The Big Mistake

by Lexie Ray

  “You said you’ve been such good friends with him for several years,” Greg said. “I just feel lucky that you saw in me what you didn’t see in him. It’s just…you’re beautiful, wonderful, and remarkable. No wonder why he wanted to be with you. But if he were with you, if you’d said yes to him, there wouldn’t be anything between us right now. You wouldn’t be here, I probably wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be feeling what I’m feeling for you right now.”

  “What are you feeling for me right now?” I whispered. I needed to hear it. I needed to know.

  “That I love you.” Greg lifted his green eyes slowly to meet mine, and whatever reservations I’d had, whatever irritation I’d felt, dropped away just like that.

  “I love you, too,” I said breathlessly, and kissed him deeply. There was a song about this feeling of pure joy inside of me — I couldn’t quite recall what it was. But it was all about the greatest thing being learning to love someone and have him love you in return. I’d loved Greg from the start, loved everything about him. But now that I knew he returned those feelings, that he loved me just as much as I loved him, that he was as incredulous as I was at our incredible good luck for running into each other, it was even better.

  If possible, I loved him even more.

  I went to work at the club that evening as light as a feather.

  “Are you trying that new diet?” one of the girls asked me as I entered the DJ booth.

  “What new diet?” I asked, frowning. “I hate diets.”

  “The one where all you drink is lemon water and take laxatives,” she said. “I heard it’s super hard, but that you start looking amazing like the first day you do it. And honey, you look amazing.”

  “Well, thank you, but I’m definitely not on that diet,” I said, laughing and shaking my head. “I heard that one makes you crap your brains out.”

  “But what are you doing differently?” she persisted. “Hey, Marnie! Come over here! Doesn’t Jennet look amazing today?”

  Another dancer joined the first. “Hell, yeah. You should make your stage debut today. The customers won’t be able to get enough of you. What are you doing? Taking prenatal vitamins?”

  “No,” I said, confused. “Aren’t you supposed to be pregnant to take those?”

  “They’re supposed to make your hair and nails and skin just shine,” she said. “And you’re definitely shining. Glowing, really. Wait. Are you pregnant?”

  “No!” I squawked. “Do I honestly just not look very good on a daily basis?”

  “No, no,” the first dancer said quickly. “You’re always beautiful. Waste of a pretty face up there in the DJ booth. It’s just today, it’s something different. I know you had a long weekend. Maybe that was it. Getting rest from work. I’d do it myself, but then I wouldn’t earn any money.”

  “What are we talking about, ladies?” Sol had joined us, and I gave a small, hopefully unnoticeable, sigh of relief.

  “How good Jennet looks,” the second dancer said. “We’re trying to get her to share her secret weapon with us, but she’s holding out.”

  “I’m not holding out,” I protested. “I’m honestly not doing anything different. Today has been the same as the last day I worked here. I promise.”

  “That’s not true,” Sol said. “I know the secret weapon.”

  “Tell us, tell us,” the dancers urged.

  “Yes, please, tell us,” I said, rolling my eyes. I had no idea what my friend was going to say, what she had up her sleeve. I was as interested as the dancers beside me.

  “Our Jennet is in love,” Sol said, raising an eyebrow. “So, that’s all you need to look as amazing as she does today. Fall in love with someone and have an incredible amount of sex with him.”

  “How much sex is an incredible amount of sex?” the first dancer asked.

  “What’s the hold up, here?” Parker had joined the fray, and I hoped I would be able to make it through my shift without being completely and utterly humiliated.

  “Jennet’s telling us that we all need to be in love and have loads of sex to look as good as she does today,” the second dancer offered.

  “I am not!” I squeaked. “Sol said that, first of all. I did not approve that message.”

  Parker coughed, but her hand remained in front of her mouth for a suspiciously long amount of time.

  “Oh my God, you are not laughing at me,” I said, mortified. “Okay. I really need to get the booth set up, and you all aren’t helping move things along.”

  “You do look awfully pretty today, Jennet,” Parker said before spluttering into a chortle and fleeing.

  “Is the falling in love required, or can it just be sex?” the second dancer asked before Sol shooed them away.

  “Well, I’m happy for you,” she said, before heading back down the stairs to help finish preparing for customers.

  It was sort of a relief to get into the grind of setting up songs, focusing on being as engaging as possible when I was introducing dancers, and setting the lights up for each individual performance. I’d gotten a lot more confident with all of the technology across the board, and it didn’t bother me at all to do personalized lights and effects for each dancer. Some of them specifically requested that I do what felt right for the music. It was absorbing but fun, and I liked to think of it as my dancing contribution to the club — dancing with lights.

  That’s why I jumped when I heard a commotion on the stairs leading up to my booth. I was completely focused on the task at hand.

  I swiveled around on the stool to see if a hapless dancer in sky-high heels had stumbled — something that never happened but that I always feared would — and was surprised to see a customer crawling up the stairs on all fours.

  I had to remind my thumping heart that this wasn’t a horror movie and that the customer’s head wouldn’t all of a sudden spin around, spouting green vomit.

  “Hey!” I shouted, clapping my hands. “What are you doing?”

  He continued to climb, oblivious, and I was suddenly stuck with the decision of whether or not to text Parker and alert her to the fact that I was under siege by an apparently drunken customer. I checked across the club floor. The bouncer was positioned by the door — as he should be — but his back was to me. I couldn’t wave him down.

  “Hey, baby.”

  I whipped around to see that the customer had arrived into the DJ booth. He was incredibly inebriated, and I thought it was a miracle that he had even made it up the stairs on all fours.

  “Employees only, sir,” I said, having to yell over the music. The dancer had just begun, so there wasn’t even a way I could interrupt the performance to call the bouncer over to my position.

  “You looked lonely up here,” he slurred, staggering to a standing position. I was halfway afraid he would tumble back down the stairs. Then, however, he wouldn’t be my problem — though he could perhaps bring a lawsuit against the club for the mishap.

  “I’m not lonely,” I informed him. “I have a job to do. If you don’t skedaddle back down those stairs, I’m going to have to call for the bouncer.”

  “There’s no need for that,” the customer said, taking a few tottering steps toward me. “I like it up here, just you and me.”

  I swallowed. I really didn’t like how this was progressing. I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, increasingly aware of just how small the DJ booth was. There wasn’t anywhere to get away from a person, if they wanted to corner you. I could try to circle around the customer, but I didn’t think he’d have the motor skills for it. It was actually kind of sloppy work by the bartender and the waitress. They shouldn’t have kept serving the customer if he was that drunk.

  “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to go back to your table,” I said. “We have lots of beautiful dancers tonight, and I don’t think you’re going to want to waste your time up here.”

  “I don’t think it’s a waste of time,” he said. “I think you’re the prettiest of the lot.”

 
It was a compliment that fell on deaf ears. You didn’t corner a girl and then tell her she was pretty.

  “If it’s comfort you want, you’ll have better luck with one of the professionals,” I tried again. “I don’t dance here, so I can’t offer any services, but I do have inside knowledge on just who the most generous girls are behind the private dance curtains.”

  “You’re the one that I want,” he said. “And I don’t take no for an answer.”

  Well, that was it. I’d expended all of my polite ways out of this pickle. Things were about to get hairy.

  Without warning, the customer lunged at me. I sidestepped it and grabbed the hand he reached for me with, twisting it and hearing it crack. The customer howled just as the song was ending, and it blended in with all the other catcalls and whistles and applause for the dancers.

  “Beauty, that was Beauty, everyone,” I said, maintaining my grip on the customer’s now-broken hand. “She makes beasts out of all of us, doesn’t she? She’s so good at what she does. And, so am I.”

  The customer was still whimpering, and I was aware that the microphone was picking it up. He seemed to realize that I was about to go public with his little infraction, and tried to get away. I only tightened my grip, and he howled again.

  “In another lifetime, in another city, I worked as the receptionist and janitor at a karate studio,” I said sweetly, aware that customers and dancers — and Parker — had started turning their faces upward, in my direction. “That means you should know that I know how to take care of myself — and of people I care about. And this club. And so if you see a sign that says employees only, you should probably respect that.”

  The customer squirmed again and I squeezed even tighter.

  “I want to let you hear now from one of my friends,” I said. “Okay, buddy? Are you going to ignore the ‘employee only’ signs again?”

  I held the microphone in front of his face just as he gave out a sob of pain.

  “What…what?” he gasped. “What are you doing?”

  “Asking you a question,” I said. “Are you going to ignore the ‘employee only’ signs again? You going to try to corner any of our lovely dancers or employees?”

  “No!” he shrieked as I twisted his hand just a little more. He was on his knees at this point, and I felt like an avenging angel. It wasn’t fun to get accosted, and he was learning very quickly that it wasn’t fun to be the accoster, either.

  “Are you going to tip your waitress very well before you leave here tonight?” I asked.

  “Yes!”

  “Are you going to by a round of drinks for the house for inconveniencing everyone?” It was pretty crowded.

  “Y — yes!”

  Everyone cheered, and by that time, both Parker and the bouncer had entered the DJ booth. The bouncer took possession of the customer — a lot more roughly than I’d been handling the drunk — and marched him back down the stairs.

  “So, drink up,” I said, “and apologies for the delay. Here’s Whiskey — very fitting and a good recommendation for your drink choice. Don’t forget to show her just how much you love her and her namesake!”

  The entire club cheered again — louder than I’d ever heard them do so — and I started up the music before taking a heavy seat on the stool. Parker sat down beside me.

  “Why didn’t you text me?” she asked.

  “It happened pretty fast,” I admitted. “I thought about it, but I also knew I could handle it.”

  “When I hired you, I told you what your emergency responses should be,” Parker said.

  “I know,” I said. “But I wanted to handle it my way, to prove to you that I could. I’m a good asset, Parker.”

  “Not if you’re hurt,” she snapped, then calmed herself. “I’m sorry. I was worried for you. You’re obviously much more capable than I ever thought to give you credit for, and that’s an incredible asset.”

  “Thank you,” I said, stunned that Parker wasn’t firing me — and wasn’t even that angry.

  “No, thank you,” she said. “You’ve been a wonderful addition to the club and I was wondering if you wanted to come on as a full-time, permanent DJ. And world-class ass-kicker, of course.”

  I laughed, delighted. “Only if my business cards can say ‘world-class ass-kicker.’”

  “Whatever you want,” Parker said, treating me to a very rare smile that upturned both corners of her mouth. “And congratulations on whatever lucky fellow you’re bedding. It’s the talk of all the girls.”

  “Oh, God,” I said, glad the darkness of the club hid my blush. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

  Out of all the awkwardness, and the heart-stopping moments of terror, it really was shaping up to be an excellent day at work. I’d always been happy to be there, but now it felt like I belonged. The only thing holding me back was the thought of Greg. If he were to leave for New York City tomorrow, I didn’t think I’d be able to accept the position from Parker. I was sure she’d understand, but part of me was disappointed. I loved Greg, of course, but I also loved working here. I was starting to understand just what Faith and Sol saw in the place. There was real sisterhood here, and fun.

  At about midway through the shift, however, the display of my phone lit up. Faith. Maybe her nose was itching, or something — some indication that I’d been thinking of her. I wondered what she wanted.

  “Hello?”

  “Have you seen…it looks like…I have no idea…”

  “Hey, I can barely hear you,” I shouted into the phone. Faith, of all people should know that. She knew where to find me around this hour — her former place of employment.

  “Turn on a TV!” she said faintly even as I jammed my finger against the volume button in vain. It was turned up as loud as it was going to get.

  “I don’t have a TV up in the DJ booth,” I muttered to myself, ending the fruitless call. What could possibly be going on right now that would interest me? Faith had lived with me, for crying out loud. She knew I had roughly zero interest in watching the news.

  I looked around the club floor, studying the customers’ body language. Nobody seemed panicked, or eager to leave. Those were the only two emotions I would anticipate if something bad were happening — say, the end of the world. People would be getting phone calls from loved ones, and they’d be rushing toward the door.

  I checked my phone again. If it was really something pressing, wasn’t I supposed to get some kind of disaster alert? Was Florida drifting away from the rest of the continental United States? Nothing.

  Just then, though, a text message from Faith popped up. Hoping it would do a better job of explaining her call, I opened it. There were still a couple of verses to the song that was playing, so I figured I had time.

  There wasn’t anything in the text message but a link. Frowning, I hesitated to press it, my finger hovering over the screen. What if Faith had gotten hacked, and that was the news on TV? Lots of people getting hacked and weird porn sites being sent to their entire contact list? Crazier things had happened.

  I sighed and figured I had to trust my friend. The link wasn’t going to click itself, and I wouldn’t be able to call Faith back until after my shift. A news story popped up, and I had to stifle a groan — even though no one would hear it over the loud music. News articles were so boring, but then the photo loaded.

  A news story about Nick? Now that was a little more intriguing. The photo looked pretty good, too, even if it was probably taken years ago. In the photo, Nick was walking down a set of concrete stairs outside of a building somewhere, surrounded by men in suits. He was in a suit, too, and clean-shaven. His hair was shorter and slicked back. It was a pretty hot look for him, honestly, and one I’d never seen him sport before.

  Half of me hoped the story was something about him getting a record deal, or something. One of Miami’s own making it big, the headline should read. The other half of me was still irritated at his reaction over Greg. Where did Nick feel like he could get off telling me a
bout the men I wanted to see?

  Nick had never done that before — namely, I guessed, because I’d never dated anyone while we’d been friends. Nick just didn’t understand that I hadn’t felt like this about anyone before. Greg was clearly my Prince Charming. No one else had ever swept me off my feet that way before, nor had I had such a potent response to a virtual stranger.

  Still, though, I wished Nick the best. He was probably hurt that I’d essentially chosen Greg over him.

  Scrolling down my phone to the actual story, my eyes widened.

  “Missing NYC millionaire resurfaces in Miami,” the headline read.

  Chapter 9

  I scrolled down, eager to read a news article for roughly the first time in my life.

  “In a shocking turn of events, one of New York City’s most eligible bachelors has turned up back in the city after nearly five years of being firmly out of the spotlight,” it read. “Nicholas Mason, millionaire heir to the Mason Hotel fortune, simply reappeared at the Mason Hotel corporate offices here in New York. A spokesman for the Mason family denies that Nicholas Mason was ever missing, but theories abound as to his noticeable absence. The heir himself is mum as to his whereabouts all this time.”

  A call from Faith popped up on the screen, and I ignored it, sweeping it to the side so I could continue trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

  I blinked several times, renewing my focus. Could the Nick Madison I knew really be Nicholas Mason? I scrolled back up, not bothering to read the rest of the article, and studying the photo. It was clearly Nick — albeit dressed and styled in a completely different way. So why was this so difficult to understand?

  “Jennet! Jennet!”

  I looked up from my phone to see Sol waving at me frantically from just below the DJ booth.

  “The next song! The next dancer!” she hissed, and I realized that I’d screwed up. How long had it been dead silent in here? When had the previous dancer gathered her dollars and vacated the stage?

  Another dancer was already at the side of the stage, glaring up at me, but I couldn’t remember her name. Where was the list? Who had just performed?