Page 84 of Disco Witches of Fire Island

“Don’t believe the rumors.” Scotty laughed. “Need anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“Party favors,” he said, winking and patting his white fanny pack. “You look like you could use something.”

“No thanks,” Joe said, turning away.

“I know what you think of me,” Scotty said, “but I’m on your side. I want hot studs like yourself to have a good time. It’s good for business.”

Scotty handed Joe what looked like a small conical seashell. But it wasn’t a seashell at all. It appeared to be a fancy little glass bumper encased in a highly decorative silver sheath.

“What is it?” Joe asked. “Coke? K?”

“Nope. It’s my own special mix. A combo of this and that.” He winked again. “Mostlythat. Not something I do myself, but it helps my staff keep up their energy for long stretches. Better than coke. Makes you forget all the sorrows of our world.” He gestured to the carnage in front of them. “It’ll also give you some pep. Gotta have pep at a party, right?”

“Will it make me brave?” Joe asked, screwing off the top of the bumper and peering at the mottled yellow-gray powder.

“It will make you the bravest you’ve ever been. You’ll be superhuman for a little while. It’ll be fun. I’m gonna open the Promethean early to give these folks a place to party. You should come by and brighten up the place. I promise, you’ll have the time of your life.”

Normally, Joe would never take anything Scotty Black offered to him. But right then, the thought of staying sober was unthinkable. Before his mind could catch up to his hands, he was pressing the bumper to his nose. “Ow!” The bitter powder burned a fiery trail from his nostril all the way to the back of his soft palate. Every hair on his body leaped to attention. A dark, rushing, sexy sensation rocketed throughout his brain and limbs.

Less than twenty seconds later, Joe’s relentless thoughts of yesterdays and tomorrows had been extinguished. No Elliot. No Fergal. No AIDS. No fear of dying or losing others. For the first time in his life, Joe felt truly brave.

“Feels good, right?” Scotty sniggered.

“Something like that.” Joe offered the bumper back to Scotty.

“It’s okay.” Scotty smiled. “Keep it. It’s the end of summer. Let loose. Maybe next season you’ll be ready to work for me. I better go open the club. See you there in a bit.”

Scotty kissed Joe on his lips and walked away. Joe wiped his mouth, then loaded up the bumper and napalmed his throat and sinuses again with the yellow-gray powder. When the pain subsided, his skin felt as if it was liquefying into molten honey while his viscera filled with the most ravenous sexual hunger.Despair? What despair?

But where to have his night of abandon before whatever came next? The Promethean?No, no, no.He’d know too many people. He didn’t want to be reminded of the real world or its heartbreaking inhabitants. With his newfound, drug-induced superpowers, he took a running leap over the beach fence, landing in the warm sand.The Meat Rack,he thought.If Gladiator Man is anywhere, he’ll be there.It was the only answer. Gladiator Man needed to pound the memory of Fergal and Elliot from Joe’s body and heart. He’d have his wild, dark Fire Island moment, then be gone forever.

“I will be brave,” he muttered. “I will finally be brave.”

43.The Last Premonition

“Whenever there are five or more Disco Witches twirling on the dance floor in the name of the Great Goddess Mother, magic shall be at hand!”

—Disco Witch Manifesto #3

The first thing Howie noticed when he opened his eyes was that he had one of the worst headaches of his life. The second thing was the three angels dressed in white sequins and feathers staring down at him.How strange to be lying on the floor when angels have arrived to accompany me to the Morning Party.He pictured all the jealous queens watching him strutting through the gate with flashy, decked-out seraphim. It would almost be better than bringing Liza! (Okay, that’s an exaggeration.) He’d need to make an extra-special hat of course.Do angels get into the party free? I wonder if they get VIP drink tickets.

One of the angels, the Italian American one, in white leather chaps and a harness, started yelling with the most discomforting nasal desperation, “Talk to me, you motherfucker!”

Next, the old female angel, who was Black and wearing a white feather boa and dozens of spangly silver necklaces, spoke in a more soothing voice. “Shh. Calm yourself. His eyes are open. He’s going to be okay.”

“But he has a bump on the back of his head!” the little Italian angel complained. “What if he has a friggin’ concussion? Oh marone!”

“Oh dear,” the female angel said. “Maybe we should call for a water taxi to take him to the hospital? Or do you think we’d need to airlift him?”

“Both of you settle yourselves,” the third angel told the other two. He was also Black and dressed in what looked like a silver jump suit. “I’m the only one here who was a registered nurse. I’ll check him out. Howie, honey, do you think you need to go to a hospital? That fat head of yours nearly busted in half.”

So that was the reason for this headache. Howie must have knocked himself out. It wouldn’t have been the first time. He took in the view of the very unangelic Lenny, Dory, and Saint D’Norman all standing over him in their spangly Morning Party outfits.

“I don’t need a hospital.” Howie groaned as he wobbled up to sitting. There was something important he needed to tell them, but what was it? “You look fabulous by the way. What time is it? Are we going to the Morning Party?”

“The party ended hours ago, darling.” Dory breathed a sigh of relief.

---