The Dancer

         Thank God they finally all figured it out. It's about damn time. I've spent the last 18 or so months trying to prove to them that we weren't supposed to be arrested. Still, it didn't matter much, as Elsie was dead, taken by the hands of her foe. Well, now he'd face the court appearances, the guilty verdict, and his remaining years in prison. Reyna had been incredibly brave, but something tells me she'll never be rewarded for her actions. She's better off ; James and I were rewarded with arrests and charges of prostitution (which were eventually dropped), and if that fucker she brought to justice still has any power(which I'll bet he does), I'd be willing to bet he'd find a way to throw her in jail. She'd probably get out of it easier, though, since the guy's power is a bit of an illusion. It was Elsie that had the real power here, but now, that power is dead, dead at his hands.

--------------------------------------------------

January 5, 2002

         "So...think I should get Frank some of that roast beef that's on sale?" I asked James.

         "Nah. Why bother when he can jerk with it for free?" he asked.

         I paused and contemplated this for a minute.

          "Oh yeah!" I exclaimed, prompting James and I bust into side-splitting laughter laughter.

          Those were the days before the whole damn mess got started. They were only jokes at the time, jokes born of our corroded minds. In our defense, these people and their incorrect behavior brought it upon themselves. Frank could get his pricey name brand basses and designer jeans, but that voice and exaggerated chauvinism masked his tendencies towards homosexuality and food fetishes. Of course, we had no idea at the time. We just joked about him masturbating with store brand roast beef because we considered him having a relationship to be implausible.

         James and I approached my faded red Ford Escort, surrounded by many brand new or newer looking cars, a sign that money was rapidly invading this once country school. In a way,I missed the redneck tradition. In the end, I was unaffected by it all. My tenure here would be ending soon enough.

          "Well, I better get going," I said, unlocking the door.

          "Are you going to be online tonight?" James asked.

          "We'll see," I replied. "I have some drawings to do."

         With that, we kissed our farewells and parted ways. As I made my way home, I sniggered as I thought about Frank with his roast beef and his friend Ray, who preferred store brand turkey.

         Sometime after that, James's grandmother teetered close to death, so he went to Georgia for a couple days. I, meanwhile, was left to cope with people I loathed in my classes and my life. During this time, I reminded myself the ultimate perk of being a senior: leaving. Still, it was a long couple of days, as James had become a clutch for me. Being out on my own gave me an idea of what quitting a lethal addiction cold turkey was like. I then remembered it was my choice to let James into my life as much as I had. Somehow I had forgotten the consequences of a long term relationship, this sort of co-dependency among them. Despite the longing, I trudged along, thinking of how foolish his grandmother was to leave that breast lump to grow malignant.

         James came back, and though we spent less time together, we continued to make a mockery of our classmates and what not. It didn't matter. All of their achievements and what not were all for show. What they were really like was well hidden, except from us in a twisted way. We speculated about everyone and everything, from our band director (whose sexuality was always up in the air) to various prominent students in our classes. We had a field day with them and our warped imaginations. There was one saxophone player named Judd. He was a cocky little freshman, always going to the honor bands and showing off his playing. We both thought he was a little gay (well, maybe more than a little), but he sure seemed close to Jessie, a fellow saxophonist and fellow senior. Of course, I had my suspicions about Jessie.

         "You see, James, Jessie has been acting strange this past month," I said to him that morning. "She's been relatively selective when it comes to people she'll be social with. She'll be quiet in a large group-"

         "But with another person that she likes, she'll be chatty," James said.

          "Damnit, James, stop reading my mind!" I mock chastised him.

         James and I had a tendency to be on the same wavelength. I supose that's what happens in a long term relationship. Because of that, I was able to convince him that this time, Jessie was involved with our band director, him, the future murderer. Still, I managed this using threadbare evidence (only the bit about her being limited in her socializations, because I noticed that she was chatty with him). Of course this took a little while.

         "Jessie and...him? Uh, no," James said.

         "Dude, James, I'm tellin' you. She's acting like she did around Judd," I shot back.

         "How can you be so sure, Lil?"

         "She's relapsed into her anti-social state and has become quite buddy buddy with the director."

         "I don't know, Lil. She's a bit talkative with the other saxophonists."

         I had considered James's observation, and realized that to a minor extent it was true. I still thought that Jessie had her secrets. I just needed to coax James into believing it.

          "Well, James, they're her section members, and she is first chair," I said.

         It took some time, but he acquiesced.

         "True," he mumbled, and we began to speculate about Jessie's involvements with the director.

         That's the way things went for us on a daily basis. To call us gossipers wouldn't quite be true, but we ended up paying more heavily for the consequences. We paid for speculating about Jessie being involved with Judd and the director; Frank and Ray stealing store brand deli meat for masturbation purposes; and even suggesting that a couple of our male friends indulged in homosexual activities that involved sadomasochist actions. How were we supposed to know that we were revealing information that we didn't have a right to know? We had no idea it was all true! Still, we had no choice in the matter, as we had chosen to do everything we wanted to do, especially when it came to making the jokes. We realized that no matter what, we would have been kicked in the ass for what we had said. Nonetheless, we did not expect this.

--------------------------------------------------

January 19, 2002

         There was a night, a Friday or Saturday, when James decided to go out for dinner, something we rarely did. Neither one of us liked going out, so something that resembled a date was not on our agendas most of the time. Anyway, we went out that night to Saturday's, one of our favorite places to go. Our dinner plans did not include encountering the devil, and truth be told, it was a bizare encounter.

         It happened in the middle of the meal. James and I were finishing our dinners when Elsie Gabanna joined us at the table. We knew her as the school's dance instructor, but we also knew her as being rather unattractive both in looks and personality. That night, though, she was dressed to the nines in a bright red satin dress, black fishnet stockings, and black pumps with four inch heels. Her hair was loose, and she had on some black mascara and eyeliner along with some red lipstick that matched her dress. She reminded me of an old French whore, and I don't like it when whores join me while I'm eating dinner with my boyfriend. After that, I really was not happy.

          "Lillian, James," she said in an irritating tone of urgency, "I really need to talk to you."

         I glared at her, demanding she leave us alone.

         "Lillian, you don't understand!" she shrieked. "You two know some very serious, very taboo things!"

         I half tilted my head in her general direction.

         "And what exactly makes you think James or I give a fuck?" I asked, causing some people to look at us.

         "Lillian!" she hissed, "Don't be so foolish. Let's go."

         With that, she grabbed James and me, and we got pulled out the door. We were dragged to the furthest side of the parking lot on a brisk night. I trembled as an arctic blast of air hit me smack in the back.

         "Listen, you two," Elsie hissed. "You may think it's all a joke, but you two know the truth about too many people. These truths are not for you to know."

         "Wait a minute! What are these so-called truths?" I asked.

         "Frank and the roast beef. Ray and the turkey. Jessie, Judd, and the director!" Elsie hissed. "Do you want me to go on?"

         "Preferably not," I said.

          "Good," she muttered. "I wouldn't need to, anyway. You know what your jokes are."

         "So ALL of them are true?" James asked.

         Elsie nodded.

         "How do you know this?" I asked, slapping my hand over my mouth too late.

         "Let's get your bill paid, and then you'll find out," Elsie said. With that, we retreated to the restaurant.

         The next thing I knew, we were in a limousine, headed south on US1. James was next to me, and Elsie sat across from him.

          "Where are we going?" James asked.

         "Well, where we're going isn't important," Elsie said. "What is important is what I'm about to tell you. The reason I know all of your jokes are true is because of a tradition as old as the school."

         Can't be that old, I thought. That shit hole was only twenty some years old. "And what is this tradition, exactly?"

          "A band run whorehouse," Elsie replied in a monotone.

         I clutched my stomach, hoping I would not expel my tasty Sonora Chicken Pasta.

         "Whorehouse?" James managed to eek out.

         "Well,it started out as a harem of sorts, just females, but around the time I became involved, guys started entering the mess," Elsie told us. "Business has been booming ever since, as voyeurism has been bringing in a lot of dough." At this, she smiled a little, and only now did I begin to put some of it together.

         "You mean people will pay money to watch a barely pubescent motherfucker like Frank masturbate with roast beef?" I asked.

         "Yeah, especially when it escalates into sexual actions with Ray and the turkey."

          That did it. I rolled down the window and expelled my half digested dinner onto US 1. At least we were at a red light and no one else was around. After a brief pause, we resumed our southward sojourn.

         "Water?" James asked.

         I nodded and took the cup of water he had offered me.

         "Thanks," I whispered before taking a sip.

         "This brothel," James began, "where is it?"

         "Now comes the wicked part," Elsie grumbled. "It's in Palm Beach."

         I leaned back in my seat and struggled not to faint. I should have. Too many revelations were being hurled at me at the same time, and I struggled to wrap my mind around it.

         We soon stopped at a nondescript building outside of Juno Beach. After wordlessly exiting the limo, we walked in only to find it was an almost empty bar. I glanced at my watch, only to discover it was only nine at night. Shit! I was due home within the hour,and even if I left now, I wouldn't be home until at least ten.

         "Um,how much longer is this gonna take?" I asked.

          "You're stuck here for the night," Elsie said.

         I looked around at the bar and shuddered. If this was where the orgy would take place, I would've been quite surprised. The paint peeled off the walls, sickly green lighting cast minimal light, and many of the rotting floorboards had popped up. In fact, James tripped on one, disturbing another as he fell to the ground.

         "Are you okay there, James?" I asked him.

         "Yeah," he huffed as he struggled to stand up.

         "Oooooh, boy," Elsie muttered. "Let's get you cleaned up." She led James to the back of the bar, leaving me alone.

         I found myself fascinated with the place, reading the grafiti to kill time. People had scribbled phone numbers onto the walls, and couples' names had been etched into the visible support beams. Ancient neon signs that no longer worked were scattered throughout the place. Judging by the looks of everything, this place had been a premier hotspot back in the late 1970s, even the early 1980s. I then came across an interesting etching in the bar that had been colored in red, almost hidden in the dull blackness of the bar's wood. It read "Death to the Kurzweil Mansion." I wondered what that meant.

         "It's where they hold the orgies."

         I jumped a little, as I was yanked out of my reverie by the voice. Looking up, I was shocked to see my history teacher.

         "Mister Grier?" I asked.

         "Call me Thomas, or Tom, but on the weekends only," he replied. Then he narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here anyway, Lillian?"

         "If I had a clue-" I began.

         "She'd friggin' tell ya!"

         Tom and I looked towards the back, the area from which the third voice came.

         "Elsie!" Tom exclaimed as she and some suspicious figure came into focus.

          "Where's James?" I demanded, but I had no idea what had happened to him.

          "It's okay, Lil, " the other figure said. "I'm here."

         "James!" I screamed. "What did they do to you?"

         "Shhhhhh, Lillian," Elsie said. "It's for your protection. Tom, why don't you take Lillian to the dressing hall, show her the outfit and all."

         At that, Tom tapped my shoulder and gestured for me to follow him. I trudged behind, hoping this wouldn't take long.

         We entered a long walk in closet filled with hundreds of black clothing items. I saw shelves for hats and beat up, black painted dressers. We walked through this closet for a good amount of time before Tom stopped at a section of the closet that looked like the rest of the closet except for a series of hot pink tags attached to the hangers. He thumbed through these clothes for a moment and then pulled a hanger from the ranks. He looked at the tag and then handed it to me. I took it, analyzing what I had been handed: a slim black blazer, a long black skirt, a white shirt, and a black necktie. After that, I proceeded to follow him to an area of changing rooms, and I changed into the proffered clothing after he left.

         I rejoined the group in my ensemble, which ended up including some painful black three inch heels. I was curious as to why we had to wear this Blues Brothers-esque garb. When I entered the main part of the dwelling, everyone was waiting for me, and I saw people walking over to the bar.

         "Just in time," Elsie said. "The regular crowd's arriving."

         "Hmmm?" I murmurred.

         "Observers, voyeurs," Tom said. "Those that pay money."

         "Good God, "James muttered.

         "I know," Tom replied.

         "Let's get going," Elsie beckoned. "Tom's reinforcements should be here soon. There's gonna be a lot of people to assist tonight."

          I opened my mouth to ask, but Elsie saw and shook her head.

          "Not now," she said. "I'll explain in a minute."

          She walked off somewhere, and only then did I realize my head was spinning. I squeezed my eyes shut in pain, but it did nothing to ease the ache.

         We returned to our limo, which was parked behind the bar as to allow the paying patrons access. After we got ourselves seated and the limo was in motion, Elsie began to give some explanations.

         "We're actually a good five miles from the mansion," she began. " We should be there in about ten minutes. Anyway, I bet you're wondering why you're in these outfits."

          " Yeah," I replied. "I'd also like an explanation for why I found my history teacher in the bar."

         "Well, that's gonna have to wait until another day," Elsie said. "Still, as far as the outfits are concerned, it's for the protection of the participants and perhaps the observers. We've had problems with blackmail in the past, when Mister Keely was on his way out, especially when Mister Robertson showed up one Saturday night."

         I shuddered. Mister Keely, the old director, did not seem like one who would have run the brothel with any degree of competency, so Robertson (the only other band director in the county and now the FBA president) stepping in was bound to equal disaster.

         "What happened when Robertson showed up?" James asked.

         "He called the cops," Elsie huffed. "I was outraged. I couldn't believe he did that. Luckily, just when the cops showed up, they were called in to quell a mini riot on Clematis, so we got out of getting this place shut down. Ever since then, we've made sure anonymity was guaranteed."

         After we both sat there staring at her, James finally mumbled an, "Oh."

         Elsie reached into a compartment on the door and pulled out two black cylindrical objects. She extended them to us and nodded at them.

         "Sunglasses," she said. "Take one."

          I reached out first and took one of the cylinders. I pulled at one end, which popped off to reveal half of the sunglasses.

          "Put your sunglasses on, " Elsie ordered. James and I did so without question.

After I put on my sunglasses, I was thrown about by Elsie. Not saying anything, she pulled me onto her lap.

          " What the...?" I yelled while pulling away. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

         "I was gonna fix your hair so it fits in your hat, " she grumbled. "Now get over here."

         She pulled me onto her lap again, albeit a little more gently. She was not gentle with my hair, though, and I felt the soreness in the spot where she pulled a handful of hair out. By the time we arrived at the mansion, I was unable to really see anything. All that I felt was the agonizing feeling akin to flesh being ripped away, exposing my skull.

         We arrived at the mansion but drove past the front entrance. We were dropped off in the backyard. By this time, Elsie had resumed her tour guide role. We exited the limo silently and found it impossible to see. Then again, there was next to no lighting in the backyard. I could, however, determine that we were standing by a fountain that reached toward the jet black skies. However, I could not deduce anything else, as it was too dark for me to discern even the basic shape of the fountain. With that, Elsie had led us into the mansion.

         Inside, the sunglasses were necessary. The mansion was immersed in a brilliant, yellow-white light. I was amazed if anyone without sunglasses was able to see in the mansion. I turned to Elsie and opened my mouth, but she shook her head at me.

         "Not now," she said. "We'll talk in the dance hall."

          With that, we continued walking. As we followed Elsie, I soaked in the sights and sounds of a mansion's awakening: men scurrying about with various objects in their hands, a young woman testing a microphone, a familiar figure (another teacher) running to the front entrance, cars pulling up to the mansion. It all baffled me, as I wondered how anyone could make an event like band people having sex turn into a three ring circus.

         "We're here."

         Elsie's flat mumble jolted me, and my mind returned to the situation at hand. By now, we had arrived at a gigantic room with soft lighting and golden walls. A set of turntables and various pieces of lighting equipment were scattered in the back, while numerous hunter green tables and chairs were being arranged close to the entrance, where the three of us stood.

         "This is where we hold our dances prior to the orgies or the shows, " Elsie said. "The lighting is a little softer in here for two reasons. First, it allows the deejay and the other workers to do what they have to do without having to sacrifice their vision. Second, no videotaping is permitted in the dance hall, as opposed to being allowed everywhere else."

         " Does that mean that extra bright lighting is required for videotaping anything? " I asked.

          "Yes, " Elsie says. "Helps capture more detail, which means more tapes are sold." She smiled before she added, "That means more money for us."

         A table with three chairs was set up fairly close to us, and Elsie pointed to the setup, instructing James and myself to sit. We hesitated but took our seats Elsie joined us.

         "Don't even think about removing those sunglasses, though," she warned us. "Now...what would you like to drink?"

         "What do you have?" James asked.

         "Anything your little heart desires," she replied.

          "Then I'll have an aneurysm," I blurted out.

         "Uhhhh..." James muttered. "What...?"

         "It's gin and anisette in a shot glass."

         We looked for the source of the voice only to find another teacher, Miss Daniels, the English department's shortest teacher. The woman wasn't even five foot, but she had presence of being larger than life. Dressed to impress in a slim fitting tuxedo style shirt, black leather pants, and high heels, she radiated pep from every pore. Her smile, traced with light pink lipstick, put me at ease, assuring me in its own way that everything would be alright. I guess after a nice aneurysm everything would be alright.

         "How about you, Elsie?" Miss Daniels.

         "Um, I'll go with a sweet martini," she replied. "What about you, James?"

         "Just give me a beer. I don't care what kind," he said.

         "Coming right up!" Miss Daniels chirpped, and she trotted off to the bar.

          "Yeah, if you need any drinks, ask for Toni," Elsie said, pointing in the direction of Miss Daniels' trot.

         "Oh, okay," I said.

         Waiting for my drink, I shuddered out of the blue. I had no idea what brought it on, but part of it was I was adjusting to my new environment. My ability to adapt to various places and situations got the better of me tonight. I should have trusted my gut, to get out of there before I was in too deep. However, I couldn't move from my chair, and soon I found myself in a trance, not aware of even myself.

         Sometime later I found I had polished off three aneurysms, a brain hemmorage, and I was now on an aqueduct. In fact, all of us were a bit on the loaded side. Elsie had several cocktails, and James was working on his fourth beer. By now, a number of the performers had arrived, many of which were the subjects of our jokes. They were drinking and dancing to put Dionysus and Bacchus to shame. Frank and Ray were breaking it down to some Destiny's Child song, and I noticed they were wearing matching red underbust corsets. They were not the only ones donning the fancy undergarmets to boot. In fact, a lot of people, male and female, wore them. Judging by their body twisting moves, I realized they were more than used to wearing them.

         "Who do you see?" I asked James.

         "Seems like everyone," he replied. " I see Frank, Ray, Ivan, Reggie, Craig, Hal, oh who else?"

         "Jennie's here, but not with Craig, of course, " I said.

         " Yeah, considering, he's dancing in a black g-string over by Ivan and Reggie, " James mentioned.

         He pointed to an area not far from where the deejay was cranking out the music. The cacaphony made my head ache like a rod being shoved through it, blood pounding my worn veins. I rubbed my temples, hoping that the pain would go away.

         From there on out, the night's events continued their downward spiral. The song changed from bland, thudding hip hop to the vivacious swing tune "Sing, Sing, Sing" by the Benny Goodman Orchestra. Back then, I loved that song, and though it was loud, I got into it for a little bit. Right as I was starting to feel a little less tense, I heard a roaring of hollering and cheering from the left side of the room. Looking over, I saw Elsie and Jessie (who was sporting a plum brocade corset and an ankle length skirt of the same color) dancing on a large table. It was not super raunchy, but their dancing did involve some kinky touching, which forever tarnished my memory of that great swing song. I looked at James, who rubbed my shoulder.

         "Poor Lil," he muttered and took a swig of his Corona.

          I glanced at my empty shotglass and knew exactly what I had to do. I whistled, and Georgiana (a fellow band student) ran to the table.

         " Do me a favor, " I said. " Get me a windex, extra strong."

         I polished off the windex, and I oddly felt a little better. By this time, the little dance had ended, and everyone had scattered to carry about their fetishes, fantasies and similar shenanigans. As the workers cleaned up the dance hall, Elsie lead James and me out the door and back into the blinding hallway.

         "Time for a tour," she announced.

         I could feel the pain rush back to my head, and despite my difficulty walking, I craved another drink.

         We first meandered through the first floor, seeing the bland essentials of the mansion such as the coat room, the kitchen, the video editing room, and the media library. Actually, despite Elsie calling the rooms as boring and bland, I found them quite fascinating, not to mention that the media related rooms proved to be of great use when it came to pressing charges.


         After that, we wandered up to the second floor, where most of the sexual actions were taking place. Some of the rooms were small, but many of the rooms fit nearly a hundred people without being a fire hazard. Some paying voyeurs walked by us, and I recognized their voices from somewhere. One of them said "bootleg room", and I became curious.

         "Elsie," I asked. "What is a bootleg room?"

         With a small smile, Elsie walked over to one of the walls and smacked a spot. That part of the wall gave way, leading to a tunnel. She gestured for James and me to enter, and we walked into the black abyss, which was actually a narrow room with one of those two way windows and a couple of benches.

          "Welcome to the bootleg room," Elsie said.

         I continued to try to figure out the place. The space was very cramped, and ventilation was poor. I looked in the window and saw another room which was sparsely decorated and held a freshly made bed. To me, it looked like the room across from me hadn't been used in a while. As I stood staring at the other room, I decided that bootleg rooms provided a means to granting false privacy to those who wished to have sex in private.

         "What purpose does this serve?" James asked, voicing my thoughts.

         "Sometimes, a couple or group wants privacy," Elsie replied. "Therefore, they come here. However, this room we're in right now allows people to indulge in a more private form of voyerism as well."

         "Then why is it called a bootleg room?" I asked.

         "Well," Elsie began, "I really don't know. I suppose it's because couples and groups don't know this subroom exists, thus anything taped from here is considered bootleg since it wasn't made under the party's consent."

         "Makes sense, " I mumbled.

         A little while later, Elsie dropped James and I off at a public orgy.