Steve Strange, A Friend To Strangers.

In 1983 I took time off from working the door of the Bains-Douches to visit friends in London. Haoui and friends from Dancetria. All of them on Holidayeyy ravved about the Camden Palace and the New Romantic scene. We were granted entry, but once inside I realized that at 30 I was the oldest person in the club. Leigh Bowery was on stage. I felt extremely out of place in my declasse New Wave grey suit and retreated to the bar.

After sipping my gin-tonic someone lisped to me, "You look like you could use a friend. Want to come to the bathroom and do some blow. My name is Steve. Steve Strange."

"But of course," I replied to the foppishly attired Romantic.

Passing through the crowd, everyone called his name.

"I'm no one, I just run this place.

Inside the toilet stall, he hauled out Bolivian flake and we huffed lines.

Someone banged on the door.

"Oh fuck off." Steve sounded like a wicked 007 and I laughed, as we exited to face a well-built square. He looked like a copper, but said, "I'm a Royal Marine. I know what you were doing. Cocaine. I should arrest you.

" "Wouldn't you rather do a bump with me?"

"Sure."

Steve waved me off saying, "See you at the bar in ten."

And I felt so at home.

I danced to Boy George and stayed till closing, after which Steve's entourage retired to his flat and finish off his blow.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to move on you. You're not my type."

Ah, the 80s.

Lovely man, Steve Strange, a friend to strangers. 1983 I'm at the Camden Palace . I'm working at the Bains-Douches. The post-teen clientele was profoundly New Romantic led by Leigh Bowery out in their pooftah splendor.. I was in South Shore punk attire. Leather coat black shirt dirty jeans. I felt so out of touch with the Now and even worse at 32 old. I'm contemplating cutting out. A gender-fluid male sidles up to the bar and whispers in my ear, "you look like you could use a line of Charley." His fey clothing was too elaborate to be a snitch and he led me by the hand to the Gents. In the stall we huff two huge lines each. Not Euro coke. Peru. Having worked the Jefferson I knew the difference. He started to kneel, saying, "You want a kiss?" Before I answered someone knocked on the door, shouting, "Open up. It's the Royal Marines." My host opens the door without any alarm to a drunken razor headed broad-shouldered Jarhead. "You're both under arrest " "Fuck off, ya cunt. This is my club." "You're Steve Strange???" His eyes widened with realized pleasure. "I love Visage." My host smiled, "Thank you. Would care for a line?" He winked at me and I said, "I'll see you at the bar." And like that I was In.