Still Waters

THREE

"Maybe he's a eunuch" I whisper.

"Or maybe his girlfriend dumped him" Susan whispers back.

"Maybe he's gay" I added. That has to be the reason he wouldn't even look at us.

Or maybe he's just professional. But that reasoning doesn't match my salty mood, so I squash it and continue to psycho-analyse the burly stone-faced bouncer with Susan. We had tried to cut the line and get in by turning on our sexy hottie charms, but he just glared at us and told us to get in line. We've been standing on the line now for 15 minutes and my feet are already killing me. I shouldn't have worn these strappy heels. I'm more of a sneakers kind of girl but I dressed up at Susan's place and she took over. I'd never get used to the lengthy protocols of getting into a club. So annoying! I should be sleeping now or watching a movie.

"Hypocritical asshole, I hiss after as some rich looking men walk right past us and are let into the club, by the same stone-faced bouncer. "You should have just let Williams take us" I complain to Susan.

"And let him kill my fun?" Susan asks with a grimace. "I'm not about to let a man tell me who I can or can't dance with"

"Jeez, you're getting married to the man. I don't understand you."

"Exactly, I'd probably be dancing with only him for the next 50 years. Let him wait his time"

I laugh, shaking my head. "You're such a case".

We get in about 5 minutes later and Susan turns to me abruptly.v"Only two shots tonight okay"

"Girl what? I'm grown please" I wave her off, looking around the club. It is a new club and the current rave of the town. This is our first time here.

"I'm serious Amy. I'm not about to babysit you all night. I came here to have fun. To dance my target worries away..."

"So, you can dance your target worries away and I can't drink mine away?" I cut her off feeling angry.

She sighs. "You know what happens when you drink..."

"It only happened twice. I was recovering from a failed relationship. Stop treating me like a damn alcoholic" I snap.

I hear her call as I walk away. "Amy, c'mon I'm just..."

The music drowns out the rest of her speech, thankfully. Who needs a mom in a club. I got drunk twice and made a fool of myself, and she never ceases to remind me of it. It's not like I judge her when she's grinding on men she's not engaged to. I wasn't even planning on getting drunk tonight. But now, I'm a bit heated up and I think I need a drink to calm me down.

"Can I get a martini." I call to the bartender as I perch on the stool. "Or a bloody mary, or...whatever"

He takes in my countenance and smiles. "Rough night?"

"Yeah" I respond sourly. "It's a little too early for that, right."

"How about I ease you up with one of my specials. You'd love it." He winks.

I shrug. These bartenders are always looking for someone to appraise their numerous experiments. He smoothly mixes up some drinks and slides a glass to me. I take a small sip cautiously. Who knows what his concoction will taste like? But it is surprisingly good. I give him an appreciative nod and he responds with a proud grin. I take more sips, enjoying the warmth of the drink as it glides down my throat.

I relax a little bit and let my eyes skim over the mass of bodies gyrating on the dance floor. Many of them are high, either on alcohol or libido. I spot a tall guy in a white agbada dancing not too far away from me. Who wears an agbada to a night club? What a fashion disaster. I chuckle quietly. Looking at him again, I grudgingly admit that he pulls off the look effortlessly. If he were a celebrity, he could have easily set a new fashion trend - agbada on black jean and sneakers.