Watford Tales

Clubbing

Simon

I was afraid that a gay club would be kind of seedy but I actually like the place Baz takes me. It's boys and girls, mostly people our age or a little older. The music is bright, half pop, half hip hop. People are mostly dancing in big groups with their friends, though when I look closer there's plenty of boys dancing with boys and girls dancing with girls. It's a big space, an old warehouse or something, but there's chairs and sofas against the walls, a big glass bar in the center of the room, and neon lights glowing in different colors. The whole place seems light and airy.

"How'd you find this place?" I ask Baz. I'm kind of impressed. I had no idea anything like this existed. He just gives me that raised eyebrow mystery look he's so fond of, grabs me by the elbow and leads me out onto the dance floor. I'm shy at first, but the music is fast and loud and we're not touching, just kind of rocking out facing each other, which I know how to do because Penny and I used to practice this kind of dancing when we were still little kids. Just to be prepared, she used to say. It's kind of fun. I start to relax, like maybe my head won't just explode, out there on the dance floor. Of a gay club. With my boyfriend. Then a slow song comes on and Baz puts his an arm around my waist and grabs my hand.

"Put your other hand on my shoulder," he says, and his eyes are on me like he's never going to look away.

It's nice. No one's noticing us at all. Around us, other couples are doing the same thing, and the lights are low and blue and flickery. Baz's arm is like a steel band around my waist, and his other hand is held up against mine. "Push against my hand," he whispers, hoarsely. I do and feel the pressure as he pushes back. He's guiding me around, very slowly, with little bits of pressure on my back and the palm of my hand. If I pay attention I can kind of figure out how to follow him. At least I'm not stepping on his feet. He rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes, and we sigh into each other and let the beat take us slowly around the room.

*********

We dance until we're bathed in sweat and our feet are sore. When we leave the club we're both starving. It's too late even for my halal man, so we stop and eat at an all night cafe. By the time we get back to Paddington it's three in the morning. The first train back is at five, so we hunker down on the floor next to the locked and shuttered Paddington Bear souvenir shop and doze together under Baz's cloak. About 4:30 according to the big old fashioned clock on the wall, Baz gets up and stretches and heads for the men's loo. I watch him go. He's still in his velvet pants and Maroon jacket, and you'd never guess, looking at him, that he'd been up all night. He moves away from me, long and leggy, his black hair swinging in the back where he lets it grow out, his hips rolling slightly as he walks. I wonder if people can tell he's gay. He never seemed particularly gay to me, before. Before he told me that he was. Before we started up together. But I've always been terrible at stuff like that.

I wonder if people can tell that I'm gay. Which I am, now, I guess. Now that I'm in love with another boy.

I sit there, under his cloak and watch the quiet station. It's starting to fill up, a little bit. There's this naff guy, sitting on a bench, his legs crossed at the ankles, his face hidden behind a paper. There's another bloke standing, leaning against the platform sign. He's on his phone, head down, his face shadowed by a large bowler hat. Who even wears those anymore? There's a janitor, pushing a cart with mops and brooms and things. The wheels are squeaking as he makes his way across the open space in front of the turnstiles to the trains.

The hairs suddenly prickle on the back of my neck as I notice that the janitor is wearing a black tuxedo. Something's wrong. I feel the tingle of magic in the air. I look more closely at the naff fellow on the bench. His newspaper is upside down. The bloke in the bowler hat looks up from his phone and leers at me with yellow teeth. His lips are meaty red, his face green. Goblins!