Who's His Date?

The Deep End was the name of the club, blazing in blue neon letters under three blue neon curvy, triangular waves and above a double oak door painted red. As Melvin approached he could feel the bass, drumming and thumping through the club's walls and inside of his bones. He wasn't much of a dancer, didn't like large crowds and hated extremely loud noises; he wondered how he was going to survive the club. He would just have to tough it out, and it helped that Courtney was there with him. He would have been happy to go anywhere with the likes of her. Every time he looked at her and caught her sparkling hazel eyes, his stomach fluttered.

"Didn't this place used to be a strip club?" Richie asked as they pushed through the doors. Shelley turned to answer him.

"Recently changed owners. Just renovated..." she began to explain, but then the music overtook them in a sweeping, crashing wave of sound. They would have to yell to be heard, so further conversation was out of the question. Shelley just shrugged and started to dance, her hips gyrating and her arms waving. Richie smiled, and his head began to nod with the beat. He turned to Brenda. Or was it Bridget? Impossible to tell which.

"I need a drink!" the blonde yelled and headed over to the bar. Richie watched her go, appraising the round curve of her bottom under her tight dress.

"Checkin' out my sister?" the other twin said in his ear.

"Well, she's my date, so it's ok," he yelled back.

"Stupid asshole, I'M your date!" Brenda Briswell cried and pulled him towards the dance floor. Richie felt his arms yanked nearly out of their sockets and stumbled after her. Tasha, Shelley, and Tina followed suit, forming a hip swaying trio as they grooved their way close to the stage.

Melvin looked up and saw some curvy, bikini clad women dancing seductively in some glass cages suspended from the ceiling. A live rock band boomed out a crescendo of guitar through the speakers. The scratchy yelling of the lead female singer seemed vaguely familiar, and Melvin turned to check out the band. He should have known better than to be surprised when he saw the singer was none other than the purple-haired pizza girl that he and Bridget had enjoyed sexually only a night before.

Melvin cursed his ridiculous bad luck.