I laid out my clothes on my bed. Dancing shoes with some doctor’s gel soles to comfort my soul while prancing. Plain black men’s dress shoes. Black pants with pleats and a crease. A simple black belt with a grey buckle. An auburn shirt with a collar. A grey tie with subtle lines at right angles – like a technical drawing – hardly visible. I was pushing myself to go out. I was happily skating around the house listening to music and looking at my desktop with a slide show playing. Too happy at home entertaining myself. Out, out! I like being able to meet people online. Special interests require a special search. A general interest ‘boy meets girl’ night club is not always the place to look for that strange flavor when you tire of vanilla. I had just sent a second email to a person I had contacted online. Our mutual interests shall be explored. I had sent my home phone number. But, I felt some panic. What if my phone rang right away. We had seen each others pictures, there was a long ad, I sent a fairly detailed response with a picture. Mutual inclination. I had gone out to ‘Vincent’s’ night club in Randolph, a suburb just south of Boston, two weeks ago with a woman friend. I live right on the edge of the city, and a downtown club would be the same distance to drive, about eight miles. I like the feel of the city, but the search for parking brings a tedious tour of the narrow one way streets. The parking in the suburban ‘big box’ function facility with the dance club is free. So, to the suburbs I go. The crowd is a little more straight laced and ‘average’ looking than in a downtown club, or a music venue in Cambridge or Somerville across the river. But one never knows who one will bump into. Suburbs have their exotic secrets. A night club with dancing is like a primitive human’s bonfire at night to celebrate a hunt with rhythmic dancing and chanting to drumming when all are well fed and in a happy mood. What a feeling of group solidarity – part of a successful herd that hunts and gathers enough for all. Well fed people should be dancing every night. I do. How can people listen to music and not move? So, my clothes were laid out, and I wanted to get out of my house to avoid answering the phone. I told myself to stop being an internet troll who roller blades and drives family members to appointments. Summer nights are for hunting passionate connections. I had gone to Vincent’s two weeks ago on a Saturday night with a woman friend. She is a longtime friend of my family, a ‘Mary Poppins’ to my children, and like a sister to me. Dancing with her is like putting on a comfortable pair of slippers. Also, she is great to gossip with about people in the club, she likes to dance, and she is not jealous when I am looking at women around me dancing and not at her. But staying home is always so easy. The summer evening was pleasant. My back door was open, a cool breeze came through the landing, and into my kitchen. I could just look at interesting people online. I could just watch a woman dancing – online. I could go outside and skate under the street lights to any song I wanted. I first started going to the club when I read an article in the ‘Boston Globe’ lifestyle section about ‘Dating Over Forty’ and local bars and clubs that were oriented to ‘adult singles.’ I was divorced and decided to stop drinking beer and dancing alone at home every night. “What good is sitting alone in your room? Come hear the music play,” was in the musical Cabaret. That phrase comes into my head. But, my hair is so long. Down to my shoulders, and slightly past. A ‘classic rocker’ aging without a haircut. During the cold winter I had bundled up and not really been thinking about my hair. I can get away with a long ponytail as a drawing teacher for adult education. Since spring and less clothing I have just let my hair grow. Longer and longer, I saw a ‘Fractured Fairy Tale’ on a Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon with the story of Rapunzel. What would the male form of that name be? As 8 o’clock showed on the clock above me on the wall I resolved to get dressed, and go out. I thought of putting my hair back in a neat business-like ponytail as I combed my hair in the mirror. Nope. “Let your ‘freak flag’ fly,” I said to myself as I got into my car. I wasn’t going to a job interview. I was hunting in the night for….something. A rhythmic connection. I listen to music often, every day. But, I am used to picking the songs I want to hear. At the club they play songs the DJ or someone thinks the audience will generally enjoy. So, there is a kind of ‘top 40’ or ‘dance standard’ feel to the songs. Hardly any songs that I would pick on my own, at home, dancing freely. But, if you want to clap along with the audience, you follow the crowd. Herd animals enjoy a group stomp. One last look in the mirror, one last brush of my hair, my keys off the hook, and down the front steps and into my car. I was listening to an audio book of Samuel Butler’s “The Way of All Flesh.” Some long words to begin a night with. Route I93 South flowed quickly and I was down the highway, and in the club parking lot in ten minutes. I parked my car in the middle and looked up at the colored lights on the building highlighting the name: ‘Vincent’s.’ I wondered who he was. Was there a real ‘Vincent?’ My guess, the bosses oldest son. A woman pulled up in a car next to me and got out walking toward the door. I walked up to the lone doorman. “Good evening,” I nodded and smiled. I paid the young woman at the ticket window seven single dollars and got a receipt. I handed the paper to a young woman at a lectern taking tickets. Into the large room I went. The music was booming: I had in my earplugs. There was no line for the food on the upper deck. Some people were dancing on the stone patterned gray dance floor. There’s lots of space, like the parking lot. The dance floor is in the middle of the bar with elevated areas on four sides. There are nice railings along two long sides of the rectangular area for people to stand facing the dance floor and feel like part of the action. I got some leafy green vegetables, whole wheat rolls that were still warm, and a small baked potato. I found a stool toward the back and ate as I scanned the crowd. I saw some of the same people my friend and I had gossiped about two weeks earlier. The quiet serious faced girl who sat near the dance floor next to an older woman. She had tan skin and perhaps was hispanic. Looking at an older woman past sixty with a smear of lipstick and a flowered dress I thought of a Poe story that spoke of “paint begrimed belle dames making one last stab at beauty.” Why not? Some older women walked by as I perched on my stool against the back bar counter which was closed. I glanced, they glanced. Would I get up enough courage to ask someone to dance? Maybe. But, I thought I had made an accomplishment by simply making it to the club and getting out of the house to meet someone. I only looked at my cellphone to check the time. Although, I saw an internet connection pop up for Vincent’s. I tried a password – Vincents – to see if I could get online. I couldn’t. Good. “Forget the ‘virtual’ and concentrate on the ‘reality.’ “ I told myself. At the bar – I saw Rapunzel. One of the bar tenders in the middle island was a twenty-something blonde with long hair to the bottom of her back. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I was sitting on a stool thirty feet away. She had long, straight blonde hair parted in the middle. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I was facing the dance floor as people danced, so I had a reason to face that way. But, I was looking at her. Some beefy guy with big arm muscles was in the way. He was standing next to the bar chatting with the blonde. I loved watching her pretty, animated face as she spoke to the customer. He was holding a bottle of beer. A big tip gets a little conversation. I thought of a ‘kissing booth.’

More people were out on the dance floor. The songs seemed to be ‘classic disco.’ Boogie nights and disco infernos while staying alive. Not my favorite songs, but tolerable. Then the blonde barkeep moved to the side and I could see her shapely legs in very short shorts. Goodness. The girl must work out somehow. Her top was low cut and prominent plump boob tops were on display. The sight of this beauty was worth the trip. I was saving her memory for later. “Pay attention!” I told myself. “There will be a test later.” A pretty petite waitress carrying a tray and drinks asked, “Can I get you something?” I shook my head ‘no.’ I stopped drinking long ago. So I would get out of the house at night. Another attractive waitress in a short skirt stopped by me. “No, thanks,” I said. I hope they make money off someone. I’m here for the eye candy. I watched an animated woman in a white dress with a lace shawl over her shoulders talking to an older man down the bar counter. They had some food in front of them and she spoke excitedly. I couldn’t hear her words with the music and my earplugs, but, I liked her. Her dark brown hair was down to her shoulders, and she had makeup on. A couple of Asian women came up to the brunette and they seemed to know each other and spoke on friendly terms. The older white haired man asked one of the women to dance. I decided to get closer to the dance floor, and the blonde Rapunzel tending bar. I just wanted to look. As I leaned on a small counter on the railing facing the dance floor I could bounce to the music while watching the dancers below. Two women were smiling and dancing with swaying bodies and in such pleasure it was infectious. I felt a sway in the crowd. I saw a thin older woman I had noticed the week before – well past sixty and still hungry to dance. Good for her. She was dancing alone. I saw a man we had noticed weeks ago dancing on the high platform as if he was in gym class. “No recognition of the beat,” I had said of his enthusiastic exercising to the music. But, he had found a woman. An attractive, long brown haired woman was dancing with him. She wiggled her behind in obvious delight – to the beat. When he started to do a bizarre random spin, she seemed to reach out and stop him. He had found the woman he needed. Good for him. I was jealous. I liked her, too. Them, he had her backed up against the wall and was kissing her. How dare they? I looked at other women dancing on the floor and smiling widely. Middle aged girls having a night out. Squinting I could picture them as young maids, all in a row. I resisted the urge to take out paper and draw. I have done that in the past. Fun drawings. But, I look nutty enough with my long hair already. I had noticed people using their smart phones and tablets before, and wondered what they were doing as the glow lit up their faces against the darkness of the club. Check something, yeah, start playing a game, or something? Why come to a club? What will you do with a partner when you are relaxed? At least if they see me drawing on paper with a pencil they know I will be drawing on paper with a pencil when I am relaxed. I am always drawing. I turned around discreetly to face the bar behind me and glance at the beautiful blonde with the long, long hair. But the mature women below me dancing were actually people I might meet and interact with because of mutual attraction and inclination. Blondie was out of my league. But, a boy can dream. As my legs tired, and I’d seen enough women wiggling to fill my head with images I decided to leave just before midnight. I had no work in the morning, not even as Mr. Mom, or taxi driver to the teen. The night air was cool as I looked for my car. I looked up to the ‘Vincent’s’ sign and tried to figure out the angle from earlier in the night. My red car did not stand out in the black and white shades of night. As I turned the key the audio book “The Way of All Flesh” came back on. A hundred year old story. I love driving fast late at night with an empty road in front of me. Did I dream of the women dancers? I don’t remember.