What’s Happening? by John Nicholas Iannuzzi

into the front of her man-styled hair. They watched unconcerned as the two men stumbled out. The friend dragged Omar down the steps and pushed him toward Eighth Street and coffee. The Lesbians at the checkroom turned and continued their conversation.
    Laura was now dancing in the back room with another girl. Her dancing partner, Lucille, who was called Lou, danced Laura toward the jukebox. Suddenly, Laura was pulled behind the jukebox on the opposite side of the drapes shielding the women’s rest room. Lou encircled her arms around Laura’s waist, pulled Laura close, and leaned forward to kiss her. Laura jerked her head back. Lucille was persistent, following Laura’s head with her own, trying to find Laura’s lips. Finally, she grasped Laura’s head between her two hands and pressed her lips against the small mouth. Laura stared perplexedly, terrified, over Lucille’s shoulder. She suffered Lucille’s arms, not knowing what to do, not sure if she should rebuff her. After all, someone cared for, desired her. Even this was better than the hollow emptiness.
    â€œHey, man, that Laura really swings after all. See her swapping spit with Lucille back there,” Billie remarked, watching Laura and Lucille from the bar. “She’s a pretty fair chick, you know what I mean, … a little mousy, but nice.”
    â€œYou son-of-a-bitch,” said Phil half joking. “I’ll cut you into little pieces if you start that kind of crap.” Phil, Billie and Frank laughed together. The music ended and Laura and Lucille walked back toward the bar.
    â€œHey you … You little bitch,” Tony the bouncer yelled loudly at Laura as she returned to the bar. “You know you shouldn’t be making out in here, don’t you?” he said loudly, menacing her by thrusting his head close to hers and staring into her face.
    â€œSo …?” she asked nervously.
    â€œSo?” he asked imperiously. He enjoyed picking on her because she became so frightened and nervous. A butch would have punched him in the mouth if Tony had done that to her … but Laura shrank away. “Well, if you wanna stay here now you gotta give me a blow job. You’re a blower, ain’t you?” Tony said, smiling viciously, looking around for popular approval.
    â€œYou rotten bastard. Fuck you,” yelped Laura defensively, edging away from him.
    â€œCome on, you little blower.” He grabbed her hand. “Here …” He put her hand on his manliness.
    She stood frozen with terror and surprise, then squeezed him hard where it hurt.
    â€œAughhhh,” he bellowed with intense pain. “You little bastard whore.” He lashed his fist against the left side of her head above the ear.
    Laura fell back against the wall. She stood still, her eyes bulging with terror, her hands feeling for the wall behind her. She was like a trapped cat, studying her attacker, thinking furiously of escape. As he approached her, she slid cautiously along the wall to the door, bolting down the steps just as he kicked at her. Whimpering, she ran down the street, and rounded the corner into Minetta Lane.
    â€œRotten son-of-a-bitch,” she murmured through tears as she strode quickly through the unlit lane toward the light of the Avenue of the Americas. She passed under the canopy of Raoul Johnson’s bar. Someone tapped a coin on the window from inside. She stopped and peered through the window. A friend waved to her to enter. Frightened and alone, unable to go home, she entered the bar.
    â€œHi, Laura,” said the blond fellow who had tapped on the window. He was dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. “What’s happening?”
    â€œI don’t know, … nothing,” said Laura with a weak, resigned shrug. She sat on a stool, looking blandly over his shoulder at the wall.
    â€œI thought we were going to get together one of these days … What’s the matter?