Tales of Slack: Chapter 3

"Vampires, Lesbians, and Militant vegetarians."

Memphis. At the Red Square, 1993.

As I crossed Madison Avenue, I could tell it was a good crowd at the Red Square because not only was the little parking lot next to it overflowing, but the music was thumping. It was an alternative/grunge club that only survived briefly in a city that only had room for one such club (6-1-6, or "6-1-Sucks" as it was later known). I was hoping to see Libby, since she had told me that she was planning on going to the Red Square to dance. I usually only saw her outside of class with her nose in a book, so it was going to be worth it to see her cutting loose.

I paid the cover at the door and I think it was only $3. The doorman was a large, 6'4" black guy named, Darin. He was a professional midtown bouncer/street samurai and always dressed in black. He was wearing silver rings on each finger with a definite animal motif going on, with one or two skulls thrown into the mix. He also had those fake vampire teeth caps on, you know, the kind that the dentist has to glue on. Despite never seeing him in the light of day, I know he was a fake vampire, because years later I heard at Neil's that he died of pancreatic cancer.

I asked Darin if he had seen Libby, and he replied in a grumbly voice, "She's dancin'."

Immediately inside was the bar part of Red Square, and it had booths around an island bar that were covered in a garish red vinyl. As I passed through, I saw a woman who used to be a Madonna-wannabee back in the 80s and I used to see her on campus dressed like Madonna from Desperately Seeking Susan. But now she had blond dreadlocks and as I passed I noticed she had a "vegan" patch on the ass of her jeans. Her name was Emily or Eileen, definitely a name that started with an "E." No, I think it was actually, Martha.

Past the bar was the actual dance floor. It wasn't all that big, and had a slight stage area on the far side. It did have high ceilings and on those high walls, the club had paid some artist to paint several sickle and hammers as well as a Soviet looking dominatrix. Which years later when it was renovated, my ex-girlfriend, Dana, actually got the contractors to let her have that piece of art featuring the dominatrix. I've got a photo of it placed in her apartment in a shoebox somewhere.

On the dance floor, there just happened to be a lot of dancing going on. The DJ was playing an old song from the 80's by Shriekback,

"Priests and cannibals, prehistoric animals
Everybody happy as the dead come home
Big Black Nemesis, parthenogenesis
No one move a muscle as the dead come home"

I walked on the periphery of the dance floor scanning for Libby. The crowd's focus seemed to be on two women dancing like lesbians. I say "like" because every since Basic Instinct came out a couple years before, there always seemed to be a couple of girls emulating Sharon Stone's dance with her friend from the movie. Plus, one of the girls had a very distinctive feline appearance and I saw her years later pregnant with a boyfriend.

I saw Libby dancing with a friend of hers and I was stunned to see her having a good time. After watching her dance I realized there was something different about Libby, she had breasts! I had no idea because she always wore loose sweatshirts and baggy clothes, but here she was dancing in a form fitting shirt and I was taken back. For this night out, all her usual clothes were all gone, save her dark rimmed glasses and her Chuck Taylor hightops, which had "Fight the power" written on one of the white toes in black Sharpee. She was missing her red Marlboro baseball cap and loose baggy clothes. And she looked beautiful. She had short reddish hair and looked like Kate Moss, BUT only like Kate Moss from a very specific Calvin Klein ad that had Kate lying nude on a black sofa looking back at the camera. I would see that ad years later and ask, "Who is that?" whoever I was with, I think Julie, told me Kate Moss.

When Libby stepped off the dance floor, she saw me walking towards her, and waved for me to hurry to her table.

"Hey! Got a drink?" She asked after hugging me. She was smiling uncharacteristically and it warmed my heart that she was glad to see me.

"No, not yet. I have to go find Kamal soon."

"You can have one of mine." She indicated a bunch of full beer bottles on a small table. "It's my birthday!" She said cheerfully and was meant to explain her pile of beers.

"Really? It's your birthday?"

"Yep, I'm 24."

Libby raised an eyebrow at a nearby girl who somehow knew that Libby meant "give me your cigarette, I'm empty and its my birthday," and gave her the cigarette. Libby took a drag on and took a swig from a Miller-lite beer bottle all in one fluid motion. That's back when Miller and Budweiser were the only beers in town, back when Coors seemed exotic.

"How did you get to be so damn cool?" I asked, laughing.

Libby didn't hear me over the music. She blew smoke off to the side, "Come and dance with me."

"I can't, I gotta go find Kamal."

"Come and dance, it's my birthday" She said with an impish smile holding a beer bottle in one hand and the commandeered cigarette in the other.

So we danced. On into the night, we danced. . .

Somewhere in my memories we still dance. But it's not at Red Square. Instead, I like to picture the scene as a old fashion wind up music box built by some toymaker with an urban fetish. It's a black box, that after it has been properly wound, you release a catch on the side, and it opens and spreads out to make a miniature Red Square. Complete with spinning characters: an obsidian doorman, a vegan with dirty blonde dreadlocks, two undulating female figures, and in the center, me and Libby dancing.