Chapter Fourteen #2
As they turned the corner at Twentieth and Sixth, Danny wondered if they’d given the cabbie the wrong address.
What were they doing pulling up to an old Gothic church?
It wasn’t until he saw the line of scantily clad bodies snaking around the corner that he realized this wasn’t a church at all, or at least, not anymore.
The stained-glass windows flickered with colored lights, like the control panels on the USS Enterprise, and the towering red doors, presumably once welcoming habited sisters and pressed-pants churchgoers, were now guarded by two hulking men in Carhartt jackets.
“And if anyone asks, we’re all twenty-one,” Christian said, unbuckling his seat belt. “Now play it cool.”
Play it cool, Danny said to himself, and for the first time in his life, he almost believed it possible.
He stepped a foot out onto the curb, snout held high, the stars on his chest and face catching the streetlamp glow and flashing boldly in the night sky.
He could feel the survey of eyes from the line of nightclub hopefuls waiting behind the metal gates, craning to see if they recognized anyone famous in the crop of new arrivals.
Christian led the gang past the row of leather jackets and skimpy dresses right up to the front of the line, where a tall woman in a green cape and skinny sunglasses stood holding a clipboard in her hand like it was Moses’s tablet.
“Wintergreen, baby!” Christian cooed enthusiastically.
“Hello, Christian,” she replied dryly. “Big crowd tonight, huh?”
“Guess they heard I was performing!” he said, winking, and he began brushing past her. “All right, well, we’d better get backstage and start getting ready—”
“Hold it!” the green giant barked, shooting out her arm and blocking the entrance with her clipboard hand. “Who the hell are these people?” she said, looking back at them. “I thought you said you were bringing some of the Club Kids.”
“Oh,” Christian gulped. “Well, I did! You know Nina Colada, of course—she’s James St. James’s cousin…and Astoria Ditmars, well, she’s the Hillary Clinton of downtown performance art.”
The girls, for their part, began selling it hard—Nina rolling her eyes and yawning like a bored socialite, while Astoria glared mysteriously with eyes as wide as manhole covers.
“And Orion,” Christian said, gesturing to his friend. “His name’s just one word. Like RuPaul! He’s Amanda Lepore’s facialist and Ed Koch’s new boy toy.”
Orion grabbed the lapels of his magenta suit jacket and gave them a cocky little tug.
“Yeah, okay,” Wintergreen said, looking about as enthused as someone who’d just won a free vacation to Secaucus. “And who’s Planetarium Piggy?”
“Oh,” Christian breathed dramatically. “Daniel Lionheart. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. He’s the new It Boy of the downtown scene. He comes from royalty, even—his uncle is the Duke of Northumberland and his mother is…is…”
Everyone’s eyes darted over to Christian, whose mouth hung open, suddenly dumbstruck, unable to come up with a name.
“Fashion photographer Ana?s Marmalade!” Danny interjected in his best approximation of a British accent, reaching out and planting a kiss on Wintergreen’s hand. “Cheers, luv! Charmed.”
Wintergreen peered down the bridge of her nose like she was inspecting a counterfeit bill. “Yeah, whatever.”
As he stood in the lobby of the Limelight cathedral, Danny’s fingers flicked by his side, almost instinctively as if they were searching for the holy water font. He imagined splashing the sign of the cross over his chest, repeating to himself his baptismal promises.
Do you reject Satan?
I do.
And all his works?
I do.
And all his empty promises?
I do.
And his techno music?
Wait, huh?
Do you renounce sin?
Uh, I do.
Do you vow to never behave carnally?
I…
“I’m gonna head backstage,” Christian said, breaking Danny from his trance. “I go on at ten. Try and get a spot close to the stage.”
“We know!” Astoria bellowed. “Break legs, diva!”
Danny watched Christian disappear out of the lobby and into the darkness of the raging nightclub dance floor.
“Let’s head inside,” Nina said. “We’re gonna need drinks.”
Danny followed his friends into the cavernous room, stenciled lights flashing across the floor where the pews must have been.
The carved wooden balconies, which Danny imagined had once been home to a choir of voices singing “Precious Lord, Take My Hand,” were now stocked with light-up bars and stacks of color TVs playing grainy videos of women gyrating on motorcycles.
The chandeliers, once decked with white candles, now held bright neon bulbs, pulsing in unison to the techno beat.
Men in military shorts danced on top of boxes, and women in cages were suspended in the air, grinding against the metal bars.
Everywhere Danny looked, he was blinded by lasers and lights and things he was certain he’d been warned about at St. Pete’s.
Everywhere Danny looked, people were jerking their unholy bodies and pouring drinks down their throats and wiping their sweaty faces on each other’s shirts.
They passed a woman holding a leash with a man in a dog collar curled up at her feet, past two skinny guys in leather vests exchanging saliva against an old Gothic column, past a man on stilts with a cartoon purple phallus hanging between his legs, dragging it across the heads of anybody in its wake.
Danny felt something tickling the back of his neck and whipped around to find the diamond head of a boa constrictor draped across a man’s bare shoulders, flicking its forked tongue.
“Oh my God, look who it is!” Astoria squealed, pointing to the crowded bar where patrons climbed over each other, grabbing at drinks and holding out cash tips. “It’s Valerie-fucking-Toxin. My number-one talent crush!”
Danny’s eyes landed on the burning bush of orange hair at the far end of the bar, standing by herself and sipping blue liquid out of a wide cone-shaped glass.
He recognized her immediately as the woman from Pearl Paint, the one who’d sent Astoria into a full-on panic, the one stocking up on glitter and googly eyes, which all made perfect sense now: Every inch of her body was covered in eyeballs in every shape and size, an arachnophobe’s worst nightmare.
“You’re not gonna pass out on us, are you?” Nina rolled her eyes.
“Shut up,” Astoria swatted.
“You should at least go say hi!” Nina barked over the techno music.
“No way!” Astoria shouted. “And say what?”
“I don’t know.” Nina shrugged. “Say you like her outfit. Ask her how long it takes to put in all her contacts.”
“Are you kidding? She’s like, royalty!” Astoria whined, blowing past Nina’s joke. “Ugh, if I’d known she was going to be here tonight, I wouldn’t have worn something so pedestrian,” she said, looking down at her painted trench coat.
As the crowd grew thicker, Danny could feel his lungs starting to tighten, like two invisible hands reaching down from the rafters and pressing against his chest.
He stared out at the dance floor, at the sardine-can-packed bodies, and tugged at the corner of his rubber nose.
“Hey—you okay?” Nina asked, clearly picking up on his discomfort.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Danny lied. “It’s just really crowded. I guess I’m just not used to it.”
“You know what we all need?” Nina said to the group. “A drink.”
“God! I thought you’d never ask,” Astoria said, fanning her face, now sweat damped from being within twenty feet of her goddess. “We need to find someone with a wristband to buy us one.”
“Well, I’m actually good,” Danny said. “I really shouldn’t—”
But he was interrupted by Orion opening his palm to reveal a crumpled strip of neon-pink paper.
“Where did you…?” Nina stammered. “Was that just on the floor?”
Orion nodded sneakily, then reached into his mouth and pulled out a piece of chewing gum. He grabbed Nina’s hand and wrapped the strip of paper around her wrist, securing it with the wadded-up glob of Juicy Fruit.
“Not bad,” Nina said, admiring the bracelet that made her instantly look seven years older.
Nina and Astoria set off toward the bar, leaving Danny alone to talk with the guy with no words.
Abandoned with his thoughts, Danny began shifting from one boot to another, staring up at the wooden beams. The DJ cranked the beat up faster, the lights began to strobe double time, and the room continued to fill with bodies.
Danny had looked forward to this moment all week, had dreamed of being in a place where you could “come as you are,” yet every time someone brushed past him, he could feel invisible hands on his chest, barreling down on him with the force of a ten-axle Mack truck.
And soon he was cornered on all sides, legs and arms and hips pressing up against him, dancing to the beat, making his heart race, making his neck sweat, making the music warp into radio static.
And then for a moment, everything went black, until Danny felt a sharp poke in his chest and looked down to find Orion’s finger pointing at his heart.
Danny looked up at Orion, who closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of stale warm air, then exhaled, a cool smile appearing across his face.
He raised his eyebrows and nodded to Danny.
“You want me to breathe, huh?” Danny asked.
Orion nodded again.
“Yeah, okay,” Danny grumbled, taking in a deep breath.
For a guy who didn’t say much, Orion seemed to notice a lot. Danny filled his lungs with air, and as he did, the hammering music seemed to quell and the hands pressing his chest began to release. Danny opened his eyes just in time to see the girls returning with a handful of plastic cups.
“Danny, you’ll never believe what the drink special is tonight!” she said, thrusting a drink into Danny’s hand. “Staten Island iced tea! I got us all one.”