He was late, he could tell. The night was reaching its turning point and he’d arrived in the imminence. But Archie was always late. He believed that either the fretful or underprivileged types get early at such occasions. As he was none, he just didn’t care about arriving on time.
It was 1:06 am, The Joker was packed and people were already on fuddled stages. There had more girls than guys inside, most of whom were good-looking and had impeccable make-up on, in spite of the heat. They danced provocatively, teasing the men –and to Archie's amusement, girls- around. On the other side of the club, by the white loungish sofa arrangement, were the couples that by this time were already hooked up. Some bitter, yet-not-hooked-up women near by seemed to tell with their looks some of the couples to get a room.
By the bar were the permanent shy and the eager-to-get-a-drink-and-head-back ones. An amusing combination to stare at. A young, punk-looking bartender juggled fetching people’s drinks, keeping the counter clean and flirting at the same time. His mouth piercing and beams told Archie he liked his job.
On the dance floor some bodies seemed many, inserted in that setting with the loud, involving beat; the half lit environment; colorful lights that danced amid people; peeks, glares, breathing, movement, vanity, shots; people on their best, most attractive outfit, behavior, smiles. Speed varied into very fast and slow motion according to people’s intentions and closeness. It all just takes one in, empties one’s mind and focuses one’s attention to it, the dance, the girls, the throbbing of the room, the breathing, the speed, the shots, the people.
He was blond and attractive, he could have any of those beautiful faces in the room and he knew it. He was bold but didn't cross lines; stout but elegant; aware of his potential but kept it down. Had that subtle rare combination that hardly made him cocky. He was confident. What’s wrong with being confident?
