Last dance at ManRay, as club kids hope for encore

I am a club kid who's lost her home.

And I know hundreds of others feel the same way.

Last weekend, I ventured to ManRay for the club's last night at 21 Brookline St. in Central Square. The infamous alternative nightclub, the self-titled ''Home to the Boston Underground," was closing down, at least temporarily. Its lease was up, and so ManRay hopes to reopen at a new location in the fall.

ManRay had the same address for more than 20 years, and I had been frequenting the place since '94. My friends and I felt obligated to bid the dark nightclub farewell.

On Saturday night in my Dorchester apartment, I put on pinstriped pants and a gray tank top, slipped on black suspenders and buckled a studded belt around my waist. I performed my ritual in front of the mirror, applying black eyeliner and spiking my hair. Then I called a taxi, and Rachel, Lauralee, and I scampered downstairs and piled into our cab.

When we arrived in Central Square, we saw a throng waiting to get inside ManRay to say goodbye. Clubgoers of all stripes -- punks with mohawks, drag queens, queer girls, gay boys, goths -- had formed a long line that stretched down Brookline Street and around the corner.

I wasn't surprised.

If there were such a thing as a Nightclub Hall of Fame, ManRay would be inducted along with CBGB's and Studio 54 in New York. The club has become legendary among punks, goths, fashion-forward and open-minded young people around here.

ManRay's fame reaches beyond Greater Boston. Photographs of the club appeared in Life magazine in 1985. In 1993, Details magazine named ManRay one of the best nightclubs for experimental music.

ManRay is also revered for its art exhibitions, fashion shows, and groundbreaking performances. Nirvana played there on April 18, 1990. Divine and RuPaul performed there. Hey, even I performed there. Though it was only groundbreaking for me personally, I made my stage debut as a lip-synching Eminem in Hell's Christmas special in 2002.

Wednesday nights were called Crypt, the area's longest-running Goth night, drawing black-clad crowds to synthpop and industrial music. For as long as I can remember, Thursday was gay night known as Campus; and Saturday night was called Transmission, where you could hear technopop, new wave, and punk. Hell, a monthly theme party limited only by the imagination, was Friday night.

Over the years, many people became familiar faces at the club. There's Cusraque, one of the icons of Boston's goth scene who always wore a wide-brimmed black hat with plume. There's Pat Man, a friendly guy with the longest spiked hair I'd ever seen -- a hairdo that would make Wolverine jealous. There's Punketta, one of the first girl DJs I'd ever met, and still the only person I know who wears dreadlocked pigtails. There's my roommate Tim, who has the 6-foot-4 frame of a football player and the heart of a saint, and likes to get decked out in purple-and-black striped tights and boots.

Then of course there's Douglas, who prefers wearing skirts and fishnet shirts. Douglas and I bonded briefly years ago at ManRay, during a spontaneous conversation about baseball cards. I don't see Douglas often, but whenever I run into him at the club, I greet him with my interpretation of a sidearm pitch, and we always part with a dramatic embrace.

Last Saturday night, I watched Lauralee and Rachel dance to retro songs like ''You Spin Me Right Round" by Dead or Alive, Blondie's ''Call Me," and ''Spellbound" by Siouxsie and the Banshees.

At one point, Rachel and Lauralee jumped up on one of the black boxes that served as stages for go-go dancers and more motivated clubgoers. I stayed on the ground, snapping photos.

As we were leaving the club in the early hours of Sunday morning, I spotted Douglas and threw him my pretend sidearm pitch. Our conversation arrived at the topic of ManRay's moving.

Douglas's eyes got watery. ''It's so sad," he said.

''Don't worry, Douglas," I said. ''ManRay, this exact place, will always be open . . . in our hearts." I was shooting for sardonicism as I grinned and placed my hands over my chest in an overly dramatic gesture -- but I meant it.

''You're right," he said. ''That's why I love you."

Then Douglas and I hugged, for the last time in that building.

And now I'm waiting to hear where ManRay will reopen. I'm sure the new place will be smashing, but I'll still be reminiscing about 21 Brookline St.

Emily Sweeney can be reached at esweeney@globe.com.