Night Moves

Chrome guests took shine to each other

One chilly Saturday night, I agreed to play third wheel to Sally and her new boyfriend, Al. Anyone who's embraced this third-party tag-along routine will agree that it gets old quick.

Sally and Al are almost disgustingly cute (note the hint of jealousy). Their little coos of love and tender Eskimo kisses can be a bit much. Nose rubbing aside, Sally and Al are two cool people, so the three of us traveled to Chrome, a small upstairs club on Sixth Street.

Flash your ID, walk up the stairs and there you are — in the loftlike space of Chrome. The open room offers one fully loaded bar for your drinking pleasure and a few tables to sit and catch your breath, collect your thoughts or find your balance ... whatever. The coolest aspect of the bar area is the DJ booth, because it sits directly above the bar. There I was ordering a drink when I looked up and saw the DJ, sitting on high, delivering a pop/hip-hop mix to the masses.

Across the way from the bar area is the dance floor, which was fairly empty when my triad arrived, but I maintained full faith that things would pick up. The floor is perhaps one third bigger than the dance floor at Spill, another Sixth Street spot. Chrome's floor is illuminated with a mirrored ball and colored lights — fairly standard stuff.

Aubrey Edwards for AA-S A small upstairs club on Sixth Street, Chrome has a decent dance floor and a fully loaded bar. Chrome. 419 E. Sixth St. 476-5654.

"Sweet," I thought, "the party's getting started."

But then something else struck me: The guy looked very happy to be sandwiched between two beautiful women. But it was clear that the blonde was in control of the situation, and the brunette was struggling to stay in the loop.

Things turned a bit sad when the male-in-the-middle and the blonde began making out, and the brunette walked back to a small table with three half-empty glasses. This sparked another thought: When is it appropriate to love the one you're with? And in such romantic triangles, isn't someone always left out?

About 20 minutes after the aforementioned trinity broke the seal, the dance floor was crowded with the club's other patrons. The assembly was mostly couples in their early 20s and late 30s. The dress varied from casual chic to downplayed dressy. I seized the opportunity and pulled Sally onto the dance floor, leaving Al to fend for himself. We locked our bodies into position and began dipping and hopping to the pop beats. I twirled her around, noting the contrast between her fiery curls and the white stone and sheetrock walls, which were spotted with large tribal discs, perfect for the tribal activity surrounding us.

I spotted a few overly sexual couples or trios, and a few partners who were flat-out making out on the dance floor. Not that I'm one to judge, and I don't want to sound prudish, but I couldn't help but think about that poor brunette who was cast away from the dancing trio. Was it OK for her "friends" to make out in front of her, isolating her? I think not. What would I do about this otherwise unnoticed social indecency? Nothing.

I was grateful. Not only did we seize a good time, but after a few songs, Al joined Sally and me on the dance floor; no one made out and we took pleasure in the freewheeling movement, even the third wheel. I realized that, as engaging as Chrome was, it was the fact that I was among friends that made the night what it was.

I'm not sure what became of the brunette, but I'd like to think she read her friends the riot act, and put an end to their awkward PDAs.