Turning around, Steven stares up at the tall buildings in front of him. They look like ordinary office buildings. It’s certainly not the kind of place where he thought he would find Dania playing with her band. But the thumping bass and laughing drunks and scantily clad women obviously point to this being the center of it all. Steven adjusts his blazer, checks to make sure his zipper is up, and heads up the short flight of steps into the building.
Once inside, there is no mistaking that this is the place. It might look like office buildings on the outside, but it’s all nightclubs on the inside. And there are many of them. On the ground floor alone there seem to be at least five different bars and clubs with people stumbling in and out the front doors. Steven walks into the middle of the open area, which resembles a shopping mall, and looks upward. Sure enough, there are four floors.
And, sure enough, there are whores.
Steven thinks that the moniker is a little insensitive. Yes, there are women—many of them—and they’re everywhere. And they are all dressed in very revealing clothing. But probably no different than women at any other club anywhere else. It looks a lot like downtown Toronto from where he’s standing.
Walking into the first bar on his left, Steven is immediately confronted by an Asian woman wearing a tight black bodysuit. He can make out every single hidden detail on her body with just one, quick glance.
“Heya, handsome,” she says, and hooks her arm around his and presses her body as close as possible. “You come have a drink with me?”
“I’ve had enough, thanks,” he says, wondering if he’s slurring because he is indeed drunk or because he’s tongue-tied around the half-naked women.
“You sure?” the woman says, and smiles while batting her eyes. It’s almost comical and yet still quite sexy.
“I’m pretty sure,” Steven says.
“Okay, then.” The woman smiles again and walks away. Only seconds later, another woman appears on his left-hand side and pulls the same routine.
“Hey, cutie,” she says. This one is also Asian and also beautiful. But she’s wearing a short white miniskirt and fishnet stockings. “Where you from?”
“Canada,” Steven says, and smiles. The entire place is huge. He’ll never find Dania in here, even if this is where she’s working.
“Canada?” the young woman says. “You like to dance, Canada? You dance with me?”
“No dancing,” Steven says. “Sorry.”
“Please?”
“Sorry.”
“Drink, then?”
“No drinks.”
The woman shrugs and smiles. Steven wonders if she’s going to get angry, but she does not. She keeps the smile even as she turns and walks away, looking back over her shoulder at him.
The next twelve feet Steven walks, the same scenario plays out a couple more times. He begins to wonder if it’s something about him that’s attracting all the women. At first he wonders if it’s because they’re not used to seeing a white guy in this place . . . until he looks around at the other patrons in the club. Every other one is a white guy. There are men speaking with thick British accents and others who sound American. There are a lot of fat, old, bald men and—right by their sides—tons of Asian women. In fact, that’s the entire bar: white men and Asian women. It isn’t hard to tell that the women aren’t all necessarily from Singapore, either.
Steven steps back out into the hallway, fighting off the advances of yet another young woman as he does. When he gets to the middle of the large complex, he looks up again at the three upper levels of bars and clubs. On the third floor, just two escalators up, is a bar with a neon martini glass hanging over the doorway. Stepping around random drunk people, Steven makes his way up the two moving staircases, toward that neon sign.
The Cocktail Room.
Here goes nothing, he thinks as he steps through the double doors. Instantly, he feels a thousand times more comfortable than he did downstairs at the noisy dance club. This place is calm, and the music is nice. He hears a slow ballad being sung in the background and likes it better than the noisy bass down below that he can still feel thumping through his shoes. There are candles on the tables and couples sitting, watching the stage in the corner. Through the darkness of the room, he looks to the lights of the stage. Standing there, softly singing that ballad, is Dania.
She looks amazing. Dressed in a short black skirt with tight boots, she leans forward as she cradles the microphone in both her hands. Her lips are bright red and sexy, and she’s wearing a black button-up blouse that reveals just the right amount of cleavage to make Steven stare a few seconds longer than he probably should. As usual, her straight black hair falls perfectly down her back, to just above the top of her belt.
It takes Steven a minute to let his eyes adjust but, once they do, he finds his way to a little table in the corner of the room. Not too far away, but not so close that Dania can see him. The last thing he wants to look like is a stalker. He sits down and orders a drink from the nearest waitress. Then, he turns his attention back to the stage. Everyone in the room is looking at that stage and with the same intensity that Steven has right now. He is glad he’s not alone; everyone is smitten with Dania.
Calm down, dude. That’s my girlfriend you’re gawking at. Scotty’s ashes sound muffled from within Steven’s blazer pocket. Steven ignores them and just keeps staring.
The music stops, the small audience applauds, and Dania thanks them with a sultry, deep voice.
“Thank you very much,” she almost whispers into the microphone. Her eyes scan the room to see her admirers. It’s then that, despite his efforts to hide, Steven sees her notice him. She makes direct eye contact with him, smiles, and looks away. For a second, he’s certain he just saw her blush. She smiles again, looks his way, and winks. Now it’s his turn to blush.
Maybe it’s the wine or the fact that Scotty’s remains are stuffed into his pocket, but Steven is suddenly struck with the realization that he’s sitting in the room where his brother died. It’s almost as if he feels guilty for being happy in a place where something so tragic happened only days before. A weird mixture of calmness and guilt flows over Steven, and he’s not sure how happy he is anymore. He feels oddly nostalgic and homesick while feeling excited and sheepish at the same time. He’s pretty sure it’s the wine. He normally feels only one emotion at a time, and that’s usually annoyance.
The music starts up again. It’s some old song by Madonna. Dania instantly changes gears and puts on her best upbeat rock persona. Again, every eye in the place is glued to her as she gyrates and leans into the microphone stand. She closes her eyes for much of the song but, when they open, she’s looking across the bar at someone else. Steven’s eyes follow hers until they come to the target of her gaze.
A short, stocky Singaporean man sits at the bar off to the side of the small club. Wearing a sharkskin suit and mirrored wraparound sunglasses, he almost looks like a sleazy mafia guy. That is, of course, if Singapore even has a sleazy mafia. Although Steven can’t see the man’s eyes, he knows that he’s staring Dania down, looking right through her. His expression is cold and serious. Steven looks back at Dania, who is now looking back at him. When he glances back to the bar, the sleazy guy is gone.
There are three more songs before Dania thanks the audience and waits as the smattering of applause dies down. The band plays one last number without her as she exits the stage and disappears into a back room off to the side. Steven figures that’s the end of the show and wonders if he’ll ever see Dania again at all, much less again tonight.
It’s only just then that it dawns on him he doesn’t feel drunk anymore. Sometime between the taxicab and Dania’s singing some song by Cyndi Lauper, he has managed to sober up. He’s not sure if it was the music or the vomiting or the club sodas that did it, but his head has returned to just a slight buzz. It’s a good thing, too, because it’s only a couple of minutes later that Dania taps on his shoulder. Steven is certain that talking to her while three she
ets to the wind would have ruined his night.
Don’t screw this up, idiot, Scotty scolds from his isolated pocket. You’re representing both of us now.
“Hello, stranger,” Dania says with that sexy smile that she just had onstage, now right here in person. “You look awfully familiar.”
“I get that a lot around here,” Steven says.
Dania laughs. “Yeah, I guess you would. What brought you out?”
“You told me you sing. I wanted proof.”
“Ah, yes, I did. So, did you get it?”
“Get what?”
“The proof, silly.”
“Oh!” He feels like an idiot. “Yes. Yes, I did. You sound great.”
She seems to blush again. He remembers the way Robin used to twirl her hair and figures that Dania’s is too long to do that with. “Aw, you’re sweet. Thanks. I’m glad you came.”
“This is quite the place.”
She rolls her eyes. “Ugh. How much have you seen?”
“Just a couple of places on the first floor and here.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Why?” He shrugs. “Everyone was quite nice. Everyone. Everywhere.”
“Yeah, I would imagine. You got any money left?”
“Of course,” he asks. “Why?”
“They don’t call this place ‘Four Floors of Whores’ for no reason,” she says. Suddenly, Steven realizes that it’s actually what everyone calls Orchard Towers, and not just the taxi driver.
“They’re prostitutes,” he says, his suspicions confirmed.
“Yep,” Dania says.
“All of them?”
“Pretty much.”
“I kinda figured.”
“It’s pretty obvious, yes.”
“No wonder everyone was so friendly,” he says.
Dania puts her head back and laughs. Hard. She looks directly into Steven’s eyes and smiles. “You’re drunk.”
“Maybe just a little. How could you tell?”
“You don’t hide it well.”
“Neither did Scotty,” he says, remembering how they both tend to slur when they drink.
Dania puts a finger over Steven’s mouth. He starts to speak, but she leaves the finger there. When he tries to speak again, she shushes him quietly.
“Shhhh,” she says. “Don’t talk like that anymore. It’s bad luck.”
“What is?” he asks from behind her index finger.
“You know,” she says. “Talking about the past. No more of that.”
“But, I—”
“Don’t do it. We did enough of that today.”
Steven smiles and says nothing. In fact, it feels good not to even think about talking about Scotty anymore.
“He’s still with you,” Dania says. “Just leave it at that and be happy.”
“Literally,” Steven says, and opens his jacket. “We decided to get drunk together.”
Dania sees the paper bag protruding from the inside pocket and stares for a second, confused. Then her eyes get wide as she realizes just what’s in the bag. “Oh, my God,” she says. “Is that what I think it is?”
Steven nods. He waits for Dania to slap him, or scream, or run away. Instead, she puts her hand over her mouth and laughs. Hard. Again.
“Oh, my God,” she says again, laughing so hard she snorts. “Oh, that’s great. He would love that.”
“Yeah,” Steven says. “I think he would.”
Dania’s laughter is cut short when, out of nowhere, the sleazy man in the sharkskin suit appears right beside them. Still wearing his mirrored sunglasses, he looks none too pleased. He makes a face at Dania as if she just ran over his dog.
“Can I help you?” Steven asks. The man tosses him a mean look and says something in a language that Steven doesn’t understand. Dania looks hurt at first, but her facial expression turns angry quickly. She says something back to the man in that same language. Then the man turns his icy gaze at Steven and continues yelling.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Steven shakes his head, shrugs, and looks to Dania to translate. Instead, Dania grabs the little man by his chin and turns his face back to hers. She points her other finger in his face and continues yelling at him. He yells back at her and then, with an angry sneer back at Steven, turns and walks away. Steven feels his bottom jaw hit the floor, amazed that no one got punched in the face just then.
“What the hell was that all about?” Steven asks, watching the sleazy guy storm off.
“Forget it,” Dania says. She looks as if she’s about to spit on the floor. “He’s nobody.”
“Didn’t seem like nobody,” Steven says.
“Trust me,” she says, “he is. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
She takes Steven by the arm and walks him out a side door and into another hallway. The place is full of more drunks and prostitutes. Steven laughs and thinks of The Wizard of Oz. Lions and tigers and bears, and drunks and prostitutes.
Oh, my, Scotty says from inside Steven’s jacket pocket. Steven realizes he’s still a bit drunk.
Dania takes him into another bar, just around the corner from where they were. Steven looks up and sees the name of the place is The Crazy Horse just before the double doors open and he finds himself in yet another place with more entertainment and more people drinking. This time, techno music plays, and a few very sexy, scantily clad women are dancing on a tiny stage in the corner. It looks like any strip club in any city in any country, except the women are all clothed. They’re not wearing much, but what they are wearing covers the naughty parts.
“Wow,” Steven says. “This place has everything.”
“Actually, it’s pretty much all the same thing,” Dania says, and sits him down on a barstool. She nods to the bartender, who seems to recognize her. The bartender instantly pours a couple glasses of vodka and sets them down in front of the two of them.
“Nothing free here,” Steven says, and smiles, remembering the cab driver’s last words to him.
“What?” Dania asks, taking a long sip of her drink.
“Are all the women in this place really hookers?”
“All except for the singers and the waitresses,” she says. “And sometimes the waitresses are, too.”
Steven thinks for a split second about the fifteen grand his brother came asking for last week as he tips back his vodka. “But not the singers, right?”
“Not the singers,” Dania says, and gives a sly grin. “But I’ll bet the money is better.”
Steven looks at the three women dancing on the stage. They’re all so sexy. Each has an amazing body and sleek, tan legs.
“Are they hookers, too?” he asks, motioning to the tallest, sexiest of the three.
“Well”—Dania cocks her head to the side—“not exactly. Maybe. I guess. For the right money. But it’s more complicated with them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it takes a lot to look like that,” Dania says. “You don’t just tear those clothes off and go at it. Most men couldn’t handle them if they got them home, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Steven says. “They really are something.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Wha . . . ?”
Dania smiles and rubs Steven’s back like he’s a child. It’s not sexual or affectionate so much as it’s comforting. He turns to look at her and just enjoys the moment. She looks at him like she adores him.
“You’re really sweet,” she says. “A bit naïve. But sweet.”
“What does that mean?” Steven asks. He doesn’t know whether or not to take offense.
“It means I like you,” she says. “The world needs more sweet men, trust me.”
Steven decides he likes that. He turns back to watch the show and takes a sip of his vodka. He thinks it must be watered down, because he tastes hardly any booze whatsoever. He looks at his watch and sees that it’s after two in the morning. He doesn’t even feel very tired. Maybe he someh
ow avoided the jet lag. In fact, he feels pretty awake right about now. That’s when he notices Dania has put her hand on his knee. He wonders if she’s just affectionate that way.
“That man at the club,” he says, and looks at Dania. “Was that Mick?”
“Sweetie, there is no Mick,” she says, and squeezes his knee. “I already told you that.”
“Is he the boy in the photograph?”
“There’s no boy in the photograph, either.”
“But he knew my brother. That guy.”
“Gave you that look, did he?”
“Yeah,” Steven says.
“That’s Nez. He’s my manager.”
“You have a manager?”
“That’s how it works here,” she explains. “Everyone does.”
“He didn’t act like a manager.”
“That’s because he’s an asshole.”
“Well, he didn’t like my brother very much, did he?”
“No,” Dania says, and watches the dancers onstage very closely. One of them turns and looks at her as she spins around the brass pole in the middle of the tiny stage. When she and Dania make eye contact, Steven wonders if they know each other.
“I could tell from the way he looked at me,” Steven says, as if he needs to explain it to her, even though he knows he doesn’t. “A lot of people don’t like me at all because they don’t like my brother.”
“I like you,” Dania says, and squeezes his knee again. He reaches down and puts his hand on top of hers. He knows he shouldn’t, but, for that one brief moment, it’s a bad decision he’s willing to make.
They’re all wrong about us, Scotty mumbles from inside his paper bag. You’re the one who can’t be trusted. You’re the rebel.
Steven smiles and—looking Dania up and down—realizes why Scotty had so much fun being a free spirit.
10
Steven stumbles getting out of the taxi, and Scotty’s bag of ashes almost falls out of his jacket pocket and onto the sidewalk. Laughing, he tucks the bag back into place and turns around to help Dania get out of the cab. She winks at the cab driver and laughs as loudly as Steven just did. She’s obviously just as drunk as he is.
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