Zoo City

outside, he drops the attitude and lifts the velvet rope.

'Going in?'

'Waiting for someone,' I say. 'Thanks.' Said someone is going to be another hour at least. I'm crazy early, but tonight isn't about seeing Gio.

'Warmer waiting inside,' the bouncer says. 'Just saying.'

'Ah, but I'm not allowed to smoke inside.' I tap out a cigarette from a box of lights purchased specially for the occasion. 'Just like the song? I fought the law.'

'Law won,' he agrees and flicks a cheap plastic lighter under the tip of my cigarette. Smoking: still the number one ice-breaker known to humankind. His eyes flick down to the bruises on my wrist.

'The Sloth going to be a problem?

'You tell me.'

'But there's no official policy?'

'Right of admission reserved.'

'Who decides that?'

'I do.'

'You're not a man of many words.'

'Not what they pay me for.'

'So who doesn't get past you?'

He ticks off the offences on his fingers. His knuckles are lined with fine scars, and two of his fingers are splinted together. I'm guessing amateur boxing. No bouncer sees that much action in a nice part of town like this. 'If they don't make the dress code. If they're already drunk. If they're known dealers. If I don't like their attitude.'

'Do I make the dress code?'

'Yes.'

'Do you like my attitude?' I drop the remains of the cigarette and crush the tip under the toe of my boot.

His demeanour changes abruptly. 'Hey, you one of the new girls?' he says sharply.

'Maybe I'd like to be.' I have not been expecting this tack.

'Because the staff entrance is round the back. Joey know you're here?'

'I'm not sure.'

'You better go find out. And take your butt with you.' It takes me a second to realise he means the cigarette.

'Thanks – I didn't get your name?' I say, picking up the stompie and putting it in my pocket.

'Ronaldo.'

The staff entrance leads into the kitchen. A man unpacking pre-prepared maki rolls from the fridge directs me to just go on up the stairs. I make a mental note to pass on the sushi. I walk along a corridor with a row of staff lockers, past an open door leading into a bathroom where a cluster of exquisite and frighteningly young waitresses are touching up their make-up, and up the stairs to the door marked MANAGER. I knock and follow orders when a gruff 'Come in!' is barked from within.

The door opens into an austere office overlooking the dancefloor below, a view supplemented by a monitor linked to the CCTV that switches between cameras every twenty seconds or so, including the ones in the bathrooms above the washbasins. A giant of a woman is going through a spreadsheet, if the reflection in the window behind her is any indication. She looks up wearily and snatches off her glasses as if she's not used to wearing them. Or not used to being seen in them.

'Ag no. No-no-no,' says Joey at the sight of me. She has ash-blonde hair ironed straight as an army bed-fold and silver glitter eyeshadow that enhances the difference between her eyes, one blue, one hazel. She is wearing a tuxedo with a corset that somewhat restrains her generous frame, but not her boobs, which are doing their best to make an escape and take over the world. She must have made a fortune in her Former Life, which I'm guessing involved grinding up against a pole and many, many different laps. 'I don't know who told you to come see me, my baby. But you are far too old. I'm sorry.'

'Can't I even – waitress?' I hazard a guess.

'Sorry, my engel. That's a little too much exoticism even for our clientele. Dancers only. But maybe some place like the Foxhole would consider a mature girl like you.'

'I really had my heart set on working here.' I whine a little and try a petulant look. 'Odi said I could.'

'Oh, did he now? Well, tough breaks, skattebol, you're no little Carmen. You can tell Odi he can make calls on staffing when he shows his face around here, not before.' Her attention snaps back to her computer screen as if it's magnetic. 'Are you still here?' she says, not looking up. I take the hint and head for the bar.

Front of house, Counter Rev is twenties decadence meets electro glam. Great Gatsby by way of Lady Gaga, in shades of white and silver. A massive abstract chandelier cut from clear perspex hangs over the oval bar with its low, white neon counter, softly lit from underneath. Odi isn't fucking around. This is a far cry from the music venue grunge of Bass Station. The dancefloor is hemmed in by a ripple of booths in cool cream-coloured leather, the curve angled just right to allow each a modicum of privacy while still sustaining maximum potential for seeing and being seen. Opposite the seating above, the DJ booths are three grand archways with raised platforms all fenced off with white bamboo bars strung with ribbons.

'You the new girl?' The bartender says, jerking his head at one of the dancer's cages. He's pretty in a schmodelly kinda way, apart from a long nose and skin too pale to pull off all-white in a white neon glow.

'Just a regular patron. Can you get me a G amp;T? Hold the G.'

'All right,' he says, pouring out a tonic water.

'Actually, you know what, give me the full equation.' I ignore Sloth's hiss in my ear. 'I think I've earned it.'

'Whatever you say,' he says and pours me a double. Sloth reaches out and tries to swipe the glass off the counter.

'Frisky little guy,' I reprimand, grabbing his paw midswing. 'Sorry, he can't handle his booze.'

'Yeah, I've heard of that,' the bartender says. 'You affect the animal?'

'It's a problem,' I admit. 'Do you have somewhere I could stash him? A coat check, maybe?'

The bartender shakes his head, amused, but the query wasn't for his benefit. There are no more attempts from the peanut gallery to prevent me having my drink. I'm feeling reckless. It feels good.

'I'm too early, aren't I?' I say, surveying the territory.

'Things only really get going round about eleven, twelve. Even on a weeknight.'

'What's the crowd like?'

'Rich. Trendy. Beautiful. Lot of power people.'

'Bet you get laid a lot. What's your name?'

He actually blushes. 'I've got a girlfriend. And it's Michael.'

'What do you do when you're not bartending, Michael?'

'I'm a student. Marine biology at the University of Johannesburg.'

'Marine biology? Are you ever in the wrong city.'

'No kidding.'

'Can I make a contribution towards a transfer to a coastal facility? I tuck R500 under my coaster.

'What's this for?'

'Just the name of the bouncer who was friendly with Songweza Radebe.'

'You from Heat?'

'Something like that.'

'This going to come back to me?'

'Michael. Please. I don't even know your name.'

He slips the coaster off the counter, the R500 vanishing seamlessly with it. 'Ronaldo. Ro. But I don't think it went anywhere.'