Georgie waves her off. “I’ll have you know, I pulled this one out of the vault. It’s a genuine beauty circa 1981. It was my favorite hunting outfit back in the day.”
“Georgie, I didn’t know you hunted?” I can’t imagine Georgie hurting an animal no matter how hungry she might be. And she’d never do it for sport.
“Are you kidding?” She irons out the front of the foil frock with her hands. “I caught so many stags with this number, my trophy wall filled up faster than a buttered bullet.”
Juni blinks first. “What trophy wall?”
“The one in my bedroom,” Georgie is quick to inform her.
“The wall with all the bottle caps?” I ask. It’s true. Georgie has a wall of old bottle caps that spell out love.
“That’s the one.” She grins our way. “Each bottle cap represents one shining night, courtesy of this little number right here.”
My mouth falls open. “One for each night? There must be a hundred bottle caps at least. Please tell me all that happened was a rousing game of Scrabble.”
She ticks her head to the side. “All that happened was a rousing game of Scrabble.” She nudges her elbow to Juni’s side. “Let’s just say my gentleman friends and I each hit triple scores.”
The two of them hoot and holler and I navigate us inside before I’m officially blinded by Georgie’s accouterment and her storytelling. And how I pray that trashy tale was fabricated.
Outside, Renegades looks more or less like a barn. Inside, it smells like one. Loud eighties music pumps through the speakers. It’s dark, save for the swirling lights spraying a neon display of color every which way. Bodies upon bodies are standing and chatting, swaying their hips to the music while out in the center of the room a full-blown dance floor is filled with gyrating limbs.
Juni holds out her arms. “Now here are some moves I haven’t seen since the eighties. I’ve officially found my people.”
We head deeper into the establishment and the scent of cheap cologne mingles with that of hairspray—and for good reason. Every woman here looks as if they were attacked with a teasing comb as their hair stands on end, perfectly shellacked and frozen, fanning over their skulls like a prickly halo.
Juni gasps, “Would you get a load of these men?”
I squint out at the crowd and the throwback vibes these men are putting out is pretty amazing.
“No kidding,” I say. “And check it out. Some of them have really got that Flock of Seagulls hair thing going on.”
“Seagulls love me.” Georgie leans in. “Watch the master at work, girls.” She takes a few bold steps into the center of the room, and slowly but surely those men with their hair frozen in time begin to gravitate her way as if she were some kind of a silver homing beacon they were drawn to.
“Would you look at that?” Juni marvels. “There’s got to be five if there aren’t ten.”
My jaw goes slack as an entire crowd of men, young and old, gathers around Georgie as if she were giving away money.
I knock Juni in the ribs. “She’s not giving away money, is she?”
“Nope. That woman is a testosterone magnet. And lucky for me, the fruit didn’t fall far from the hot-to-trot tree. I’m off to scoop up her leftovers. Wish me luck.” She speeds into the knot of humanity, and I’m in awe of the fact Georgie Conner is able to drain the room of all its men as they magnetize to that metallic dress of hers. Honest to God, it’s like watching a bunch of drones magnetize to their tinsel decorated queen.
A new song, “Vacation” by the Go-Go’s, pulsates throughout the speakers, and the room explodes with screams as everyone around me begins to swing their arms in wide gyrating moves that look loosely coordinated.
Now, where could Brooklynn Knight be in this mass of humanity?
I’m about to step over to the bar and ask around when I spot Brooklynn herself out in the wild. Everything in me freezes as I’m caught off guard by how easy that was. There she is, working alongside a couple of other bartenders, and I watch as she slides an electric blue drink toward one of her customers.
But I don’t head to the bar first. Instead, I make a beeline to that jumble of limbs ahead of me and manage to pluck both Juni and the happy hunter out of range of all those grabby testosterone-riddled hands.
“You weren’t kidding, Georgie. That shiny dress really knows how to bring the boys to the yard.” And I’m not teasing. I’m half-afraid a handful of them will follow us home. “But it’s time to get to work.” I nod to the bar and Juni gasps.
“Lookie, lookie, it’s good ol’ Brookie.” Juni rubs her hands together. “Let’s head on over and shake her down good.”
I pull her back by the crook of her elbow. “No, no. I’m doing the shaking, remember? You’re simply making pleasant conversation with her.”
Georgie claps her hands. “Done deal.”
Both Georgie and Juni speed on over before I can stop them. Georgie bumps a woman in a hot pink dress off the end stool, freeing up three seats in a row.
“Well, look who’s here!” Juni slaps a hand over the counter as Brooklynn snaps her head in our direction.
Dear God, say it isn’t so. Brooklynn manufactures a tight smile as she makes her way over. Her light brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she’s wearing a neon green sweatshirt that has had its neck cut off, ala Flashdance. Her skin looks thick, her marionette lines are heavy, and she has dark circles under her eyes as if she hasn’t slept in weeks. Not that I’m surprised. It’s so pulsating loud in here, I’m sure she hears this music long after she leaves the place. I may not sleep for a year, and it’s been less than ten minutes for me.
Brooklynn
