heels as she gave Elizabeth a hug.
Stunned by the embrace, Elizabeth jerked stiff, but Julie only bounced again. “You’re a genius.”
“Yes.”
Julie laughed, eyes a little wild. “Okay, table, Cosmos, dance and scope.”
Elizabeth hoped the music covered the pounding of her heart as it had Julie’s squeal. So many people. She wasn’t used to being with so many people in one place. Everyone moving or talking while the music pumped, pumped, pumped, a flood saturating every breath of air. People jammed the dance floor, shaking, spinning, sweating. They crowded into booths, around tables, at the long curve of the stainless-steel bar.
She was determined to be “chilly,” but a sweater wouldn’t be necessary. Body heat pulsed everywhere.
Getting through the crowd—dodging, weaving, bumping bodies—kicked Elizabeth’s heart rate to a gallop. Anxiety clutched at her throat, pressed on her chest. Julie’s death grip on her hand was the only thing that kept her from bolting.
Julie finally beelined for a table the size of a dinner plate.
“Score! Oh my God, it’s like
everybody
’s here. We’ve gotta keep scoping a table closer to the dance floor. This is so completely awesome. TheDJ is slamming it.” She finally focused on Elizabeth’s face. “Hey, are you okay?”
“It’s very crowded and warm.”
“Well, yeah. Who wants to go to an empty, cold club? Listen, we need drinks and now, so I’m going to go to the bar. I’ll buy, since you paid for the cab. That’ll give me time to start scoping. You do the same from here. Two Cosmos, coming up!”
Without Julie’s hand to anchor her, Elizabeth gripped hers together. She recognized the signs—anxiety, claustrophobia—and deliberately focused on steadying her breathing. Liz didn’t panic just because she’d been swallowed up in a crowd. She ordered herself to relax, starting with her toes and working her way up.
By the time she reached her belly, she’d calmed enough to take on the role of observer. The owners—and their architect—had made good use of the warehouse space, utilizing an urban industrial motif with the exposed ductwork and pipes, the old brick walls. The stainless steel—bar, tables, chairs, stools—reflected back the flashing color of the lights—another pulse, she thought, timed to the music.
Open iron stairs on either side led up to a second level, open as well. People crowded the rails there, or squeezed around more tables. There was likely a second bar on that level, she thought. Drinks were profit.
Down here, on a wide raised platform, under those flashing lights, the DJ worked. Another observer, Elizabeth decided. Raised in a position of authority and honor where he could see the crowd. His long, dark hair flew as he worked. He wore a graphic T-shirt. She couldn’t make out the art with the distance, but it was virulent orange against the black cloth.
Just beneath his perch, several women moved sinuously, rocking their hips in an invitation to mate.
Calm again, she tuned in to the music. She liked it—the hard, repetitive beat; the pounding of drums; the rough, metallic scream ofguitar. And she liked the way different dancers chose to move to it. Arms in the air, arms cocked like a boxer’s with hands fisted, elbows jabbing, feet planted, feet lifting.
“Wow. Just wow.” Julie set martini glasses filled with pink liquid on the table before she sat. “I nearly spilled these coming back, which would have bummed. They’re eight dollars each.”
“Alcoholic beverages make up the biggest profit margin in clubs and bars.”
“I guess. But they’re good. I drank a little of mine, and it’s like
pow
!” She laughed, leaned in. “We should make them last until we find some guys to buy us drinks.”
“Why would they buy us drinks?”
“Duh. We’re hot, we’re available. Drink some, Liz, and let’s get out there and show our stuff.”
Obediently, Elizabeth sipped. “It’s good.” Testing, she took
Stunned by the embrace, Elizabeth jerked stiff, but Julie only bounced again. “You’re a genius.”
“Yes.”
Julie laughed, eyes a little wild. “Okay, table, Cosmos, dance and scope.”
Elizabeth hoped the music covered the pounding of her heart as it had Julie’s squeal. So many people. She wasn’t used to being with so many people in one place. Everyone moving or talking while the music pumped, pumped, pumped, a flood saturating every breath of air. People jammed the dance floor, shaking, spinning, sweating. They crowded into booths, around tables, at the long curve of the stainless-steel bar.
She was determined to be “chilly,” but a sweater wouldn’t be necessary. Body heat pulsed everywhere.
Getting through the crowd—dodging, weaving, bumping bodies—kicked Elizabeth’s heart rate to a gallop. Anxiety clutched at her throat, pressed on her chest. Julie’s death grip on her hand was the only thing that kept her from bolting.
Julie finally beelined for a table the size of a dinner plate.
“Score! Oh my God, it’s like
everybody
’s here. We’ve gotta keep scoping a table closer to the dance floor. This is so completely awesome. TheDJ is slamming it.” She finally focused on Elizabeth’s face. “Hey, are you okay?”
“It’s very crowded and warm.”
“Well, yeah. Who wants to go to an empty, cold club? Listen, we need drinks and now, so I’m going to go to the bar. I’ll buy, since you paid for the cab. That’ll give me time to start scoping. You do the same from here. Two Cosmos, coming up!”
Without Julie’s hand to anchor her, Elizabeth gripped hers together. She recognized the signs—anxiety, claustrophobia—and deliberately focused on steadying her breathing. Liz didn’t panic just because she’d been swallowed up in a crowd. She ordered herself to relax, starting with her toes and working her way up.
By the time she reached her belly, she’d calmed enough to take on the role of observer. The owners—and their architect—had made good use of the warehouse space, utilizing an urban industrial motif with the exposed ductwork and pipes, the old brick walls. The stainless steel—bar, tables, chairs, stools—reflected back the flashing color of the lights—another pulse, she thought, timed to the music.
Open iron stairs on either side led up to a second level, open as well. People crowded the rails there, or squeezed around more tables. There was likely a second bar on that level, she thought. Drinks were profit.
Down here, on a wide raised platform, under those flashing lights, the DJ worked. Another observer, Elizabeth decided. Raised in a position of authority and honor where he could see the crowd. His long, dark hair flew as he worked. He wore a graphic T-shirt. She couldn’t make out the art with the distance, but it was virulent orange against the black cloth.
Just beneath his perch, several women moved sinuously, rocking their hips in an invitation to mate.
Calm again, she tuned in to the music. She liked it—the hard, repetitive beat; the pounding of drums; the rough, metallic scream ofguitar. And she liked the way different dancers chose to move to it. Arms in the air, arms cocked like a boxer’s with hands fisted, elbows jabbing, feet planted, feet lifting.
“Wow. Just wow.” Julie set martini glasses filled with pink liquid on the table before she sat. “I nearly spilled these coming back, which would have bummed. They’re eight dollars each.”
“Alcoholic beverages make up the biggest profit margin in clubs and bars.”
“I guess. But they’re good. I drank a little of mine, and it’s like
pow
!” She laughed, leaned in. “We should make them last until we find some guys to buy us drinks.”
“Why would they buy us drinks?”
“Duh. We’re hot, we’re available. Drink some, Liz, and let’s get out there and show our stuff.”
Obediently, Elizabeth sipped. “It’s good.” Testing, she took
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