Woody's Clubhouse

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Winston?" Peter Venkman lowered his PKE meter and looked round the interior of the dark, single floored dance club. Music pounded rhythmically from large speakers and the air was redolent of leather, beer and strong after-shave. The exasperated black man nodded as he snagged the coverall sleeve of Dr. Raymond Stantz.

"Ray, there are no women in this bar." Winston pointed out to the youngest Ghostbuster, who was waving enthusiastically at the club's owner.

"Yeah, I know Winston. It's a guy's only club. Cool, huh!" he grinned widely at his two friends, who looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Guy's only, huh?

They were trying to figure a way to tell Ray of their suspicions when Dr. Spengler came in and made their job harder. The preoccupied physicist was centered intently on his ever-present PKE meter and made it clear that he too thought this was simply a 'guys only' club.

"Raymond was fortunate to talk the owner of this establishment into letting us monitor here," the blond man pointed out mildly, "these Gentlemen's Clubs usually don't encourage outsiders. Father needed three references and a long-term enrolment in the local golf club to qualify for his. We would never have been allowed to experiment at the Ohio Pickwickian Men's Club." Egon fiddled with a dial then smacked the meter with his free hand. It made a sharp ping noise and he nodded with satisfaction.

"Shall you tell them, or shall I?" Venkman asked, eyeing his clueless colleagues. "To heck with it, I like a challenge." Peter motioned Ray in closer and whispered something in his ear.

"No!" Ray looked at him with disbelief. Peter gestured out at the crowd and Ray took a harder look at the clubs patronage. Men lounged about with beers pressed into their shoulders, tapping their feet to the pounding music. Men dressed in tight leather pants, some with long leather coats, some in...leather straps held together with metal rings and studs. There was a marked tendency towards leather codpieces and body piercing as well. Rays eyes got very large, very fast. Ooops.

"Oh Egon, would you come over here for a second?" Peter tried to get the attention of the tall blond, who had wondered further into the club.

"In a second Peter, I'm getting some interesting readings here." Egon followed the hot trail his meter was indicating, ignoring the curious glances he got from the club's patrons. The signal faded a little and he looked up to get his bearings.

"Hello Mr. Browning. Having a night off from the opera?" Egon looked into the startled face of one of the ticket operators at his favorite theatre. Mr. Browning - Rodney to his friends - was there with his partner, another thirty something mustachioed leatherman dressed in identical leather pants and straps who eyed Egon unhappily. He put a muscle bound arm round his lover's waist and hissed, "Introduce us, Rodney!" in a pointed tone of voice. Rodney swallowed nervously.

Back at the entrance Peter and Winston were about to be introduced to the clubs' owner, an older man with his gray hair in a long ponytail, wearing creased leather pants, vest, cap, wrist bracers and dirty biker boots. He smiled fixedly as Ray dragged him forwards to meet the rest of the Ghostbusting team.

"Guys, this is Woody. It's his club, that's why it's called Woody's Clubhouse!" Ray grinned. The others gave each other knowing looks, while Woody tried to pretend he wasn't there. Peter straitened the collar of his 'busting uniform and stepped forward.

"Nice to meet you sir." He held out his hand and Woody shook it uncertainly. "Interesting place you've got here. Lot's of quite, dark, contemplative corners. I'm sure Ray and Egon explained what we want to do tonight. Our readings for the club are quite unusual, and there's a real chance something big is going to happen, something supernatural in nature. Could be a pan dimensional breakthrough, time warp, stray black hole...like that. Or, it could just be psychic indigestion, we don't know. Our team just wants to monitor the place for a while, see how things turn out, take a few readings, run a few tests. Shouldn't last more than a week, tops."

He smiled ingratiatingly into the owner's watery gray/blue eyes, seeing the remnants of frozen terror there. Many had experienced it, himself included, when faced with his two scientist friend's uncomprehending naiveté. He could just imagine Ray and Egon cornering the poor guy and talking psychonic resonance at him while Woody desperately tried to pull his short muscle top down over his nipple rings. Spengs in particular would never pick up on some one else's discomfort, that's why he kept Peter around, to point out life's little nuances. Talking of Egon….

"Winston, could you go keep an eye on our friend over there, I think he's attracting a few admirers. I'll just talk with Woody here, get him to sign the standard waver and we can start monitoring." Winston hurried off to find Egon while Peter wrapped a friendly arm around Woody's shoulders and gestured at an empty table. "Shall we?"

Winston found Egon talking Waterford Crystal with a pair of leathermen in matching outfits. He gently pried the scientist away and led him through the ring of smiling admirers that had gathered to listen to the crystal debate. Suddenly Egon gave a little jump and stared round in consternation.

"Winston, someone just pinched my gluteus maximus." He said in much the same way as he would point out that it looked like rain, or, this being Egon, precipitation.

"Some one pinched your bum?" Winston translated, glaring round at those closest to them. The room smiled back, so he shepherded his friend in front of him and headed towards Peter's table.

Oh yeah, Zeddemore, he thought to himself, this is going to be one great week.

 

"Why does the door guy always say 'Wrong night, guys' like that to us?" Ray asked, unloading the two recording machines he held onto the table with a clatter of instruments and power cords.

"I don't know." Winston answered, saving a gold disc wavelength meter from tumbling to the ground. "Maybe he thinks we're somebody else." He replaced the meter next to the other less expensive ones and carefully blocked it from rolling again with the wine cooler Peter had brought. Dr. Venkman had brought the boxed wine along so they didn't have to fight their way to the bar again like they had on some of the previous nights.

It hadn't been too hard the first night, the Clubhouse really didn't have that big a leather crowd following and what there was tended towards the harmless fetish followers. The boys in black mostly stuck to their own bars, only coming here for Woody's liquor specials.

One of the reasons the Clubhouse did so well, Woody had explained, was that it catered for more than one type of client. The club had different themes for every night, complete with different drinks, music and even room makeovers. That wouldn't work for a lot of places, but for some reason it did here. And while leather night had been quite interesting, if a little claustrophobic, the next night had been far more happening, if a little frightening. It was the yuppie night from hell.

There had been wall-to-wall Armani, name brand beer in floods, the glint of gold watches and business cards flickering in the light. BMW key chains hung visible from every hip pocket. Smiles that sharks would envy displayed expensive orthodontic work. Peter had been in seventh heaven. He'd pressed the flesh and turned on the charm full blast. Venkman had half a dozen job orders and a whole rolodex deck of addresses by the time the night drew to a close.

Poor Egon had been squeezed into a corner all night with Ray and Winston standing guard on either side of him, neither man willing to move an inch. The smiling young up and comers had zoomed in on the physicist like bees to a honey pot. Something about Ray said 'too young', something about Winston said 'too straight', but Egon was 'just' what they wanted. He had the bruised 'gluteus maximus' to prove it. Luckily they had set up their monitoring equipment by the time the flanking in maneuver had become an apparent necessity, because they didn't get near any of it again until the Clubhouse shut for the night.

It had been worth putting up with the hassle however; the readings were fascinating. The first night's readings had been good, but these were better. They had now established that a veil of supernatural energy had settled over the dance floor, expanding to cover the rest of the Clubhouse at times too. It wasn't present during the day, possibly lying dormant until the crowds arrived to feed it. Egon and Ray had been up long into the night working on the curious results, correlating data, spinning theory. They had no idea what it all portended to.

Drag queen night hadn't been quite so tough on Egon's honor guard, or his gluteus maximus either. That was the first appearance of the wine cooler and they were glad Peter had thought of it, if only because they could now politely turn down offers to buy them more drinks. Besides, things looked savage over by the bar. Not even Winston dared go over to check the monitor there until everybody had gone home, although adjusting the rest of the equipment kept Egon amused for the evening. Once again Peter had had a great time, he and Ray got talking to a petite brunet called Toni about skin care and they booked the whole team in for a session, much to the other two's dismay.

The 'girls' had squealed and clucked over them all, especially Peter who had charmed a wooed them back. Winston told him later that he'd had a hard time coping with the flamboyance, and the psychologist had rested an understanding hand on his shoulder.

"They're not making fun of you, Winston." He said. "I know it might feel like it, or maybe that they're making fun of women, and you don't like that."

"Hey, that is how I felt, a bit. How'd you know that?"

"The great Venkman knows all, sees all!" Peter held a mystic hand to his forehead, then grinned and winked. "Nah, I just know you. Let me guess, when you were growing up, the other boys used to harass your sisters, right? And you always ended up protecting them." Winston nodded self-consciously. Geeze, he'd had to, they were his sisters. Wasn't like he was no hero or nothin. Peter gave him a knowing look.

"Any way, back then I bet I can imagine just how the boys used to do it. They talked real high, and put on super girly voices and threw their hands about - right?"

"Yeah, and it would really get on my nerves." Winston frowned at the memory. Kids, they could be little demons sometimes.

"Thought so. You're just reacting to the memory. The ladies tend to overcompensate for their, shall we say, lack of feminine genetics by going overboard on the stereotypical behavior. Out womaning the women, sort of thing."

"Yeah, creepy. And kind of sad." Winston felt bad about cringing so much at the club earlier, they had only been trying to talk to him, after all.

"Don't let it bother you, Zed. They might seem girly, but most of those ladies have balls of iron; they have to, to do what they do. It'd take a lot more than someone acting shy around them to ruin their day." Peter had taken out a small business card and now handed it over. "Besides, you get to rectify the matter this afternoon, when you go in for your facial. Ask for the cucumber scrub, it's to die for!"

Winston groaned and shook his head, but he took the card anyway. Maybe he would enjoy the pampering. Peter sure did!

 

They weren't sure what the next night was, but a lot of the patrons wore sunglasses. There had also been a plentiful amount of silver crosses and dark clothing with serious accessories. These men weren't interested in talking, just drinking and dancing the night away. There was a live band that night and it was fast and very loud.

The 'veil' they were monitoring hovered tightly over the dance floor, scarcely moving. Egon had observed like crazy, having to do double the work as Ray kept slipping off to join in the action on the dance floor. He was having so much fun that eventually Peter and even Winston joined in, making themselves a tight-knit group and thrashing about eagerly until closing. Egon had not been amused. Peter had teasingly threatened to get the scientist up as well before the week was done, and Winston and Ray had egged him on.

The very next morning Venkman had tricked the fair-haired Ghostbuster into owing him a favor. He'd virtuously taken out the trash for him, done some light laundry, calibrating the proton packs and fixed dinner. By the time Egon caught on (he was rather distracted by the number crunching he was doing) Peter had him in his power and was looking forward to his chance to collect.

Tonight was apparently fuzzy jumper and jeans night. Winston helped himself to a wine and orange juice, wondering where all that style gay's were supposed to have had gone to. It wasn't evident in this room. Some of those fuzzy jumpers were in way eye-watering colors. Pastel pink he could handle, it was the fluorescent mauve and bile yellow he wasn't sure of. And Woody's decision that hanging flowing white drapes everywhere gave the dark bar a lighter, bubblier personality just didn't gel.

Tonight Egon and Ray had narrowed their monitoring to one side of the dance floor. An area two feet from the ground was seeping minute ectoplasmic energy. What this signaled neither of them could tell, but Winston was standing guard over the proton packs that they had brought inside just in case.

Peter was having a tough time cracking the crowd tonight, these neat young men tended to giggle and look away when talked to. They seemed the antithesis of the drag queen set, being quiet, shy and retiring. Their only boldness was in the garish clothes and other accessories like lime green socks and metallic purple mobile phones. Peter noticed their hands flew around twice as much as even the queens had, in fact they tended to mime part of their conversations to each other, sometimes with very graphic depictions. Winston was fascinated.

The dancing that night was a big surprise. A DJ set up and the men danced as couples to old dance tunes. Fuzzy jumpers rubbed against each other, causing static electricity to zing through the air. The couple dances were followed by a few line dances, with the odd square dance thrown in, always returning to waltzes and other 'stepping out' like tunes afterwards.

"Here goes, guys." Peter smirked, getting up and nabbing Egon as he walked by with the ghost detector in his hands. Dumping the equipment's long pole and pump pack on the table Peter steered his victim out to the dance floor, where the multi-colored herd had gathered. Much to his annoyance the song changed from its current line dance (Achey Breaky Heart, Venkman knew the moves in his sleep) to a tango.

With smug humor Egon noted the shorter mans confusion and quickly took the lead. Too late Peter resisted, and he was forced to step backwards and dance the part of the woman. He wobbled briefly and struggled to keep up while Egon steered him through the crowd.

Peter was anything but a sore loser and after a few more stumbled steps followed Egon's lead with aplomb. Later they changed roles, moving back and forth in order to stay on the dance floor and not step off the edge. Winston and Ray laughed delightedly, while the rest of the dancers made room for the slightly unbalanced couple, swirling by them gracefully.

They had better luck with the next dance, a waltz. However Peter trod on Egon's feet repeatedly during the fox trot and Egon returned the favor during the jive. It wasn't until the salsa that they finally got it together. Ray and Winston didn't see them off the dance floor for the rest of the evening, and they argued about who did the best dipping all the way home.

 

The next night began oddly, with the man at the door not giving them the by now routine greeting - that they were on the wrong night. Tonight was obviously their night, and as they entered the club they soon saw why.

The biggest crowd ever was inside. Nothing unusual about them, just average guy's dressed in work clothes. Well, it was a little more complex than that. They were wearing work clothes. It was just that the Ghostbusters hadn't known there were quite so many police officers in the area. Or so many firemen, or paramedics, or....other Ghostbusters.

As the four genuine 'Busters stood gapping from the entrance, a sigh went up from the crowd. With determined control the wave of copycat Ghostbusters broke upon them, all eager to have their homemade proton packs admired, and if at all possible, signed. Surrounded by bright, eager faces the team listened to some seriously scary techno babble. Their admirers also trotted forth some rather bizarre theories and curly questions on the engineering of the packs.

Ray and Egon attempted to interact with the strange group of admiring men, and even Peter and Winston had to deal with a few, but eventually enough was enough, and their unlikely rescue came just in time. Woody picked up the bands MC microphone and told the excited gaggle of fans that the Ghostbusters were here on duty, and it would be politic to leave them alone to get on with it. Far from scaring patrons off, as their ponytailed friend had imagined, the fans drew back but kept in close proximity. The chance to observe their heroes up close was too alluring. And the threat of a possible ghostly visitation was exciting!

"Fans," as Venkman said to their host, "I love 'em, but sometimes they scare the socks off me. And I've faced Gozer, the World Destroyer."

Later, drinking his third admirer brought Black Label Bourbon over ice, Peter contemplated the vast wealth of untapped marketing possibilities. Apparently somewhere out there was an entire workshop full of mock up proton packs just waiting to have their official Ghostbusting logo marked on them. For a nominal fee, of course. He could practically taste the money rolling in.

"The one with the slicked hair, is he meant to be me?" asked Ray, eyeing the other red head, who kept winking at him from the bar.

"Yes Ray, I think he is." That was damned annoying, too. There were more Ray and Egon look-a-likes than there were Peter or Winston ones. And there were more Ghostbuster Joe's using their own names than the lot of 'em put together.

Peter knew the team found the number of 'particle beam throwers' that had had some modifications of a, um, delicate nature, done to them unsettling. Ray in particular had blushed bright red when he accidentally triggered one and it had sucked a packet of chips off the table. Egon had remained cool as usual, but one eyebrow had arched in unvoiced surprise. Peter'd never been desperate enough to try the old vacuum cleaner trick himself, now he was doubly averse to it. And the optional attachments...he'd thought Winston was going to have a stroke, if Ray didn't beat him to it.

"I have made some intriguing new readings." Egon said, coming up to the table from the dance floor "It has to do with the assembly tonights' reactions to us. There is a definite correlation between the phenomenon we have been observing and a reading Ray and I have catalogued previously as the psychic energy produced by a group mind. Crowds can project a psychic buzz, which others not in it can feel and be influenced by. I believe the activity at the Clubhouse is similar in nature. We have enough readings now to start making deductions."

"This your subtle way of saying you want to go home now?" Peter asked sardonically. "That's my line, you dialogue thief, you."

"Ah, Peter, the gentleman in the corner with the rather exotic face tattoo has been inquiring if the Ghostbusters do 'group activities'. It might be prudent to leave now before he offers to induct us into this most esoteric sounding activity...again." Egon mentioned delicately.

"We're outta here." Peter burst out of his seat and began making goodnight noises while Winston and Ray helped Egon collect their stuff. It took awhile to remove themselves from the Clubs patrons, Woody in particular was sad to see them go, they had been very good for business.

 

When they got back to the firestation the guys sat down at the kitchen table to serious discussion over some of Egon's delicious hot chocolate. The extra sugar worked wonders on the old Venkman synapses, because for once he saw the pattern to their unusual spectral readings before any of the others did.

"Atmosphere, guys. That elusive something you get in all the top night clubs." The others were looking at him with puzzled frowns. Peter turned to Winston, knowing he was the most likely to understand what he was talking about. "What makes one place hot one week, then deader than Ray's love life the next?"

"Hey!" Complained the red haired man, but Peter just gave him a smirk.

"Atmosphere!" he continued, "You can't control it, you can't buy it or hire it. You can't create it using a bag of magic beans. People have been trying to figure out how to make a place the next Big Deal for years! Nobody has a formula for keeping a nightclub hot 'n' happening, there doesn't seem to be any reason to it. What if," Peter narrowed his eyes, getting up to pace, then turned back with resolve. "What if there's a synergy between night clubs and that phenomenon we've been studying. We know already that ectoplasm responds well to music and that it can pass on its 'happy vibes'," He did a comma thing in the air, something he hated when anyone else did it, but the guys let him get away it because the Venkman was on a roll.

"What if this veil or whatever it is can enhance the feelings of those nearby? Then it's the presence of the veil that would make a nightspot hot! The reason you can't predict which place is going to be hotter than my tooshie or flatter than Janine's chest is because it doesn't depend on who's on the guest list, what color the drinks are or whether or not you're playing the latest music. It all depends on where the veil floats to on the city's ectoplasmic stream. Do you have any idea how much money we could make just by selling a few simple flow charts?"

"I wonder if we could make something to pin the veil down." Zeddemore wondered. "One of my cousins has a nightclub and you're right. He does everything to keep that place afloat, but nothing works. One night, bam, place was jumping. Stayed that way for almost three months, then it was dead again. I'd love to give him something to keep the place hopping."

"I don't know, Winston." Egon cradled his chin in one hand, frowning into the middle distance. "We'd be playing with something that's been in motion for a very long time. Who knows what the consequences of halting it would be? You might cause a dam that would eventually break free, leading to a catastrophe."

"Aw, Egon, we'd do research before doing anything, you know that." Ray grinned, eager to start building the equipment for the research right away. His hands flew out expressively and by chance he caught sight of his watch as it flew by. "Oh my gosh, it's nearly three. Winston, if we want to get any Mexican for our late night snack we'd better go now." Ray sprang out of his chair and headed for the exit. "Guys, turn on the TV, if I'm not back by the time the Creature Feature starts, tell me what happens."

"In the breaks this time." Winston admonished as they left, trying to decide if he wanted a deluxe chili or cheesy bean delight. Mmm, tacos, one of his favorite food groups.

Egon and Peter cleared away the kitchen and got out plates ready for the returning feast. They then made some popcorn and dragged out a large bottle of soft drink and glasses and took them out to the couch in front of the TV. They talked about Peter's idea the whole time, intrigued with the possibility that something like this may have been going on undetected for centuries.

Peter flipped on the TV, and both he and Egon grinned when they realized a Ginger Rogers and Fred Astair movie was playing. In fact they were doing a dance number right now, one of the ones they'd danced to at Woody's so well. Not missing a beat, Peter extended his hand. "Doctor Spengler?" he asked.

"Doctor Venkman?" Egon arched one of his eyebrows, but held out a hand any way. Peter grabbed it and they started dancing. They moved enthusiastically round the room, mostly holding each other upright rather than directing anything.

"So, am I Fred or Ginger?" Peter asked.

"Well, I am the suspender wearing one of our duo." Egon informed him soberly.

"Ginger it is then. But you know, she did do everything Fred did, only backwards and wearing high heels." Peter fluttered his eyelashes. Egon laughed, startling Peter, who marveled how he could feel the deep bass rumble of it. It tickled down along his friend's body where they pressed together. He held on a little tighter, enjoying the sensation.

A little winded from dancing and laughing so much, Egon misjudged the next turn and tripped on the rug, heading for the couch. He sat abruptly, taking Peter with him.

Peter had a couple of seconds to decide what to do, roll sideways onto the couch, push up backwards till he could stand, or do what he did, which was to land straddling Spengler's legs. He ended up in Egon's lap, looking at him eye-to-eye and smiling evilly. They leaned their foreheads together and laughed. It took awhile for them to calm down, but the hilarity finally stopped, and there was Peter, still in Egon's lap.

The moment felt right, so Peter brought a hand up and curved it lightly behind Egon's neck, gently caressing it. Their lips met in a brief, unplanned kiss, then they drew back.

"You know, they say dancing should be like little love stories." Peter mentioned, idly playing with the tail of hair that trailed down Egon's neck. "Two people meet, they fall in love, they part." He searched the blue, blue eyes of the man in front of him, looking for what he hoped to find. "It's catchy, it's cute, but so not happening. Hey Spengs," he nudged the other man with his hips, "let's you and me write a different ending to that script."

"An intriguing suggestion." Egon rumbled, startled by the words and by the look Peter was giving him, enjoying having his hair played with. "How exactly should the tale end? Two people meet, they work together in a successful business, they grow close, they...doubt their feelings will ever be reciprocated, until one of them blithely poses a question, whereupon they fall in love and live happily in mutual contentment ever after."

"I like that ending." Peter encouraged, seeing exactly what he wanted to see in Egon's eyes. "That's a great story! Lets sell the movie rights and move to Hawaii on the proceeds!"

"Hawaii, indeed. You talk far to much, Doctor Venkman." Egon scolded him gently. "There is another activity to which I have observed you put that overly talkative mouth, with, I might add, the entirely wrong people. I should like to get aquatinted with said activity myself." Egon smiled at him seductively with half lidded eyes. Peter blinked before he realized what Egon was talking about, his stomach doing a half turn before relaxing in relief.

"Okay, happy to oblige my adoring ...mmph!" Peter began, and then Egon was kissing him and he couldn't speak any more.

Egon brought both his hands up to grasp at the material of Peter's shirt. He tightened his grip as Peter set his blood on fire, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss. Peter kept one hand at Egon's neck, making sure he couldn't get away, while with the other he began tugging at Egon's braces, trying to get them off. He'd been planning this since they had danced together that first night. Seeing those couples, happy and out, had awaken a yearning within him, one he had felt before, but denied, too scared, too chicken shit to respond. The synergy that had quickly built between them as they danced had gone a long way to assuaging his fear of rejection. At long last released, his feelings surged forward like a tidal wave.

He'd succeeded in dislodging the stretchy straps from his roommate's shoulders when Ray and Winston returned, bearing bags and cartons of food. They reached the TV room just as Egon had accomplished un-tucking Peters shirt and was running his hands under it enthusiastically. By now Peter had Egon's shirt undone and was nibbling his way down the blond's neck, headed towards the tiny nipple his fingers had found earlier. When he reached it he took it in his mouth, flicking the nub with his tongue. Egon moaned and dropped his head back on the couch.

If Ray's eyes could have come out on stalks at that moment they would have, and Winston felt he'd need a hoist to get his jaw back off the floor. Grabbing the younger mans arm he pulled him away to the kitchen, where they had a quick conversation before deciding Creature Feature could be watched on the portable TV at the foot of Rays bed. They loaded themselves with edibles and drinks before creeping away up stairs. Ray took a peek back as he climbed, blushed bright pink and hurried after Winston, who had the better part of the taco feast tucked under one arm. Well, even if his best friends were doing strange things on the couch to each other there was no reason to go hungry over it, Winston felt.

"The...the guy's are back." Egon gasped, freeing one hand to push his glasses in place.

"They get dinner?" Peter asked distractedly, moving from one nipple to suckle at the other.

"I...ah...yes, they had bags with them. I think they left ours in the kitchen."

"Good." Peter grinned, rising up and pulling Egon's shirt then his own off and throwing them behind the couch. "Cause we're gonna need something to help us keep our strength up, later." And he took his friends mouth again, pausing just long enough to remove and secure Spengler's glasses before sinking out of sight in a lagoon of red-hot nookie.

 

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