The Lilac People

by Milo Todd

He could see the lights of the club before its dark brown walls in the evening haze, darker and more alluring than the rest of the wide intersection. ELDORADO, it declared from the front of its diagonal cut, its neon red bleeding onto the street. Bright light spilled out of the windows of all five stories, those on the ground floor plastered with posters for privacy and enticement. Balconies graced both sides of the higher levels as the building fanned out from its corner like a flock of geese. A long strip of mural wrapped itself around the east side between the ground and first floors: people holding banners, dancing, and having a good time. Under the neon buzz of ELDORADO were sturdy cutouts. A young woman with a dark bob smiled coyly behind a translucent folding fan, a large question mark printed upon it. Beneath her, just above the doors, were the faces of a man and woman on the left and right, his dark hair slicked back, her blond waves ending just past her ears, both wearing gloss and shadow, both grinning and winking. HIER IST’S RICHTIG! was the proclamation between them. Here it’s right. The slogan repeated itself directly beneath, wedged into the thin strip of the overhang, to make sure you saw, to make sure you did not forget. For anything worthwhile was also worth repeating. Bertie glanced at the little kiosk nailed to the left side of the doors, full of advertisements and pamphlets and show schedules. Sometimes he refilled material from the Institut there hims...