The hall walls are stained with nicotine long after the smoking ban; the low ceiling darkens the room and the narrow windows barely help. By day brownies, cubs, zumba, tea dances, toddler groups and the occasional blood drive take turns inhabiting the space. Weekends and evenings the building buzzes with birthday parties, weddings, christenings and jumble sales. But tonight feels different, fizzing, filled with expectation, it’s the first Friday of the month; disco night.
At the far end of the room, engrossed in each other, Brown Cords and Plum Suede Mini sway gently to “MacArthur Park” and forget where they are; she leaning on his thigh, him rubbing slowly, rhythmically, against her. Later tonight, for the very first time, they’ll tangle messily up in one another on her bedroom floor.
Moss Green Slacks patrols the dance floor, as usual, waiting to clamp down on any funny business he thinks he sees. He’s joined by Fawn Slacks, as well as neat and serviceable Mauve and Russet Calf-Length Kilts – their kilt pins just catching under the lethargic disco lights.
Lemon Double-layered Pleated Chiffon sashays into the room at exactly the moment she should. They turn; all the other Skirts envy her poise and sophistication. Scarlet Lace Pencil threatens to turn a violent shade of jade; she’d unsubtly captivated the Trousers until now. Wow, she’s something else; she’s giving a masterclass in how to arrive at a party. Her hem catches the breeze and billows out slightly, making all the Trousers stand to attention. It’s the Trousers and Skirts Disco, but any Trousers will tell you it’s really all about the Skirts.
A whisper runs from wall to wall, something’s up outside. A clique of Skinny Jeans gathers under the sparse streetlamps. The rest of the room knows they are only here for a rumble, to start something; they have their own event, last Saturday of every month. But this is disco night, strictly a Trouser and Skirt event. No jeans allowed, yeah?