The Color Club, situated between B & B Barbecue and Kelly's barbershop in Oklahoma, is much like any large club except they have an extra dedication toward whooping it up.

Big Rick, the club owner, four-feet eleven, donned a typical solid navy blue blazer and stogie hung from the left corner of the mouth, escorted our seven-piece band to the stage.

Pointing to the outlets, "You can plug in your amplifiers over there and there," Big Rick explained. "If you need me, just ask anyone. They will know where to find me."

"I think we will be okay," I said, looking at my backup team who nodded in agreement.

Big Rick exited the stage through a door in the back corner.

"Are you kidding me? Big Rick?" One of the band members remarked. "The poor guy is a midget."

"I bet the poor guy's pocketbook isn't small, " I said. "This is a convention center compared to The Juke joint's crowd where we're used to playing, so shut up and set up your drums."

On stage, we boogied to nearly eight hundred capacity crowd. Our bare-chests sported gold fringed leather western vest. Satiny silver bell-bottom pants completed the seventies look. Two steps left, two steps right, step kick, step kick, radiating charm and enthusiasm to the music as the people were getting loose, sweaty and dancing like idiots. Some chose to have a good time cuddling up with a warm body around the perimeters and in dark corners. Suddenly, a giant, burly fella stood in front of the stage, gazing at us as we performed. Bouncing up and down, rocking back and forth, he reminded me of Frankenstein. I glanced over at the other band members to see if they were aware of the giant in front of us.

No one noticed, so I gave the matter no mind. There have been many observers in awe of our performances. Anxiously, they often made themselves known to us in various ways. Standing in from the stage was one of them, of course. And when the groupies were women, they wanted the members of the band for an after hour party upon completion of the gig. But when they were men, it usually was a yearning to win a job as a musician.

So, I scanned the club as I continued to perform. Around the club, the waitresses, dressed skimpily, carried glowing trays. They were wiping tables from spilled drinks, swapping drinks for money, and hassling drunks for spilling drinks on the floor.

Our loud music had people excited. As the leader, I gave the cue to stretch the section coming up in the music by raising my hand. On the dance floor, people were laughing and shouting in each other's ears to be heard. Above the dance floor, the pulsing lights radiated on the sweat trickling down the necks of the girls and the shirts of the guys stuck to their skins. Nevertheless, Frankenstein now switched his focus from the band to me alone.

For a split second, I was annoyed, but that turned to bewilderment. After taking a second look at the powerfully-built, awkward dancer staring at me, I felt afraid. Although I had been out of high school only three months, I prided myself on being a sensible person.

I hadn't been in this situation before. This could be embarrassing if his gaping went any further. I wished I were in Dallas. The challenge to my manhood would not be threatened in front of so many people. But there is one thing in my favor and that is this crowd does not know me and I'm going the other way after the set. Tense from Frankenstein's gaping, I turned my attention to the dancing busty woman, dressed scantily, rotating her top part as she swirled her bottom. The uncoordinated guy dancing with her was doing his best to keep up with her, which diminished my delight in her exhibition with his poorly rhythmic head movements.

I raised my hand, using my fingers when we came to another section in the music for the drummer to solo, "1, 2, 3 ", and then instantly before I finished the count, our sound system stopped working. On stage with no power meant all the amplifiers, giant speakers, electric guitars, and microphones conked out.

The now dark sizeable room in full party mood turned to pandemonium. As we scrambled about checking the connection, scratching our heads, numb to what to do next, the drummer said, "The crowd is angry and beginning to get restless, fast, Jeff."

Flippantly, I grumbled, "No kidding. A news flash. Just what we need."

Because of the streetlights radiating through the opened doors at the entry, the club was not completely dark. I could see Frankenstein in front of the stage rigidly stomping from side to side. The gigantic fella made a rumbling sound that increased to a large exhale, and with one big leap, was suddenly upon the stage. The one thing I would never have imagined happening transpired. Frankenstein was standing face to face with me.

Close up, Frankenstein's stone face was menacing as I gazed into his Adam's apple. I was motionless and interested in knowing his intentions for being on stage. Other times, the band would be too ready to assist in this matter if it was a woman. They ogled at Frankenstein's presence with gentle smiles.

Clearing my throat, I belched to the broad-chested monster, "Ah. . . We have this under control." His belly button eyes connected with mine, causing me to sweat, particularly in my hands.

His words were separated in an unchanging tone, "Play. Play, music."

I look around at the guys in the band but they turned away from making eye contact with me. I couldn't believe this guy. I now saw why the guy has been probing me the whole night. He wanted trouble.

Stumbling over my words, "I don't . . . no, I don't believe that's possible," I confessed.

"Play music, now. You play, now, " he said, making an odd noise coming from his bobbing Adam's apple.

I was eyeing the exit, believing I could make it if he reached for me.

"Dunkley. Dunkley." A shout coming from the entry. "Let those people alone."

It was Big Rick returning from taking care of the light problem.

"I do no harm. I say. Play music. Really. I do no harm." Frankenstein cried.

"Don't mind him guys," said Big Rick. "He's a little slow. Dunkley is my wife's retarded brother. He loves music. He gets a kick out the live bands we have here. He didn't harm anyone, did he?"

"Oh no, everything is fine. In fact, I was explaining to . . . Dunkley is it?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's right, " said Big Rick.

I giggled. "I was explaining to the kind gentleman that we didn't have any power."

"Oh yeah, about that. We blew a fuse last week. The electrician replaced the fuse. But, I think the problem is worse this time. Anyway, I'll take care of it, boys. You boys will be paid for a full night. Go ahead and pack up. That's it for tonight. We enjoyed your music."

From that night at the Color Club, I learned the people there love whooping it up. But if everything were to fail and put me in a bind, my band members would not come to my aid; not unless that threat was of the female persuasion.