He lets the group at the fire pit make their way inside, hanging back instinctively. Make an entrance.
When at last he joins them there are cheers, audible over the music. The floor isn’t as packed as it had been after the drag show, but it’s still a respectable crowd. He sways to the middle of it and strikes his famous disco pose, the one that has graced posters the world over.
“Leon!” they scream.
“I was made for dancin’” his own voice sings over the speakers, and he sets out to prove that it’s still true. “All-all-all all night long!” This time there’s no ulterior motive in his gyrations, no sexual hunter on the prowl. He’s dancing for joy. To feel hot, to feel young. To feel like he’s part of something.
He spins, and when he comes to a stop, Rain is watching him.
They lock gazes across the floor. Neither smiles.
But neither looks away.
Something rises in Leon and lodges behind his breastbone. His feet are suddenly frozen in place. Words form unbidden, but get stuck in his throat.
A knot of dancers moves between them, arms in the air. One comes up to Leon, and he engages, never one to deny a fan. They step together, legs interlacing, and rock to the beat. Even when their hips bump and grind, Leon doesn’t feel the familiar tug of desire. After a few bars of music he smiles gently and steps away, releasing his partner back to the dance floor.
When he looks up again, Rain is gone.
“I Was Made for Dancin'” © Michael Lloyd, 1978. Used without permission.