A cool, fall wind blew through the streets of Milwaukee, leaving Giselle’s bell bottoms flapping in the breeze about her delicate ankles. The line outside The Purple Flamingo Club was filled with a range of people dressed up for ‘70s night. The electric blue neon light illuminated a four-story tall purple flamingo that decorated the facade of the building. Her boyfriend, Uriel, tried to flatten his afro wig to his head, but the wind took it away. Giselle only hoped the wind would take that hideous fake mustache of his as well. None of her friend’s boyfriends dressed as silly as hers. There were times she thought his childishness was a bit much.

     The bouncer, a muscle-clad, bald man in a black t-shirt one size too small, waved Giselle and her friends past. Through the beams of light bouncing off of the disco ball, humans moved chaotically in waves of flesh and limbs. Heavy bass thumped and pulsated through Giselle and her breath quickened. She had wanted to go to a nightclub ever since her friends Fatima and Ellie first talked about it, but the toughest person she had to convince was her boyfriend, Uriel. He wasn’t keen on dancing or people but he relented for her. Now in the thumping beats and sprawling rays of light cutting through languishing shadow, Giselle pulled Uriel along through couples dressed in anachronistic clothing. Fatima and Ellie followed suit with their boyfriends toward the middle of the dance floor.

     A jangly guitar riff began to play as Giselle shook her hips to the rhythm. The bass line kicked in; KC and The Sunshine Band’s “I’m Your Boogie Man” was in full swing. Giselle raised her slender arms above her head and let the music flow through her. She couldn’t tell if what she felt was her heartbeat or the pulsating music. Fatima’s low-cut top left little to the imagination as she shook her body. Ellie grinned as she swayed; the lights bounced off her sequined dress. Giselle felt like she was truly living. She laughed to herself as she watched Ellie and Fatima’s boyfriends awkwardly shift from knee to knee while standing behind their respective girls.

     Uriel’s warm hands found placement on Giselle’s hips. It felt comfortable feeling his form on her back. The other guys in the group followed suit, creating a small, tight circle for the girls to dance in. As the song changed to another, Giselle backed her butt into Uriel so she could slap the floor with her hands and drag her palms up her legs until she was upright. Uriel backed up with his hands on her waist, pulling her along with him. The group shifted with her, recreating the small dance circle once more. Ellie and Fatima grinned as they continued to dance. Giselle tried to focus on enjoying dancing with her friends.

     Uriel began to jerk mechanically from left to right. Giselle turned around to face him. He looked put upon as a guy to Uriel’s right swayed his shoulders, backing into Uriel’s arm. To his left, a petite girl in a metallic, magenta mini dress grabbed her knees and ground her ass into Uriel’s left knee. Giselle wanted him to have a good time. That would show her how much he wanted her. She grabbed his hair and pulled him down to her so her mouth was close to his ear. “I need to find a bathroom. Come with me,” she shouted—the nightclub’s whisper. She kept her delicate hand on his shoulder as he walked through the crowd.

     Halfway toward the entrance, Uriel paused. Giselle bumped into him. She peeked around him. A skinny guy in a pink shirt planked above a girl on her back on the dance floor. He was mid-thrust when a long-haired guy in purple dancing nearby tripped over Pink Shirt. Long Hair bounced up, his fists balled in front of his face. Pink Shirt climbed off his dance partner and began swinging at Long Hair. Uriel held his hands out, shielding Giselle from what might happen.

     Giselle smirked at him. His arms were stringy; his biceps were fledgling. She loved his boyish charm.  He would most likely get injured trying to defend her.

     Pink shirt landed a body blow, and nearby dancers stepped back to avoid a wild haymaker he threw. Long Hair took the hit to his ribs as he grabbed Pink Shirt by the collar and pulled the shirt half over his opponent’s face. Pink Shirt wrapped his arms around Long Hair’s waist. Long Hair clasped both hands above his head and brought them down hard on Pink Shirt’s back. As he raised his hands once more, two muscled bouncers intervened, each grabbing one of the fighters and hauling them out the front door.

     Uriel looked back and asked Giselle if she was okay.

     “I think I see the sign for the bathroom!” she shouted and pointed toward a red door near the entrance. Giselle followed him to the bathroom door. “Can you get us some water?!”

     Uriel nodded and headed toward the bar.

     Red stall doors stood stark against the black tiled floor of the women’s room. Two girls squeezed together for a selfie in front of the sink. They puckered their lips at the filter of an unlit cigarette as they posed for the picture. The flash went off, and the girls tossed the cigarette in the trash as they walked out. Giselle took a minute to take a breath away from the crowd. The heat and claustrophobia of the dance floor overwhelmed her. She pulled her puffer out of her pocket and sucked the medicine into her mouth. As far as ailments went, asthma wasn’t the worst thing to have, but she didn’t like advertising that she had it. She pocketed her inhaler and adjusted her hair in the mirror.

     On the counter, sat two silver trays. One contained a pile of cigarettes in various brand packs. The other tray contained a collection of perfumes. Feeling the sweat on her body, Giselle examined the names on the bottles and sniffed the spritzers as she inspected them. One smelled like rain. Another smelled like grain alcohol. Neither impressed her. She picked up a small sampler tube filled with orange liquid that smelled like a warm summer’s day. The name on it read Circe. She sprayed her wrist twice and rubbed the dampened skin on her other wrist and along her neck. The scent enveloped her. No matter what happened, she felt she could enjoy the rest of her night.

     When she exited the bathroom, she walked through the half-illuminated outlines of couples toward the bar. Halfway across the dance floor, the crowd made a small clearing. Opposite her stood Uriel with two water bottles in hand. He looked at her and flashed a smile that made her feel completely seen. That look made her fall for him. Only, as she looked at him, his countenance transformed. His brows scrunched. He looked past her. Giselle turned to see the men had stopped dancing. Though their counterparts tried to get their attention, the men had their eyes locked on Giselle. A hunger crept into their eyes, one licked his lips at her.

     Uriel walked up alongside her and handed her a bottle of water. As she took it, a hook cut across Uriel’s face. He reeled back. The outline of a man kicked at Uriel’s head, sending blood spattering across the dance floor. A guy dressed as John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever launched himself at Uriel, knocking him to the floor.

     “Get off of him!” Giselle screamed. The chorus of It’s Raining Men kicked in over the speakers as three more men added to the dog pile on her boyfriend. The violence became a display of animalistic machismo. Women, in their half-hearted disco costumes, rushed in and tried pulling their boyfriends away with little luck.

     One man with a ponytail got up from the pile, walked toward Giselle, and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand as he smirked at her, until a fist struck him across his face. Men on the floor scrambled toward him, grabbing at his ankles. A man in a denim vest grabbed Ponytail by the hair and yanked him to the ground. Giselle looked over to where Uriel had fallen. He was covered in blood. He wasn't moving. She wanted to go to him. In the pile before her, men pounded on one another. Blood splattered her bell bottoms. From the pile, one hand reached out for her before others pulled it back down. Horrified, Giselle ran for the exit.

     A squad car pulled up to the club as she exited. The driver emerged from the car. Giselle ran toward him and sobbed into his chest. The officer patted her on the back and reassured her. “It’s gonna be okay. Everything will be alright. I will keep you safe.”

     Giselle felt the rhythm of the officer’s deep breathing through his coat. It calmed her.

     “Hey,” shouted the officer’s partner. Giselle and the officer looked over at him. The shorter cop had a large can of pepper spray drawn on the officer next to her. “I will take care of her!”

     The taller officer drew his service weapon and leveled it at his partner.

     There was a hiss followed by a bang.

     All went dark for Giselle.