La Nuit Blanche

So…………

We were walking in an abandonned warehouse district somewhere in New York, our arms were swinging, naked shoulders arched under the moonlight, in black suspenders discreetly suspending over black shirt, glass necklaces swinging over black corsetted silk, powdered skin, painted lips, yellow lace peeping out of our stockings and mother-of-pearl glove buttons carved into mermaids. These tiny sartorial details were in tribute to a bygone era of elegance and glamour, our glistening smiles in anticipation of some absinthe and burlesque and live jazz — a few magic hours of overall general fabulousness, done the Gatsby way.

We got to the Secret Spot ’round about midnight, but it turned out it wasn’t so secret anymore. There were half a dozen police cars with their stupid, stupid circling lights, and cops walking in and out of the rusted red door, and a fire engine. Yes, a fire engine. I mean, Geez Louise. It’s not like we were planning a pyrotechnic murder or anything.

There were bewildered looks on disappointed faces standing here and there on the sidewalks. I saw other guests walking towards that red door, seeing the stupid circling lights, stopping dead in their tracks like in a 1920’s dressed up version of Simon Says, slowly backtracking like Warner Brothers cartoon characters, and then slinking away, pretending they were not looking for that naughty party with the cards and the smoking and the drinking and the naked ladies on stage.

Thankfully, one of us knew about another such secret party happening in another part of town, this one with live tango music! So we headed there, phooey to the live jazz, swinging ain’t our thing, anyways. When we arrived, no thanks to your’s truly, who forgot to bring her I.D., we never got in. So then we checked the clock, but all the milongas were over by then. Then a desperate search around town for an open liquor store ensued, but in vain, they were all closed. Then I had to really really go to the bathroom, so we cut everything short, and we all went home. I hobbled back up the stairs in my 4 inch heels, and undressed out of my fabulous outfit that, sadly, was never meant to be seen.

Urgh.

For next time, we promised each other we’ll get there early, before the authorities arrive to smash it up.

I sipped down a glass of precious elderflower liqueur, the Lover helped me unclasp out of my necklaces, then whispered a lullaby in bed and held my nakedness to sleep. All’s well that ends well, I believe.

(Serves me right for ditching the milongas!)