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JANUARY 1979, the disco years
KING RICHARD
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King Richard.
I liked it.
During the early
days of Camelot, I found myself in a role I had not
anticipated. I was suddenly host to a horde of dance students
every Friday night. At first, I was uncertain of
myself. However, watching Victoria walk around
to greet people by name, I caught on and followed her lead.
I had grown up as an introverted loner, but discovered
to my surprise that it wasn't all that difficult. I had Queen Victoria to thank for teaching me
how to become more outgoing around strangers. The key
was to remember their name. Thanks to possessing a
good memory, this was something I was good at. Now that I had
assumed a leadership role, I watched with quiet pride as new
friendships were made and romantic connections flourished.
Here at Camelot,
I began to feel about this large group
as a 'Family' of sorts. Something very special
was taking place.
On a personal
note, my risky decisions following the events of Bombshell/Liaison/Tirade Saturday
had worked so well that the Diva Beauty Contest moved into full swing.
Every Friday, the three Divas competed for supremacy.
Each woman shined in her own way. Victoria was the most popular,
Patricia was the most beautiful, Joanne was the best
dancer. All
three were stars who dominated the night.
There only
problem came when the women realized they needed me to
outshine the other two. Although the Days of Camelot
were an exciting time, I was overwhelmed. Nothing in
my life had prepared me to deal with the complicated nature
of one woman, much less three at once. It was pretty
weird being wooed and pursued by three women at the same
time. I found it deeply ironic that a young man who
couldn't get a girlfriend for 29 years would suddenly have
three women chasing him at once. One might wonder if I
received satisfaction being the object of desire for three
attractive women. Interesting question. Temperamental
Patricia, Tempestuous Victoria, and Star-Struck Joanne were
quite a handful. At the same time, I was flattered. What young man wouldn't be?
I was astonished to find my Magic Carpet Ride had propelled me onto
Center Stage. Considering I had spent
nearly my entire life feeling ugly and awkward, I was amazed to be the
object of so much attention.
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The Disco Era
was a time when gorgeous young women loved to come out and
play as normal people gaped in awe. Beautiful women were irresistibly drawn to the music,
the dancing,
the stylish clothes, and the
sexually-charged atmosphere. I do not exaggerate when I
say every night at the Disco was a
Beauty Contest. I sometimes wondered if there was a
sign in the ladies' restroom that suggested ugly women go
home, you're wasting your time.
With lyrics to "I
Love the Nightlife" playing in their head, attractive women
dedicated hours on end to makeup. They spent small fortunes on clothes with every intention of joining the
evening
parade. They went to the Disco to see and be seen, to
feed their ego and assess their market value. The better they looked, the easier it was to catch the attention of the
most attractive men. The game was to draw their admirers close.
The presence of attractive men at their side would enhance their reputation.
They would either keep this guy or parlay the status of his
attention
to leapfrog to a bigger fish.
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While I was
hardly an accomplished man in terms of career achievement, I
controlled visibility in an arena that beautiful women found
glamorous. Women knew I had the power to draw the
Spotlight to them. Wherever I went, I had beautiful women at my
side. Thanks to the
ongoing training I received from Glen Hunsucker, my
skill at partner dancing reached Elite status.
Although I was not equal to the very best, the gap had grown
smaller. More important, there were no challengers in my
particular crowd.
For the past year I had practiced five nights a week
during dance class and at least once a week in the clubs afterwards. Despite my lack
of natural ability, the enormous amount of
practice paid off. Now that Glen had taught me how to
lead, I could make a woman look good out on the dance floor
even if she wasn't sure what she
was doing. Hungry for attention, women who liked to dance were drawn to
me as surely as fireflies are drawn to light. In
addition to the
Three Divas, there were other women
waiting in the wings. Some lined up to dance
with me, others lined up to watch. Eyes
tracked me wherever I went, a development whose
meaning was not lost on the three Divas.
Did all this
attention go to my head? Yes and no. I was
pleased to note my new-found dancing ability guaranteed I would never lack for female companionship for the rest of
my life. That thought improved my confidence
exponentially.
On the other hand, the memory of my
many years of loneliness kept me grounded. I feared
becoming a One-Hit Wonder. The instant someone
turned out the Disco lights, I could very well return to
being a nobody. So I kept everything in perspective.
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At the moment
the Epic Losing Streak was the furthest thing from my mind. Riding the coattails of Saturday Night
Fever, this was my Day in the Sun, my Brightest Day.
If a woman
like Victoria, Patricia, or Joanne wanted
to be noticed in a nightclub, having me at her side was a definite asset.
Since there was only one of me while several women vied for
my attention, I magically became
the center of this competitive Triangle. Each woman realized
having me by her side would validate her beauty and
desirability. Therefore the chance to be noticed dancing
with me or getting me to put my arm around them was a goal each women
wished to pursue.
Many women are just
as competitive as men. Many beautiful women want
to be appreciated for their looks and their skill.
Athena,
Aphrodite and Hera made this readily apparent ages ago.
Their modern counterparts
Patricia, Victoria and Joanne were no different. They
wanted people to appreciate their Beauty. The Three Divas
knew every eye in the house would be riveted to whichever woman
danced with me or stood beside me. I had been handed the power
to bestow the title of 'Best Dancer' or 'Most Beautiful'.
In the process I became the
Trophy in the Battle of the Disco Divas. I was the hunted prize.
Long ago, Eris, the Greek Goddess of Discord, proclaimed
possession of the Golden Apple would identify the winner of
the Olympic Beauty Contest. I suppose that made me the
Golden Apple of Disco Discord. Whichever woman who gained undisputed possession of me would become
winner in this unusual Beauty Contest. At stake was
Coronation as the
Supreme Diva of Disco.
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I was amused
to see Homer's Iliad recreated
in a modern context. Who would ever imagine the mythological
dispute between three women would one day be recreated on a
smaller scale
in a Houston Disco?? Hopefully Diva
Warfare would not be quite so bloody as the Trojan War. If so, the bloodshed
would likely end up with my head on a spike. As we recall,
things got very ugly when Paris stole Helen, wife of
Menelaus, the mighty king of Sparta. Those who forget
are doomed to repeat. Camelot was very good for
Victoria's ego. She absolutely basked in the glory.
I could not help but admire her brilliance. Of course
I was attracted to her. However, like Helen of Troy,
Victoria was a married women, a forbidden woman. With this in mind,
I had one overriding concern. Do Not touch Victoria
under any circumstances. This was a rule I swore to
obey.
In a rare idle
moment, I wondered if Paris,
the man rewarded with Helen of Troy, was happy or
miserable. And why did I wonder this? During my time as a hunted man, I came to realize that being a
Trophy was not nearly as much fun as one might think. It
seemed the Three Divas were more interested in each other than they
were in me. Although none of my three pursuers liked each
other, they obsessed over each
other constantly. Throughout every hour of Camelot, the
three women watched each other like hawks. The fact that each woman acknowledged her rivals were worthy opponents
was important. It was like an
auction. The more these women vied for my attention, the higher my value
rose. My worth in their eyes was amplified by the
intense
rivalry.
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As Victoria, Patricia,
and Joanne eyed each other, they reached the same conclusion.
Take Patricia for example. If her two attractive
rivals found Rick worth pursuing, then King Richard was a
Trophy befitting of her time and effort. "If a woman
that beautiful wants Rick, then I want him too."
In simple terms, my value was enhanced by the caliber of the
women who chased me.
The longer the game continued, the more cynical I
became. Were these women
chasing me for 'me' or were they entertaining themselves
by competing with two other rivals? The thought
crossed my mind that I was no more important
than the basketball chosen to be the Game Ball. Although everyone
watches where the ball bounces, the spectators are far more interested in the people
chasing the ball than the ball itself. I have heard women
complain about being sex objects. Now I knew what they
were complaining about. I stayed
humble simply because I knew popularity could be fleeting and
superficial. I was a statue, a symbol. The three
women were more interested in beating their rivals than winning
me. The winner could take me home, put me in
her Trophy case and
forget I was there. If I was lucky, maybe the maid would
wander past and dust me off once in a
while. So much for the
Glory of being the Trophy.
What about the
fringe benefits, you know, the groupies? Forget it.
For one thing, I was still reeling from the devastating
consequences of my Dangerous Liaison. Not a
day passed when I did not feel a twinge of regret for hurting
Joanne's feelings. Besides, my Diva
Triangle was so fragile that the slightest peccadillo would bring
down the entire House of Cards if discovered.
Imagine what would happen if a new hottie appeared out of nowhere with
glowing Cow Eyes? Six Feet Under. All three women
would take turns digging.
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FEBRUARY 1979, the disco years
THE MYSTERY OF
COWBOY
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I lived in constant
fear. What if the Divas started to talk?
Furthermore, the Triangle was not my only problem. What if Lance Stevens came to his senses and ordered
me to pay a King's Ransom to stay at his studio? Or what if he just went
ahead and evicted me?
One would think my problems could not get worse, but they
did. Right in middle of
the exciting Camelot Era, I had a serious premonition of doom when
I heard about a new nightclub named Cowboy. Considering
the nightclub had a Western theme, theoretically it was not a
threat. So why did I take this problem so
seriously? Because it made no sense. Considering
Disco raged in Houston like an out of control forest fire,
why would someone open up a Country-Western dance club?
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In February 1979, Cowboy
made its debut in Houston's ritzy Galleria area.
Cowboy was a three million dollar gamble taken by McFaddin-Kendrick,
a Houston company that specialized in operating fancy Houston
night clubs. For example, élan and Ciao
were popular Discos owned by McFaddin-Kendrick.
Based on the proven track record of this company, I assumed
these smooth operators knew what they were doing. So
why open a kicker club? I was baffled. Considering there was absolutely no interest in
Country-Western dancing here in Houston, spending that kind
of money made no sense.
My fear was these people knew something I didn't.
As it turned out, yes, they did know something. John Travolta was rumored to film a movie
with a Western theme in
Houston during the upcoming summer.
So what is the smart thing to do about a threat? Get
information. And did I get information? No. I staunchly refused
to visit Cowboy. Since I was Disco True
Blue, a visit to Cowboy would be consorting
with the enemy. As a result, I remained totally in the dark
as to what was going on.
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One reason I avoided checking out the club was extreme
prejudice. I detested all things Western. I
didn't even like Western movies. Too predictable.
And I reeeelly disliked the music. So what was my
problem? I
had grown up with a serious anti-country bias
due to my prep
school environment. My rich classmates made themselves feel
smarter and superior
by making fun of farmers and country people they deemed 'stupid'.
Back in the Sixties and Seventies it was a commonly-accepted stereotype that country people
were not well educated. Country people,
Texas Aggies in particular, were beneath contempt to my
preppy friends.
Since Texas A&M was the state agricultural school, my
classmates chose the Aggies as the perfect foil for their ridicule. Every day I would hear a new Aggie joke.
A good example would be the Aggie Reindeer joke.
"Question: How many 'D's' are there in 'Rudolph the
Red-Nosed Reindeer'?
Answer: 743.
"DEE-DEE-DA-DA-DA-DEE-DEE..."
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Sorry to say, the negative attitude of my high school classmates rubbed
off on me. Bigotry is a strange thing. I had
never met a country person in all my life. So why did
I hate
them? How much sense does that make? Considering
my
prejudice was based on zero personal experience, I am
ashamed to admit I never questioned my decision. Such is the nature of prejudice. Due to
my intense dislike of all things country, I rejected
the debut of this new kicker club with contempt.
Whenever someone asked me what I thought, I would reply, "Surely a
waste of money. As long as Disco rules the planet, Cowboy will never catch on."
Famous last words. I am not sure why, but my
intuition knew that Cowboy was bad news.
Indeed, the
hoopla surrounding this new country-western nightclub had me badly spooked.
Why would someone
open an expensive country-western joint in the midst of
Houston's Disco Era?Unfortunately, I had no way to
understand the thinking behind the decision. I remained
thoroughly mystified and very worried.
Adding to my confusion, at the time of Cowboy's
appearance, Disco was at its absolute peak
of energy throughout America... and Houston as well. Indeed, the popular
weekly TV
show Dance Fever had just made its national
debut. My dance teacher Glen and his teenage dance
prodigy Paula Abbott actually won one of the episodes. Featuring competition between top-flight dance couples,
my phone was ringing off the hook with people asking to learn to dance just like those
fabulous acts seen on Dance Fever. Business was great, but
I was
worried. A club like Cowboy that promoted
a different type of dancing was not
in my best interest.
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Pay attention. I had been teaching for over a
year. During this time, not one person had ever asked for
a country dance lesson. Read that again: Not once had
anyone asked me to teach them how to dance to
country-western music. Nor had anyone mentioned going country dancing. As best I could
tell, there was no local interest in C&W dancing.
If Country Dancing took over, I would be out of luck.
Country dancing was so easy that there was no money to be
made teaching Country. Nor was I interested in
teaching it. But why worry? Disco is going crazy
here in Houston. Nevertheless, the nagging fear persisted. Three Million Dollars!
With Disco
burning up the planet, why would
anyone invest so much money in what felt like
misguided counter-programming?
McFaddin-Kendrick
owned élan, the posh private membership dance
club that catered to Houston's elite. Considering my
deep respect for the superiority of elan,
this strange decision to open a kicker club in the heart of the
high-rent
Galleria district might not be a mistake. Somebody knew something, I
was sure of it. But what
could it be? What did they know that I didn't know? I
had heard of insider trading on Wall Street. I
suspected a tight-knit network of insiders
privy to trends and rumors that the general public did not
have access to. Was it possible the executives at
McFaddin-Kendrick were reacting to this sort of secret
knowledge? [and the answer is yes. We
will get to this story later.]
I could see
nothing plain, all is mystery. Try as I might,
I could not shake the nagging feeling that trouble lie
ahead.
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