Eight

On stage a clergyman or someone dressed like one, sings about his servitude to his vampiric mistress, presumably the nun next to him who trades vocal duties and sings about her devoted slave. I get the point, but the lyrics are just plain bad, bordering on awful. While the signing is live (also not very good), they are band-less, save for an interpretive dancer on stage, so the music is canned. Goth karaoke. Yuck!

The crowd is eating it up, though. The singers are known as The New Covenant and they enjoy a cult following in the fetish scene, I hear. Whatever.

“Dude! Where’ve you been? We thought we lost you.” Geoff crept up behind me. The priest continues to sing praises to his mistress. It’s the third song in their set. Not much on variety are they?

“I was upstairs.” I didn’t like yelling in places like these. I don’t go out a whole lot, so I’ve never gotten used to raising my voice over loud music to be heard. I can be loud when I want to, usually, but in places like this, I hurt my throat.

“So, whatdaya think? Cool place, huh?”

“I like it.” I did like it, generally speaking. Though this is NYC, the mix of people here strikes me as unusual. I wonder if it’s because of my own preconceived notions of freakiness (not necessarily a bad term) and race? I damn near expected to be the only black man in the house and I’m just an observer (or is that voyeur?). Had the other Negroes present been gay, then I might not have given it another thought. There’s nothing unusual or shocking about black homosexuality, but straight black men who like getting whipped, literally…that’s interesting.

The mix of straight and gay is also interesting, and to me, the idea that the two could occupy the same nightspot in near equal numbers (I didn’t take an official survey – I’m just guesstimating), is surprising as well as appealing. There was a time when “appalling” would’ve been a better word, but that was a long time ago.

“I love this band!” Geoff nods in synchronicity to the prerecorded rhythms. I look back at him and change the subject.

“Where’s Joanne?”…at the top of my lungs.

“She’s getting ready. She goes on in about twenty minutes.”

“After these guys?”

“Maybe, but she’s gonna be upstairs. What’re you drinking?”

“Soda” I was pretty much down to the ice, of which there was plenty.

“Lemme get ya a beer or somethin’.”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”

“I’d like to see what you’re like when you’re wasted. You’re too uptight sometimes. You should be having fun.”

“I *am* having fun, except this band sucks.” Two women in front of us turn their heads and aim icy glares in my direction. They look like they just came out of a twenty year old Flock Of Seagulls music video. I finish my drink, not giving a shit about their bad taste in music.

“I can’t believe you don’t like The New Covenant. They rock, dude.” The ladies return their attention to the stage show. “We’re gonna try to do a show with them. You know, opening for ‘em.” I can’t tell if Geoff is as enthusiastic as he sounds (about the band) or if he’s merely an opportunist. I simply nod my approval, avoiding an argument…for now.

“I’m going back upstairs.”

“Right behind ya, dude.”

The narrow stairwell that bridges the two floors is constantly flowing with traffic. This sort of thing would normally annoy the hell outta me, but I’m fine with it for now. Me and Geoff navigate through a stream of people who are flowing into the opposite direction (of course), and on the way I make eye contact with a number of the seductive and/ or bizarre looking females who walk past us. I’m not much of a flirt, so I don’t stop to talk or anything like that. Stopping in the middle of this stairway might not be a very good idea anyway. Conversely I avoid eye contact with males here, when possible. I don’t consider myself a homophobe, but I know I’m in kinda an anything goes situation and I don’t want to inadvertently give out the wrong signals. Let’s just say that, however much I like this place, I’m still a little self conscious.

We’re greeted by loud, unrecognizable (to me) techno, and the floor is a bit more crowded than when I left it. I walk towards the dance floor to be closer to the stage. I can see the platinum haired beauty has been joined by a voluptuous woman in her late forties. Shoulder length red hair parted in the middle, corseted in black leather, almost completely revealing her breasts, she exudes a sense of power. Behind her and the younger girl, are a trio of gentlemen in suit and tie. In the center is an older man (Fifties?) who looks Hispanic. He is flanked on both sides by clean cut blondish youths (brothers?) who appear a little too young to gain entry into a place like this or any nightclub, for that matter. The red queen had the ear of the girl in white. The trio stood by almost like statues, and as I made my way towards to front of the stage, going no further than the third row, I’d completely forgotten about the “devil” on the other side.

The curtains were drawn over the stage as preparations were being made for Joanne’s presentation. Geoff was right next to me, on my left. Some of the people around us were dancing to Bowie’s “Scary Monsters, (and Super Creeps)”, while others stood, like us, nodding our heads to the music. I’m not much of a dancer.