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It's 1977, and Club Mirage, the velvet-rope discotheque off Times Square, is throwing its third-anniversary blowout. The champagne is flowing, the floor is packed, and then the music cuts: someone's gone down for good beneath the mirror ball. The owner, the diva, the regulars who'd kill for the VIP booth: every one of them is hiding something. One of them is hiding a body. Time to find out who.
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It’s 1977 and the dance floor is church. Some dance-floor lingo you will hear tonight. “Far out” and “groovy” mean great, and to “boogie” is to dance. “Foxy” is attractive, and “the Man” is anyone in charge. “Catch you on the flip side” is goodbye. Etiquette: dress to be seen (sequins, platform shoes, wide collars, more is more); you don’t bogart the spotlight, you keep the party moving, and what happens in the VIP booth stays in the VIP booth. The mood is glittering, flirtatious, and a little reckless under the mirror ball.
Count your guests only — not yourself, anywhere from 6 to 32. Want to play too? There's an option below once you pick a number.
