yeah,” I encouraged the crowd. “It’s
time to set the night on fire!” I began to bring up the next tune into the
current one, a heavier beat mixing well with the tail of the one still playing.
“Scorched-earth mix,” I announced, and brought the
song in fully as I faded the other out completely, sending the custom
compilation flying through the room where the people cheered in anticipation. I
set the lights to pattern reds through yellows, with occasional flashes of blue
thrown in for dramatic relief.
After dancing along for a bit, I assessed my
selections for the night. My set was in good order, and as long as there were
no changes, the music would cycle through moods—from earthy hip to fiery house
and on to airy techno, finally ending with liquid trance. Hmm…
I dug under the shelf for a pen and piece of paper,
then leaned over by the small work light to scribble down the settings for the
light shows per segment. Done, I reviewed my work. It was solid, a nice piece
of musical experience, even if I did say so myself.
I reached for the microphone.
“Duh Darrel, come to the sky. Duh Duh Darrel, come to
the sky,” I singsonged to and through the beat, searching for Darrel’s bobbing
Mohawk among the dancers. Of course he’d be around. Don’t ask me why, but for
whatever reason, when you work in a club, you tend to hang out there on your
time off. Of course, we used to say that the Red Spot wasn’t just a place, but
a way of life. You know what? It really was.
“Duh Duh Darrel, come to the sky. Duh Duh Darrel, come
to the sky,” echoed the crowd, thinking it was part of the performance. Well,
it was in a way.
I finally spotted him on the other side of the room,
leaning against the wall chatting with one of the many pretty young women who
frequented the place. Catching his attention, I waved him over.
“What’s up?” he asked when he reached the request
window.
“Come in,” I said, then walked over and unlocked the
door.
“Hey! What’s up?” he repeated, this time a bit more
seriously as he mounted the steps.
I got right to the point. “I need you to take over for
me,” I explained as I returned to the mixing board. I visually checked the faders
and knobs, just ensuring everything was where it had to be, then grabbed my
list and handed it to him. “Here, everything’s already set and in order.” I
pointed to the stack of discs. “And here are all the lighting switches and
their cues.”
Darrel studied the paper a moment. “Nice, Nina. Nice
music, nice setup.” He pursed his lips and nodded with what I could swear might
have been honest admiration. It was definitely approval, at the very least.
Fuck nice, it was good, really fucking good, and I
knew it. And it was good to have someone else, someone that did the same work
too, I mean, think so.
“So, why you leavin’? You all right?”
“I’m okay.” I smiled widely because I knew why I was
okay, and why I was leaving, and he didn’t. “Just something I really gotta do.”
I searched through the Plexi window among the throng.
Where was she? Not this corner, not that one. My eyes continued to roam. Ah,
there. She was harder to pick out among the crowd now that she wasn’t wearing
her trademark blue.
“Oh,” Darrel drawled. “I got it. You mean someone .”
“Huh?”
Darrel gave me a knowing smirk. “It’s not some thing you have to do,” he explained, “it’s some one. ” He snorted.
“Shut the fuck up.” I backhanded him none too gently
on his well-defined ribs, though I grinned while I hit him. If I didn’t mention
it before, let me say it now: Darrel was quite the hottie. From his blue Mohawk
and silver-blue eyes, to his sharply drawn cheeks and delicate mouth, down his
wide shoulders and well-defined upper body—which no one could miss, since he
usually wore either very loose or very tight tank tops—Darrel was beautiful.
And he knew it.
“Abuse! Abuse! The DJ’s trying to kill me!” Darrel
joked,
time to set the night on fire!” I began to bring up the next tune into the
current one, a heavier beat mixing well with the tail of the one still playing.
“Scorched-earth mix,” I announced, and brought the
song in fully as I faded the other out completely, sending the custom
compilation flying through the room where the people cheered in anticipation. I
set the lights to pattern reds through yellows, with occasional flashes of blue
thrown in for dramatic relief.
After dancing along for a bit, I assessed my
selections for the night. My set was in good order, and as long as there were
no changes, the music would cycle through moods—from earthy hip to fiery house
and on to airy techno, finally ending with liquid trance. Hmm…
I dug under the shelf for a pen and piece of paper,
then leaned over by the small work light to scribble down the settings for the
light shows per segment. Done, I reviewed my work. It was solid, a nice piece
of musical experience, even if I did say so myself.
I reached for the microphone.
“Duh Darrel, come to the sky. Duh Duh Darrel, come to
the sky,” I singsonged to and through the beat, searching for Darrel’s bobbing
Mohawk among the dancers. Of course he’d be around. Don’t ask me why, but for
whatever reason, when you work in a club, you tend to hang out there on your
time off. Of course, we used to say that the Red Spot wasn’t just a place, but
a way of life. You know what? It really was.
“Duh Duh Darrel, come to the sky. Duh Duh Darrel, come
to the sky,” echoed the crowd, thinking it was part of the performance. Well,
it was in a way.
I finally spotted him on the other side of the room,
leaning against the wall chatting with one of the many pretty young women who
frequented the place. Catching his attention, I waved him over.
“What’s up?” he asked when he reached the request
window.
“Come in,” I said, then walked over and unlocked the
door.
“Hey! What’s up?” he repeated, this time a bit more
seriously as he mounted the steps.
I got right to the point. “I need you to take over for
me,” I explained as I returned to the mixing board. I visually checked the faders
and knobs, just ensuring everything was where it had to be, then grabbed my
list and handed it to him. “Here, everything’s already set and in order.” I
pointed to the stack of discs. “And here are all the lighting switches and
their cues.”
Darrel studied the paper a moment. “Nice, Nina. Nice
music, nice setup.” He pursed his lips and nodded with what I could swear might
have been honest admiration. It was definitely approval, at the very least.
Fuck nice, it was good, really fucking good, and I
knew it. And it was good to have someone else, someone that did the same work
too, I mean, think so.
“So, why you leavin’? You all right?”
“I’m okay.” I smiled widely because I knew why I was
okay, and why I was leaving, and he didn’t. “Just something I really gotta do.”
I searched through the Plexi window among the throng.
Where was she? Not this corner, not that one. My eyes continued to roam. Ah,
there. She was harder to pick out among the crowd now that she wasn’t wearing
her trademark blue.
“Oh,” Darrel drawled. “I got it. You mean someone .”
“Huh?”
Darrel gave me a knowing smirk. “It’s not some thing you have to do,” he explained, “it’s some one. ” He snorted.
“Shut the fuck up.” I backhanded him none too gently
on his well-defined ribs, though I grinned while I hit him. If I didn’t mention
it before, let me say it now: Darrel was quite the hottie. From his blue Mohawk
and silver-blue eyes, to his sharply drawn cheeks and delicate mouth, down his
wide shoulders and well-defined upper body—which no one could miss, since he
usually wore either very loose or very tight tank tops—Darrel was beautiful.
And he knew it.
“Abuse! Abuse! The DJ’s trying to kill me!” Darrel
joked,
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