Funky Town by Joshua Keim

The Starlight was a nightclub on the northernmost part of Dunphace. The rest of the town was known for its incredibly tasteful atmosphere. Especially tasteful near the apartments, with all the tasteful litters of abandoned kittens, and homeless folded in on themselves for warmth.

The Starlight was star bright, as it always was at the end of every Friday night. But now even more so. People dressed in gaudy clothing too bright and too impertinent to be practical in civilized society arose to the siren song inside. Yet here it was perfectly normal. As The Starlight was as far away from civilized society as one could reasonably be.

I made my way to the street across from The Starlight. Garrison street, filled with bodegas and liquor stores all the way down the block. Across from it, a huge building enrobed in beaming lights and a dazzling sign at the very top of the magenta block in tasteful cursive: “The Starlight.” Unfitting for Garrison.

Tonight, as I made my way to the entrance in my gray suit with an orange dress shirt with a collar far too sharp to be safely handelled , there was a legend. A legend that the legends make myths about. A man of such stature within the circles that frequented establishments such as The Starlight. A man with a handlebar mustache you could grip with two hands. The groove, the boogie man, the mayor of funky town.

Richie Rogers.

I got to the entrance, as crowded as it was, and made my way past the temptress girls sitting on the railing next to the doors. The ones who would look at you and say: “Yoohoo! Lovah boy!” and wink at you.

It seemed the crowd outside had found their home in this hovel, with a few passed out in the private booths, dead drunk or drunk dead. Off to the side was the bar, or what was left of it. As it happened every week without fail, some drunkard would be too tipsy to stand and trip into another drunkard too tipsy to empathize and they would duke it out as all men did. Leaving behind a very rough and tired looking bartender. 

Then, high above the worshippers of tasteful ethics was The Starlight’s prophet. Their disk jockey. With a turntable so smooth that you slide over it with spiked boots. With a jockey who can swing a beat so invigorating it could send even the most heavy footed people to the dance floor and grant them temporary rhythm in their led lined boots. 

The dance floor itself, a holy land larger than most apartments in the south and holier than the pope's grave. Packed together like sardines in a can. It appeared they had stopped their own dancing to give their own disco inferno fever to the man in the middle of the circle that had formed. Parted like the red sea, standing in the middle of the ocean of air sprayed hair, was most certainly a God. Make no mistake, he was a God no matter what shape he took.

Richie Rodgers moved in tune with the music. As if he and the melody were twins joined at the neck. Eternal star crossed soulmates forever doomed to die in eachothers arms until the next life, or until the next song. He moved around the sacred tiles like a man possessed and I moved to the bar like a zombie. 

I never, for the life of me, could understand how they could stay out so late. Doing nothing but drink and do drugs and dance and have sex like vermin succubi. I sat down on one of the ripped cushions of the shoddy stools. Called over the bartender of the night. A man who did not look any better than I did. Ordering a blue hawaiian, with a little umbrella on top just to blend in. 

I’m not sure what song was playing, something or other about love. But it ended. Soon the people around Richie had flooded back onto him and began dancing to the next song about the faint feeling of pleasure or something or other.

Riche stepped down from his Sedia gestoria. Walking to the stool next to mine. He ordered water. 

“Danny!” He sat down with the water in his hand after it slid down the bar.

“Richie, crazy seeing you here.” I said with a sip of my cocktail.

“Crazy seein you here! I thought you’d never get that stick outta your ass.” He said with a bob of his head drinking the last of his water in a single fell swoop.

“You can imagine how I’ve been jumping for joy to hear my best friend is coming back not only from some damn punks outside my place but that he’s coming here to huff paint with no name women at a club instead of coming back to see how his old pal is doing. Which is just fine!” I sighed, trying to drink down that last line. I had said it with too much force, more than I had intended. 

“Alright I’m sorry Danny. I’m sorry. But you know me, places like these are just for me. It's like I was made for them. Not your drab apartment. Hey Jamie! Another water will ya?” He said giving his cup to the young sport.

“Yeah, you and places like these deserve each other. Real classy.” I said with a chuckle. “Yeah, that always has been your type, classy.” I added a gesture to the place we were in.

“Oh lay off will ya? I said I was sorry. It's just- things have been coming and going really quickly. Faster than I can notice.” He said, this time without his smile. He looked down at the bar. Like he hadn’t sleept in a good few days.

“Richie, is everything alright?” I asked, he had looked at me witha tired sort of eyes I had never seen out of anyone. A kind of tiredness that sleep did not fix.

For a little while he paused, contemplating about something, he looked at me and then back to his drink. “It’s all shit you know? All this,” He said looking at the interior of The Starlight. “It’s shit. You don’t ever realize it is until you've been somewhere where there ain’t any of it. Places like these are so… fickle. Nothing ever lasts here. It's like smoke Danny.” 

“Smoke? What the hell are you talking about?” 

“It’s just not there. Sure, you could go and drink up all the booze you’d like, and swamp all the girls you can try, and dance until your legs break. You might’ve even felt something, but… it’s simply not there. Before you can get anything real and before you can get a real grasp on it. It changes! It's smoke!” He says rubbing his eyes in soreness.

“Yeah I guess so, life is smoke then.” I told him.

“Yeah, life is smoke. Before you can get enough of a buzz to get any real thoughts or feelings out of ‘em, they pass out! And before you can marry a girl like these, you’d have to make hell freeze over. And before your legs break, you never get to dance with the person you want to most.” He said, looking at me, with a seriousness I hadn’t thought to think could come from him.

“So why the hell are you here then. This place isn't your speed.” Richie asked, finishing his 2nd water.

“Your mom.” I stated, looking for any hint of recognition. 

“What about her?” He said, his face hardening into steel.

“She wrote me a letter. Telling me to check up on you, saying that you’re sick.” My eyes bore into him. I knew the kind of lifestyle he led, he knew it, Mrs. Rodgers knew it.

“Richard.” I grabbed his attention. He looked at me with slightly glossy eyes, maybe a trick of the studio lights on the ceiling.

“Are you sick?” It seems all those years of irresponsibility had caught up to him with sword in hand.

Richard looked back at his cup and ordered another water. Drinking it, stalling for precious few more moments. He put the cup back down, still ⅓ full.

“Sorta.” He stated simply.

“Sort of? How can you be sort of sick? How long-”

“Mom’s passed.” Richie said, this time with eyes a little more shiny.

“Oh crap. Rich, are you okay? I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine.” I said putting my hand on his shoulder. I didn’t even feel any warmth, just the feel of his satin jacket.

“Her funeral was maybe a few days. I’m sorry you couldn’t be there. She would have loved to see you there.” Richie said, drinking up the last of his water. It seemed The Starlight was as unfitting for Garrison as it was for Richie.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” I said, I don’t even know what the hell to say. How are you meant to respond to that?

“Don’t be, I didn’t go either. Hey Jamie, a vodka martini will ya?” He said to the barkeep.

“What the hell? What do you mean you didn’t go? Were you sick then too? Where’s Christine? We gotta call her. Imagine what she’d think with you out here in a place like this.” I said, starting to stand up.

But Richie stopped me. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back down.

“I imagine she could care less.” Richard said sipping at the drink Jamie handed him. 

“Now why the hell would you say something like that? Christine has always been there for you!” I said, starting to get angry. 

Richie had really done a lot of stupid things but this makes my damn blood boil. He had his face lowered enough to where I couldn’t even make out any expression.

“I broke it off with her.” Richie. I don’t know who the hell was around us or if the music would cover up my yell at him, but I was too angry to care.

“You what?! Are you out of your goddamn mind?! You’ve been engaged for a year! How the hell are you gonna break it off with her now! After 6 years!” 

“She wasn’t my type.” He said, taking generous heaps out of his bottle.

“Not your-” I didn’t even finish what I said, I just shot up and slapped him after that. It was poorly thrown, and could’ve had a lot more force behind it. But it got the message across. Richard finally looked up at me.

In his eyes, it seemed like that weak and ineffectual punch had done something to him. His eyes were a sore red. Puffy. Threatening to leak out beyond his lashes. His mouh stood open in a shape you could fit a needle through. He pleaded.

“Wait Daniel. You gotta know. I was doing a lot of thinking, you know, about my life. I loved Christine, I really did. But… I wasn’t,” He looked away from me, like his next words were about to get him killed. “I wasn’t attracted… to… I wasn’t attracted to her… type. Y’know, women.” He said looking back at me with a face full of despair. I had never seen that out of anyone. Let alone Richard, who got high on the spice of life. He sat back down on the barstool.

“Rich-”

“No wait, let me finish. You’ve got to let me finish. I said… I told Mom. Right there. When she was in the hospital. A week before she died. I told her. She…”

Rich had broken down. His head hit the bar as if the weight of the world was chained around his neck.

“She… she… she cursed me. Damned me to hell. That I was no son to her. Screamed at me to get out. That… that week… she.” Richie had barely finished his sentence, every word squeezed out between the choking sobs.

“Oh Rich.” I kneeled in front of him and hugged the poor man. That was all I could do, I highly doubt I could’ve given him a speech to lift his spirits. All I could do now was let him know I was here. 

He sat up, looking at me with pleading eyes. With a heavy voice he said:

“Let me finish,” He stood up and shakily grabbed the vodka martini. “Whenever I was thinking, you know, I always… I always had someone in mind.” He said, looking at me.

There was a long pause of silence between the two of us, in the far background was the faint noise of The Starlight.

“Rich, you know I’m not…”

He shut his eyes, maybe to stop himself from hearing the end of my sentence, or to stop more tears from coming out. I just couldn’t tell. After a long silence, he had calmed down.

“Okay, I understand. Can- can I just… have one dance?” He said with a trembling face.

“Rich, I’ve got two left feet.” I told him.

“Please Danny. For me.” He said with a trembling body. A pleading face, that of an abandoned kitten in a box. Tired and looking for any warmth in Dunphace.

“Okay.” I relented, it was just a dance, to help him get over his grief. Nothing more.

Richard led me to the floor. Just his arrival to the floor made everyone spread out again. This time with me behind him, it was as if the sea walls only got higher. Richie warmed up, and as funky as he could do it. Snapped and pointed to the Jockey. The Dj took that as his cue and put on a tune. 

It was a love song, as they all were. Just like that, he started. It started with a walk around the exterior of the circle. The walk morphed with the beat into the nodding of his head, the wiggle of hig leg. I must say, he knows how to get someone in the rhythm. I tried my best to mimic him.

But soon he was getting too fast, when the first chorus rolled around he was doing things I didn’t know you could do with yourself. Then, soon enough, I lost myself to the music. I had started to dance like a meister.

The boogie between us had started an attraction to the floor. Soon, anyone in the bars or in the booths except for drunk deads and the dead drunks had come to see the stunning spectacle unfolding on the dance floor.

The second chorus came around and our dance became intertwined. A disco of two men, joint at the neck with their spine and hips being puppeted by the music. The cheer of the crowd had become even louder than the music at some points. As we always were brothers from another mother, but for those precious 3 minutes our adoptive mother was the groove. We were the boogiemen. 

Then, as the music swelled we came to meet in the center of the circle. We struck a pose with my left arm above my head, and my right arm spread to my side like an eagle's wing. He had mirrored me. The song ended. He looked at me with tear stained eyes that had run down his cheeks. He took my face in hand and kissed me. 

The crowd erupted in joyous roar. He let go 2 seconds after. Looking at me as if not even he expected that. As if some ghost in his head told him too. Like he really was a man possessed. My mind raced a million miles a second. Too many random interspaced thoughts rocketed inside my head. I looked at him, the poor man who had lost everything. His mother, his fiancee. Maybe even his future. 

I took a step back, still having not registered what happened. He took shaky steps forward, mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. Or at least I think he mouthed it, he could have screamed it at the top of his lungs and I still probably wouldn’t have heard it. I took another step back. Then another. And another until before I knew it, I was back at the bar. I don’t even know when I turned around. I just knew that I couldn’t see or hear Richie. I couldn’t hear his pleading. Or his crying. For reasons beyond me, I hesitated. I turned back around. The mob that had formed swarmed him like an angry wasp nest. Buzzing with drunk excitement. He looked right at me. A one thousand yard stare that started in his retreating soul and right into my own cracking one.  

He got jostled by the crowd, I don’t know what it was. His face. It looked like a candle that had finally been blown out. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the world. Maybe in the arms of Christine, or in his mothers grave with her, or maybe in the apartments downtown. Just anywhere but here. Anywhere but The Starlight. I turned around again, and left. 

The Starlight shined on my back, illuminating Garrison street a little. Shining a little warmth on the dead end lliquor stores. I crossed the street onto the dull wastes. I took off this damn jacket. Unbuttoned the top of my orange dress shirt. I threw the jacket in the trash. Richie lost everything, even his best friend. All he had now was smoke. Even that he would lose. It's something he will pass on to me. For the last time in the remainder of my life, I looked back at the club. The street never seemed so damn wide. It would take me the rest of my life to cross it again. My own guilt thrashed in my chest, squeezing my life blood and wrangling out any stray tears that were too anxious to leap out from my eyes. Just as he lost everything, I think, I lost even more.