The searchlights, security, and general hubbub in front of the Castle Superstore on Broadway last Saturday night were not in honor of a porn star's appearance; rather, it was all about the action upstairs, at the grand opening of Club Lagoon. A rumor that the street would be lined with parked Lamborghinis—matching the one that is perched, an inscrutable beacon, on the edge of Club Lagoon's roof—proved unfounded. So did a rumor that bikinied women in high heels would be in attendance. A rumor about Club Lagoon that proved true: There is, in fact, a yellow speedboat inside the club for patrons' lounging pleasure.
The white Lamborghini was hoisted into position by crane several weeks ago, prompting much anticipation surrounding the opening of Seattle's only '80s/Miami-themed nightclub, or at least causing many people to wonder what the hell was going on. (Those concerned about the precipitous angle of the car two stories up on the edge of the building should be aware that while the headlights and taillights glow, there is no engine inside; were it to fall, which it undoubtedly won't, it's not actually as heavy as an entire automobile.) On opening night, a besuited man with an earphone checked IDs at the foot of the stairs (nine of which bore individual "WATCH YOUR STEP" signs, though the area is well lit and the stairs are, unmistakably, stairs).
Inside, a cover band played; a male and a female vocalist took turns channeling Adam Ant, Madonna, David Bowie, Cyndi Lauper, and so forth. The band's motto, flashed on several screens showing the songs' corresponding ancient music videos: "We're all about the '80s." The crowd—dancing, drinking, eating mini burgers and shrimp—did not appear to be a local one; the gay quotient was low, while the style of those present was oddly homogenous, as if they'd been cast as extras in a crowd scene at an unspecified club. The edgiest item of attire: a T-shirt worn by a straight-looking gentleman reading "I'm here about the blowjob/Cabo San Lucas."
The lagoon theme, carried out with high-quality fake palmettos, aqua-blue paint, a small stuffed monkey, and sections of wall made out of rocks, found its apex in a stationary Jet Ski, upon which clubgoers may sit, and the aforementioned speedboat. VIPs partied aboard—or rather within—the stern of the craft, which has been hollowed out, with low, upholstered seating along the sides and a view of the hoi polloi on the adjoining dance floor. The enclosed berth in the prow of the boat remains intact, if not vastly improved: It has been entirely lined in (for the moment) pristine black fake fur, creating a weird, reverberating, muffled cocoon, lit with its own panel of blinking colored lights. VIPs bold enough to stick their heads up out of the prow's hatch looked directly onto the stage, just arm's length away, and could catch the eye of the bemused keyboard player.