Chiron

We split up when we arrive at the club. Nic heads backstage to finish getting ready while I make my way towards the bar. He always chats with bouncers and drops stuff backstage before coming onto the main floor as Bebe Slick, his drag persona.

Bebe knows how to make a grand entrance, and tonight is no exception. It’s difficult to miss a seven foot tall goddess. Especially when she’s poured into an electric blue pleather bodysuit with chest cutouts and a cape attachment. If Jade is effortless elegance, Bebe is overt sexual prowess on the hunt. 

Dance music envelops me, vibrating the floor as I wade through a sea of people. At the bar, I snag an empty stool with a view of the stage. The music is quieter here, with the speakers pointing towards the dance floor. I wave at Aaron, one of the familiar bartenders on duty, and settle in to wait for Bebe to appear. My foot bounces where it’s propped on the bottom barstool rung, and my fingers tap along the wooden bar top to the music. Within minutes, Aaron comes down the bar, a huge smile on his face. 

“Dude, Chi! Haven’t seen you in ages! What’s up? How ya been? By yourself? Want a drink?” Aaron is a labrador personified, combining an eagerness to please with a laid-back and chill demeanour. I’m relieved he’s working the bar tonight. Maybe I’ll have someone to talk to while Bebe is busy flirting with her adoring fans. 

I can’t help but grin as I reply, “Hey man. I’m doing good. Been keeping busy. You?” He opens his mouth to answer as a patron sidles up to the bar, flagging him for a drink.

“Hold that thought, be right back.” Aaron grimaces as he hears the guy’s complicated order. Guess I shouldn’t expect him back soon. I glance past him, checking if I recognise anyone else. Tess is at the far end of the bar, also mixing an intricate cocktail. I wave when she looks up. She lifts her chin in acknowledgment, and I laugh to myself before turning to observe the packed dance floor.

The mirrored tile dance floor is a large, recessed space, with steps leading down and a raised stage at the far end. A kaleidoscope of people are feverishly dancing, grinding against one another in ecstatic bliss. Drag kings and queens stand out amidst the crowd of eager party goers dressed in full magnificence. Laughter, chattering conversation, clinking glasses, and wayward singing weave between the music in the cavernous space.

Around the dance floor perimeter are tall tables, secluded booths, and comfortable couches. Groups of people stand together chatting. Others lounge on the plush couches sipping drinks and relaxing while taking breaks from dancing.

A second floor VIP balcony overlooks both the dance floor and the stage. Hungry voyeurs lean over the railings to watch dancers and hunt for potential hookups while bouncers guard the stairs and keep a watchful eye for trouble. I smile and wave to the ones I know, receiving head nods in return. The whole place is brimming with energetic, beautiful bodies packed together like sardines. In short, a room of lustful revellers enjoying a bacchanalian night out.

Anticipation builds as I wait for Bebe to appear on stage. My leg is still bouncing like a jackrabbit on steroids and my stomach’s doing somersaults. I bite down on my thumbnail with sympathetic nerves. How does she handle this enormous crowd? I’m certain I’d fall flat on my face and die of embarrassment immediately. Either that or vomit. It could really go either way.

The EDM fades and the opening beats of 100% Pure Love by Years and Years begins. I whip my eyes to the stage, ready for Bebe Slick in all her glory. The club lights have gone almost completely dark and fog is rolling across the stage. Back lights burst on, illuminating Bebe’s silhouette in the centre. Multi-coloured side spotlights dance up and down as she struts towards the audience.

The shiny bodysuit hugs in all the right places. Her boots reflect the spotlight, casting rainbows across the stage, while her cape flows dramatically from her shoulders to little loops around her middle fingers. Long bright white hair gathered in the tightest high pony possible adds extra height and snaps behind her like a bullwhip.

Club goers are cheering, whistling, screaming, and shouting as Bebe reaches the front of the stage and strikes a pose, microphone in hand. She takes a deep breath, brings the microphone to her lips, and with a husky voice sings, ‘It’s twelve past midnight. Don’t close your eyes…’

And then she’s off, strutting confidently across the stage, owning every inch as she belts out the lyrics. The crowd is eating from the palm of her hand. I can almost understand the temptation of chasing that exhilarating rush of adrenaline.

The song goes by at lightning speed without a hitch, and I hardly have time to enjoy it before Bebe is bowing, waving, and thanking the audience. As she exits the stage, she tells the crowd she’ll be back in a few hours, and to stick around for the next performance, the DJ’s next set already drowning out her voice.