The Club Monster
William Spongberg

 

Tracy had a sense that tonight was not going to be just another ordinary Saturday night. And it wasn’t going to be. Something exciting and spectacular was going to happen. Or maybe it was just the prospect of that something spectacular enticing her imagination and not a premonition at all. These nights often started out fun, but ended up banal. Anyway.

Tracy was looking out the taxi window. In the foreground there was the hazy translucent reflection of her clear blue eyes, her long brown hair, and beyond that the dull gold color of the cab driver’s 49ers football team jacket. Tracy was looking right past the reflection, though, watching people floating by in the bright orange streetlight: lit cigarettes and Saturday night costumes much like what she was wearing herself, nice jackets and leather purses; ten or twelve people ganged together on a sidewalk hugging hello or goodbye. Tracy turned away from the window, her attention drawn to the annoying sound of the cab driver munching from a plastic bag of fried crusty looking barbecue snack-things, the plastic bag jammed up next to the parking break, right next to Tracy’s skirt, or her leg, or basically way too near me. Annoying, annoying. The cab driver kept grabbing a couple of those little things and crunch, crunch, crunch. Almost downtown now. Thank God. More crunching. She could hear him chewing. Gross. Anyway.

Steph and Jill, Tracy’s sort of best two friends in the world, were in the backseat. Best friends because they had grown up together, and there was a real sisterly thing there: girls, high school, college, jobs, forever. Sort of because they all lived together now and that was getting to be nerve-racking. Competition with Steph. Maybe getting a place together wasn’t such a good call. Three’s just the wrong number. The thing about Steph was she still hadn’t gotten over her own attractiveness. There didn’t seem to be any way of explaining to her when you hit your mid-twenties people have other ways of measuring themselves. It wasn’t just looks with Steph. Tracy thought she was too skinny, but guys definitely thought she had a. . . pretty good. . . something. Body maybe. It wasn’t just how she flaunted her looks either. Like tonight she was wearing this black velvety jacket with a low cut flesh colored top underneath, so it looked like, at first glance, there wasn’t anything between her gold necklace and her top jacket button. Like the jacket was all she was wearing. But the real thing with Steph was that attitude that she seemed to have: like she played to win, she had her own star in the sky shining down on her. She was able to exert her will over just about everyone around her. A lot of the time Tracy’s attitude was go, girlfriend. Still, sometimes it was like who cares? But guys cared. Anyway.

They were on their way to some club where they were meeting up with Steph’s boyfriend and his fratty financial scene friends. Half of these guys had lost their jobs in the last six months, but all the more reason to party in their eyes apparently. There was a rustling sound and there went the cab driver’s hand into the plastic bag again, in search of more pork grinds or whatever those things were, and then up it came. . . and then crunch, crunch, crunch. Tracy shivered.

“Could you stop doing that,” Steph said, leaning forward.

The cab driver froze in mid-crunch. Took him a second to realize she was addressing him.

“Could you stop eating those things,” Steph repeated.

“Stephanie,” Jill said,

“Steph,” Tracy said, like it’s his cab, or don’t embarrass us, or both applied here.

“Sorry. I’m really sorry,” Steph sighed. “But it’s just really annoying.”

Despite her identical feelings on the matter, Tracy looked over at the cab driver apologetically. He hadn’t said anything yet. His cheek contours were fraught with anxious indecision, the passing street lights glowing and fading across his face. The cab driver looked like someone from the Ozarks, or who knows where, but beneath the hard edges Tracy thought he had a strangely pleasant face. Tracy gave Steph a quick glare.

Steph reached over the chair and touched the cab driver’s shoulder. “It’s cool,” she said, doing her best to be sincere. “It’s your–. . . It’s your, ummm. . . You’re the boss. I’ll shut up.”

Tracy to the cab driver, “She just says whatever comes into her. . .”

Jill to the cab driver, “She’s sorry.”

“Unh-hunh,” was all the cab driver said. He lifted the bag away from the parking brake. Rolled it up. The bag disappeared. No more crunching.

Steph made a little mischievous smile. All three girls looked at each other now, laughter in their eyes.

Steph said to the cab driver, “You know it really would have been a lot faster if you had gone left back on–. . . Nevermind.”





Waiting in line. The club was south of downtown, like a lot of the trendy spots. There were more warehouses than office buildings lurking in the shadows of the bright venues of Saturday night hedonism. On the street outside, and even so far as across the street, you could hear the low-pitched pounding doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof of the music, if you could call it music. Industrial music or club music. Anyway.

“Trace, please just try to have fun ,” Steph said.

“Wait. You can’t try to have fun,” Tracy protested. “That’s like trying to be tall. It’s fun or it isn’t.”

“Just have fun then,” Jill said.

“I didn’t have fun here last time and I’m not afraid to admit it,” Tracy replied, “but that doesn’t mean I’m. . . like. . . incapable of having fun this time. It just means I didn’t have fun last time–or the time before really–and I didn’t. Okay? Is that okay?”

“We’re not even inside yet,” Steph said, smiling. “And you’re already complaining.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“She’s not complaining,” Jill said.

Thanks, Tracy thought, feeling part of the two instead of the one for once.

“She’s just being Tracy,” Jill bubbled.

Thanks a lot, Tracy thought, narrowing her eyes at the both of them.

Steph’s boyfriend and his friends hadn’t shown up yet, so the conversation turned to where they might be. Steph said something about her boyfriend’s buddy Steve coming out tonight and, “You know he really likes you, Trace.” Jill adding, “Yeah.” They’re making fun of me, Tracy thought. Steph again, “He’s kind of cute.” Tracy’s expression like the drip of a dripping faucet: Steve was okay, she just didn’t–. . . he just wasn’t–. . . whatever. Tracy had a little bit of a thing for another one of those guys though, this boy named Marcus. Marcus was way too cocky and probably needed to get over himself, but he just–. . . he was–. . . whatever. He was cute. Steph was keeping at it about this Steve thing, though, and it just had to be stopped.

Tracy said to Jill, “Steph’s like the mom, you know, who wants to set her daughter up with her friends’ kids, and is always pointing out who’s, you know, single and. . . yeah?” Then looking at Steph, “Am I really that lame?”

“No, you’re really cute.”

“You do look cute tonight,” Jill added.

They’d been in line about three minutes when Steph’s boyfriend’s gang arrived. Didn’t really notice where they came from. There were four or five guys and two girls wearing navel exposing shirts. Tracy and Jill watched, exchanging amused glances, as Steph took command. These guys all loved her, even the ones who probably didn’t like her at all. Even if they acted too tough to be bossed around or just flat out ignored her, Tracy thought it was all in an effort to get Steph’s attention. Marcus was with them, and for all of five seconds it was exciting to see him. The whole time she was saying hi to this Steve guy Tracy watched Marcus impressing everyone with how cool and above everything he was, or trying to impress everyone, or probably trying to impress Steph. He had a really good looking party-boy face, and a thumb ring, and a New York City accent. He dressed well as did the rest of his friends; well as in formal, dressed to go out. Tracy said hi to him and asked him what he’d been doing lately and he pretty much blew her off. Tracy moved closer to Steph, wanting Steph to banish him to insignificance, to put him in his place. Turned out she didn’t have too wait long.

There was some vague discussion of going to some other place, some place it seemed Marcus wanted to go to, or thought was cool, and he had most people convinced until Steph announced calmly, “This is where we’re going. Anyone who wants to can go somewhere else.”

Marcus acted like he didn’t really care, shrugging casually and putting an arm around each of the delighted bellybutton girls. Meanwhile Steph’s boyfriend went about sort of placating her, since she’d pulled a little attitude, and trying to shush her up at the same time, but basically that was the end of that discussion and no one was leaving to go anywhere. Tracy took hold of Steph’s arm–her very best friend Steph–and she stared back over at Marcus with all the sharpness she could produce. Meanwhile, Steve was hopelessly casting about, trying to get Tracy to notice that he himself was a mammal walking on two legs. He was nice, but the worst thing would be to encourage him, Tracy thought. Everyone liked talking to Jill. Jill was so harmlessly friendly, always a safe harbor of comfortable conversation. Almost inside now. Steph’s boyfriend was displaying his ID for the headset-wearing rock-muscled bouncer guy. Things were starting to kick in. Work had been so boring this week, and it was going to be awfully boring next week, so something fun just had to happen tonight. Music pounding through the walls, the doorway. Doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof.





An hour later on the planet Mars: the dance floor was like this other world, pulsing with aliens, far away from the sun and closer to Jupiter, this feeling like everyone had come here in their space shuttles, bringing their own supplies of oxygen, not caring about anything that was suddenly like a world away. You could come here from any big city in the world these days; flash your ID, buy a couple drinks, disappear into the syncopated strobe light. Let’s dance the extra-terrestrial night away and then back to the earth’s orbit in the morning. Or not really dancing. Tracy had taken ballet for a while growing up so–. . . but whatever, the Martians here thought they were dancing and there wasn’t much else to call it. Steph was out there with her boyfriend, the blond dyed streaks in her short stylish hair glowing with the lightning of the strobe, the steps of her heeled boots in time with the thunder of the music. Jill was moving around out there with some fellow red planet dwellers. Doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof. Anyway.

Tracy had made her way over to the far bar area. She had done so not exactly to avoid this guy Steve, but so far tonight that was the best reason she could find to do much of anything. There was another bigger bar in the middle chamber between the dance floor and the street. That whole room was full of this creepy artificial red light. Tracy wanted to order a drink, but the bar was so busy she hadn’t been successful so far, but that didn’t really matter since waiting to get the bartender’s attention gave her something to do. She hardly would have admitted she was already really bored, but she was. . . bored. If the bartender out here had been a guy she figured her luck might be a little better, but she, or it at least, was definitely not a guy, whatever it was pouring drinks behind the bar. Tracy had sort of stopped concentrating, her glance wandering back to the dance floor, her motivation to do anything shuffling through limbo.

“Get you something?,” asked a male voice in her ear, out of the blue, taking her mildly by surprise.

“I’m sorry?,” Tracy said, turning to the owner of the voice.

She was expecting some kind of green-skinned, awful, sleazy Martian, and she was prepared to disintegrate him with her ray gun eyes. She could do that. . . but. . . no, no, wait. He was pretty good looking, but more than that. . . standing here looking at each other. . . she saw he had a cute smile. Real cute smile, and the sort of smile that expresses a real kindness of spirit, not just a plastic contrived greeting card, and yet without any expectation of anything and somehow without being too nice.

“You were next, I think,” Cute Smile said, and Tracy noticed the bartender creature hovering there, ready to accept his order.

“Oh. . . No, that’s okay,” Tracy said.

Cute Smile shook his head as if he hadn’t heard. You had to talk pretty loud in here. He moved his head closer to her mouth.

Much to her own surprise Tracy raised her voice to say, “Alright.”

After a pause he smiled wider, and slightly impatiently he answered, “Okay. . . what? I mean–”

“Oh, I’ll have a Stoli Cape Cod.” Settling on the old standby.

Cute Smile bought Tracy her cocktail, refused her best effort to pay him for it, scooped up his own two drinks–a few friendly, quietly flirtatious expressions exchanged between them–and then he slipped surreptitiously back into the crowd. Didn’t even say goodbye. Of course he hadn’t really said hello. Tracy hadn’t said hello either. She wondered if she’d run into him again. He’s probably with someone. She sipped her drink, in the alternating darkness, feeling quite a bit more alone than before.





Another hour later Tracy and Jill were standing in the exact same place. Tracy had danced for a little while, had some fun I guess, got bored again, tried talking to Marcus again, got blown off again, did what there was to do. . . Jill looked like she’d had enough as well. Tracy was a couple more drinks down at this point, but it wasn’t helping anything except her desire to talk to someone, to express herself to the world, to milk some sublime wonder out of the oppressive boredom of real life. Tracy and Jill exchanged thoughts on whatever-his-name-was . . . Marcus, maybe. Was that his name? Tracy couldn’t remember, or maybe she just pretended to forget, but it appeared he had picked up some trashy waif of a girl, or that’s how Tracy instantly categorized her. Didn’t mean to judge the little thing like that, but look at that bright red crop top. Anyway.

Tracy rested her head on Jill’s shoulder and said, “I’m tired.”

“Should we go?,” Jill said.

They were both pretty ready to go, but someone else out there was having fun.

“We could go,” Tracy said. Steph would go home with her boyfriend anyway, even if they come back to our place.

“Let’s go,” Jill said.

A very long minute passed. They didn’t go. Neither of them moved a muscle.

Tracy lifted her head, saying seriously, “You know I figured it out.”

“What?,” Jill said with a dorky laugh.

“I’ve figured it out, I said.”

Jill shook her head, like she’d heard the first time.

“What we’re doing here,” Tracy smiled.

“Doing here? . . . Trace?”

Talking fast now. Tracy could barely hear herself, straining her tonsil muscles, her mouth really close to Jill’s ear: “Some people live for their jobs, right. But we don’t love our jobs.”

“No,” Jill said, nodding.

“Our jobs are sort of boring. But they take up a bunch of our time, and then it’s thank-God it’s another weekend, and Friday you’re content just to do whatever–. . . that you don’t have to work tomorrow. . . so. . . so. . . Saturday, maybe, has to mean something more. Because time just passes and passes and. . . no one wants to sit around waiting to. . . you know. . . –Or wait around to meet a guy and have kids and then die.”

Jill dropped her chin and frowned, and then laughed a little bit uncomfortably.

“So this is. . . like. . . our time,” Tracy continued, “to do stuff, and even though this place is really dumb, it’s what we do. Something could happen, you know.”

“Oh-kkkay,” Jill said, but with a completely comprehending expression.

“I mean this is our time to. . . to–. . . to. . .”

To live, Tracy thought. To not have to think about everything, to not have to think about what comes next. To live.

“Oh my god, and I’m ruining it,” Tracy said laughing.

“Do you want to go,” Jill asked, still with a comprehending smile.

“Let’s go,” Tracy said.

They didn’t go. They kept standing here, a few feet from the bar. So much for that. Back to life on Mars. Anyway.

But then, as unexpectedly as he had made his first appearance, Cute Smile returned. He looked as though he had been doing some dancing. He was most likely headed to the bar, but he paused, and Tracy saw him and he saw her, and obviously they were, in a way, looking at each other. He approached and exhibited a grin that lived up to his name admirably. Oh good, Cute Smile is back. Something to do. That’s all she was thinking right off.

“Hey,” Cute Smile said, having to squeeze up close to be heard without yelling. He was a bit friendlier this time, but still not too friendly.

“Hi,” Tracy replied. Tracy looked at Jill and then back at this guy. Jill noticed the look.

Him: “Wild place.”

Her: “Yeah. Rowdy as a school bus.”

Him: “It’s okay.”

Her: “Yeah.”

There was a lengthy pause. The lights flashed. The Martians danced. Tracy tried to think of something clever to say. Not so much to impress him, but she maybe liked to be clever and here was a chance to be clever after all. Doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof.

“No more drinks for me, thanks,” Tracy said.

He didn’t seem to have heard, but pretended for a second he did, nodding.

“I mean, I know you wanted to buy me another drink, but. . .”

“Oh, should I buy you another drink?”

Jill laughed. Jill was present and listening but supportively unobtrusive.

“No,” Tracy said, “but that’s. . . you know. . . how we met earlier.” And she sprinkled a little bit of I like you dust on her answer.

“Oh, I know. That’s how come I thought I’d say hi again, you know.” And she could almost see the electron-sized I like you too particles descending all around him.





Out on the dance floor something extraordinary and eerily strange began to happen. Tracy was too caught up to notice, as was most everyone else. The ground, the cold tile floor, began to vibrate. There was a tremor and then another. Not like an earthquake, nothing quite as noticeable as that, not at first, but a steady continuous back and forth rocking. It was as if something from deep beneath was tunneling its way up toward the surface.





“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.” Tracy made a little look. One of those. . . you know. . . a little pixie look.

“Nevermind.” He made one of those. . . you know. . . he made a little look.

“I liked it, I just didn’t hear it,” Tracy persisted.

“What?,” Cute Smile said, moving his head closer.

“Say it again.”

“I didn’t hear you.”

There was a lot more than the usual eye contact. Doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof.

“Say it again,” Tracy said, loud.

“It was just a dumb–. . . I asked, ‘What do you do?’”

“Oh.” Tracy blinked, trying to think of an answer that was at least a little bit clever. “Well, nothing very interesting really.”

“Cool,” Cute Smile replied. “Me too.”

“I work.”

“Me too.”

This was going great. It had been forever since she’d communicated so well with anyone.



It was amazing, but no one seemed to notice the floor shaking. The ground was moving like rickety stilts, but people kept dancing, kept dancing. . . dancing; the lights kept flashing; there was a smoke machine going now, puffing out fumes. Toward one corner of the dance floor suddenly the earth opened.





Tracy still didn’t know Cute Smile’s name and he didn’t know hers, but they were rapping away now, fresh effervescent I like you dust weaving harmonic patterns between them. Then a friend of his appeared and started talking to Jill. Quite suddenly they were a quartet. They were grooving.





The crack widened. The darkness groaned. There was the growing scent of destruction creeping through the quivering floor. A stillness like the first moment of dawn clung in the air, one final breath, then the dance floor ruptured and the crack began to spread.



“Do you feel that?,” Cute Smile’s friend asked Jill.

“Do you feel that?,” Jill asked Tracy. “I feel it.”

“Dude,” Cute Smile confirming he felt it.

The ground was moving. Something terrible was happening. People were screaming. The music powered on, oblivious: Doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof-doofdoof. The earth shook harder. Tracy had to catch herself to keep from falling. There was an eruption on the other side of the dance floor and the ground tore open. Rising from the giant hole was a monstrous, hulking worm-like creature. Tracy and Jill and the two guys were all uttering their bewildered surprise. Tracy wondered for a second if this was really happening or if–. . . but it was happening. What the fuck is happening? The monster let out a hungry cry as the dancers, blissfully unaware of the significance of anything in the world a moment ago, scattered. . . shouted. . . ran. . . melted with fear. Already people were running, flying towards the big red room and the exit to the street from there.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jill said.

“No kidding,” said Cute Smile’s friend.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Tracy said. “But we have to wait for Steph.”

The monster was moving, slithering, right towards Tracy and her friends. It let loose a hungry cry; a ravenous zest for sex, drugs & rock n’ roll came growling out of the monster’s mouth like the sermon of a devil preacher. The monster itself was a shambling mound-like temple of planet Mars sin. Slimy tentacles whipped all about, cracking into the ceiling here and there, cutting through the smoke.

Steph and her boyfriend and the rest rejoined Tracy and her group by the bar, everyone in a panic, trying to find a clear path to the exit, but the immense size of the thing blocked their direct way. It was moving fast too, breathing out fumes. A tentacle lashed out and grabbed Marcus. Another tentacle snared the girl wearing the red top. The monster gobbled them both down whole, poor things. Maybe in his final moments Marcus didn’t feel so cocky, but Tracy wasn’t thinking about that now. The awful thing seemed to hiccup and a tiny chunk of silver twirled through the air. It was the ring Marcus wore on his thumb. It fell to the ground with a clink and a bounce. The monster was coming right for them now, ignoring everyone else escaping to one side or the other. Tracy and her friends darted this way and that, but they found themselves cornered between the bar and the exit.

“I Want You!,” growled the gigantic worm.

For some ridiculous reason Tracy had the sense it was talking to her. That seemed really stupid, but somehow, after a second, there was no doubt. Tracy gripped hold of her brown bangs with both hands, looking up at it with terror in her eyes.

“Me?,” she said with complete and total disbelief. “Oh my God. . . Why?”

“I WANT YOU!,” it shouted again, louder this time, its tentacles spinning with rotor blade action above its grotesque head.

“Fuck you!,” Steph yelled back. “You can’t have her.”

“No way!,” called out Jill.

Jill was on one side of Tracy and Steph on the other. This was a heartening glimpse of light amidst the foggy teeth chattering fear Tracy was feeling. Like once and awhile, when it counted most, Steph and Jill really did pay attention to her.

Quick as anything one of the tentacles whipped towards her and grabbed Tracy around the waist. She cried out, feeling the icky thing wrapping about her, holding her tight. Seconds ago her head was touched with alcohol, but it was way clear of that now. Instead her whole body was light and helpless with fear. She felt the thing gripping her tighter. Her heart was leaping. She had this terrible, terrible thought. It’s going to. . . it’s going to swallow me. Steph and Jill were attacking it. One of them–too many things happening at once to notice which–had hold of Tracy’s arm and a part of her torso, and was pulling back, fighting a losing battle of tug-of-war. The other one was kicking the tentacle. Tracy was too afraid to even scream. This couldn’t possibly be happening was the only thought that was in focus. The monster was lifting her now. She felt her feet lift off the ground. She tried her best to fight back, but it had a hold of her so tight. It’s going to swallow me!

Cute Smile had not run away. He was using his head, although Tracy didn’t quite put together his contribution at the time it was happening. She was so frightened she hardly knew if her eyes were open or closed. She did notice, soon enough, that Cute Smile had picked up a bar stool and was hacking at the tentacle with it. Steph grabbed one too, and so did her boyfriend, and Cute Smile’s friend who had been talking to Jill. The monster recoiled. The tentacle dropped her. Tracy stumbled to the floor. Cute Smile was still attacking the creature, holding the bar stool above his head and smashing down on the offending tentacle with as much force as possible. Cute Smile was rescuing her. Jill helped Tracy up. Steph immediately embraced her, pulling Tracy’s head close to her own with affection.

“Honey, are you okay,” Steph asked, tears in her eyes. “Trace?”

“I’m–. . . I think I’m okay. Are you alright?”

“Go, go, c’mon,” Jill said.

Tracy said, “What about–”

No time for questions, Jill and Steph moving and taking Tracy with them. . . running. . . joining the evacuation. . . through the room full of red clay colored light and passing out into the night. Outside was madness; people escaping off into the downtown streets, into the chilly darkness. Couldn’t tell what time it is. That weird part of the night that lasts forever but passes by so fast, the few hours between last call and first light. Steph hailed a cab right away. She had cab radar. It was the four of them now: Tracy, Jill, Steph, and Steph’s boyfriend. Tracy was the last to get in, once again taking the front seat.

“Wait, wait,” Tracy said, looking back at the club with one leg in the cab and one leg out, and the door still ajar. “What about that guy I met?”

“What guy?,” Steph said.

“His friend was cute,” Jill said.

“What guy,” Steph insisted, a hint of the traditional competitiveness returning.

“There he is,” Tracy said, spotting him.

She recalled he’d been left behind at first, fending off the monster’s tentacles. But he’d made it out okay, and he seemed to be looking for her too, and as soon as he laid eyes on Tracy she saw his eyes light up and he came towards her. Tracy wiped the drops of perspiration from her face and did her best to fix her hair.

“Hey,” she said, getting a good look at him for the first time really. He had a really cute smile.

“Hey,” he said, out in the street now.

“You bought me a drink, remember,” she said.

“Come with me,” he said seriously, almost seductively. “This guy I know is having an after-party.”

“I only just met you,” Tracy said skeptically, but tempted.

Steph inside the cab: “This is crazy. That thing’s going to come out and eat us and she’s talking to a guy.”

“His friend’s cute,” Jill said.

“Come with me,” Cute Smile said again.

“Just a second. Stay right there.” Tracy ducked her head inside the cab, hoping for some advice.

“Lets go, hunh,” the cab driver said.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Steph’s boyfriend said.

“Should I go with him?,” Tracy asked softly.

“Tracy,” Steph shook her head. “You just met. Get in the car, girl.”

Tracy turned to Jill. Jill shrugged. Mixed feelings on the subject apparently. Steph was right though.

“Do you have a pen?,” Tracy asked Steph.

“For what?”

Jill handed Tracy a pen. She’d already found a gum wrapper to use as scratch paper. Not the silver foil, but the paper packaging. Tracy didn’t think to dig one of her business cards out of her wallet.

“This sounds cheesy after what we’ve just been through,” Cute Smile said, “but you still don’t know my name.”

“I know. Tell me.”

“I’m Kevin,” he said. “My name’s Kevin.”

“Here.” Tracy handed Kevin the scrap of paper she had been writing on. “I had to use both sides.”

“Get in the car Trace,” Jill said.

Tracy got in, closing the door behind her and rolling down the window all at once.

Kevin looked puzzled. “Tracy,” he said, reading from the tiny slip of paper.

The cab was moving now, starting to drive off. Tracy called out the window, “I wrote my phone number on the back.”

 

 

Copyright © 2002 William Spongberg
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"