Strobe lights that go with the beat of House. White couches that slightly stick to your skin due to spilled liquor. Clouds of cigarette smoke and sips of Shirley Temple cocktails.
It takes exactly 9 minutes to get through the entrance. That was only because we knew someone, who knew someone, who happened to know the overstuffed Billy Goat Gruff and his two minions guarding the front door.
I look down at my heels, and watch them turn up their noses at the Forever 21 knock-offs sauntering by. I tell them not to judge, it’s just rude.
I’m suddenly reminded of him. I was 22 years old.
He was a walk of shame that turned into two months of dating. It was purely sexual, but, like many women, I had convinced myself it was more than it was and that he was better than he was.
He only liked me when I wore high heels.
We first met one evening out during my “clubbing” phase, and it was the rare occasion I decided to show off more than my forearms. My dress was too short, my heels too high and my hair too quaffed. We quickly ended our relationship when I protested with Converse. We split, claiming irreconcilable differences. I had blisters to prove it.
I never saw him again and haven’t stepped foot in a place like this since.
I stand in the middle of the overpopulated dance floor trying not to get swept into the mosh pit of Ed Hardy and glittered minis. I have seen way too many crotch reveals, prom curls and bippity tator tots.
A strong, gentle hand touches my arm. His fingers interlace with mine. He pulls me back into him.
I like him. He is different. I think. We bonded over our love for TOMS shoes. I met him exactly four hours prior to this moment. After a few cocktails at a local bar and great conversation, we decided to “carpe diem” it and go dancing. Didn’t matter where. Whatever was close.
2 songs in, dizzy from the strobe lights, I see him mouth the words, “You ready?”
I hold his hand as he navigates us through and out of the maze. Over his shoulder, he yells, “You think we may be too old for this?” I see his face illuminate with a smile, but the music is too loud for me to hear the laugh that follows.
“Maybe!” I yell. “It is past my bedtime.”
He stops, turns and kisses me.
In the cab, I turn to look out the back window and watch the Lexington fade into the distance.
I like him. He is different. I think.
I walk through my front door and put my keys on the coffee table. I hear my phone.
“Too much fun with you tonight, call you tomorrow.”
RATING:
LEXINGTON SOCIAL HOUSE
1718 Vine St
Los Angeles, CA 90028
Neighborhood: Hollywood
Los Angeles, CA 90028
Neighborhood: Hollywood
(323) 461-1700
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