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A draft of cold air, bitter, blew in as the front door opened and a small group of punks strutted in, college kids in Polo shirts and Nikes, laughing and bragging to their girlfriends or potential girlfriends. I sat from my deejay booth, picking up LP’s out of one of seven crates full, selecting tracks to play for the next half-hour. The club was only six blocks from the college, so most of the clientele was college kids out to have fun after their boring classes were over. We’d occasionally get some people from the nearby town, Winchester, but most of them were worse than the college kids, since they seemed to have more to prove.
On this particular night, the place was packed, and the hormones present were almost palpable. The dance floor was equally packed, and the dancing consisted of grinding and much gyration of the hips, which, I’m sure, was erotic for them, but for me it was all the same. The track on the LP spinning at that point was almost over, so I spoke quickly as I switched the LP’s keeping up the witty banter as I had since I began working here about a year ago. It seemed to work, because all the college kids appeared to enjoy it, yelling out and waving their hands. I started the next song, which began with a flourish of bass, vibrating the place and working the kids into a frenzy.
I stepped away from the booth for a minute and had my drink refreshed. That was one of the perks of working in the club, all the free drinks, within reason, of course. No club owner wanted a smashed deejay working the booth. As I waited for my drink, just a beer this time, I continued to look around. The light tracks on the ceiling pulsed in time with the music, spinning, revolving, strobing all colors. There were small booths all around the sides, and larger, round booths in the corners. The bartender was a sultry vixen named Tracy, with shoulder-length blonde hair and a mega-wattage smile reserved for work. Of course, she was also an ice-maiden, and behind all the smiles and teasing, she was a complete bitch. As she popped the cap on my beer and set it before me, I could tell how bored she was, even as she turned to chat with some testosterone-laden guy who perhaps thought he stood a chance with her.
I picked my bottle up and took it back to the booth. Of course, another perk of being the deejay was the girls. They always seemed fascinated with me because of my job, as if I was mysterious. At the time, there were no less than four or five college girls to try and catch my eye, or ask for music requests, or even just to try and chat me up. I did my best to act as if I gave a rat’s ass, but it was difficult. I’d already been on shift for four hours, and it would be another five or six before the club closed for the night. One girl in particular kept trying to offer me peeks of her considerable cleavage, but she was so drunk already that she could barely keep from swaying, and the look on her face was enough to be a turn-off, that look that said, ‘Sure, I’m a bit drunk, but I’m so fucking hot that it doesn’t matter who I fuck tonight.’
I signaled one of the four bouncers on the floor by lifting my hand up and circling it, a subtle gesture that could look like I was just enjoying the music, but in reality it was a signal for the bouncer to come over and check the drunks out to see if they needed to be escorted out the door. Well, this particular girl qualified, so she was led out the door by the bouncer, arguing blearily, slurring all the way out. Have you ever seen somebody shooting seagulls out on the ocean? The other seagulls don’t get startled, don’t try to fly away; They just don’t care. That’s how the other girls acted as the drunk girl was escorted. I mean, they noticed, but they thought it was funny, probably filing it away for their gossip the next day.
I took a swig of my beer and checked the song. It was almost five minutes long, so it should be nearing the end. I waited about thirty seconds, and then changed the track to something really quick. For some reason, I like the quick ones, and it makes them more awesome when there are sirens on the track. I’m not sure why. Three of the four girls had drifted off when I wasn’t looking, leaving only one, but this one was much better looking than pretty much any girl I’d seen before. She had to be at least part Asian, with glossy and straight black hair that ended about half-way down her back. The maniacally active lights reflected rapidly off her hair, turning it different hues. She swayed as well, but not from drunkenness, but in time with the fast beat of the track. She appeared to have her eyes half-closed, almost in a trance as she swayed. Whatever ethnicity took up the other half of her DNA, it only gave her more shape than the willowy, full-blooded Asians usually have. Her breasts were a bit larger, a C-cup at least, and a thin waist that curved down to wider, fuller hips. She wore a simple dress, but with the lighting, I couldn’t really tell what color it was. It offered a hint of cleavage, had no sleeves, and ended mid-thigh. Speaking of legs, hers was quite long and shapely, not bird-like at all, and as I followed her legs on Ataşehir Escort up, I saw how round and supple her ass was through the skirt of her dress.
I watched her intently as she swayed her hips, swirled her hair around, and it fell in cascades over her shoulders just to be swung around again. It was almost hypnotic watching her dance, and I just about didn’t notice the end of the song coming up until I recognized the swell of the beat. I tore my eyes away from her with great difficulty to switch the LP’s again, choosing another fast song just so I could watch her dance some more, but when I looked up again, she was gone. I barely saw her head as she walked right past the dance floor and out the door.
Disappointed, I let the song play, set out another that was a bit slower, and let out a deep sigh. While this girl had been dancing in front of the booth, everything else just kind of disappeared. It was just me, my booth, and her. I wondered who she was, and for the rest of my shift, I just drifted along, my mind totally preoccupied with the girl, hoping she would come back, but I didn’t see her the rest of the night.
After the last song ended, and the last few stragglers were ushered out the door, I locked the crates up in the back, and went to the bar, where Tracy was standing there, counting her tips.
“Hey, Tracy,” I interrupted her, and she looked up at me, her mega-wattage smile gone, and she was just her ice-maiden self once more.
“What do you want, sugar?”
“You’re pretty good at remembering faces, right?”
“Sugar, after nine hours bartending, they usually just blend into a single face to me. Why do you ask?”
I ran my fingers through my dirty-blonde hair and shrugged, “I saw this one girl…”
She humphed, “Well, congratulations.”
“No, she seemed different. Sure, the other ones all seem the same, but she didn’t say a word to me. She just danced in front of my booth for a song or two, and then disappeared right out the door.”
Tracy shrugged, “Describe her for me. If she was so different, maybe I’d remember her.”
I went through my descriptions, trying not to sound like I was gonna cream my jeans.
“You know,” she tapped her chin, “I think I do remember seeing that one. Half-Asian, you said? Yeah, she ordered a few sodas, no booze or beer. She tipped pretty well for her sodas.”
“Otherwise, you don’t really know who she is?”
“She didn’t stay to chat with me or anything, sugar. She just got her drink and that was it.”
I thanked her, and she just shrugged and went back to counting her tips.
I checked my tip jar that I keep in front of my deejay equipment, emptying it on the counter. ‘Not bad,’ I thought. About fifty bucks, almost average, sat on the counter. I smoothed and stacked the bills and stuffed them in my pocket. Being a deejay didn’t pay a whole lot, but the rest was made up in tips. As I set the empty jar down, I noticed a small piece of paper on the counter. It had most likely been folded in with one of the bills. It was probably some drunken girl’s phone number and a sexually suggestive come-on. It wasn’t the first time, not even close. I picked it up and stuffed it in my pocket. Sad, I know, but I actually kept them all. Over four hundred were pinned to a bulletin board in my apartment in town, just a running count. As I left, I waved a goodbye for Stacy, whose tip count looked to be at least five times what I had gotten. I guess having tits had its perks, too. She waved back distractedly.
I drove home to my apartment, which sat on the third floor of the building. My apartment overlooked two other apartment buildings across the street, and the sky, which was overcast tonight. Tossing the tips I had made into a moneybox with the rest, I plopped down on my couch and turned the TV on. Despite an actually decent movie on, my mind inevitably wandered to that girl earlier. In my head, she swayed erotically, her hair swinging. Absentmindedly I pulled the scrap of paper from my pocket and opened it, expecting seven digits and the usual come-on, but there was no digits at all, just a question:
Did you enjoy my dance?
I reread it three or four times, and there was no doubt in my mind of who left it in the jar. At first, I thought it might have been intended to be angry, like she felt my eyes on her and got pissed, but then I noticed how curvy the question mark was at the end, and the punctuation mark underneath the curve was a heart. No pissed-off girl ever draws a heart! I was intrigued all over again. Apparently she had put on that little show just for my benefit. I just hoped it wouldn’t only be that one show.
The next night, I set the crates of music back out, tested the equipment, found it in working order, and put out the first couple of tracks to be played when the club opened. Tracy had the night off, so Grady, the club’s co-owner was tending bar this time. Grady was an interesting specimen, not quite the club-goer look. He was clean-cut, wearing a pair of slacks and a striped, button-up shirt. But when it came to serving drinks, he had apparently Kadıköy Escort learned all he knew from watching ‘Cocktail,’ that one movie with Tom Cruise in it. He was a wiz when it came to twirling bottles and pouring just the right mixtures in peoples’ drinks. A lot of people just ordered the drinks to watch him pour.
The club opened at five, and I started the music, flipping the dance floor lights on. Nobody really showed up until seven, except for a few couples wanting to have the place to themselves. The bouncers didn’t even come out front until six-thirty. I organized all the tracks while I had nothing else to do. Then I looked up, and halted, my fingers in between cases. The girl from the night before was standing there right in front of my booth, her arms folded over the counter, her eyes right on mine. She was wearing a tight pair of black pants, low-cut, and a gray, no-sleeved blouse that ended mid-riff, so that her taut stomach was exposed enticingly.
“Evening,” I managed.
“Are you gonna answer my question?” she got right to the point.
I played dumb, which was not so far-fetched right then, “What question is that?”
She flipped her hair playfully, “The question I left in your tip jar last night.”
I shrugged, “You’ll have to refresh my memory. When I go home, I’m pretty wiped out.”
She laughed and leaned in closer, “Did you enjoy my little dance?”
I pretended to think about it, and then leaned closer to her until we were only inches apart. I could smell her perfume, not potent, yet still intoxicating.
I winked at her, grinning, “Why ask a question you already know the answer to?”
She shot right back, “Why ask a question with another question?”
I laughed, “Isn’t it a pretty fun game to play?”
“Should it be?”
“Of course it should.”
She grinned back triumphantly, “Then does that mean I just won the game?”
My grin slipped from my face, “Shit, I guess you did, huh?”
She laughed, “We should play this game more often.”
To that, my grin returned, and she also swore, and then laughed again. It sounded quite musical and natural coming from her full, shiny lips.
We talked for another ten minutes, pausing once so that I could switch the tracks. I found out a little about her. Her name was Maya, from Atlanta, Georgia, here to study Literature at the college. She was on her second year, and usually was a bookworm, but the pressure had gotten to her, so her friend dragged her here one night, and she liked it so much that she came here most every night since.
“My grades don’t seem to suffer too much, and it’s actually easier to study after coming here, so it all works out.”
I nodded, “And I notice you don’t imbibe while you’re here, either.”
She eyed me suspiciously, “How did you know that?”
“I asked the bartender, Tracy, last night if she knew who you are. She told me you only ordered soda.”
“Oh, so you were asking about me, then?”
I tried to change the subject, “Are we playing the game again?”
“I’m serious, why were you asking about me?”
Deciding to be honest, I answered, “I’d never seen you before last night, so I wanted to know who you are.”
She nodded, and then smiled coyly, “I won again.”
I had to laugh, “It’s true. And at least I know that you’re a good dancer.”
“Is that a prerequisite for you to talk to me?”
“Well,” I added, “That and not being drunk enough to throw up on me.”
The place was filling up more quickly now, and she drifted away for a while, talking to a few of her friends, getting a soda at the bar, and, of course, dancing. I kept the tunes pumping, playing music just for her to dance to. I had to admit, I just loved watching her dance, it was so sensual that I even forgot to drink any beer, which was good, because I was sporting a sizable erection that was only hidden by the booth. I grew a bit jealous when a few typical drunk and horny guys tried to dance with her, pressing up against her. She edged away from them, repelling them with a few words. While this was happening, the space in front of my booth was filling up with tonight’s little fans, six girls, a few of them with bad breath from their drinks, trying to get my attention, and I tried to hurry them along while my eyes stayed on Maya. A few of them seemed disappointed that they weren’t getting my attention. One actually called me an “Asssole!” before stumbling off. I paid them no mind.
Then I saw Maya looking directly over at me, still dancing, even though I was sure it had to be hot out there on the floor, and she’d been dancing for three songs straight, about seventeen minutes. Indeed, when the lights hit her just right, I could see the perspiration on her face and arms, but rather than be turned off by it, her perspiration only made her look that much better. Her arms shone with it, and a few drops even glimmered on her stomach like little jewels. My breath caught in my throat as I watched. Her generous hips gyrated in the lead, and the rest of her followed. She flowed.
As I watched her, Grady walked Ümraniye Escort up to my booth, followed my eyes, and whistled, “Jesus, man, she’s gorgeous! I thought I saw you watching someone. Now I see why!”
I nodded, “That she is, Grady.”
He shook his head, amazed, and asked, “You need anything to drink?”
Thinking about it, I decided I wanted to keep sober, “Maybe just a Coke. No ice.”
Laughing, he walked off, and one of the several waitresses dealing with the tables brought it over, “Here you go.” The waitress followed my stare as Grady had a few minutes ago, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s got the hots for you. You probably shouldn’t pass that up.”
“Let’s hope I don’t.”
Maya eventually drifted on over to my booth, panting from the exertion, but absolutely beaming.
“I have to admit, it’s interesting having your full attention on me,” she purred, “It definitely has me in a mood to show off!”
“Believe me, the way you’ve been dancing, my eyes weren’t the only ones on you. You’ve commanded quite a lot of attention on the floor.”
Grinning slyly, she replied, “Sure, but I wasn’t dancing for them.” With that, she walked away, squeezing up between people at the bar to order a soda. Then she winked at me, and went to find an unoccupied table.
For pretty much the first time since I first saw her, I focused on my job, enticing the little cronies in front of my booth, exchanging some witty compliments while trying not to gag on the stench of their booze-laden breath. A few more tips went in the jar, plus a few more scraps of paper for my collection. When they finally left me alone for a minute, I looked back up, and, for the second night in a row, Maya had made her exit, but this time I hadn’t even seen her leave. I made up my mind that I would ask her out the next time I saw her.
It turned out that I didn’t get to see her again until two days later. Sunday and Monday nights, I’m off, and the music just plays at random. The crowds on those nights are minimal, so there’s no need for me on those days. Besides, I do need a couple days off during the week. Unlike normal, though, I showed up at the club anyway, hoping just to see her there, but she never showed up either night. I waited until most of the night was over and the club was a few hours away from closing for the night, but I did so in vain.
When I clocked in on Tuesday night, sure enough, she was there in a different dress, pretty much like what she had on the first night I saw her. This particular dress showed slightly more leg, though. I put off setting out the tracks, walking over to her where she sat at the bar. She was chatting with Grady, sipping a soda.
She glanced over at me when I got close, and greeted, “Well, hey there.”
“The club hasn’t even opened yet. How’d you get in?”
“Grady here let me in.”
Grady nodded, “I saw her standing there, and couldn’t leave the pretty lady out there alone.”
Maya winked at him, “Such a perfect gentleman!”
He grinned, “My pleasure, ma’am.”
I smiled at this exchange, “Well, since you’re here, maybe you can help me decide what to play for you tonight.”
She stood up, soda in hand, “Sounds like a blast! I’ll see you later, Mr. Grady, and thanks for letting me in!”
Grady tipped an imaginary hat in response, and began cleaning the bar top.
Over at my booth, I dragged out the crates, and she browsed through them, tucking her hair behind her ears. She picked out several tracks, nine in all, so I set them next to the equipment to be played. She continued to peruse the selections, pointing out many others she was interested in hearing. I tabbed those with post-it notes for later. As she was browsing, I had plenty of time to take in her figure, especially that round rump, the way her tight dress accentuated it perfectly, and those long legs. When she was done, I showed her how to test the equipment and speakers, playing a test track with a myriad of sounds, bass, treble, tones from low to high, things like that. I moved the switches for each speaker in the club, testing it for proper function, and she watched, her head close to mine, and that intoxicating perfume she was wearing wafted pleasantly. I breathed it in, enjoying her closeness.
When I was sure the equipment was working properly, I cleared my throat, and then said, “That’s it. Now it’s time to try out a few tracks. If you want, you’ve got the floor to yourself.”
She batted her lashes, “I take it you want to see me dance some more?”
I answered truthfully, “Maya, I came to work tonight just to watch you dance.”
She smiled shyly, “Oh, really?”
“I’d work for free, if only to watch you dance.” I hoped I wasn’t laying it on too thick, but it was the honest truth.
She blushed prettily, extremely pleased at my answer, and backed away to dance. I flipped on the lights, and then leaned back to enjoy the show. She danced with more exuberance, her hair flying as she moved to the heavy beat. I was fully entranced by her, and her eyes were on me as well. I watched her beautiful legs scissor, her arms moving with her body, a little faster as the beat picked up pace. Even Grady had stopped what he was doing to watch Maya dance. When the song ended, I couldn’t move, nor did I want to. She walked back over to me, slightly out of breath.
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