FlyGirl - The First Edition

Chapter 13: Dancing with the Dead

CLUB MORGUE. WHERE the hell do they come up with these names?

After I met Jenny's fellow flight attendants - three gay guys who ogled me like I was Madonna in the flesh, and two girls with big hair and deep Texas accents who ogled my ring like it was Channing Tatum in the flesh - we hopped a couple cabs to Club Morgue.

Jenny was right. Club Morgue was in this old Greek Revival marble façade former bank. It was aptly named; as a venue, it did have a morguish look to it. It also had a major line out in front.

I found the line confusing. "So now, what's up with this line?" I asked one of the gay dudes.

"It's a new club, so it's still really hot," he explained. He was shortish and impeccably groomed. I knew his name; I mean, they all had introduced themselves, but names...I can't keep track.

"So if it's hot, there's a line?" I asked. "Why?"

"We have to wait until there's room in the club, or until we get chosen because we're pretty." He kind of nudged me. "You should go up front and talk to a bouncer. You could definitely get us in."

I shook my head. "That's a lot of pressure. I don't know. Besides, I'm affronted by the hierarchical nature of the system."

The dude looked confused.

"Tell me about the club," I quickly added. "What makes it so hot?"

"Well, it was designed by this uber cool German club designer," he gushed. "It's got three floors. The bottom floor is all access. The second floor is VIPish...it means you have to get chosen to be allowed to go up there, but it's possible to be chosen to get up there."

"Who does the choosing?" I asked. "Is it done by standardized testing scores in reading and math?"

Again he looked confused. "Your words are very big," he told me. "Anyway, to get on the second floor, you'll be, like dancing, and then somebody will hand you a swipe card."

"So it could be a standardized test."

"No," he answered, looking at me now like I was the idiot. "It's all based on how you look."

I nodded. "Oh, so it's shallow."

He grinned at me like I was a puppy who finally learned not to pee on the carpet. "As a mud puddle, darling. Anyway, on the third floor, that's where you'll find the real VIPs, like models, movie stars, that kind of thing. You get invited up there when you get served a glass of champagne with a key attached to it." He shivered excitedly. "I got my fingers crossed."

"If I was in charge of the third floor, I'd invite you in," I told him magnanimously.

He batted his long eyelashes at me. "Thanks! You're so beautiful. You look like a real live girl drag queen."

"Well," I said. "Thanks?"

"It's a compliment," explained the other gay guy standing behind me. "Please forgive Troy. He's not fully assimilated into the straight culture."

"Which one's Troy?" I asked him.

He smiled a small smile. "I like you. You're kind of a bitch, but in a nice way. I'm Blaine."

"Blaine." I smiled back. He was a really handsome guy with dark, dark skin and absolutely beautiful black eyes with long, gorgeous eyelashes. "I knew that. Blaine. Bluh Bluh Bluh Blaine. Make it rain, Blaine, then bring the pain, Blaine."

"Got it memorized yet?"

"I think so. I'm not really drunk. So Blaine, how long have you been a flight attendant?"