Saturday Night Fever by Patrick McAvinue | Magazine | Mining Memories | Tell Your Own Story
Patrick McAvinue

Patrick McAvinue

It was a Saturday night like any other Saturday night. Three good looking guys, well two anyway, heading off into the night, looking for fun. A few drinks, a bit of a laugh, maybe some excitement. A nice young lady even, to fall in love with for a week or two.
Just another perfect Saturday night.

Destination a southside hotel, not named to protect the innocent. A few stops along the way of course, just to relax and get in the mood. I’m driving and I don’t indulge and that suits everyone. I’ve already discovered I don’t like alcohol and alcohol doesn’t like me. I know that lack of the devil’s fuel won’t hold me back. I’m an introvert who can turn on the extrovert when needs be. Even though that can be torture.

We arrive at the fun palace about 11pm. We’ll be there till after 2am so there’s plenty of time. We ditch our old, reliable, white Renault 4L and make our grand entrance. John Travolta is flavour of the month so I try his bouncy, confident strut (first impressions and all that). In the foyer, we encounter the piano man who just happens to be clunking out a tune I know very well. It’s my favourite song at that time, mostly because my older brother sings it a lot. So the extrovert in me joins in with the piano man, and soon I am singing the immortal line, “People stop and stare, they don’t bother me”, and they don’t. Except for one young lady. She is a natural blonde and even from a distance I can see her blue eyes shining. She is wearing a white blouse (with the three top buttons undone) and tight green jeans. I didn’t get to her footwear. I had seen enough to know this is someone who bothers me. Bothered enough to miss out on a few of the high notes and the angry piano man tells me to “BLEEP OFF”.

My thirty seconds of fame over, I take his advice. I knew my immediate destiny lay elsewhere but my beautiful blonde bird had flown and ‘Frankly, my dear, I did give a damn’. So I set sail on a serious search for my missing Cinderella. Frenzied even. I barge and charge and excuse my way through a crowded dance floor. I inspect the Bar where the drink is flowing like there is no tomorrow. I even loiter around the “Ladies” for God sake. And all to no avail. As the minutes ticked by, I knew I had to prepare for despair, or at least disappointment. But God was on my side and I spotted her moving through a sea of happy young faces. She was heading for the exit. When she got to the door to nowhere, I was there.

“Where do you think you’re going?” says I, in my sexiest voice.
“I’m going home.” But I could see in the way her blue eyes lit up that she was glad to see me.
“Oh no you’re not.”
“And pray sir, tell me why not”, joining in the mood.
“Because I think I love you.” That was a favourite line of mine at that time, although it never really worked.
That seemed to surprise her but she countered.
“You know you can take medication for that”, and smiled.
That was it.
Who could resist that smile?
Her bright blue eyes twinkling.
Her head slightly tilted to the left.
Her blonde hair falling with the tilt.
Her noticeably nice nose.
And those lips!!

I forget which of us said ‘let’s dance’ but we did. In a hurry. I can’t dance for nuts but I stood on her toes a few times and held her close, very close, all of the time.

She didn’t object!

“What’s your name?” I heard her whisper. And I couldn’t resist. “Double Oohh Sheven, lichenced to thrill”, in my best Sean Connery accent.
“Well you’re fairly good at that” and that smile again.

I didn’t know whether she meant the accent or the thrill but I took a chance and landed a gentle peck on the lips.

She didn’t object! She even returned my hesitant advance in kind. And I realized that I was no longer the hunter and she was no longer my prey. Now we were just two young adults, probably in the prime of our lives, who had, maybe, just maybe, bumped into what they were looking for, destined for even.

Who believes in love at first sight?

I didn’t, but when she was in my arms, I wasn’t so sure.

So we danced and talked and laughed. And we had a glass of orange and a club milk. And danced and talked and laughed again.

But time, the old enemy, the eternal enemy, moved swiftly and, too soon, it was time to go.

We were almost the last to leave. My friends, the two good looking guys, were nowhere to be seen. And her friends had taken flight too. Even the piano man was gone, although the piano was still there.

“I’ll leave you home”, I offered.
“No thanks, I have my own car.”
And that sounded like a statement.
Let’s not break any speed limits here.
Slow down Double Oohh Sheven.
A shot across my bows.
Secretly I was a bit relieved but I said,
“Oh no, I was hoping we would make mad passionate love.” And I was only half joking.
“Look, here’s my number, call me if you feel you want to.”
“Want to what?”
“Make mad passionate love”, and she smiled.
And she was only half joking. Then she was gone.
I watched her walk towards the car park. I knew, from the movies, if she looked back, she was in love with me.
But she didn’t look back.
Till the last moment.
And she smiled.
So a Saturday night unlike any other Saturday night was over.
And I drove home alone, heart racing, unfamiliar thoughts swirling through my overworked brain.
On Sunday night I picked up the phone.
Her voice, like a slightly hoarse nightingale,
“Moneypenny speaking”.
And I knew my number was up.

(c) Patrick McAvinue

About the author

Patrick McAvinue, born in the Liberties of Dublin a long long time ago, is a writer of great repute. Oh wait, that’s not true. But he would like to be.

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