Date Night

An Alleycat Crew Short

Kash picked at his meal. He couldn’t tell if the meat was supposed to be this world’s version of beef or pork. Regardless, it was bland and dry. The cooked greens had an earthy, peppery taste, and the thing that looked like an Earth potato tasted like a potato—but it was hard like a nut. He’d used the red, jello-like blob that tasted like a rich tomato and cream sauce to choke down half the meat, but he was less than interested in the rest.

“Okay,” Calynn sighed, pushing away her half-eaten food. “You were right. We should have eaten before we came.”

“At least the drinks are good,” Kash said, lifting his glass of bourbon. “When does the show start?”

“Twenty-five minutes… I think.”

Kash slid off his chair and shifted it around the small high-top table so it sat beside Calynn. He dropped back into the seat, draped an arm over her shoulders, and kissed her cheek.

It had taken some convincing, but Calynn had dressed modestly for their date. The club had a reputation for getting a bit rowdy, and Kash didn’t want her wardrobe to be the reason for it.

They were at Club Chklrvrmsh. Kash didn’t know how anyone pronounced a word with no vowels. The place was a barely retrofitted old warehouse with cracked concrete floors and bad lighting, and a greasy industrial smell lingered from its previous life. The food was terrible, the ambiance was worse, but the entertainment was billed as the show to see by everyone who had ever witnessed it. According to his translator, it was called Burlesque Circus—with only sixty percent confidence in that translation.

The stage was roughly twenty meters square, with poles supporting a metal catwalk above it. Kash and Calynn sat in one of the raised VIP areas overlooking the show. Security guards stood between the stage and a metal railing meant to keep the crowd back. There were only about fifty people on the main floor, but they were packed tight against the railing, waiting.

The lights dimmed. A single tight spotlight struck the stage backdrop.

A man and a woman—both dressed in white leggings—descended into the light, seated on a large metal ring. The woman wore a sports-bra-like top that caught and scattered the spotlight as they moved. Their voices began softly, then swelled to fill the space as they spun and flipped around the ring like acrobats, singing even as they soared.

The spotlight widened, revealing a dozen male dancers below them. The men seemed to almost fly, leaping high with effortless grace. Soon, a dozen women joined them. Half wore ornate, puffy gowns. The others appeared to be nude, covering themselves with oddly shaped reflective cards. The glare from the spotlights kept their most intimate parts hidden, even as the men tossed them into the air.

And all of them were singing. Beautifully.

This wasn’t a burlesque circus.

No—it was opera without an orchestra, carried entirely by voices. But it was also ballet, and acrobatics. Power and grace and harmony, with just enough burlesque to spice it up.

Calynn hugged his arm and rested her head on his shoulder, her smile stretching wide.

Kash took another sip of bourbon and chuckled to himself.

Calynn looked up at him.

He leaned down and kissed her lips, slow and unhurried.

“No,” he murmured against her mouth. “You were right. This is totally worth the terrible food.”

He pulled back just enough to smirk.

“Still never eating here again.”

“Oh gods, no,” Calynn wrinkled her nose. “Only drinks and the show for me, thank you.”

“And advise them to hire a real chef.”

“Or fire the one they have.”

“Or both,” Kash chuckled.

“Preferably both,” Calynn giggled.