by Chloe Rayban
At about that time the film got pretty tense and Zalia reached over and grabbed my hand. In fact she practically put her hand in my pocket, which was really distracting. Then there were all these flashbacks too, which further confused the plot. In fact, I reckon one way or another, it was a pretty crappy movie.
When we came out, it was dark but it had stopped raining. We walked back towards the tube station discussing the film. At least on the surface I was discussing the film, but underneath I was wondering where to go from here. I mean, I was kind of turned on by Zalia, what guy wouldn’t be? But I was also thinking about the Babe. She reminded me a bit of a girl I’d known back in Stroud. Well, I hadn’t known her exactly — but I’d have liked to.
But Zalia didn’t let me think for long. She kept up a non-stop dialogue all the way down the street.
‘ …that girl, the one called Sapphire, she was the double agent, that’s why she put the keys in the acid bath,’ she was saying.
‘No … that was the other one, what’s-her-name, you could tell she was the baddy by the way she narrowed her eyes whenever she said his name.’
A guy passed us and gave Zalia the onceover. I looked at her sideways. She was the kind of girl guys envied me for. Maybe I just needed to get to know her better. I mean, was I going to chicken out now?
‘You have got it so wrong. That was Sapphire — before she had the make-over. She was meant to look like what’s-her-name, that’s why he got them confused.’
‘So you mean the girl in the bed at the end was the other one all along?’
‘No! I don’t believe this. Were we watching the same movie? Men! You are just so dumb!’
We had reached the tube station. I thought this was a slight over-generalisation and I said so.
‘It was a pretty dumb movie anyway,’ I added.
‘Not if you were following the plot, it wasn’t,’ she retorted.
We stood awkwardly outside the station. She was being pretty assertive and I kind of rose to the challenge.
‘Look, do you want a coffee or want me to see you home or what?’
‘Home! I’m not going home.’
‘Oh right … Well, I’ll see you to wherever …’
‘“Wherever” is out clubbing. Great night at The Institution — I’m on the guest list. Wanna come?’
Clubbing. I needed to check out the local club scene.
‘Yeah sure, why not?’
‘What are we waiting for then?’
I followed as she clip-clopped down into the tube station on those perilous heels of hers. Being with Zalia was kind of a weird, out-of-control feeling. I had a second sense that if I went along with her I was in danger of getting well out of my depth. But at the same time, what guy could resist?
Chapter Eight
So that’s how I was first introduced to The Institution. The Institution was in a lost windswept high street south of the river. The building had been a cinema once and it still had the scars where the old lettering, ASTORIA had been ripped off the front. In its place, a single neon sign indicated the entrance of the club. The rest of the façade was completely obliterated by fly-posters.
A couple of queues had already built up outside. The bouncers were lording it up and down the ropes, trying to keep people in line. We joined the queue for the guest list. The people queueing were a pretty spaced-out lot — and by the gear they were wearing you’d think they were heavily into gender bending. Like they were all into little tiny neon T-shirts and kind of hip-hugging flares in girly fabrics. In some cases you needed extra-sensory perception to tell if they were male or female.
Zalia was nudging me and popping something into her mouth — and it didn’t look like a Polo.
‘Want some?’ she asked.
I shook my head. ‘Don’t need it, thanks. Music’s enough for me.’
She shrugged and pulled a face. ‘Suit yourself.’
I realised in her eyes I must’ve looked pretty lame. But it’s music I’m into, not the stuff some people think they have to take with it. You get scenes where people are so off their heads they’re not even hearing the music any more. Might as well be banging two saucepan lids together. If the music’s good I really get a high. I don’t need any more stimulation.
And by the look of it the music would be good. The club was so damn popular, even the guest queue stretched halfway down the street. In fact, the pay queue was moving much faster than ours and people from our queue were starting to split off and pay instead. Now and again, one of the bouncers would single out a highly favoured person and escort them through the doors. This would be the signal for a general round of groans. Our queue was fidgeting with anticipation and the tension was building up.
By the time we got to the head of it, Zalia was well into the swing of things. She put both arms round the guy who was checking the tickets and said, ‘Love you Mick.’
He was thin and pale and weedy with a nose ring and short bleached hair that was black at the roots. Looked as if he’d been kept under a stone all his life.
‘Sure — you too Zalia. Who’s this with you?’
‘Matt,’ she said. ‘Isn’t he a babe?’
Mick kind of snorted. ‘If you say so, but he’s gotta pay anyway — you’ve only got one guest pass.’
‘You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?’ she said, making up to him like mad.
‘Half price then.’
‘He’s just checking out the scene — he’ll be bringing up a whole load a friends from Bristol.’
‘OK, OK.’
So once we’d been frisked, we were inside. As we pushed through the double doors the sound hit me like the backrush of a jumbo jet. Inside was like twice as mind-blowing as the clubs in Bristol. Everyone was going wild — hands, heads and feet reverberating to the beat like I’ve never seen. We were dragged into it and started dancing straightaway. But within minutes Zalia was away, off on one, somewhere in the crowd. I’d lost her.
I didn’t care. The music was too good to care about anything but the accelerating bass line that had just kicked in. The floor was rising to the DJ’s momentum. Whistles started blowing, bottles of water were splashed over heads with manic abandon. All around, emotions were soaring out of control as we could no longer keep up with the pace of the drums. Faces flashed close and far in the mad black/white/black/white/black of the strobes. The influence of whatever the rest of the room was on filtered into my consciousness. Some girl I’d never seen in my life began massaging the back of my neck and pressing against me. Nice, man — very nice.
A new track was neatly starting to mix into the present one, practically undetectable. This guy on the decks knew his stuff. Recognition of the new tune set the floor alight again. Who was this genius, playing three hundred people like puppets? He was our master, our God. We were in the palm of his hand. If he stopped now we would all crumble and die …
I tried to catch a glimpse of him through the sea of arms. Someone was pouring water over me and it was running in rivulets down my neck and inside my shirt. It was pain and pleasure. Oh God, it was all happening, man — everyone was totally, totally absorbed.
I had to get a better look at him, so I forced my way, weaving and ducking through the dancers. They were all ultra-cool, soaked in sweat, glassy-eyed — moving as one — trapped in a trance. Then there was another ace mix into a track that had more of a dance feel and, impossible as it seemed, people went crazier still. It was a remix of some number that had been in the charts way back, but such a cool treatment, it made me totally reassess it.
I could see him now. He was up on a raised platform in the middle of the dancefloor — a crowd of appreciative females was waving and dancing round him. Boy, I’d have sold my soul to be up there in his shoes.
I pressed closer through the crowd. There was something familiar about him. I couldn’t be absolutely sure but the guy was massive — he really looked like Dom.
It was Dom. I could see clearly now. I tried jumping up and down
to attract his attention. But that was a particularly bad idea because everyone around me was jumping up and down as well, so I just blended in.
He was lost in concentration — one hand on the phones, the other on the decks, doing all this cool stuff as if it was like so easy-second nature to him. I found instinctively I was going crazy with the people all around.
After a spell of totally epic music he took off the phones. He’d come to the end of his set. I waited as he came down on to the floor. People crowded in on him, slapping him on the back and shaking him by the hand. By the look of it he was pre-tty popular.
He was making for the bar, heading straight past me. I hesitated. In present circumstances, would he want to recognise me, a mere mortal?
‘Hi man!’ I said as he came level. He turned and caught sight of me, and then slapped me on the shoulder with a blow that nearly knocked my breath away.
‘How you doin’? You alone? Who you here with?’ he asked.
‘Zalia — at least I was.’
‘Who …?’
Some other DJ had cracked into his set. We were both having to shout over the decibels of music.
‘ZALIA.’
He still couldn’t catch it.
‘Let’s get a drink. Go somewhere quieter.’
I’d hoped for a beer but the bar only sold fruit juice. Anyway, once we’d got a drink in our hands, Dom led me out of the manic dance area and into a murky side room. We had to pick our way through a load of people who’d flaked out in front of a big movie screen. We just eased in between two couples who looked like they were competing in a snogathon.
Dom took a long draft of his juice. ‘Gives you a thirst,’ he said.
‘You were doing some pretty amazing stuff up there. The way you brought that ‘Exit 4’ number down, man …’
Dom kind of brushed this off and totally knocked me out by saying:
‘I heard your compilation. You got your own decks?’
‘Yeah — well, back home …’
‘Want to come back to our place after?’
‘Yeah sure, why not? Maybe … That’s if I can locate Zalia.’
‘Zalia?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why bother?’
‘She kinda got me in here …’
Dom shrugged: ‘So?’
‘Well, I can’t just abandon her.’
Dom stared into his juice. ‘Thought she was here with Will.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Just thought I saw them together, that’s all.’
‘Nah — she came with me.’
Dom changed the subject after that and we talked for a bit about music. He was pretty much like me — liberal views — like he’d actually heard of RoadRage and he had the guts to mix in old stuff like some R&B, soul and jazz funk. Predictably, he thought a few of my favourites were commercial but in a general way he was giving my views quite a bit of respect.
‘Got another set now. I’ll put on a couple of tracks for you. You be listening OK?’ he said.
‘I’ll do that.’
‘See you after — but don’t bring Zalia along, OK?’
‘OK.’ I’d have liked to have asked Why not?’ But something stopped me. Like maybe it should have been obvious.
I made another foray on to the floor. Back in the light of the strobes, time seemed quite suddenly to have switched into slo-mo. I strained my eyes into the dancers, searching for Zalia, but all I could see were the faces of strangers.
Dom climbed back into the DJ’s seat and brought a ripple of attention from the floor. There was a sudden respectful hush as he eased into the first number, and then all of a sudden people went berserk around me. I danced for a bit. I guess the feeling all around wasn’t necessarily genuine — all that love and comradeship — but it communicated in its way and I was soon caught up in it again.
Then Dom mixed in the number we’d been talking about. It was pure unadulterated magic. I swung round and caught his eye and gave him a brief nod of recognition. The music went through me with a rush of euphoria …
And then I caught sight of Zalia.
She wasn’t dancing. She was leaning up against the wall talking to someone. Leaning pretty close. The guy she was talking to had his back to me. I forced my way through the dancers.
‘Hi’ I said. Thought I’d lost you.’
But I don’t think she could hear over the music.
The guy swung round. It was Will. He looked like thunder.
‘Oh, right …’ I said.
He just took one look at me and pushed past.
I turned to Zalia. What’s going on?’
‘Forget it,’ she said.
‘He sure is persistent.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I said, forget it,’ she frowned.
‘Do you want to dance?’
‘Why not?’
We danced for a while and that sullen look of hers didn’t go away. She kept glancing over my shoulder. When I turned I caught sight of Will slow dancing with another girl. A blonde with braided and beaded hair — not bad looking.
‘He seems to have found some consolation,’ I shouted in Zalia’s ear.
She didn’t reply, she just tipped her head back and moved in closer to me. But I could tell she wasn’t enjoying herself.
‘Look, if you’re bored or something we could make a move.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Hang on, think I’ll go freshen up.’
‘OK, see you back here.’
That was the last I saw of her that night. It was maddening. I searched the whole place twice, then I hung around where we’d been dancing.
Dom had finished his set and came over.
‘We’re gonna make a move, wanna come?’
‘Gotta find Zalia. I can’t just leave her.’
‘Best of luck.’
People were leaving and the dancers were getting thin on the floor. I was doing a final search when I bumped into the blonde with the braids who’d been dancing with Will, but he wasn’t with her any more.
‘Hey — look, do you know Zalia — dark girl with a kind of chain on an earring? I was with her.’
‘Do I know Zalia?’ she said and made a face.
‘Have you seen her?’
‘Think she left — with Will — ‘bout half an hour ago.’
‘Great! … Thanks.’
Chapter Nine
I made my way out of the club with the stragglers. I was standing on the pavement wondering when the first tube trains started and trying to decide whether to try and leg it or whether it would be a better idea to splurge out on a cab — that’s assuming I could find one — when this dapped-out van covered in strange psychedelic paintings drew to a halt at the curb.
‘Hey — you coming or what?’
It was Dom.
‘Where to?’
‘Back to our place?’
‘Yeah, why not? Sure I’m coming.’
‘Jump in then.’
I climbed in. He leaned over and hammered at the dodgy door catch until it clicked shut. Then he revved off.
‘What happened to Zalia?’
‘Looks like I lost her’
‘Surprise, surprise.’
Dom’s place was in a council estate not far from where I lived. It was one of those estates that was long overdue for redevelopment. Loads of the flats were boarded up and rubbish was scattered around in decaying piles. We climbed into the one lift that was working. The place was thick in graffiti — and by the smell of it, it frequently had an alternative use.
I did my best to look as if I wasn’t fazed by the place.
‘Pig-sty, isn’t it,’ said Dom.
‘Well, it certainly has character,’ I agreed.
He’d started whistling a downbeat version of ‘Home Sweet Home’. The lift came to a creaking halt on the tenth floor and we climbed out on to a litter-filled concrete corridor open to the elements. On one side it featured a row of boarded-over doors and on the other
a wrecked pram and a couple of wheel-less bike frames. A cat-fight in the distance completed the desolate atmosphere. Dom paused at a peeling front door and drew a key out of his pocket. I could hear a muffled bass line reverberating from inside.
‘You got this building to yourselves? I asked, wondering why they hadn’t got neighbours hammering on the walls.
‘Do you know anyone else who’d want to live in this de-sir-able res-i-dence?’
He threw open the door. It opened on to a carpetless corridor. The sound of music exploded from a room which looked as if it had been recently ransacked. In one corner, hunched over a make-shift desk with his back to me, was Brillo.
Brillo took a glance over his shoulder and did a double take. He waved a vague salute at Dom and frowned at me.
That’s when I caught sight of the decks. In the midst of all this squalor they had some ace equipment. Must’ve cost a small fortune. Dom was already sorting through a pile of vinyl, and he selected something and passed it to Brillo who slid it on to the decks.
As the number came to a close, Brillo leaned over and spoke into a mike.
‘I gotta breeze now. Fresh escaped from The Institution, here’s “Mad Max-a-Million”’. He took the headphones off and got to his feet, then swung round to face us.
‘What’s he doing here?’ he demanded.
‘He’s OK,’ said Dom. ‘He’s into some cool stuff.’
‘I thought we agreed …’
‘We could do with the help — and his vinyl. He’s got good stuff.’
‘Like Dredge …’ I said.
Brillo stood for a moment, staring at me, remembering. I could see his body start visibly to relax.
‘So that means we can trust him?’
‘Sure,’ said Dom, and he eased himself into the seat Brillo had vacated.
‘I’m going to get a something to drink — I’m parched,’ said Brillo. He still didn’t look too happy.
The number was coming to a close. Dom leaned forward.
‘It’s “Mad Max” in the “Electric Chair,”’ he said into the mike, and then mixed into another record on the decks. It was a number he’d been playing at the club, kind of Drum ‘n’ Bass feel, maybe a step on from there.