Page 10 of Dusk Macabre

I didn’t realize until I parked and went to get out of my car that I’d closed my door on my skirt and drove the whole way with black fabric flapping in the wind.

Uncool, “elder goth,” I was—whether I wanted to be or not.

Vance was outside the entrance smoking a fragrant clove cigarette. “I didn’t even know you could still buy those,” I marveled, taking a deep sniff of the swirling smoke. “My God, that smells so good.”

“Nostalgia,” he said, “the sweet, sweet smell of nostalgia.”

“For real. I love that smell.”

We paid the door man and went inside. “Whoever kisses me tonight is in for a treat,” he mused with a little laugh.

He licked his lips and I glanced at his outfit. He had on a faded death metal band t-shirt and fake patent leather pants that were at least two sizes too small. They had seen much better days.

Also, he was wearing brand new dad-at-the-grill white sneakers and an oversized, bleach-stained black cardigan with fluffy frills. I’d bet money he’d strike out tonight and never get the kiss he was looking for.

“I’m sure they are,” I mused. Talking to him about his clothing never made a difference in the past, and I wasn’t going to bring it up again, now.

For myself, I wore a flowy, multi-layered, floor-length skirt with a see-through overlay and a scoop-necked black tank top with subtle, sparkling trim. The outfit worked here, or in the office. Not that I’d dress like this for Quality Propane, but I could if I wanted to.

Vance followed me to a corner table with prime viewing of the entire club. We could people watch to our heart’s content. “What do you want to drink, buttercup?” he asked me.

“Don’t call me that. Just get me a beer for now.”

He feigned outrage and took off toward the bar while I checked out the crowd. It was an eclectic mix of all ages. I spotted some who were at least eighteen, but most appeared to be in their early twenties.

There were a few couples who were definitely older than me and Vance. It was a refreshing relief to see them. One woman had to be at least sixty, and she had on a gorgeous velvet corset with lace trim around the lower edges. I did miss really dressing up, but I just didn’t seem to have the energy anymore.

That didn’t mean I didn’t peruse the back of my closet to stare at my old gear every now and then with fond memories.

“Here ya go.” Vance returned and deftly slid an amber bottle toward me. I popped the cap off.

“Thanks. Are you gonna dance?” I asked. A heavy industrial tune started blaring from the speakers as lights flashed around the room.

He sat down beside me on the cracked, fake leather bench. I wanted to lean my head back against the wall, but it looked like it was probably sticky. There were dried drips of something that had coursed down the dark red flocked wallpaper. It could have been grease, it could have been pee. The world may never know.

He took a sip of his hard cider before answering. “Not right now. Let me see what the evening has to offer a fine specimen such as myself, first.”

I couldn’t help it, I snorted. “Okay, sure.”

One thing Vance was, was a good dancer. I was more the type to sit and watch everyone else do stuff. I didn’t feel like I was missing out or anything, I just preferred to watch everyone else enjoy themselves. It entertained me just as much as if I were partaking in the activities myself.

“This is a good DJ,” Vance said. I nodded in agreement and he turned toward me. “There’s a tarot card reader here tonight. But she doesn’t use tarot cards; she uses a regular deck. Like you’re playing Go Fish or something.”

“How’s that? Doesn’t the symbolism mean something with a real deck?” I’d never heard of such a casual method.

He shrugged his shoulder. “That’s what I thought but I heard she’s really good. I paid for a reading for you. That’s her.” He pointed a finger toward the bar.

Swiveling my head, I saw a woman with dark purple hair headed our way. “Why did you do that? How much was it? Why didn’t you ask me if I wanted that?” My irritation grew the closer she came.

“Why not? Maybe she can give you some direction with your grandpa’s stuff.” He held his hand out, palm turned up. “What can it hurt?”

He was the most annoying man I’d ever met. “Get your money back because, um, no.”

“No refunds.” He grinned at me.

I slapped the top of the table. “Then you get the reading!”

“Too late,” he snickered.