The rumors swirl. Sunday was Junior's last party at Exit, for at least a month. On his website, there's an invite for his Pride party (called Beautiful) but is that really going to happen?

Sunday morning at ten we lined up with the others wanting to pay twenty dollars instead of thirty to enter the police state called Exit. Even before going in, the doorkeepers were asking several large and oddly-attired (too Middle American for Junior) men if they were detectives. Apparently, detectives had been there earlier.

Inside, after we pay our money, we encounter a woman upon whom Mama Morton in Chicago is based. She's got a headset with microphone and a spiel about how you people may have come from some other club and forgotten that you still have some stimulants still in your pockets or on your being, and now is the chance to ditch them. She repeats this speech, going up and down the line of people waiting to be strip-searched. There's a young man arguing with one security person about how he doesn't appreciate having his dick and balls played with by a security guard. The security person who gets Robert is gentle, according to Robert, "moving my balls delicately like a surgeon." As for me, I am told to empty everything in my jacket and pants -- and once all my pockets are empty, I am free to go in.

Okay, so maybe the worst is over, we're thinking. Maybe now everyone will just settle down and enjoy Junior's last ride for a while.

But, throughout the morning/afternoon, it's clear that there is a palpable sense of anxiety and fear due to the fact of undercover detectives wandering around and security guards with flashlights shining at every flicker of the wrist. Mama Morton goes up to Kevin Aviance's entourage and asks what's in one guy's hand: his watch, it turns out.

Meanwhile, in the men's room, there's a drill sargeant just back from Iraq who proceeds to rap on each stall with a nightstick, declaring that the stalls are only for an "express crap. That means, drop your drawers and shit and get out." Nothing about flushing, but I suppose that's all right.

All through the four or so hours that we're there, I keep getting confused as to whether I'm living in New York or if this is an outtake from "The Pianist." There are times when it seems that the whole situation is too close to those scenes in that Holocaust film where the pianist is playing for a group of partying Jews even as they are corraled in the Warsaw ghetto and guarded by the SS.

On the other hand, Junior is playing really well, and it is possible to lose oneself in the middle of the dance floor and dance the way you have always danced to Junior. So that's the best thing to do.

And yet, fairly early on, there's a video/film shown above the stage about Junior and Earth and all the parties which have gone on there with footage of Junior and Kevin and RKM and all the good times that have happened in this space in the two/three years it's been with Junior at the helm.

But it's hard to forget that it's Memorial Day Weekend and the rumors about Junior taking a "temporary" break -- and you watch the video and kind of wonder, as Mama Morton headsets her way through the crowd with her nightstick, if indeed this really is the last party.

Fortunately, there was Kevin, kikiing it up over along the bar, working the runway, looking more fabulous than she has in months, and clearly having a good time. So maybe things are not as dire as one could be convinced to believe. Maybe things will continue on as they have been, or better yet, get better, again.

And, again, there was Junior's playing, and it was propulsive and irresistible and like a train churning through the fog and you had to ride with him. It seemed as if lots of his diehards were there, though no doubt many others who love him were resting up for Alegria or out on the Island.

There were no decorations, save for two vases of flowers on the bar, and we talked about how that's often the way with Junior: no frills, just Junior. And looking around the space, you try to see it with fresh eyes, the way a newbie might see it, or someone visiting from, say London, or Paris, and you imagine them thinking they've landed in a pit.

So really, in the end, if Junior does leave Exit, he's bound to end up somewhere better, because leaving behind the totalitarian tactics of Exit would be a marked improvement for all concerned.

We love Junior, and have supported him through so many clubs and venues, but leaving Exit yesterday afternoon around three p.m., we both kind of said that we weren't crossing our fingers for a Pride Party at Exit -- but just hoping that Junior soon finds a new home.