wall.”
“You leave then, Amy; I’d have a better chance without you anyways, you’re too square for Club Bizarre. Tony warned me not to bring you.”
“Fuck you; find your own ride home if you gonna be a bitch.”
Beth doesn’t acknowledge Amy’s ranting as she walks off. Instead, Beth stands as still as she can on the sidewalk just looking at the plain red-brick wall between two businesses, thinking of nothing, which Beth thinks is the hardest thing to try to think of.
Just when she thinks she can see something in the wall she is startled by a car’s horn behind her. She doesn’t turn when she hears Amy; “Last chance; come on, jump in girl.” Beth just holds her hand up, just high enough to be seen over her shoulder, and flicks Amy off. She doesn’t even hear Amy drive off when she sees it through teary eyes from staring, a lone star in the bruised dusk sky, and she makes a wish.
On the wall is a neon sign; pinks and blues and greens twisted together. “Club Bizarre,” and below it, blinking; “Where They Can Be Free.” She takes three steps to the wall/door. On the door she notices a signing telling her; “Yes, we’re open to anything,” and etched into the now real glass door a single word; “DREAM!”
She opens it and steps inside.
Hard, rhythmic pumping of techno music slams into her as if the notes have solid form. Her heart beat becomes as heavy in its own rhythm, matching the bass beat.
She finds herself standing in a hallway which ends in a beaded curtain, too thick to see through into the main club, but the smoke, a blend of tobacco and other less legal substances, attacks her as if they are pushed toward her by the airy pulse of the club’s music from beyond that curtain.
Beth is startled by a very deep and masculine voice to her right; “First time?”
She turns, subconsciously reaching into her purse for her Mace can. The man is a bear; all steroids and iron. Her fingers refuse to grip the small, useless can.
He just smiles, which does nothing to calm her; “I asked; first time?”
“Oh, ah; yeah.”
He taps a sign beside him with a meaty, polish sausage of a finger indicating a sign which declares: “$10.00 Cover.” She laughs nervously; of course they’d have a bouncer. And a cover charge.
After several attempts she produces a ten-spot. He smiles his non-smile as he takes it and motions, with a club-sized thumb, toward the curtain; “Have too much fun.”
Her feet move on their own, wanting to put distance between themselves and the eerie beast, they take her through the curtain and into the club. The center of the club is one huge dance floor with about a dozen couples performing their weekend mating rituals. Surrounding the dance area are several tables with chairs intermingled with couched areas. One end of the dance floor though is a raised DJ’s booth, currently occupied by a bored twenty-something wearing toilet plunger-sized headphones. Along the outer walls are a few smaller stages, unoccupied, several bars, and a few dark openings to hallways which lead away from the main club.
A girl, dressed in an extremely short skirt above her unnaturally long legs and a flimsy, near-sheer blouse which does nothing to hide her braless mountains, steps up to Beth. Her serving tray is the only thing that distinguishes her as an employee.
“Welcome; cool huh?” Her voice sounding too nervous or too happy; she’s high Beth thinks.
“I guess; with all the hype though I was expecting, um, more.”
The waitress displays a Cheshire grin; “How you mean?”
“I don’t know; more than just this; loud music, smoky air; just like any other club I’ve been to.”
“But?”
“You know the myth: Club Bizarre, where the crazy people go to be free.”
The waitress perks up and takes Beth by the hand, and drags her toward one of the bars. When they get to the bar the waitress whispers erotically close to Beth’s ear; “That’s because you got to change the frequency?”
Oddly Beth doesn’t stop the waitress’ presumptive closeness and doesn’t understand a word the waitress means, but Beth neither pulls away or asks what she means.
The waitress picks up one of many shot glasses lined up on the bar. The fluid in the plastic bar-shot glasses are a thick pink. Beth can’t hold back a giggle when her mind associates it with Pepto-Bismol. The waitress pretends not to notice, or just doesn’t find it odd.
When the waitress hands the shot to her Beth shoots it back without a second thought. The fluid flows like frozen lava down her throat down to her belly; fire and ice play tug-of-war with her insides. Sounds stretch then bounce back like the release of a tension wire. Every hair on her body vibrates as if electricity flows through her skin. The smoky air twirls around her, taking on shape and form, dancing like fairies just out of her vision. Whenever she tries to focus on one vision another distracts her just to also melt from her vision. She is aroused and wet.
Memories. Of the warmth of a hug. Of the pain of sorrow. Of all losses and gains. Time never existed. But always was one moment. And many more moments than could ever really exist.
Beth’s breathing becomes shallow and she realizes her eyes are closed tight. Cautiously, she opens them and sees, for the first time, the real Club Bizarre.
* * * *
This story is based on the techno song of the same name as covered by Brooklyn Bounce. If you want to listen first you can see it linked below:
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?”
The brunette shushes her blonde friend. Both girls stand on the sidewalk as foot traffic, irritated, moves past them like water parting around a river rock. A quiet minute passes before the blonde loses patience, this time taking her friend by the hand trying to pull her toward where they parked her car.
“Come on let’s go; he bullshitted us. Ha, ha; jokes on us. Club Bizarre is just an urban myth.”
“You go, if anyone knows where it’s at it’s gonna be Tony.”
“Beth, you just want to fuck him, he don’t know shit. Besides, only crazy people just stand on the street starring at a brick wall.”
“You leave then, Amy; I’d have a better chance without you anyways, you’re too square for Club Bizarre. Tony warned me not to bring you.”
“Fuck you; find your own ride home if you gonna be a bitch.”
Beth doesn’t acknowledge Amy’s ranting as she walks off. Instead, Beth stands as still as she can on the sidewalk just looking at the plain red-brick wall between two businesses, thinking of nothing, which Beth thinks is the hardest thing to try to think of.
Just when she thinks she can see something in the wall she is startled by a car’s horn behind her. She doesn’t turn when she hears Amy; “Last chance; come on, jump in girl.” Beth just holds her hand up, just high enough to be seen over her shoulder, and flicks Amy off. She doesn’t even hear Amy drive off when she sees it through teary eyes from staring, a lone star in the bruised dusk sky, and she makes a wish.
On the wall is a neon sign; pinks and blues and greens twisted together. “Club Bizarre,” and below it, blinking; “Where They Can Be Free.” She takes three steps to the wall/door. On the door she notices a signing telling her; “Yes, we’re open to anything,” and etched into the now real glass door a single word; “DREAM!”
She opens it and steps inside.
Hard, rhythmic pumping of techno music slams into her as if the notes have solid form. Her heart beat becomes as heavy in its own rhythm, matching the bass beat.
She finds herself standing in a hallway which ends in a beaded curtain, too thick to see through into the main club, but the smoke, a blend of tobacco and other less legal substances, attacks her as if they are pushed toward her by the airy pulse of the club’s music from beyond that curtain.
Beth is startled by a very deep and masculine voice to her right; “First time?”
She turns, subconsciously reaching into her purse for her Mace can. The man is a bear; all steroids and iron. Her fingers refuse to grip the small, useless can.
He just smiles, which does nothing to calm her; “I asked; first time?”
“Oh, ah; yeah.”
He taps a sign beside him with a meaty, polish sausage of a finger indicating a sign which declares: “$10.00 Cover.” She laughs nervously; of course they’d have a bouncer. And a cover charge.
After several attempts she produces a ten-spot. He smiles his non-smile as he takes it and motions, with a club-sized thumb, toward the curtain; “Have too much fun.”
Her feet move on their own, wanting to put distance between themselves and the eerie beast, they take her through the curtain and into the club. The center of the club is one huge dance floor with about a dozen couples performing their weekend mating rituals. Surrounding the dance area are several tables with chairs intermingled with couched areas. One end of the dance floor though is a raised DJ’s booth, currently occupied by a bored twenty-something wearing toilet plunger-sized headphones. Along the outer walls are a few smaller stages, unoccupied, several bars, and a few dark openings to hallways which lead away from the main club.
A girl, dressed in an extremely short skirt above her unnaturally long legs and a flimsy, near-sheer blouse which does nothing to hide her braless mountains, steps up to Beth. Her serving tray is the only thing that distinguishes her as an employee.
“Welcome; cool huh?” Her voice sounding too nervous or too happy; she’s high Beth thinks.
“I guess; with all the hype though I was expecting, um, more.”
The waitress displays a Cheshire grin; “How you mean?”
“I don’t know; more than just this; loud music, smoky air; just like any other club I’ve been to.”
“But?”
“You know the myth: Club Bizarre, where the crazy people go to be free.”
The waitress perks up and takes Beth by the hand, and drags her toward one of the bars. When they get to the bar the waitress whispers erotically close to Beth’s ear; “That’s because you got to change the frequency?”
Oddly Beth doesn’t stop the waitress’ presumptive closeness and doesn’t understand a word the waitress means, but Beth neither pulls away or asks what she means.
The waitress picks up one of many shot glasses lined up on the bar. The fluid in the plastic bar-shot glasses are a thick pink. Beth can’t hold back a giggle when her mind associates it with Pepto-Bismol. The waitress pretends not to notice, or just doesn’t find it odd.
When the waitress hands the shot to her Beth shoots it back without a second thought. The fluid flows like frozen lava down her throat down to her belly; fire and ice play tug-of-war with her insides. Sounds stretch then bounce back like the release of a tension wire. Every hair on her body vibrates as if electricity flows through her skin. The smoky air twirls around her, taking on shape and form, dancing like fairies just out of her vision. Whenever she tries to focus on one vision another distracts her just to also melt from her vision. She is aroused and wet.
Memories. Of the warmth of a hug. Of the pain of sorrow. Of all losses and gains. Time never existed. But always was one moment. And many more moments than could ever really exist.
Beth’s breathing becomes shallow and she realizes her eyes are closed tight. Cautiously, she opens them and sees, for the first time, the real Club Bizarre.
* * * *
