Dance to Anything

La Cage de Toxiques read the sign over the nondescript brick building across the street, and I had a French-English dictionary in my hand as I stared at the window. “The Cage of Toxins?” I murmured under my breath, snapping the dictionary closed. “I wonder what sort of place that is.”

After breakfast the next morning, I asked my landlady about it. “La Cage de Toxiques?” She shuddered. “A filthy cesspool of underground culture.” Then she appraised me cool eyes. “Though I suppose a young man like you would enjoy yourself there.”

“So it’s club?” I asked, ignoring her disapproving tone.

“Something like that,” she said stiffly. “I’m sure you could easily find someone willing to take you there if you’re curious. Mr. Greenwald, in Room 18, is a common patron, I believe.”

I thanked her and made my way up the stairs to Room 18; I couldn’t quite place my finger on it, but there was something about the place that intrigued me, and I knew I had to find out more about La Cage de Toxiques.

A haggard man answered my knock. “Yes?” he said, drawing the ‘s’ out into a sort of hiss. “What do you want?”

“Mr. Greenwald?” I asked in a timid voice and the man nodded. “I’m Brendon Urie. New tenant. Mrs. Palmer said you could take me La Cage de Toxiques.”

Mr. Greenwald paused and a gaunt smile crossed his face. “Only if you ask [i[very nicely,” he said. “Then maybe I’ll consider it.”

You’re one of those types, aren’t you? I thought to myself and tried to smile at the man. “Please, Mr. Greenwald,” I said. “May I come with the next time you go to La Cage de Toxiques?”

“I’m going tonight. Meet me here at 8 o’clock sharp. Dress your best.”

The door closed in my face and I remembered that I had meant to ask about Mrs. Palmer’s strong dislike for La Cage de Toxiques. Tonight, I told myself. I’ll ask him tonight.

The hours dragged by and come 8 o’clock, I was standing outside Room 18 in my best suit. I had raised my hand and was about to knock when the door opened to reveal Mr. Greenwald in a top hat and with a cane in his hand.

“Good,” he said shortly. “I’ve always appreciated promptness.”

As I followed him down the stairs, I took note of the self-centered aura he gave off. I hope this is worth having to put up this fellow, I thought to myself. He certainly isn’t my first choice of companion.

He led me to a cobblestone courtyard before the building. “La Cage de Toxiques,” he said grandly, spreading his arms wide to each side. “The Cage of Toxins!” And raising his cane in the air, he rapped loudly on the wooden door.

I watched as a masked doorman opened and door and, nodding at Mr. Greenwald, waved us in. “Hey Alex, who’s a new boy?” he asked gruffly.

“Just a curious new tenant at Palmer House,” said Mr. Greenwald shortly.

Blushing, I ducked my head and followed him inside to a large half-dinning-room, half-dancing-hall. “Wow,” I breathed, gazing up at the crystal chandeliers and large swings hanging from the ceiling. It was like a giant birdcage. “What is this place?”

Mr. Greenwald chuckled. “When Mrs. Palmer called it a filthy cesspool of underground culture, she wasn’t exaggerating,” he said in a low voice. “It’s run by a certain Mr. Wentz and his Decay-Dancers, or his Dancing Dogs, as he sometimes calls them. A delicious combination of exotic drinks and carnal desire. Come,” he said and led me to a small booth. “My usual table. The show shall begin about …” He checked his pocket watch. “A quarter of an hour.”

“Is this … is this a whorehouse?” I asked cautiously, and Mr. Greenwald laughed.

“Only if you want it to be.” He flashed me dark smile and placed his top hat on the table.

Do I want it to be one? I asked myself and turn curious eyes towards the center of the dance hall, where elegantly dressed waiters were scurrying to and from tables, carrying trays of drinks and food.

Mr. Greenwald leaned across the table as a waiter headed towards us and said in a low whisper, “The lobster is particularly good this season.”

I jumped in my seat, startled, then turned and forced a smile. “Thanks, “I whispered back. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Mr. Greenwald ordered a dish I had never heard of and I, as per his suggestion, ordered lobster. “Your orders will be ready about five minutes before the show begins,” the waiter told us, dipping his head in a slight bow and leaving us alone.

“Um, Mr. Greenwald?” I began. “Can I call you ‘Alex?’” He nodded stiffly. “Can I … ask why Mrs. Palmer hates this place so much? Other than the fact that it’s a, uh … ‘filthy cesspool of underground culture.’”

A dark smile crossed Alex’s face and he chuckled quietly. “A couple years ago,” he said. “Her daughter ran away to join Mr. Wentz’s Decay-Dancers.”

Coughing in surprise, I tried to imagine a younger version of our elderly landlady in this place.

“Amanda,” Alex continued. “A small girl with tattoo eyebrows. You may notice her once the show starts.” He paused. “Then again, maybe not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure your eyes will be on the Matched Set,” he said with a smirk.

I blinked slowly. “The what?”

“Matched Set,” he repeated. “Two enticingly similar Dogs. Very stunning. The stars of his show. You’ll know them when you see them,” he finished with a wink.

We sat in silence until the waiter returned with our dishes, which we eat in silence, and I get the feeling that Alex Greenwald is a man who is only truly alive when indulging in the darker sides of the things.

Then the lights have dimmed and brightened again and there’s a man in a bright suit standing atop a podium as colorful skirts and flares flood the hall. “Welcome,” the man says, spreading his arms wide, “to La Cage de Toxiques!”

I scanned the dancers, trying to find the Matched Set, but all I saw was one girl spinning towards our table. Her face was powered white and she waggled her tattooed eyebrows. “Alex, darling,” she purred and pulled him to his feet. “Come and dance.”

Alex winked at me over his shoulder and followed the girl, who I assumed to be Amanda, out onto the floor, and I wondered if a dancer would come for me. No one did though and I finished my lobster by myself.

My surly companion returned to the table once the song ended. “Brendon,” he said. “This is Amanda. Amanda—Brendon.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said and kissed her extended hand.

She giggled. “Please to please ya.”

I blushed and Amanda sped away as the lights dimmed. An eerie melody filled the air as the man—Mr. Wentz, perhaps—spoke. “Now tonight’s a very special night,” he said. “Does anyone know why?” Silence. Mr. Wentz chuckled. “It’s been exactly ten years since La Cage first premiered!” A loud cheer. “And so, in honor of our anniversary, I present to you … two very special Dancing Dogs!”

An even louder cheer followed as two perches descended from the ceiling, each one carrying a slender dancer. One was wearing a silver dress, the other a black one, but both had the same slender build and dark hair, and I could tell right off that this was the infamous Matched Set.

“Gorgeous specimens, aren’t they?” Alex said with a smirk. “The light one is Crystalline and the dark one is Opus. Stage names, of course.”

“Of course,” I echoed, transfixed by the sight of the two bodies twist and contort into beautiful shapes before swan diving down a long ribbon to the empty floor, where they separated and circled the perimeter of the hall.

“Does anyone dare to ask these dogs to dance?” Mr. Wentz asked. The hall stayed silent. “Oops,” he added with a funny sort of laugh. “It’s ladies’ choice.”

The crowd held its breathe and I could tell that each man, like me, was hoping and yet dreading to be chosen.

Crystalline, on the other side of the hall, pulled a tall man from his table and draped her arms around his torso.

“Oh-ho!” Mr. Wentz said with a chuckle. “The Light has made her choice.”

Opus stalked past the tables, nearing our table with each step she took. Her feet were adorned in delicate high heels and her black skirt trailed behind her. Pick me, I beg silently. Don’t pick me.

“You look like a nice boy,” she purred, turning her honeyed eyes towards a man a couple tables away. “I bet you’re a good dancer,” she told another, pursing her ruby red lips. Then she stopped and looked right at me.

She didn’t say anything, just stepped up and slid her hands down my chest. “What’s an innocent boy like you doing at La Cage?” she asked in a whisper so only I could hear. Her lips brushed against my ear and she grabbed my hands, leading me out onto the middle of the floor.

I could feel Alex’s shocked gaze burning holes in the back of my jacket as Mr. Wentz announced, “The Dark has made her choice. Gentlemen, it’s time to dance!”

Opus pressed her slender body against mine, our cheeks touching, as she led me a graceful dance. I surprised to find that she was taller than me, but I supposed that it was just the high heels.

“Why are you here?” she asked, under the cover of the music and dancing. “This is no place for a innocent boy like you.”

“What makes you think I’m so innocent?” I asked.

“Your eyes,” she said simply. “Now tell me why.”

I shrugged carelessly as Opus met Crystalline’s gaze over my shoulder. “Alex Greenwald brought me,” I said. “I’m a new tenant at Palmer House.”

“You mean that place across the street?” she asked and twirled around me. “Owned by Fucker’s mum.”

“Fucker?” I repeated in shock. “You mean Amanda?”

Opus nodded; every move she made was delicate and beautiful. Toxic. “We call her Fucker,” she said softly. “And she doesn’t seem to care. Since she’s a whore.”

“Aren’t you all?” I asked, then clapped my hands over my mouth, appalled at my rudeness.

But Opus laughed, a light and dainty laugh. “I suppose,” she said and stepped one spidery leg between mine. “Would you care to pay for my time?”

Swallowing a gasp as her thigh pressed up against my groin, I blinked rapidly and blushed. “I, uh … don’t believe I’d have the money for that,” I managed. “You seem awfully expensive.”

“I’d give you a discount since you’re une vierge,” she murmured. “A virgin.”

“H-how can you tell?” I stammered out.

She winked at me, dark eyelashes against pale skin. “Your eyes,” she purred. “Now would you like to buy me for the night?”

Oh god, yes! “If you’d take me,” I murmured back and she pressed her lips to mine.

Crystalline, spinning past with her partner, subtly propped Opus on the shoulder. “You are lucky,” she hissed in a beautiful voice. “That no one else is watching.”

Opus giggled and smiled impishly at me as Crystalline moved on. “I think tonight will be wonderful night,” she crooned in my ear. “If you get my drift.”

This is definitely worth Alex Greenwald!