Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
Kate the bouncer stood staring down the line stretching along the block and around the corner as the night grew darker. Young peacocks of every feather, preening, tilting their chins as they eyed each other jealously. Who would be successful in the mating dances and rituals of the evening? The night stretched ahead, glittering with possibilities. Kate knew she was but the first of many obstacles to be negotiated, and perused the queue, predicting in her head who would be a strutter, who a squawker, and who would use persuasive cooing in their endeavours to gain access. Some in noisy groups and some alone, they stepped up to submit to her scrutiny. She ran a critical eye over them, assessing their coloured plumage, exotic eye makeup, fanciful hairdos. Apart from the flamboyant customers were the ones all in sleek black, thinking they were safer and cooler than the noisy, bright ones who were making the night ring with their harsh mating calls. They would pick over the leftovers and casualties of the evening like the carrion birds of the air. Sure, they were at the bottom of the pecking order, but they knew they served a purpose.
Then there were the ones who puffed up their chests, trying to disguise the fact that they were merely chicks and not fully-fledged adults. Those she rejected swiftly and calmly, unmoved by their squawks of protest. Most of the raucous, strutting ones were harmless, simply show-offs trilling their songs. The ones who argued stridently at the entrance were always refused. “If someone wanted to argue with you at your own front door, would you then invite them all the way into your home? Hell, no.” was Kate’s rationale. She knew all too well that those who wanted to pick a fight on arrival would then go on to cause trouble at the bar, on the dancefloor or anywhere else they went. They thought they could rule the roost. It was her job to nip that firmly in the bud.
Still others were trouble of a more subtle kind. Something about the eyes was not quite right. Glazed and unfocused, or sometimes feverishly bright, they brought problems. Some of the punters were already in lovebird pairs, but many more were in flocks, looking to find a mate, even if only for the night. Those fortunate enough to pass Kate’s inspection found themselves admitted to the Aviary, a vast dancefloor with a domed roof towering above. Beneath the soaring arches, the patrons perched in preening rows, eyeing those making their displays of courtship on the dancefloor below. The dark rafters above hid many secrets and despite the swirling coloured lights, there were plenty of dim corners. The Aviary was an ancient building and the dances had not changed, although the music and fashion had. The dances included attention-getting manoeuvres, displays of physical beauty and technical brilliance, and finally, the sweaty pairings of potential mates, excitedly ebbing and flowing to the rhythm. Some ended up in stolen embraces in the darkened nooks. Kate and the other security guards circled the crowd like watchful hawks, cruising effortlessly on the currents, alert for danger.