| |
––––––––
BRIT’S HEAD HURT. THE music at Elysium was even louder than Club Stanza when they had screaming hard rock bands play. The strobe lights were not helping either.
“Hey, pretty girl, want to dance?”
Brit was about to tell whatever creep was talking to her where he could stick it, but she turned around to find a thin middle-aged black man in plastic zebra-print sunglasses and shiny lip gloss.
“Rube! I wear my sunglasses at night,” Brit sang.
“Just had some work done. My eyes are puffy, but I couldn’t miss the par-tay.” He leaned in and air kissed each of Brit’s cheeks. He smelled like the entire fragrance section of Holt Renfrew with a hint of cloves he was obviously trying to hide.
“Back on the e-cigs again, Rube?”
“Don’t judge me, you prude.”
Ruben Weiskopf was the VIP host for Club Stanza, and he had worked for Lonnie since the beginning of time. The two had met because Rube was the president of Lonnie’s fanclub in the eighties, and Rube barely left Lonnie’s shadow ever since. He was also currently dating the club’s bouncer, Walter, which Brit also had a hand in setting up.
He stepped back and revealed a small girl with big dreadlocks standing directly behind him.
“I wanted to introduce you to my newest find, Daisy Song.” He held the “o” longer than necessary like he was actually singing it and presented her to Brit with a sweep of his hand.
“You discovered her? I just told Dad yesterday that we needed to get her in. So I’m taking the credit for this one.”
“Sweetie, no. I’m getting the commish.”
“We don’t get commission.”
“Maybe you don’t, Daddy’s girl.”
Daisy Song stuck out her small hand. “I love your hair.”
Brit squeezed Daisy’s hand and found it rougher than she expected. “Oh thanks.” Brit ran her hand through her own straightened reddish-purple hair that just brushed her collarbone and ruffled her bangs. “I love it, but I have to go to the salon every other week. And let’s just say I’m behind. I love yours too.”
Daisy smiled, showing off the tiny silver ring around the side of her bottom lip. “Thank you! My hair’s the opposite. Low, low maintenance. Just how I like it.” Daisy’s voice, which Brit could barely hear over the din, was low and scratchy like she was getting over a cold.
Rube appeared again and swept both girls onto the dance floor, Brit on one elbow and Daisy on the other.
Daisy waved her arms and did some sort of a hippie two-step while Brit shimmied around Rube. “We gotta teach you how to move,” Brit called to Daisy. Rube took Daisy’s hands in front and raised them over her head while Brit gyrated behind her.
Some guy brushed his backside against Brit. “Mind if I join you?”
“Yes.” Brit rotated so the guy was behind her and out of her line of sight.
“Can I have this dance?” asked another voice.
Brit was about to bite the dude’s face off for not getting the picture, but when she spun around, she came face to face with a broad chest and a hint of blond chest hair peeking out of the top of his unbuttoned dress shirt.
“Cord!” Rube opened his arms to the taller man.
Cord smiled a tight smile and locked uncomfortable eyes with Brit as Rube enclosed Cord in a skinny-armed vice.
Brit guffawed and pulled Daisy away from the dance floor. “Wanna go someplace and talk? These guys need to have a moment alone.”
Brit watched Cord as she navigated through the crowd. He moved his arms in an attempt at dancing before he yelled something to Rube and excused himself to the bar.
The fresh air dried the sweat on Brit’s brow, and her ears rang in celebration of the silence. Brit smoothed the sequins of her jumpsuit under her and sat on the stoop with her legs tucked under her. She was showing major side-boob with the open back design, but she was so used to the attention that she didn’t notice if any passerby looked. Brit was a colorful beacon with her navy blue sequins and red-purple hair next to head-to-toe beige Daisy, who wore a white calf-length suede tank dress and block platform heels.
Instead of sitting, Daisy leaned against the railing, saving the light camel fabric from the sidewalk grime.
“What’s the deal with Rube?” asked Daisy.
Brit smiled a wry smile. “Rube’s a clinger. He’s worked at our club since the eighties, and he was in one magazine spread, so he thinks he’s famous or something.”
“He still works there then?”
“If you can call it that. He only schedules himself one night a week. And on a Tuesday. Our slowest night. It’s pretty much so he can swoon at his boyfriend working the door and make sure no one flirts with Walter. And of course schmooze with the occasional celeb that rolls in.”
“He seemed OK tonight.”
“Oh, he’s alright. He’s entertaining at least, and he’s still better than any of those scumbags in there. The dating scene is dire. That’s why I don’t have a boyfriend.” Brit piled her hair on top of her head and enjoyed a passing breeze against her bare neck. “You? Are you with anyone?”
“No.”
“Good, keep it that way. I’m on Slammer, but that’s just for fun. Which reminds me, I’m supposed to be meeting someone tomorrow.”
“You’re meeting who?” asked a man’s voice.
People had to stop sneaking up on her tonight.
“Hey, Cord. Cord, Daisy. Daisy, Cord.”
“Nice to meet you.” The skin around Cord’s blue eyes crinkled, and he shook Daisy’s hand in his charming way he had.
Daisy’s brown eyes smiled into upside-down moons as she eagerly shook Cord’s hand.
Brit followed her gaze to Cord. She could see the appeal tonight. Cord’s hair was messy instead of slicked across his forehead, and that flash of skin below his neck was enough to make any woman want to see more.
“Daisy.” Brit brought the attention back to her. “You should totally open for Vincent Gordon. He’s playing our club in a couple weeks. He’s really talented, cocky in a good way, and cute if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“Vincent Gordon is the opener,” Cord reminded her.
“He can have his own opener.”
“He’s not that big,” muttered Cord.
“You wanna head back in?” Brit stood up and smoothed the sequins on her backside back into place.
“Yeah let’s go. I hear the DJ’s pretty great.”
“That’s my brother.” Cord stuck his hands in his pockets and scuffed the ground with his tan dress shoe.
“Your brother? He’s...black?”
“Stepbrother,” Brit explained.
“He’s not actually a DJ. He’s a big deal talent manager, but he’s doing this as a favor to a friend.”
Brit pushed Cord’s shoulder playfully, and flushed when her hand closed around a knot of muscles. Had he always been that muscular? “No one’s saying Lander’s just a DJ. He owns his own management company.”
“Youngest ever—”
Brit put her hand up to stop the beginning of his diatribe. “He is a big deal. We get it. Daisy?” She spun around and led the girl inside.
“Unlike Vincent Gordon.” Brit heard Cord get one more jab in before the girls were enveloped by the undulating crowd inside.
“Who’s that? That African-looking guy?”
Brit scanned the crowd, trying to avoid any more creeps. Or Rube. He had saved them earlier, but that didn’t mean Brit wanted to run into him twice in one night. Putting her hands up protectively, she pushed through body-glitter and heavily perfumed bodies on the way to the bar.
“The DJ? That’s Lander, Cord’s brother, remember? He’s engaged to my sister though, so don’t bother.” There weren’t a ton of black guys in the club that night. It should’ve been obvious the man under the spotlight was the DJ.
But Daisy wasn’t looking at Lander. The meandering spotlight panned over Daisy’s face in time for Brit to see her attention on the bar.
“Huh, they have Isaiah working the bar now? They must’ve been desperate.”
“Isaiah?”
As they edged toward the far end of the club, the decibels increased, and Brit had to yell louder to be heard. Her throat was starting to get that familiar scratchy feeling. She rubbed the dip at the base of her neck to soothe it.
“Isaiah Cox. He’s our liquor rep. Where are all the regular employees? He doesn’t even work here. This is not normal.”
But Daisy wasn’t listening anymore. The disco balls overhead reflected in her pupils as she beheld Isaiah’s smooth dark skin from afar.
“Daisy, no.”
“I’m just going to say hi.” She floated away before Brit could grab her arm.
Brit caught Lander’s eye, and he nodded and gave her a quick salute under his baseball cap before he went back to bobbing his head to the beat.
Cord had found her again. This club was huge and crowded, but Brit guessed there weren’t many people with bright pink hair. And with his white-blond hair and height, she could just as easily see him coming too.
“What do you think of Daisy?” she yelled to him.
He leaned in close so she could hear him, and the vibrations of his voice tickled her already throbbing ear. “She’s fine. Was that your doing?”
He pointed to where Daisy was leaning with her elbows on the slick surface of the bar. The spaghetti strap of her tank dress slipped off her shoulder, and Isaiah’s finger grazed her skin to put it back in place.
Brit rolled her eyes and pressed her fingers into her pounding temples. “No.”
“I can see it. They look good together.”
“No. I need water. Can you get me water?”
“Yeah, be right back.”
Brit lifted the back of her hair off her neck and fanned herself. A dancing couple bumped into her, and she fought the urge to scream. A frosted glass of clear liquid appeared in her hand, and she took a deep gulp. The chill ran down her throat, burning on the way down. That was not water. Her eyes flew open. That was not Cord either.
“What the hell did you give me?” She tried to shove the glass back into the stranger’s hand, but he lifted both his palms in defense.
“I heard you tell your friend you were thirsty. Just wanted to buy the pretty lady a drink, damn.”
“Take it!”
Before she knew what she was doing, Brit flicked her wrist and sent the contents of the glass onto the stranger, ice and all.
“You bitch.”
The room spun, and she felt arms around her waist. Cold night air hit her face as she was dragged outside.
The last thing she heard before she was stuffed into a car was a muffled Lander saying from inside the club, “Yo, yo, yo,” before he dropped the next beat. And then the car door slammed.