By New Times
By Connor Radnovich
By Robrt L. Pela and Amy Silverman
By Ray Stern
By Keegan Hamilton
By Matthew Hendley
By Monica Alonzo
By Monica Alonzo
A plush, blue-lit chapel of sin, with a black square bar for an altar: That's Scottsdale's Next on the inside. Slanted wood beams give the illusion of a church's peaked ceiling. Arty pics of nude chicks line the walls, and equally hot waitresses keep the booze flowing like the Colorado River.
It's Wednesday night, Batucada night, and that means P-town's high priests of house, Pete "Supermix" Salaz and DJ Senbad are spinning tables and dropping science on their congregation of club cuties, house heads, and b-boys, most of whom seem to be dancing with themselves. Here in the mix, of course, is your beloved Jabba the Butt (that be me), and the Zona's own Queen of Home Team Play, the Sapphic Selma Blair, a.k.a. Jett.
"Damn," I say, checkin' the capacity crowd. "If this is hump-night, imagine if Batucada was on Fridays."
"It's because of Salaz and Senbad," replies the Jettster, ready to bitch-slap the evening. "They areBatucada, and people come from all over to party with them, playboy."
"I hear ya. Let's step outside and conversate with folks as they take a break. It's too live in here to do anything but get your swerve on."
Out on Next's postage stamp-sized patio, we run into two striking lovelies, the first being Azure Jones, 26, a tall beauty with skin the color of a caf-latte and a short afro with blond highlights. Beside her is her girl Chrissy Lopez, 22, an adorable lass with brown locks past her bared shoulders. Lopez is in a beige halter, and Jones is rockin' an off-the-shoulder blouse with a pink floral pattern.
"Why are you gals here tonight?" I ask, innocently.
"I'm a huge fan of house music," explains Azure. "And I'm an especially big fan of the DJs, particularly Senbad."
"Azure is Senbad's girlfriend and life-partner," says Jett, who knows Azure from way back. "She's really into big guys, Kreme. Like Senbad."
"I certainly am," says Azure, noting my obvious excitement. "But I'm taken."
"That's what they always tell me," I sigh. "So when you're not out supporting your man, what do you do to maintain?"
"I'm a massage therapist," says the alluring Azure. "I have my own clients, but I also work out of the Sanctuary resort."
"Ever have a client you'd rather not touch, no matter what the chedda?" inquires Jett.
"Well, really hairy men do bother me," she responds.
"Like hair on the back?" asks the J-grrl, all grossed out. Azure nods her head.
"What about hairy man-teats?" I ask in half-jest. "Assuming you do fronts."
Jett slugs my shoulder like Iron Mike on 'roids. "Kreme, be nice!"
"Ow! Sorry, Azure -- just joshing," I say. "Sanctuary's a swank spot. Ever rub down anyone famous?"
"Wait a sec, you got to rub down Britney? You mean, you saw her nekkid?" I ask.
"Only as much as you do with the outfits she wears," says Azure slyly. "I really shouldn't elaborate further."
"How 'bout you, Chrissy? What's your story?" Jett asks.
"I'm a stylist at Sachi right down the road here," she tells us, beaming a set of pearly whites that'd put Maria Sharapova to shame.
"So what's big in hair now?" I wonder. "Bangs? I see bangs everywhere."
"It depends on your facial structure," says Chrissy.
I strike a profile. "Would bangs work for me?"
"Uh, I think short works for you," she says, taking in my globe-like puss. "But most guys in Scottsdale like the metrosexual look. About 80 percent of guys who live here are metrosexual. They look gay, but they aren't. A lot of guys get pedicures and get waxed."
"But would you want to date a guy who's prettier than you?" asks Jett.
"I would," says Chrissy. "I've dated guys like that."
About this time, Azure excuses herself, and this fella named Cadre Hanson, 23, takes her place. He's got on a sharp, striped shirt, has dark, spiked hair, and is "sweating balls," having just come from the dance floor. Cadre tells us that Chrissy does his hair. He's also a massage therapist, and a valet at the Phoenician.
"I don't like to brag, but all my clients would marry me if I popped the question," bubbles Chrissy. "I'll show you: Cadre, if I proposed to you while you're in the chair, would you marry me?"
Cadre smiles, "No."
"Ouch!" yells Jett. "That's cold."
"I don't just marry anyone," shrugs the stud muffin. Chrissy sinks back, a little disappointed. I change the subject, though I figure Cadre must be loco (or have a girlfriend nearby). Chrissy's a babe!
"So, Cadre, what do you think of that term 'metrosexual'?"
"I don't like that word," he shakes his head. "It's like borderline swish, for me."
"I'm with you, mon," I say, patting him on the back. "It's too fruity for a straight dude. Don't want anybody calling me that."
"Kreme, you'd be lucky if anyone used your name and 'sexual' in the same sentence," says Jett.
"True dat," I spit. "Hey, I wanna talk to that chick with the big-ass hair over there."