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Even before he got sober, Frank Langdon was not the biggest fan of clubs.
The drink prices, the terrible music, the heat from the proximity to others. People covered in sweat and glitter and God knows what else. It was never his scene.
Which is why, now that he's a year sober, he has no idea how he let Mel talk him into going to a club on a Friday night.
Well, technically, Garcia had talked Mel into it, who in turn talked Frank into it. Semantics aside, Frank was spending his Friday night sitting in a booth, nursing a Coca Cola, watching Mel and Yolanda jump around on the dance floor to some terrible Top 40 song from ten years ago.
He had to admit, however, he was quite enjoying just watching. He rarely got to see this side of Mel; carefree, loose, allowing herself to enjoy the present without regard for anyone else around her. She'd taken her braid out, hair flowing down her back as she moved about the dance floor.
Her current disposition was most definitely aided by the three vodka cranberry's she'd had, a fourth gripped tightly in her hand. Garcia was the same number deep, having bet Mel that they could go drink for drink. What Garcia didn't know—or Frank, for that matter—was that Mel was no lightweight. The girl was tiny, but she could hold her alcohol. Where Garcia had started to feel the effects after drink number two, Mel seemed like she hadn't had a single drop.
Frank had had to convince Mel on the way over that she could drink in front of him. She'd worried, convinced that this would test his sobriety. He'd reassured her that if he thought it would be a problem, he wouldn't be going in the first place. That didn't stop her from worrying, biting the skin off her bottom lip.
Until she was in the club, a vodka cranberry pushed into her hand by Garcia, and Megan Thee Stallion blasting through the club speakers. Mel let Yolanda pull her to the middle of the dance floor, leaving Frank in the booth to watch. It took Mel a minute to loosen up, letting the mix of alcohol and music seep into her body, replacing the anxiety of being in a crowd.
A song Frank can't name but knows is Beyoncé begins to blare through the club speakers. Even from halfway across the room in the mix of dim and neon lighting, he sees Mel's face light up, a smile stretched from ear to ear.
He watches her down the rest of her drink, throw her arms up in the air, toss her head back, and mouth all of the words. Yolanda does the same, although a little looser than Mel, clearly affected by the three and a half drinks she'd consumed.
When the song ends, Mel joins him at the booth, Garcia still out on the floor, dancing to the next song. Mel slides into the booth next to him and gets close to his ear so he can hear her over the music.
"Can we stay at your house tonight?" Mel asks, words not the least bit slurred. Her breath is warm on his ear as she talks, and despite the heat, it sends a shiver down his spine.
"Whatever you want, sweetheart."
"Okay, good, because your living room is bigger and you don't have neighbors to worry about."
Frank has absolutely no idea what she has planned, but he's excited to find out. Slightly nervous, he has to admit, but still excited.
"Garcia said that Trinity will be here soon, so once she gets here we can go if you want," Mel adds.
"You sure? You look like you're having a lot of fun."
"I am having fun, but there's something I want to do at home that will also be a lot of fun."
Frank's ears perk up, along with the corners of his mouth (and maybe one other part of him.)
"Yeah, okay," he chokes out. "Once Trinity's here we can go."
Mel smiles widely at him. "Great, I'll go tell Garcia we're gonna head out soon."
Frank watches how her hips sway as she walks away and has to take a long sip of his drink to settle himself. The glass is cold in his hand and it keeps him just grounded enough to convince himself he shouldn't pull Mel into a bathroom to suck bruises into her skin.
He was already practicing self control, a little more would do him well.
Five minutes later, Trinity is sauntering onto the dance floor next to Garcia and Mel. Within fifteen seconds, Mel has said her goodbyes, and is walking back over to him. She grabs his hand, pulls him out of the booth, and leads him out of the club. This was most definitely a different side of Mel, one he'd have to learn how to bring out of her while sober. He liked it, the directness, the slight assertiveness, the anxiety-free, taking up space side.
Mel hooks her phone up to the car speaker before she even has the door closed.
"Baby, seem like everywhere I go, I see you
From your eyes I smile, it's like I breathe you
Helplessly I reminisce, don't want to
Compare nobody to you."
She's dancing in her seat, moving her shoulders and bopping her head to the beat of the song. This he was used to, she did it every morning on their way to work. He'd given her aux powers very early on, curious to learn what type of music she enjoyed. His taste was pretty basic, best described as "divorced dad rock" and mid-2000s alternative that he grew up with. Frank wasn't super up to date on new music, but Mel had done a good job at expanding his horizons.
She had not, however, played that much Beyoncé for him. Megan Thee Stallion, Kendrick Lamar, these were her staples, the songs she'd start her days with to get herself in the right mind space. He knew titles, he knew lyrics, in some cases he knew lore. He'd definitely heard the song playing right now before, but even for a million dollars couldn't give the name of it.
The next song plays, another one Frank can't name even if his life depended on it. Mel continues shimmying in her seat, quietly singing along to the words.
"I ain't worried, doin' me tonight
a little sweat ain't never hurt nobody
while y'all standing on the wall
I'm the one tonight gettin' bodied."
He liked listening to her sing or rap along to whatever she played. It was her moment of freedom, where she didn't have to mask or put on a front for everyone else. She was just Mel, letting herself go. It was his favorite version of her.
They're in his driveway before the third song is over.
"Do you want to wait until the song is over?" He asks her. Mel didn't always love cutting songs off in the middle, preferring to wait until it was over to get out of the car.
She pauses the song. "No, we can go in." There's still a wide smile plastered across her face.
He lets her walk in front of him, trying to judge her movements for signs of inebriation, and finding none. He has no idea where all the alcohol was stored in her body, but wherever it was, it wasn't affecting her the way it affected most people.
They kick their shoes off next to the front door. Frank waits for Mel's cue to see what's coming next. She clearly had something planned in that mind of hers.
"Can you get Netflix set up?" She asks. "I'm gonna go get changed real quick, I'll be right back."
"Yeah, no problem."
She's up the stairs before all of the words are even out of his mouth. He laughs to himself, but complies with her request of pulling up Netflix. Whatever he thought she was thinking, movie night was not at the top of that list.
When Mel returns downstairs, her hair is down, and she's wearing a pair of jean shorts, one of Frank's old college sweatshirts, and a pair of Converse. Definitely not her typical sleep attire or her comfy clothes.
She stops in the middle of the living room, examining her surroundings.
"I need your help with something," she says. Frank quirks an eyebrow at her, growing more curious by the minute at what she has planned. "I need you to help me move the coffee table."
"Why?"
"I require an open space."
Mel offers no additional information, and Frank's curiosity has most definitely gotten the better of him. He helps Mel push the coffee table to the corner of the living room.
"Perfect," Mel cheers. "I just need one more thing."
She disappears back up the stairs. Frank tries to listen to her footsteps to see where she went, but can't quite decipher her path.
Mel comes back down with one of Penny's toys, an Elsa microphone that plays songs from Frozen.
"Alright, I'm ready."
"Are we having a singalong?" Frank jokes.
"Something like that," Mel replies, completely serious. She grabs the remote and navigates to the search function on Netflix. Frank watches the letters B-E-Y appear on the screen before Mel clicks over to the first option.
HOMECOMING: A Film by Beyoncé
The ta-dum plays through the TV speakers, as images of a desert fill the screen.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice on the TV says. "Welcome to Beyoncé Homecoming 2018."
Frank had to admit that he was not all that familiar with Beyoncé's music. Of course he knew Single Ladies, the songs that had made it to radio, and the few Mel had played, but not enough that could fill a whole festival's worth of music.
"Are you ready to be amazed?" Mel asks.
Frank still has no idea what to expect. All he can do is nod, confusion still plain on his face. He sits down in the middle of the couch so he has a front row seat to whatever it is Mel is about to do.
"I'm actually gonna need you to move over a little bit," Mel informs him, making a small pushing gesture with her hand. "I need a lot of space for this."
He slides to the end of the couch, leaving the middle wide open for Mel. What could she possibly be about to do that requires the middle of the floor completely open and most of the couch?
Beyoncé appears on the screen, followed by a line of dancers.
Mel takes a deep breath as the camera zooms in on one dancer in the middle of the stage. Just as the woman starts dancing, Mel does too. It's nothing like how she danced at the club, all arms and shoulders, but whole body moving.
The more impressive part is that Mel doesn't miss a beat. She's not as languid as the dancer on screen, she's clearly a little nervous, but she's not letting it stop her.
Frank watches in amazement as Mel moves her whole body, especially her hips. Whatever he was expecting, it certainly was not this. There's a section in the instrumentals, right after Beyoncé comes back on stage, where Mel follows as she shakes her ass. Frank had never been happier to have a front row seat to anything in his life.
The first actual song to play is one that Frank knows, Crazy In Love. Mel brings the toy microphone to her mouth and sings the words, not missing a step in the choreography.
There's a section in the first chorus where Beyoncé sits on the metal riser on stage. Mel has made the couch her riser, taking a seat next to him to continue this part of the dance.
So that's why she needed the middle of the couch, Frank thinks, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
His smile turns to an all out, open mouth gape as the beat drops and Mel joins in on the full out ass shaking and popping that occurs on the screen.
It has to be the alcohol, he thinks. There was no way in hell that Mel would ever do this sober, especially in front of someone else. She'd be too timid, to anxious about what people thought. Even him, though he'd never—and would never—make her feel ashamed or self conscious about anything she did.
He has so many questions he wants to ask. When did you learn all this? How long did it take? Why haven't you done this for me yet? Will you please do it again?
She's one song in of a two hour performance, and Frank never wants it to end.
Three songs follow Crazy In Love, complete with Mel singing every line and dancing every step, before an intermission occurs. Mel sits next to Frank on the couch, while black and white behind the scenes film of Beyoncé plays on the screen.
Mel catches the look of complete bewilderment on Frank's face. Smiling, she says, "Told you that you'd be amazed."
Frank struggles to make any words come out of his mouth. Finally he's able to stammer, "Where'd you learn to do all that?"
"I was in college when this came out. I used it to decompress from studying or after a difficult exam. It took me half a semester and the whole summer to learn all the choreography."
"And you still remember it?"
"Oh, uh, I practice it, like once a month, just to make sure I can still do it. The lyrics are easy enough, I knew most of the songs already. The dancing is a little more difficult, but it's mostly muscle memory at this point. Plus I have to do it when my neighbors aren't home; I made that mistake once and they were not happy."
"You practice this once a month?" Frank asks, mouth suddenly dry as the desert Beyoncé was performing in. Mel nods. "And you've never shown me?"
Mel flushes, a little embarrassed. "I've never shown anyone, not even Becca. I'm not the best dancer and some of these moves are a little. . ." She takes a moment to think of the right word. "Risqué."
"Baby, you're a great dancer. I think you should dance more."
She laughs, and her cheeks flush a bit deeper. "You've never seen me dance before tonight."
He leans in close. "And that is a damn shame. You're doing very well. Thank you for letting me be the first one—" the only one "—to see this."
Mel closes the gap, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it, because there's a lot of show left."
Frank doesn't think "enjoy" even begins to encapsulate how he's feeling right now. Stunned, shocked, amazed, captivated, even those words weren't enough.
She rises from the couch as the intermission ends and takes her place in the center of the floor.
Frank settles back into the couch, wishing he had a bowl of popcorn to enjoy his show with. His new favorite show, never to be beaten by anything else that could ever exist. Tomorrow morning he'd download Beyoncé's entire discography onto his Spotify and dedicate the rest of his life to learning every word of every song.
She'd given him this wonderful gift, the least he could do was give her one more monthly listener.
Mel was right, it was all muscle memory. Every hair flip, hip roll, hand motion, and footstep were ingrained in her the same way her name was. Each movement as intentional as the ones she made in the emergency room. There were sections of choreography where she wasn't even facing the TV screen, yet still almost perfectly mimicking the dancers on stage.
Frank barely even watched the screen, only catching bits of it out of the corner of his eye. His focus had solely been on Mel since the first beat dropped.
Two hours later, Mel is planted on the couch next to him, panting, sweat dripping from her forehead while the credits roll.
"So, what'd you think?" She asks breathlessly.
Frank has so many thoughts racing through his mind. Above all, the one he speaks aloud is, "I've never been more turned on."
"Really?" She scrunches her nose up in that adorable way he loves so much. The way she does when she thinks he's only telling her what she wants to hear, not something that was completely, one hundred percent factual. It was always factual. He'd never lie to her.
"Yes," he breaths out. "Are you tired after all that?"
"Not really. I am very sweaty, though."
"I don't care."
"Frank—"
"We can shower after."
A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.
As Mel climbs into his lap and attaches their lips together, all Frank can think about is how to get her to dance for him again and again and again.