Play to win
DJ Dopejack worked the crowd down the Snake Lounge into a slow frenzy of cool dancing. Ten o’clock, late Saturday night.
Watch that DJ. He was using his heavy knowledge on the turntables, travelling the vinyl, turning the crowd into the most perfect equation. Movement and pleasure, making rhythm.
Joe and Benny were there, reunited to witness the frenzy from the comfort of their upper-level private alcove, fully paid for by Joe’s season ticket. Newly joined together as always, watching the dance on closed-circuit television. Listening to the music over a loudspeaker system with its own volume and tone controls.
Sweet Benny turned up the volume, revelling in the beat. ‘Dopejack’s good tonight. Listen to that deep, cool bass, Joe.’
‘I’m listening.’
Jazir Malik was down on the floor, surrounded by the noise and the crowd and the music, shot up to the ears with ultragarlic. It sure gets you hot and colourful! But where’s the juice?
OK, here comes the juice, like the sky was bursting.
Frank Scenario comes on stage to a bossa nova fanfare, wearing a powder-blue demob suit, tinted glasses and a sun- coloured trilby hat. He does his famous dance, one two, one two, slide. And even Old Joe Crocus, up in his box, deigns to move his head slightly towards the booth screen, in order to hear better the coolest man still alive…
I’ve got the numbers in my brain
That dance like shadow bright.
Playing my cares along with Lady Luck,
Wherever she land tonight.
DJ Dopejack worked the samples behind the song; mixtures of Billie Holiday and Ella Fitzgerald, heavy bass stolen from a Curtis Mayfield record. A song about giving yourself up to the circumstances, subsuming them:
I’m just a pawn in your game, my love,
Just a simple man of flesh alone.
And all the games that you play, my love,
Lead me only to a losing bone.
Sweet Benny was wide-eyed at the message of the lyrics. Joe Crocus, a carefully measured cool. Whilst Jaz Malik was twisting down in the clutch of dance. He had his favourite suit on, feeling good, complete with trilby hat and matching glasses. Copying Frank alive, just for the occasion, the same dance.
One two, one two, slide…
Whilst Daisy Love took it all in from her place on the edges; the singer and the mob and the song, and the DJ who delivered the sexy beats. Yeah, Daisy was there; she’d turned up despite her excuses, fuelled by the bad day, the ache in her forearm, the memories of her father, the losses, and the half-bone in her pocket. She’d taken a chance on Sweet Benny still keeping true about the guest-list promise. Her name had been included. The bouncer had hustled her inside, whispering, ‘Free passage. Good music. Loving touch. Make a wish.’
Loving touch and a good wish? Well, she could do with some. She’d come here straight from her father’s house, having lost every single game. Sad to see her once irrepressible father now shivering and sunken. She had received no love, no explanations as to why he had called her. Except that he wanted her to win, for once. Something she could never do.
Lonely girl.
So Daisy watched the whole shebang from the sidelines. And after Frank had left the stage to loving applause, and after DJ Dopejack had slipped a fevered coupling of ‘Let’s Get it On’ with ‘My Funny Valentine’ on the twin decks, she pushed her way over to the bar, where she ordered an orange juice.
That’s right, an orange juice. Keeping her cool.
‘Daisy, you turned up.’ A voice behind her, a hand on her shoulder. Jaz Malik, smiling his silver moon against twilight. ‘You’re drinking orange juice, love. Can I get you some additives for that? A little vodka maybe? Vodka and orange is what Joe Crocus drinks. So I hear.’
‘I’m fine. What’s wrong with you?’ Daisy had to come close up and cheeky in order to be heard over the music.
‘Pardon?’
‘You keep scratching your hand…’
‘Just a tiny wound. No worries.’
‘Snap.’ They compared wounds. ‘Well, whatever,’ shouted Jaz in Daisy’s ear. ‘It’s great to see you.’
‘I’ve had a terrible day.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Is Benny here?’
‘What?’ Closer…
‘Is Benny Fenton here tonight?’ Daisy repeated.
‘Upstairs. Private booth. You want to meet him?’
‘He stole my handkerchief.’
‘So?’
‘It has my blood on it.’
‘Big deal. Oh, I see. And he’s threatening to…’
‘Yes.’
‘And you don’t want him to?’
‘No. But that’s just the start of it. I got fired today.’