Skye knocked at the entrance in search of fun, but no one heard her over the music. The room on the other side was lit for evening and all of the men attending were small and bald. A few of them lingered at the bar, finishing their next beverages, but the rest were all dancing ecstatically—clumsy and gratified. A keyboard player, who was neither small nor bald, stood in the farthest corner playing deep, vibrating sounds across his electric fingerboard. He wore a blazer sewn from fine quality zebra-hide and his music was the kind that made a man's ear hairs tickle.
These men had to dance, though they would not dance with each other. They stared upward, looking at the dusty, black ceiling and tried avoiding the wrong ideas while they bathed in the beat.
The entrance creaked open. Sunlight spilled into the room. The men quickly—and almost in unison—put on their shades.
Once Skye slipped through the open door, she let her long fingers, glossed with a luminous shade of pink polish, rest on the warm handle before slowly and expertly letting it close behind her. She tugged the edges of her short, denim skirt, adjusted some of the lace peeking out of her top, then threw her thick yellow hair behind her shoulders.
Each step Skye took toward the bar slowed the rhythmic movements of the men surrounding her. She pulled back one of the empty stools, climbed into the seat and leaned forward—pointing her chest toward the man playing the keyboard.
The music stopped. She ordered a stout and drank in the silence.
By the time Skye finished, the keyboard player had walked over to her. He whispered something important in her ear, then made his way back to the corner. She followed in his direction a few seconds later—feeling the stares from behind each head's covered eyes tracking her path.
He lifted a polyester bag from beneath his instrument stand, pushed back the sleeves of his blazer, unzipped it and gestured for her to reach inside. She dug around carefully, then did not hesitate when she found the plastic handle underneath the tangled cords. She pulled her arm out of the bag and maintained the tension in her grip all the way into the ladies room.
The men crowded in the hallway and waited. They made sure to leave enough room in front of them for Skye to return.
When she finally stepped back out, the men, with one exception, did not notice her—or did not care to (Skye wasn't sure). The crowd's attention remained focused on the door after it closed, but the one man, who wore only a lavender vest as a shirt, reached toward her bald head. Skye whipped her elbow straight at his nose, staining his torso, then continued making her way back toward the main room.
The music began again. Hot air rippled around her scalp and all Skye could think about was dancing.