Club Recall Part Two | Speculative Fiction Short Story

This is a work of speculative fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Photo by Britt Fowler on Unsplash

I wandered around from room to room, hoping to stumble across someone with a single silhouette. It didn’t even have to be anyone I really cared for, I just needed someone familiar. Unfortunately I had no luck in that department, which meant I had to overcome my greatest enemy, socializing.

In an attempt to gather my thoughts, I moved away from the busy dance floor into an area with decidedly lower music. Quieter music didn’t mean classier people though, as I passed a guy waving around a hand of cards drunkenly shouting, “Who’s down for a round of Tonk? Losers have to take something off!”

I chuckled at the man’s offer, no one would seriously consider that in the middle of a club. Of course, like most social situations, I was wrong. A group of women and a couple of guys flocked to the table and their game began.

In complete disbelief, I watched the group play some rounds until a few of the participants would have easily qualified for an indecent exposure charge, had they been anywhere else. Having seen enough, I made my way to the distributor of liquid confidence, better known as the bar. 

“One Night on the Pier please, and leave the tab open.”

The bartender gave a weird look at my request, but began making the drink anyway. Next to me, I could also hear a woman chuckling at my request, “It’s all proprietary here, no credit cards. Dumb, right?”

I had to admit, when I looked to my right I didn’t expect to see someone so beautiful. Her coily chestnut hair bounced as she took a sip from her glass. She drank with refined poise and elegance, being careful not to allow a single drip of condensation to land on her sultry violet dress. 

Noticing the pair of silhouettes above her head gave me the confidence to respond. It was either that or the drink I had just downed, “Credit cards in a place like this would only encourage overspending.”

The woman took the last sip of her drink, “I suppose. New around here?”

There was no way around it, trying to pay with my card was a dead giveaway. I tried to think of a way to play off of that fact, “Yeah, it’s my first time on the scene. I’m Devon, who might you be?”

Of all the responses, “It’s my first time on the scene,” was not my best work. The answer was embarrassing and I just knew she thought I was another random lame, way to go Devon.

To my surprise, the woman smiled, “You can call me Asia. I’ve got to be honest, you don’t seem like the clubbing type.”

I guess you really can’t judge real life by what you see in movies, but honestly what was I really expecting? We were all adults here, and the worst she could do was walk away.

“If I’m being honest, my friend dragged me out here. I’ve just been feeling my way around so far.”

I wasn’t sure if it was her calm demeanor or polished looks, but I wasn’t able to get a read on this woman named Asia. Due to my inexperience in these avenues of socialization, I had no idea how good, or bad the conversation was going.

“Straight and to the point. I like a man that doesn’t beat around the bush.”

It could have been the alcohol, but Asia’s words came out like a soft purr. Was this flirting? Checking above her head, I noticed the double silhouette had changed into a single one. It seemed like at the very least, we were quickly becoming acquaintances. I ordered another round of drinks for the both of us, and got to chatting.

The more we talked, the more time seemed to mesh together. The only semblance of chronology I could gauge was the coming and going of various songs, one of which caused me to get up from my seat and move. 

I danced around my bar stool, gesturing for Asia to do the same. I had no idea where that outgoing version of Devon came from, but I thought it best to let him take the wheel for a bit.

“Those drinks are finally hitting you, I see,” Asia commented, leaving the bar to join me.

I hadn’t noticed it at first, but a small happy face appeared in the bottom of my vision that read, “Social Inclination Level Increased.” To me that just sounded like a fancy way of telling me I was drunk.

I shrugged and decided to roll with it, “I’m more of a social drinker.”

Asia smiled before grabbing my hand and leading me to the actual dance floor, “Come on!”

As we approached the louder music and strobing light, I chuckled nervously and desperately attempted to redact the actions of drunken Devon, “In truth, I’m not much of a dancer. That was the alcohol puppeteering me.”

Asia only smiled and continued to pull me towards the dance floor where she began dancing awkwardly. Was she dancing that way to mock me? Or maybe to comfort me? I couldn’t fathom a woman of such class having such an inability to dance. But that had to be the case, no one would openly embarrass themselves for a stranger like that. I suspected the alcohol had been hitting her as hard as it hit me. Whatever the answer was didn’t matter, I joined her anyway.

“You know,” she shouted over the crowd, “if you think about it, most people can’t actually dance. It’s just a bunch of people flailing their arms and wiggling their bodies. It appears rhythmic when everyone’s moving.”

I knew what she meant. Every song had an upbeat and a downbeat, and when dancing alone it was the downbeat that truly mattered. In a collective however, the upbeat acted as the garnish on top. As long as you stayed on tempo, it really didn’t matter which beat you danced to.

“You’re right!” I nodded as I continued to dance.

Time once again escaped me, as even the songs blended together into one, thanks to no small part by the DJ. After who knows how long, it was clear that both Asia and myself were worn out and needed a seat.

“Ever been back there?” Asia motioned towards the far end of the dance floor. 

There was another room cordoned off with velvet rope that had a neon blue glow emanating from behind. Above the entrance was a neon purple sign that I was too drunk to read properly. Reading cursive while sober was hard enough, trying that while drunk and surrounded by strobing lights was basically impossible.

My confused expression was enough for Asia to once again grab me by the hand, “Come on, I’ll show you!”