Waltzing on the Danube

by Miranda MacLeod

  “Eleanor?” Jeanie walked up behind her but she was too engrossed in her argument with the bouncer to notice. Jeanie closed her fingers on her friend’s bare shoulder, giving it a shake. “Elle!” she hissed.

  “What!” Eleanor turned with a start.

  “I think we have the wrong club.” Jeanie’s voice was calm but insistent.

  “What? Why?”

  “In case you didn’t notice, the car that brought us here just drove off with a dozen men. Men, Eleanor. Simon told me they’d just come from inside this club.”

  Eleanor’s brow furrowed. “Who’s Simon?”

  “The one who’s getting married. It’s his stag weekend, and they stopped at the club to celebrate.”

  Eleanor stared at her for a moment. “I swear, Jeanie. Is there anyone whose name you don’t learn?” She shook her head, dismissing the question. “That’s just stupid. Why would a bunch of guys spend a stag weekend in a club full of women who won’t look at them twice?”

  “Because,” Jeanie explained in a stage whisper, glancing at the bouncer, “it’s not that kind of lesbian club.” Jeanie waited for a response but got none. “It’s a strip club.” By this point it had become clear that in her confusion, Eleanor had lost the power of speech. “Elle, listen closely. This is a club where men go to eat steak and drink beer while watching women with no clothes on do naughty things to each other. For their entertainment.”

  Just as Jeanie feared Eleanor’s loss of speaking ability might be permanent, Eleanor spoke. “That doesn’t even seem…hygienic.” She had the appearance of a woman whose own appetite had just evaporated. “I mean, don’t you think? With the steak and…everything?” She swallowed hard, looking a little green. Staring toward the empty street, her eyes widened. “Jeanie, if you knew what type of place this was, why did you let those men leave in our car? Now we’re stuck!”

  “I'm sorry. I'm not as good at that type of thing as you are. But trust me, Elle, you wouldn’t have wanted it anymore. I think I saw Simon throw up as he got in.”

  Eleanor winced. “This is a disaster. What do we do now?”

  “I don’t know, we could ask the bouncer. Maybe he could help.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that.” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “He’s been super helpful so far.”

  “Um, excuse me?” Jeanie stared up at the brick wall of a man. “My friend and I are in the wrong place, as I’m sure you already figured out. We’re looking for a different club. Club Nova? It’s an underground club. For women.”

  The bouncer’s head bobbed on his solid neck. “Underground? I think I know it. Straight down that way, about a block.”

  Jeanie smiled radiantly. “Look at that! Sometimes just asking nicely can work, too.”

  “Let's go, Miss Congeniality,” Eleanor said, rolling her eyes.

  After walking the block or so in the direction the bouncer had shown them, they came to what looked like the entrance to an old subway station. Techno music pulsed from within the tunnel, which was lit with stripes of blue neon. As they waited hesitantly at the opening, two women emerged, looking a little tipsy as they clung to each other for support.

  “Look, Eleanor. Girls!” Jeanie nodded toward the women. “We’re off to a promising start. This must be the place.”

  “It never occurred to me that the underground club was actually underground.”

  “Clever, huh?”

  Inspired by the girls who'd passed by, Jeanie absentmindedly snaked her arm around Eleanor's waist as they walked down the glowing neon passageway. Her breath caught as Eleanor returned the gesture, and she nearly floated the last few steps into the club. It was filled to capacity, with people standing so close that their shoulders and hips were pressed together. Instead of dancing, they seemed to be turned to face the center of the club, watching something and cheering raucously. It was too dark, with bodies jammed in too tightly, for either of the women to get a clear view.

  “Can you see anything?” Jeanie removed her arm from Eleanor's waist and stood on her tiptoes, pressing forward and craning her neck toward whatever everyone else was looking at.

  “No, nothing.” Eleanor hung back at the edge of the crowd, anxiety etched on her face.

  “You okay, Elle? The crowd making you nervous?” Jeanie smiled reassuringly as Eleanor shut her eyes tightly and nodded. “I’ll just push through to check it out. You stay here and think calm thoughts.”

  She elbowed her way through the boisterous onlookers until she found an opening with a clear view. She stopped dead, trying to process what she saw. An inflatable pool sat in the middle of what was usually the dance floor. It was filled with slick, gray mud. Inside were—two? Three? No, make that four—four female-shaped figures, covered head to toe in mud. They were writhing on top of each other in a heap, wrestling one another in their mud-caked underwear, as the crowd whooped and hollered. A long line of ladies, also stripped down to their bras and panties, flanked the edge of the pool, apparently waiting for their turn to jump in.

  As Jeanie took in the scene with growing horror, one of the women belly-flopped into the muddy pit, sending beads of gray goo flying through the air. With a wet plop! A droplet landed on the tip of her nose, and a wave of nausea overtook her. Jeanie shoved her way back to the edge of the crowd and grabbed Eleanor’s wrist, yanking her back toward the blue neon tunnel as Eleanor tripped after her in her high heels.

  “Jeanie, what was it? Where are we going?” A trace of panic infused Eleanor’s words.

  “We’re leaving.”

  “Why?” Eleanor raced after Jeanie to the opening of the tunnel, taking the stairs two at a time until she joined her at the surface. “Jeanie, what happened? And what’s that on your nose?”

  Jeanie made a sickened face as she wiped the tip of her nose with the palm of her hand. Then she attempted, in as few words as possible, to explain what she’d seen in the underground club. When she’d finished talking, Eleanor stared at her in dumbfounded silence.

  “Mud?” she managed to ask, and Jeanie nodded. Eleanor shook her head slowly. “Steak, strippers, and mud. I fucking hate Bratislava.”

  Jeanie felt her body shake and soon found herself doubled over in laughter. “Oh my God, Elle,” she gasped. “You know what this means?”

  Eleanor raised an eyebrow slowly. “No?”

  “It means,” Jeanie replied between ragged breaths, “that as long as you live, you can never tease me again about messing up that trip to Tapolca. Or throwing your book in the river. Or reversing the dates for the cruise. Not after this!”

  “Fine, you’re right.” Eleanor’s shoulders shook as she joined Jeanie’s laughter with her own. “No matter how much you plan, things can go still go horribly wrong. I guess tonight proves that.”

  Eleanor nudged Jeanie’s bare shoulder with her own. It felt soft and warm, and unconsciously Jeanie leaned toward her until the whole of their arms were pressed together. So comfortable. They stayed that way for some time, and it was only as Jeanie went to slide her arm across Eleanor's back to draw her even closer that she realized with a start how intimate she'd allowed the moment to become. With every fiber of moral strength, she pulled away. “Come on. Let’s go back to the first club and see if we can call for our car.”

  As they walked, the sound of a classic Depeche Mode melody wafted down a cobblestone alleyway. They both paused, listening. “I love this song!” they exclaimed in unison.

  “Should we go check it out?” Jeanie asked, pointing down the alley toward what appeared to be a small club.

  Eleanor studied it cautiously, then shrugged. “Why not? What's the worst that could happen?”

  Chapter 14

  “I may be willing to revise my opinion of Bratislava.” Eleanor plunked two glasses of beer on the table and slid into the seat across from Jeanie. “I think these cost a dollar each. Maybe less.”

  Jeanie took a sip, and nodded her approval. “And it even tastes good. Between this and the music, the city just may be redeemed
. Any place with a Depeche Mode tribute band can’t be all bad.”

  Eleanor watched, unblinking, as Jeanie licked a thick line of foam from her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. She swallowed down half her glass in a single swallow as she pried her eyes away from the enticing spectacle, trying to focus on the band instead. Their music was good, but the view was hardly a fair substitute for her companion's lovely face. Looking from one to the next, Eleanor reflected that these were the four least hip-looking musicians she'd ever seen on a stage. The lead singer sounded exactly like the real deal, but he looked like a Slovakian actuarial accountant. This is what it would look like if she rounded up some guys from at work and forced them to be in a talent show.

  Eleanor gulped down the rest of her beer and motioned to the bartender for another round. “I still think it’s funny that you’re a fan of this music. You were just a kid when they were popular.”

  Jeanie shot her a look of mock-insult. “Me, a kid? You’re, what, maybe five or six years older than me? You were just a kid yourself.”

  “Maybe.” She looked at Jeanie slyly, knowing she wouldn’t expect what was coming next. “But I was old enough to sneak out of the house and use my fake ID at a Chelsea night club after a bartender friend tipped me off that the band had gone there to hang out after their concert at Madison Square Garden.” She sucked in her cheeks to stop from laughing as she watched Jeanie struggle to make sense of this new information.

  “The band. You mean the actual band?” Jeanie’s eyes grew wide as Eleanor nodded. “I…you know, I don’t even know where to begin. Sneaking out? Fake ID? A friend who was a bartender? This is not the same Eleanor Fielding I’ve met. How old were you?”

  “Fifteen, I think? Yeah, they were having some drinks at a place a few blocks from me. It was before cell phones, of course, and my friend didn’t want to wake up my parents by calling the house, so he ran over on his break and threw rocks at my window until I came down.” Eleanor chuckled at the memory. “Sometime around four in the morning, some guy brought in a guitar and the band did an unplugged version of Personal Jesus that was nothing short of inspirational.”

  “Wow.” A new look of admiration sparkled in Jeanie’s eyes. “Of course, being Jewish, I’m betting no one ever told you that you’d burn in hell for listening to that song.”

  Eleanor propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “Really? Someone actually said that?”

  Jeanie nodded. “A few. Small town, remember?”

  “Jesus! Oops, sorry.” Eleanor giggled into her hand. She studied Jeanie curiously, wondering why she’d stayed. Jeanie blinked and Eleanor realized she’d been looking at Jeanie far longer than she’d intended. She slid her head further down her arm, resting it close to the table, to hide her pink cheeks.

  “So, Eleanor Fielding had rebellious teenage years.”

  “You could say that.” Eleanor raised her head back up and made a funny face in acknowledgment. “Figuring out you’d rather hang out with the guys and sleep with the girls can do that to the best of us.”

  “Oh, was that the reason?”

  “Sure, what else? Don’t tell me you never rebelled.” Eleanor cocked an eyebrow, staring intently until Jeanie giggled.

  “What?” She batted her lashes innocently. “I really didn’t!”

  “Right, because it was so easy coming out in a town where people think you go to hell for singing song lyrics?”

  Jeanie closed her eyes in thought. “No, not easy. But the main church in town got a new minister with more enlightened views, so that helped a lot. My family was supportive. It could’ve been worse. Besides, I caused enough trouble just being my impulsive self that I didn’t need to rebel, too.”

  “That I can believe,” Eleanor said with a laugh. She looked down at her second empty glass, then noticed Jeanie’s were in a similar state. “Another beer?”

  “Yes, but it’s my turn to buy. I’ll be right back.” She swiped the two empty glasses from the table and headed to the bar.

  Eleanor watched her go. Studiously avoiding looking at those gorgeously tempting legs, her eyes focused on the asymmetry of Jeanie’s neck line, the long sleeve on one side, the bare arm and shoulder on the other. It was the type of look that would usually start her anxiety ticking. So off-balance. So disorganized. But right now all she could remember was the silky smoothness of Jeanie’s arm against hers, and the sudden chill when it was gone. Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut, shifting her focus to the music coming from the band.

  The plunk of a glass on the table brought her mind back to the present. She opened her eyes and frowned at the drink in front of her, which was definitely not another beer. “What is this?”

  Jeanie was back in her chair and already sipping from her own glass. “I’m not sure, but it’s really good. The woman in front of me ordered one, and the bartender couldn’t believe I’d never had one, so he poured two of them—on the house! Wasn’t that nice?”

  Nice? What was it about this woman that she seemed to bring out the nice in everyone she met? Eleanor could only dream of having people respond to her in that way. On the verge of telling Jeanie how extraordinary she was, Eleanor thought better of it and decided instead to stick with the comfort of sarcasm. “So you’re just going to drink it down without knowing what it is?”

  Jeanie tilted her head and gave Eleanor a searching look. “What, you figure the bartender is trying to poison us? It’s just a drink, Eleanor. And it’s really good.” Her brows knitted as she drained the rest of the glass and waved at a passing waitress to bring two more. “So, tell me something. What happened to you, that you went from this rebellious teenager sneaking into clubs to someone who can't even take a chance on a new drink?”

  Eleanor stiffened defensively. Stick-in-the-mud Eleanor. She’d heard this accusation enough from Sylvia—and several others before her. The last thing she needed was Jeanie, friendly, sweet Jeanie, whom everyone seemed to fall in love with at first sight, to pile it on, too. She felt Jeanie’s hand cover her fingers, and flinched.

  “Elle, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound judgmental. I just really want to know.”

  The look in Jeanie’s eyes told her it was true, that her interest was genuine. At that, the tension drained out of her. She relaxed her hands and felt Jeanie give her fingers a friendly squeeze before pulling her hand away.

  “It’s not like I don’t know how I come across,” Eleanor replied, her quiet tone nearly drowned out by the music.

  “But to go from then to now, something big must have changed?” Jeanie’s voice was quiet, too. Encouraging.

  “Not any one thing, to be honest.” Eleanor sighed. “To start with, I did enough dumb stuff that I finally got in trouble, which I hated. Being a rebel is one thing. Getting caught and grounded is a different story.” She rolled her eyes at the stupidity of her younger self. “And some of the people I was hanging out with got in a lot more trouble than me. Drugs, stealing. I wasn’t involved, but who’s to say I wouldn’t have been, eventually. My grades started to slip, and my parents saw what was going on and gave me an ultimatum. If I didn’t get my act together, I’d be on my own to pay for college.”

  “Ouch! That was harsh.”

  Eleanor waved away the pity. “Not really. It worked. I got my act together, got into college. Then the second semester of my freshman year, I had my first panic attack.”

  “You haven't always had them?”

  “No. The first time it happened, I thought I was having a heart attack. It just started out of the blue. Well, I mean, I’ve always been competitive and a perfectionist, with a family history of anxiety, so that's a recipe for disaster. But truthfully, it's just something that can happen around that age to some people. Bad luck, I guess.”

  “But you’ve been working on it?” Jeanie’s eyes shone with empathy.

  “For a long time. And despite what you’ve witnessed this week, it’s gotten way better than it was. Just not good enough for every
one, especially girlfriends. Like Sylvia, for instance.” Eleanor cringed as she said the name. Why ruin the evening by bringing that up?

  “Sylvia? Oh, you mean the ex who cheated with the French tart? Sounds like she came with more of her own issues than a magazine subscription.”

  Eleanor erupted into a hearty laugh. Oh my God, I love this woman! She sucked in her breath as she became aware of the thought. Not like that! Just, how could anyone not love the way Jeanie could sum up a situation so perfectly, so completely dead-on? She was right, her ex had plenty of shortcomings of her own, a fact that Eleanor was prone to forget. Sometimes blaming herself felt more true, even when it didn’t match the facts. Still, it wasn't exactly an isolated occurrence.

  “You're probably right about Sylvia, but that doesn't explain them all.”

  “All, huh? Have there been a lot?”

  Eleanor gave a half shrug. “are your issues?” Eleanor looked at her frankly and waited.

  Jeanie made a face. “It’s getting late. We should probably head back to the ship, don't you think?”

  Interesting answer. Eleanor's gaze remained steady.

  “I don't want to talk about this, okay? It's embarrassing.” Jeanie muttered, squirming under Eleanor's stare. “Can we go?”

  Eleanor didn't push for more. Instead, she rose from the table and held her hand out to help Jeanie, who swayed as she took a step. “Whoa! Your suspicion of that drink might not have been so crazy. My head’s spinning!”

  She leaned against Eleanor for support. It was the side of her dress that had a sleeve, so only fabric brushed Eleanor’s skin, which she considered a blessing. Eleanor’s own head wasn’t quite right, not only from the alcohol, but from the effects of allowing so many emotions to escape. She helped Jeanie toward the door, and they were just about to step outside when the band started a new tune.

  “Oh, I love this one!” Jeanie stopped in place and swayed tipsily in time to the slow rhythm.