Cool like Chili Palmer

Grumpy

The Dreaded One and I have found a local club in our new city that we enjoy going to on an almost weekly basis. It's a psytrance club filled with trippy beats and fluffy people, as well as fluffy beats and trippy people. Slowly slowly, we are being recognised, friends are being made, roots, so to speak, are being put down.

Just last week at our new favourite club, I'm dancing away, sometimes with eyes closed, big dumb grin on my big dumb face. But it gets really crowded and soon there is a bit too much body contact for it to be properly enjoyable. There's been a DJ changeover and the usual rush at the beginning of the set takes place. I am patient, however, because I know that soon the crowd will thin out somewhat as the softies have had enough and head back to their nooks or the outside fire to continue chatting, leaving more room on the dancefloor for us hard types to keep stomping.

Someone keeps intruding on my personal space, though, even when numbers have thinned so that the dancefloor is only moderately rammed instead of insanely rammed. It's this bald little guy, looks a bit like Gollum. He's really short and really drunk. He wants to dance but all he can manage to do is kind of wobble about a bit, stagger and laugh at all the fun stuff going on in his head. He just keeps stumbling back so that I have to put a hand to his back to let him know that someone is standing behind him. I also step back to give him room.

But soon it gets too much. He's forcing me further and further from the sweet spot and, well, the sweet spot is Grumpy's spot. I get a little annoyed. I wonder whether I should get in his face about it. But then I think nah, he's having a good time, no need to piss on his parade.

Besides, I'm reading Elmore Leonard's Be Cool now, and Chili Palmer is about the coolest damned character ever written, and although Chili Palmer handles himself when he gets in mo'fo's faces, he saves the heavy stuff for special occasions. Sometimes, charm works just as well. Chili Palmer? He could charm the pants off anyone, and somehow I just know that in this situation, Chili Palmer would use charm over hard-guy.

The little Gollum guy laughs and flails his arms about, giggling with a mate. I put a hand on his shoulder, just firm enough to let him know I am here and I'm not backing away any further. He turns and looks up at me. I smile at him, creasing my eyes at the corners just like John Travolta as Chili Palmer would in a situation like this. I smile warmly in a way that lets him know everything is cool, but I could take your Goddamned bald head off your scrawny shoulders if I wanted to, but hey, I'm as cool as Chili Palmer, so because I'm being nice to you why don't you be nice to me and stop pushing into my personal space, okay? He looks momentarily, I don't know, worried or something, so I reassure him with a cute little two thumbs up; it's okay dude, everything is cool. The guy smiles back at me at returns my two thumbs up, looking happy again because everything is cool.

As cool as Chili Palmer? I could give my man Chili some tips.

A little later The Dreaded One tells me about a dancefloor encounter of her own.

“You wouldn't believe what happened before.”

“What's that,” I asks softly, just like John Travolta as Chili in both Get Shorty and Be Cool.

“I was dancing away before having a really good time when this guy dancing next to me leaned over and said something to me. He said that him and his mate were wondering if me and my friend would want to go back to his place and have sex with them.”

“You and your friend?” This comes out in pure me. No sign of Chili Palmer.

“Yeah – they wanted you and me to back to theirs to have sex with them. Not just me, both of us.”

“They were two dudes?”

“Yes.”

“And they wanted us to go back -”

“Yes.”

“To have sex with both of -”

“YES.”

“Oh. Gee. Wow. Who was it?” I don't know why I ask this.

“It was this guy wandering about with two drinks. We just started talking and realised that we grew up in neighbouring suburbs in Queensland. He seemed nice.”

“He just wanted to have sex with both of us... did he have hair?”

“Yes. Why? You like hairy men?”

“Stop it.”

In reality, though, what I'm thinking is, is it wrong to feel ever so faintly flattered to be included in this little wished-for foursome? It's not like there was ever any chance of it coming to fruition, but it is kind of nice to be included. Kinda nice to know you still have pulling-power, as misdirected as it is... imagine if it was a straight couple though... like that lithe woman in the tight stripy dress and her boyfriend... imagine if it had been them... maybe it would have been something to consider...

I hear The Dreaded One's sigh through the sonic blast of the music. “You're wondering what would have happened if it had been a mixed couple instead of a same sex couple, aren't you. Or better still, if it had been a couple of girls.”

Whoa – imagine that. So awesome... hey, how does she do that? How does she know what I'm thinking?

“It's written all over your face.”

“What is?”

“What you're thinking.”

This was getting too weird. Clearly, I had to stop thinking.

“You said he had two drinks?" I Sherlocked out loud.

“The other was for his mate. You might have seen him. Little bald guy?”

Fuck. Suddenly the little drunk guys doesn't look as much like Gollum as he does a little drunk sex toy on wobbly legs.

“What's wrong?” The Dreaded One asks. “You look a bit strange.”

“I'm just wondering if this would have been before or after I gave him the two thumbs up.”

“What? You gave him two thumbs up? Why?”

“I was trying to be cool, like Chili Palmer.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Finished your drink? Good. Let's get the hell out of here. I'll explain it in the cab.”

Grumpy is freelance writer Chili Palmer. He's cool like Lee Bemrose. (leebemrose@hotmail.com)