Night had fallen over the exterior of Sweet Johnny’s Electrostatic Groove Lounge and as usual, Ecstasy was in rare form. She had broken out her bullhorn, and was giving the lengthy line of disco wannabes the business. No feelings were spared.
“You! Did you even look at yourself in the mirror before you left the house tonight or were you afraid you might crack it? I don’t blame you, honey. Mirrors don’t grow on trees. Why don’t you just go home and pray to Jesus for a new face?”
Ecstasy looked up at Bruno. “I know this sounds harsh but they’re so lucky to get quality life advice like this for free. No one advised me when I was getting started. I would have killed for a few choice words of wisdom.”
The doorwoman took to the bullhorn once more and spotted out her next waiting victim. “You! Yes, you! That outfit is a travesty! It’s like you rolled around in Liberace’s closet and walked out wearing whatever stuck to you! Capes are flamboyant musicians and superheroes only, darling, and you are neither so go on now. Fly on out of here.”
At the back of the line, a pair of men wearing fedoras and long trench coats stood and waited. Their names were Packard and Block and they were getting impatient. They pushed their way towards the front. “Excuse me. Pardon me.”
Naturally, the line of disco enthusiasts who had been waiting for hours were not pleased. Angry shouts, threats of physical violence and all manner of verbal abuse were hurled at the duo.
Meanwhile, Ecstasy unleashed her fury on the latest victim to reach the front of the line. “Let me get this straight. You want me to let you go inside so you can work the dance floor?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said a dopey loser with a pencil thin mustache. He was wearing a very unstylish barracuda jacket.
“Honey,” Ecstasy said as she waved her hand over the man’s body. “Before I can do that, you have got to give me something to work with and before that can happen, you need to work on yourself. Heavens to Betsy, sweetheart, I don’t know what kind of crazy pills you took to give you the courage to walk up to the door of Sweet Johnny’s Electrostatic Groove Lounge in clothes you bought right off the rack, but give me a few because I would totally love to be tripping balls instead of tripping over mine. OK, take a hike, doll, and remember one word: designer.”
The two mystery men pushed their way to the front of the line, but not before accepting heaps of profanity laced tirades from those who had been waiting for so long.
“Well, well, well,” Ecstasy said. “Aren’t you a couple of J. Edgar Losers? Darlings, I don’t know who told you that the cloak and dagger look is in this season but whoever it was, lied, OK?”
Ecstasy pointed in the direction of the back of the line. “Trench coats are for G-Men and perverts looking to flash little old ladies in the park but either way, the line to get in this posh establishment starts back there, so know your place and wait your turn, dummies.”
Packard and Block flashed their FBI credentials. “We aren’t perverts,” Packard said.
The drag queen’s mouth was agape as she stared at the badges. “So, you say. Agents, what’s this all about? Because if this is about spurious allegations vis a vis the presence, or more truthfully, lack of a presence of dangerous and illegally prohibited narcotics in this club, why, I assure you there has never been two sets of watchful eyes more diligent than those belonging to yours truly and my big, bad, Bruno, here.”
“Errm,” Bruno said.
The agents looked at each other, then the door woman. “Can’t a couple of Feds just have a night out on the town?”
“Hmm,” Ecstasy said as she looked the G-Men over. “I suppose there’s no harm in it, if that’s all they’re doing.”
Block pulled two Ulysses S. Grant portraits out of his wallet and handed them over to the doorwoman. “We’d appreciate discretion.”
Ecstasy took the bills and as she was known to do, folded one and tucked it into her bra, then handed the over to Bruno. “Discretion is my middle name.”
“No one needs to know we were ever here,” Packard said.
The doorwoman engaged in a tense staring contest with Packard until Block finally relented and handed over another pair of crisp bills.
“Who are you?” Ecstasy said as she lifted-up the velvet rope. “I’ve never seen you before. Go on, get your keisters inside before I forget your oh so forgettable faces. “
Once the agents were inside, Ecstasy leaned up on her tippy toes and whispered into Bruno’s ear. “Man, I am going to have to take a break and go flush some shit.”
Ecstasy resumed her persona as the next soon-to-be-rejected line waiter approached. “Oh, Marty,” the drag queen said to a chubby man. “I know you’re trying your best but your ass looks like ten gallons of cottage cheese got stuffed into a five-gallon bag. Either lose weight or let out your slacks but God, you’ve got to do one or the other.”
“Ahhwooo!”
Disco Werewolf’s signature howl cut through the night air, drawing mass elation from the crowd.
“Disco Werewolf!” the people chanted over and over again. “Disco Werewolf! Disco Werewolf! Disco Werewolf!”
Bruno shined a spotlight on good old DW. Everyone’s favorite canine howled once more, then jumped off the side of the building that was across the street. He landed on his feet. He cocked his hip to the left, shot his pointer finger out to the right and accepted the crowd’s applause.
“Disco Werewolf!” one woman cried out. “When I’m with my boyfriend, I think about you!”
A male voice was next. “Aw, come on, Becky, I’m right here!”
Another female voice. “Marry me, Disco Werewolf! Marry me and I’ll be yours forever!”
Disco Werewolf waved at the crowd. He took a tour down the line, slapped some high fives, doled out some autographs. He even signed a breast or two. He then made his way to the door woman.
Ecstasy smiled. She was, well, in ecstasy as she gazed up at the club’s favorite dancer. “Disco Werewolf, darling! So lovely to see you again, though we must stop meeting like this, people will start to talk.”
The door woman tickled her fingers across DW’s paw. “Why don’t we meet in my boudoir instead, sweetcheeks? I’d be happy to…” She leaned up and whispered the next part into Disco Werewolf’s ear, or at least, as close as she was able to get to it. “…throw a dog a bone.”
Disco Werewolf was instantly grossed out, but not wanting to offend the gatekeeper, cocked back his head and howled. “Ahhhwooo!”
“Oh, ahhwoo, yourself, you big gorgeous animal, you!” Ecstasy said as she slapped DW’s butt through his white pants. “Go on, get in there before I eat you up!”
The party hound pointed out the hotties in line who had caught his eyes. Once again, it was a diverse assortment. Black, white, Asian, all the colors of the rainbow. Wendy was there, this time in a purple dress, and she called out for him. “Disco Werewolf! Remember me?”
Disco Werewolf thought about it and decided to err on the side of not hurting Wendy’s feelings. He pointed to her too.
“Go on, ladies,” Ecstasy said as she lifted up the velvet rope. “The top dog sees something special in all of you, though God help me, I am positively stumped as to what that might be.”
The babes ran into the club. Wendy stopped and grabbed DW, embracing him in a hug. When she was done, she looked up at the dance icon. “Thanks Disco Werewolf.”
“Woof,” Disco Werewolf replied.
Bookshelf Battle 