But she didn’t sleep with the bouncers, not ever. That was a rule she stuck to judiciously, even though it was hard sometimes. DJs, yes. Bartenders, sometimes. The band, of course—but bouncers, no. Bouncers were, for her anyway, too protective and noble to debase with empty sex.
The best nights were nights when someone punchy was in the bar, when fights started up and the bouncers descended on them, flew down off their perches and broke up the fights with a hardened intensity that was spellbinding to watch. They picked up guys, no matter what size they were, dangled them from headlocks and carried them like refuse out to the curb. No fighting. You might hurt the women. We protect women around here.
Actually, they were protecting the club from a lawsuit, but she let her mind wander where it would. She loved to imagine when they scanned the dance floor, the bar, the bathrooms, that they were carefully scanning for women in distress. Every so often a woman would be in distress, harassed by some guy or involved in a catfight with another woman, so they too would be carried out, although not in a headlock.
But the most gripping occurrence, for Kat anyway, was when a woman passed out. They would sweep the hapless female up in their arms, romantic-hero style, to protect her from harm. Actually, all they did was carry the hapless female outside and set her on the curb until she came to and they could call a cab for her. But Kat didn’t think about that part, only the part where they lifted the woman’s limp and helpless form into their strong arms.
Lucky, lucky girls who drank to inebriation. How Kat wished, just once, to be one of those girls. To give everything up and slump to the floor, to be rescued and cradled in the arms of a man. A man like the bouncers, stern and impassive and solid. Unfortunately she was way too afraid to be that passed-out girl, even though she would have loved, just once, to experience it.
But she could fantasize about it and she did from her place upstairs where she could see every bouncer in the club. The ones by the dance floor were the burliest and wore the most intimidating scowls. Kat knew all this because she came to Masquerade every Friday and Saturday night. Sundays she went to the gay club, Mondays to the Irish bar when she was up for it. Tuesdays she went to the dark, trembling emo club. Wednesdays she took off, Thursdays she went to a jazz bar sometimes and then it was Friday again and here she was.
The fact that she reviled this glitzy hipster club and everyone who patronized it didn’t stop her from returning. Why? Because nobody knew her here and everyone left her alone. She could approach any of these shallow, sweaty college students or tourists or yuppies without any fear of rejection. Ninety-nine times out of one hundred she got exactly what she wanted, which was shallow, sweaty hook-up sex. Thank goodness for Marla and her unending supply of rubbers.
Kat swept her gaze from her favorite bouncers to the mass of humanity on the dance floor. She watched for a prospective boy toy to materialize. It was busy tonight, wall-to-wall. Some pretty women as always, but many more guys. She spotted one who looked promising—tall, built, with an earnest expression. She wondered why the other women weren’t all over him. Maybe he had some awful flaw, like bad breath, a lisp or a mousy demeanor. With his body, Kat didn’t care, so she kept watching. She’d give it awhile longer, then make her move.
Kat looked back at the bouncer by the stairs and found him looking at her. Not just looking at her. He and his friend were talking about her. The bouncer looked away, caught, but the friend kept on staring. She didn’t like the way he stared, as if he were judging her. Kat pulled the lollipop out of her mouth and made some suggestive licking motions before plunging it back between her lips. If he was going to stare, she would give him a show for shits and giggles. She could still feel him watching even though she’d looked away.
Kat had seen the guy here many times actually, hanging out with the bouncers. He always looked at her in that same reproachful way. She supposed he knew what she got up to every week, not that it was any of his business. Since she didn’t sleep with bouncers or their bouncer-wannabe friends, she didn’t really care if he thought her slutty or undesirable. He was nice to look at though. Tall, bronze, dark-haired like her. He was muscular, not in a beefy-bouncer way, but in the way of a guy you knew would prevail in a fight just because he was so alpha. She looked back to find him still staring. I know why you’re here. I don’t approve of it. Somehow Kat knew he was the one in one hundred who would turn her down if she propositioned him.
She looked away, lifting her chin, sucking on her lollipop. Stare all you want, fucker. I don’t give a fuck. Stupid eye-contact games. She could play them too. Whatever. She came here to have fun, not get all bent out of shape over the one guy in the bar who put her off her game.
But she still watched him out of the corner of her eye, so she knew the moment he headed toward her. He took the stairs two at a time. Broad shoulders, long thigh muscles flexing as he ascended. She looked away, pretending total disinterest. He was probably coming upstairs to see someone else. A
