Out front, the hot neon pink and yellow sign read “Sweet Johnny’s Electrostatic Groove Lounge.” The line to get in stretched back for an entire city block. Ecstasy Sublime, the notorious drag queen turned doorwoman, was notoriously picky when it came to selecting entrants. After all, dancing the night away in the Big Apple’s premiere discotheque was considered by many (rightly or wrongly) to be a life changing experience. Ergo, the honor couldn’t be bestowed upon just anyone.
Ecstasy wore a shiny, sparkly dress adorned with thousands of glittering sequins. Her red wig stood a full two feet above her head and her makeup left her cheeks looking full and rosy. Alas, there simply wasn’t a thing she could do about her Adam’s apple.
“I am so sorry, darling, but you simply are not on tonight’s list.”
“Well,” said a young man in his late teens with long hair. “Check again.”
The doorwoman sighed. “Sweetie, I can play the check it again game all night but truth be told, only the people who pique Mr. Sugarshine’s interest are allowed in the club and look at you. You haven’t even had enough time on this earth to do anything remotely interesting, let alone appear as the tiniest blip on the Emcee of Funk’s radar.”
Ecstasy looked up and to the left, taking in the stoic face of the club’s bouncer, Bruno, who was six foot five and three hundred pounds of solid muscle, all stuffed into a black t-shirt and jeans.
“Oh dear,” the doorwoman said as she turned back just in time to see the lad’s face scrunch up. The kid was choking back his own tears, trying but failing at the task of maintaining a manly façade.
“Tough love,” Ecstasy said. “This is the part of my job that I hate with the passion of a thousand red hot fiery sons. I really do. I’m sorry, honey. Do you need a tissue?”
“No,” the young man said. “It’s just, we’ve been waiting here for hours, you could have posted a sign or something.”
“Waiting in line for hours to be rejected at the door of Sweet Johnny’s Electrostatic Groove Lounge is one of the greatest experiences a New Yorker will ever achieve, child,” Ecstasy said. “You’re not even a real New Yorker if you haven’t been told to get lost at the door at least three times so, let me help you with your first.”
Ecstasy put her hand on the youngster’s arm. “Get lost, buttercup.”
The young man’s face turned red with anger. “No! I’m not going anywhere!”
A pretty blonde girl tugged on the kid’s arm. She wore a little black dress, with blue eyeshadow. “Come on, Derrick. We tried. Let’s go get pancakes.”
“Oh, yes,” Ecstasy said. “Do go get pancakes, Derrick. And don’t even think about coming back until you’re somehow relevant to the cultural zeitgeist of our fair city or at the very least, until you’ve done something about that hair.”
“What?” asked Derrick as he grabbed his locks. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Nothing,” the girl said.
“No, Wendy,” Derrick said. “I want to know.”
“It’s what they do,” Wendy said. “They dump on everyone trying to get in, right?”
“It’s true,” Ecstasy said. “I’m such a catty bitch, aren’t I, Bruno dear?”
Bruno was a man of few words. “Errm.”
“Oh, my stars,” Ecstasy said. “It would appear that Bruno is losing his patience, so if would skedaddle dear, I have to inform more people how they have failed themselves and how they might improve.”
The drag queen held the back of her hand across her forehead, pretending as though she might faint. “Zounds, I say! A doorwoman’s work is never done!”
Wendy laughed. Derrick wasn’t in the mood for humor. He pulled out his wallet, retrieved two green portraits of Ulysses S. Grant and handed them over. Ecstasy looked at them. She handed one to Bruno, then folded the other and tucked it into her tissue stuffed bra.
“Thank you, doll,” Ecstasy said. “Now be on your way.”
Derrick gasped. “What? But I just gave you…”
“I know,” Ecstasy said. “And gratuities are always so humbly appreciated but seriously, kid, stop darkening my doorstep.”
“Fine,” Derrick said as he held out his hand. “Just give it back.”
Ecstasy held her hand up to her ear. “I beg your pardon? I seem to have developed a nasty case of selective hearing loss.”
“I want my money back!” Derrick griped.
“Huh?” Ecstasy asked.
A sound coming from high above the street broke the tension. “Ahhwoo!”
Ecstasy clutched her tacky costume jewelry. “Heavens to Betsy! Could it be…”
Bruno grabbed one of the two spotlights that had been shining into the air and pointed it at the top of the building across the street. In doing so, he illuminated a character who was seven feet tall. He wore a white leisure suit, a black shirt with a popped collar.
Also, he was a damn werewolf.
The line cheered as the beast, with all the grace of a ballerina, leapt ten stories downard, only to land on his feet, completely unscathed. As he crossed the street, he did a few twists and turns. Fans hooted, hooted and hollered. Cameras flashed. An adoring female voice cried out from the crowd, “I love you, Disco Werewolf!”
Disco Werewolf pointed to the vicinity of where the voice came from, winked, then right there in the street, he cocked his hip to one side, pointed a finger in the air, and struck a pose. The crowd ate it up.
When he was done hamming it up for the masses, the lewd and lascivious Lycan moseyed on over to Ecstasy and came to a complete stop.
“Disco Werewolf!” Ecstasy cried. “Look at you! You’re fun! You’re funky! You’re astounding and you absolutely ooze gallons of fabulosity from each and every one of your pores. Tell me your secret, darling. How did you become so stunningly spectacular?”
The furry man of the hour cocked backed his head and howled into the moonlight. “Awoooooo!”
The line erupted with a chorus of “Yeah!” and “Woo hoo!” Another female voice shouted, “Disco Werewolf! I want to have your baby!”
“I understand,” Ecstasy said. “A maestro never reveals the inner workings of his concerto. I guess you’ll just have to remain a mystery, and a downright sexy one of that.”
Disco Werewolf growled.
“Are you on the list?” Ecstasy asked. “What kind of a question is that? You are beyond the list, baby. You’ve got a standing invitation from Mr. Sugarshine every night of the week. You know that. Go on in and get down with your bad self.”
Derrick was displeased. “Wait! I’ve been out here all night and I can’t get in, but this guy can just waltz right in and…”
Ecstasy held up her hand in a stop motion. “And he can do whatever he pleases, as is the want of a Disco Werewolf.”
The drag queen looked into the monster’s yellow eyes. “Don’t mind the lowly rabble, DW darling. They know not what they say or what they do.”
Disco Werewolf barked. He surveyed the line. He stretched out a pointer finger. He pointed at a blonde, a brunette, a redhead, a couple of black girls, a couple of Asian girls. His finger moved about, selecting one girl after the next until it wavered in front of Wendy.
“No!” Derrick said. “Don’t you do it.”
Disco Werewolf pointed at Derrick’s girlfriend.
“Right then,” Ecstasy said as she lifted up the velvet rope. “Come along, ladies. It’s your lucky night. If Disco Werewolf says you’re the bee’s knees, then who is a tired old mother hen like yours truly to argue?”
The hotties were beside themselves with excitement as they abandoned the line and rushed in. Meanwhile, a look of confusion overtook Wendy’s face. She looked at the club, then at Derrick, the club, then Derrick.
“Time’s a wastin,’” Ecstasy said.
“Really, Wendy?” Derrick asked.
“I’m sorry!” Wendy said. “But it’s Disco Werewolf!”
Wendy hightailed it inside. Disco Werewolf blew kisses to the crowd then followed. Ecstasy put the rope down just in time to keep Derrick from entering.
“Hey!” Derrick said. “Come on! My girlfriend is in there!”
“I’m sorry, hun,” Ecstasy said. “But there are a lot of men’s girlfriends in there.”