Curl Power

Despite the burgeoning activity downtown, there are still certain parts that resemble a ghost town after dusk — we’re talking crickets-chirping quiet, tumbleweeds-practically-rolling-down-the-street empty. There’s an eerie charm to our not-so-bustling city center after dark, when you can’t tell what exactly is open or which establishments are mute testimonies of our swinging past. Such is the case with Soakies, a black gay bar, which we couldn’t help but notice in the past because of its sign proclaiming its famous sandwiches. Well, that and because of the adult shop next door, which usually has male mannequins dressed in S&M gear.

Soakie’s entered our consciousness again when our friend Charles insisted that we check it out. “I couldn’t sleep one morning, and I was watching one of the 4:30 newscasts,” he said. “There was a fight at Soakie’s between two women, and I think the female reporter said something like, ‘There was hair weave left on the sidewalk,’ and the camera panned to it!” Ah, local TV news — will you never cease to be so unironically and awesomely cheesy? “I think we need to go for ladies night,” Charles added. “You’re a lady, and we should see what sort of ladies go there.”

So, off we went around ten on a Thursday night, with Research Assistants Charles, Jeromey and Steve. All three of them had been there at least once or twice before, with varying results. Jeromey had been there to dance and said it had been packed. Charles said he was there about ten years ago. “It was just turning into an African-American gay bar, and it was pretty diverse. You didn’t know who was gay or straight or homeless or whatever.” That was the impression we got over the course of our two visits, too.

“This is why I don’t come here,” Jeromey whispered as he looked at the sparse crowd, which was made up mostly of lesbians and drag queens. “The ratio of people I’d actually sleep with is too low.”

The RAs seemed to regard our outing with high heckleworthy potential. The bartender might have sniffed this out; he was somewhat snippy with us as we ordered from a long list of reasonably priced specialty drinks. “There’s no reason to have attitude in Kansas City,” Steve grumbled.

The bar was kind of a dive, but it also had an unexpected Mediterranean feel to it. The walls were white stucco, and there was a terra cotta tile “roof” over the bar. The bar itself was awesome, covered with rust-colored tiles that gave it a Spanish look. “That’s how you know this is an old building,” Charles said. “Because of the tiled bar.” The main room was a small space, and the Sixers-Sonics game flickered from a corner. An adjoining dance floor was long, dark and narrow, and the bathroom doors — which had signs warning that only one person was allowed in at a time — were short and rounded, like in a fairy-tale cottage.

We perched on wobbly bar stools and noted for future reference that alcohol can be purchased to go. (Hpnotiq pints, for instance, were $14.50.) We finished our Blue Jamaicans (a strong concoction made from a few different liqueurs), then looked through the drink list for something else. We were intrigued by the Pimp Juice — especially with Nelly blasting from the jukebox — but the thought of Hennessy mixed with an energy drink scared the crap out of us. So we opted for the ladies-night special, champagne spritzers for only a buck. Made with Aste Spumante and Sprite and served in plastic airline cups, they took us back. “It tastes like high school,” Steve said.

Around 11, people started streaming in, including a couple of drag queens and a couple of people of indeterminate gender dressed androgynously in baggy clothing.

Then, another blast from the past. “Oh, my gawd,” Jeromey breathed. “I just spotted a Jheri curl! I haven’t seen one of those in a while!” He looked sideways at us and said, “Um … I have a secret to tell.”

“You used to have one?” we guessed. “When, last year?”

“I was five to ten,” he said indignantly.

Speaking of hair, we were also sitting by Chuck Tackett from KKFI 90.1, who stood out because of his fried, bleached-blond ‘do. He said he was a semiregular there because he liked the music. “I don’t like the techno that a lot of other gay bars play,” he said. “Black bars like Soakie’s were born because the music that other gay bars played were meant to keep blacks and Latinos out.”

Whatever the case, we got an entirely different reception when we went again the next night with a gaggle of straight RAs. A smiling man befriended us and insisted on buying us a couple of pitchers. “It’s so nice to see new faces in here,” he said of his neighborhood bar.

“You can’t really mock it,” said RA John. Unless flying hair weaves are involved, that is.