Page 69 of Shake Your Boo Thang

Ken Armstrong is waiting for us at a table by the window when we arrive at the coffee shop the next morning.

Beau offers to get our coffees while I sit down with Ken. At seventy years old, Ken Armstrong still looks remarkably fit, and it’s not hard to see why he was a bouncer back in the day. His hair and beard are gray, both cut short and clean. Dressed in jeans and a tight T-shirt that shows off his still muscular arms, Ken could easily pass for ten years younger or more.

Note to self: Do not stop weight training with age.

We shake hands, and I introduce myself. We chitchat about nothing terribly consequential until Beau joins us a few moments later with coffees in hand.

I pull out my notepad, and Beau gives Ken a blindingly bright smile.

“Hello, Mr. Armstrong. It’s a real pleasure to meet you. My name is Beau Montgomery, and as you might be able to tell, I’m not from around here.”

He chuckles and Ken smiles.

“I run a little travel and queer history podcast back home and came over here recently to do some research for a couple of upcoming episodes on nightclubs and other establishments from previous eras that were frequented by LGBTQ+ folks.” He leans forward, eyes sparkling. “As a gay man, I love learning about my forebears and how they created community even in times where they had to keep their sexuality or gender identity hidden in public.”

“I suggested we do some sleuthing into London’s nightclub scene in the last century and we stumbled across some intriguing accounts of the Midnight Vault that made us want to learn more,” I add.

Beau beams at Ken. “When we looked into the club further, we found information on some of the people that used to work there and your name was among them. You were a bouncer, right? We’re sure hoping you can tell us some of your recollections of the club’s heyday in the 1970s.”

Ken sips his own coffee. “It surprised me when you reached out about the club. God, I haven’t heard anyone mention the Midnight Vault in years. A relic of a bygone era, that it was,” he muses. “I worked there for two years. It was fun. Of course, I was a young man then, in my very early twenties.” He chuckles at the memory.

“What was the club like?” Beau asks with a guileless smile.

Ken leans back in his chair, settling in. “Well, it was pretty popular with people my age at the time. I don’t mind telling you, my love life didn’t suffer! The décor was—well, I’m no interior designer, so let’s just say the disco theme was everywhere. They had one of those big mirror balls hanging from the ceiling and a segment of the floor was built from those illuminated color squares that shifted and changed while people danced. The DJ even used strobe lights in tandem with the beat of the music he played.”

“It sounds amazing,” Beau replies. “I can picture it now.”

Ken shakes his head and laughs. “It could get pretty wild some nights, though, that’s for sure.”

Beau grins. “I bet.”

“What can you tell us about the nightclub owner?” I ask.

Beau reaches under the table and flicks my knee hard.

I blink at him innocently.

Ken barks out a laugh. “Oi, mate. You almost sounded like a copper just then.”

Beau pinches me, and I grunt in pain.

“Callum comes off that way to a lot of folks. His social skills are still a work in progress, aren’t they, sugar?” he says, holding my hand up to his lips and kissing it.

“So you two are an item? That makes a lot more sense now,” Ken says with a smile.

“That we are.” Beau puffs up with pride. “I had to cross an ocean to find the sexy man of my dreams. Totally worth it, I don’t mind telling you.”

I don’t know what compels me to do it, but I lean over and kiss him on the cheek.

The surprised but happy look on his face is well worth it.

Ken strokes his short, gray beard. “So, Callum, you want to know about Reggie?”

“That was the name we found in some historical records,” Beau says. “We’re hoping that we’d be able to learn more about the building’s history by knowing Reggie.”

Ken sighs. “Well, I don’t like to speak ill of someone behind their back, but Reggie was a wrong’un.”

“Oh?” I ask, perking up.