Her mental wrestling was abruptly interrupted as Seven opened the door to the club. Music poured out into the desert as green, red, blue, and while lights strobed the night sky. There was something infectious about the combination. If you looked up fun in the dictionary, you would probably find a video of this moment, soundtrack and all.
And the look on Josh’s face? A combination of excitement and concern. Concern for her. She’d been the cause of too many people’s worried faces. She wasn’t going to add Josh to the list.
“Let’s go,” she encouraged.
“Are you sure?” Josh asked, searching her face for signs she was bluffing.
Allie put on her best I’m-totally-fine smile and walked toward the door that, surprisingly, Seven held open for her. Or Josh, she wasn’t sure.
She walked into a small, unfinished room. The sheetrock was covered in splattered paint. Allie guessed it was a cheap way to decorate? A lone figure sat behind a rickety desk. The purple-haired girl didn’t even raise her head from her texting as they filed into the room.
“25 bucks.” The attendant didn’t miss a key.
“Excuse me?” Josh asked.
“Each.”
Allie coughed so hard that it sounded like she had TB. She tried to recover, but couldn’t keep her hands shaking. Including the five her mom had donated, she had grand total of seventeen bucks. Her cheeks burned. How could she admit she didn’t have enough to pay for her own cover charge without looking like a total loser?
Josh turned to Seven. “I thought you said we were going to get the early bird special?”
“You are,” the attendant stated flatly. “The cover goes up to 50 in…” she turned her phone around to show a clock counting down. “One minute forty three seconds. Forty two. Forty —”
“Got it,” Josh interrupted. He pulled out a hundred dollar bill and handed it to the attendant, who pocketed the money. Josh waited with his hand out, but the attendant went back to texting. “The change?”
The attendant nodded to a sign. Exact cash only. “We don’t have change.”
“Then you just got a twenty five dollar tip?” Josh asked, sounding about as incredulous as Allie felt, but Seven tugged on Josh’s sleeve.
“Dude. Don’t be such a rookie.”
Allie was about to come to Josh’s defense. Not only had he whipped out that Benjamin without a thought to pay for both her and Seven, he’d done it without a single disapproving glance at her. He didn’t deserve to get ripped off. Before she could step forward, though, Josh sighed, shaking his head at the attendant. “Fine.”
The purple-headed chick didn’t even acknowledge his words, she just kept texting.
They stood there for a few moments. Josh glanced over to Allie. She shrugged her shoulders. She’d never been to a club before, so it was a little hard to tell if this was normal or not. He then looked to Seven, who was busy texting, too.
“Well?” Josh asked the attendant.
“Well, what?” she said, her eyes glued to the screen.
“Do we go in or…?”
Finally she looked up, her emerald green eyes looking Josh up and down. “You really are a newbie.”
Allie stepped between Josh and the attendant. No one, especially not a sorta hot club chick, spoke or looked at him like that. “He paid you.”
The attendant’s heavily eyelined lids narrowed into a hard black line. “For the cover.” Allie stood up to the stare. Not like she hadn’t had to stand up to the gangs in her neighborhood. Los Locas had been trying to jump her in since she was twelve. The attendant lowered her eyes. Not that Allie had necessarily won that little confrontation. It seemed the woman just got bored with it.
“Now you’ve got to pay for your clothes.”
“Our clothes?” Allie asked, shooting Josh a questioning look. “We’re already dressed.”
“Which is the problem,” the attendant sighed. “Now, you’ve got to strip.”
* * *
Keaton opened the door of the limo and stepped out of the way as Stavros unfolded his tall frame from the vehicle. Maybe next time he would send a stretch VW bus or something. He didn’t want Stavros at all uncomfortable.
“Mr. Stavros,” Keaton said, offering his hand. Unfortunately, it was to complete a fist bump, while the drug dealer had meant to shake hands. That got a bit awkward. No worries. He could fix this. He went for a bro-hug, but Stavros nearly tripped on himself backing away. “It’s cool. Not there yet, I get it.”
Stavros smiled, but one of those “I am just too polite to say what an idiot you are” smiles. That was okay too. Keaton was used to it. He liked to under-promise and over-deliver.
“The facility?” Stavros asked, as he re-buttoned and smoothed his suit jacket. Keaton watched carefully. Expensive clothes required upkeep. Without looking too obvious, he repeated the action. It just looked so cool.
“This way,” Keaton said, bounding up the stairs. Then he remembered which stairs he was climbing. “Yeah, be careful of that step. It’s a little sketchy.” As Stavros avoided the second step, Keaton pointed to the third. “And that one has been known to give out.”
With a frown, Stavros barely hit the third step and vaulted himself onto the porch.
“Whoa,” Keaton breathed. The guy dressed like a supermodel and jumped like an Olympian. Where was a notepad when you needed one?
Trying to keep his fanboy exclamations to a minimum, Keaton opened the front door. Strike that, he tried to open the front door. He made sure the three locks were unlocked and tugged again. “Sometimes it sticks.”
Okay, so it always stuck, but usually not this bad. Finally, with a good heave, the door opened, nearly knocking Keaton back down the steps. Regrouping in what he thought record time, Keaton waved his guest inside.
With a slight roll of his eyes, Stavros walked in. That was fine. The outside of the Hive might not look like much, but the inside, well the inside…Okay, fine, the inside looked a little run-down, but the rooms? That was where he shone.
But first things first. “A bit of refreshment?”
Keaton poured a glass from the pitcher and offered it to Stavros.
“I’m sorry, I don’t drink on inspections.”
“Oh, please,” Keaton said, shrugging off the man’s concern. “I don’t want you drunk. I want you amazed and well hydrated.”
Looking more than a little skeptical, Stavros accepted the proffered glass and took a sip. His expression transformed into one of pleasantly surprise.
“It’s a proprietary mix of fruit juices,” Keaton said proudly. “And pro-biotics to keep you regular.”
The near-smile on Stavros’s face fell back into a frown. Good to know. Cut the bowel talk during the pitch. Stavros did take another, longer, sip, though.
“Bet you can’t guess the combination,” Keaton challenged. Stavros looked like the type of guy who was up on his juices.
“Pear?” Stavros guessed, correctly. Off of Keaton’s nod the man continued. “Of course, a hint of watermelon.” Stavros took another sip. “I am going to say the acidity in the background is star fruit.”
Keaton snapped his fingers. “I like a man who knows his fruit. But that’s not all. There’s another one in there.”
Stavros’s eyebrow went up. The guy clearly underestimated how seriously Keaton took his fruit mixology. Before taking another sip, Stavros swirled the juice and inhaled the bouquet. Sorry, dude, the flavor was way more subtle than that. The man took a small sip, then tapped the liquid against his hard palette, forcing the fluid fully into his taste buds.
“It is delicate,” Stavros stated, taking another sip. “I have to say I can’t identify it.”
“Jicama!” Keaton announced, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. He had to remember thatStavros was new to the Hive. He had to ease the guy into how things rolled around here.
A frown flickered on Stavros’s lips, but then he drank down the rest of his glass. “Jicama it is.”
“Yep, amazing, rig
ht?” Keaton said getting ready for his pitch. “In room fourteen, we make specialty juices based on your heritage and BMI.”
“So this was made specifically for me?”
“Duh.”
Stavros cocked his head to the side. “How exactly?”
“Come on,” Keaton said. “Stavros Karkalas? Full-on Grecian descent, and when we met last week I nailed you as a perfect 20 on the BMI scale. Am I right?”
Was that a hint of a grin on those stern lips? Keaton thought it was.
Keaton may not have an Ivy League education or a Rodeo Drive fashion sense, but what he did have?
He knew how to make people feel special, baby. And that never went out of style.
* * *
Josh was still stammering as Allie asked the attendant, yet again, “What do you mean, strip?”
He would love to add to the argument but he was struggling to shut his stutter down. No one at this school knew. He was not about to ruin that with a loud, repeated “s, s, s, s.”
Finally, the attendant finished her epic-length text and looked up. “It’s a foam party. What did you think you were going to do?”
Allie looked to Josh and Josh looked to Seven. When Josh didn’t say anything, Allie jumped in. “Foam party? What the heck is a foam party?”
“It is a party,” Seven said, exaggerating each word. “With foam?” When Allie looked ready to blow a gasket, he continued. “We don’t need to consult a Wikipedia page or anything.”
Then Allie pulled out her phone, doing exactly that—only she didn’t have any reception.
The attendant sighed heavily. “Do you guys want to buy some clothes, or did you come prepared?”
“Oh, I came prepared,” Seven said, jerking his pants down.
“Stephen!” Allie exclaimed, turning away. Josh would have, too, but the whole scene was so bizarre that it was fascinating. Like he was in a reality show he hadn’t sign up for. Luckily, it turned out that Seven was wearing a pair of white boxers that had the word “No” stamped all over them. Which only added to the weird factor.
Seven finished by tugging his shirt up over his head. “I just need a shirt.”
The attendant put her hand out for cash. Seven turned to Josh. “Can you front me, man?”
Something about pulling his wallet out again settled him down. His lips felt like they might actually work.
“I don’t understand.”
“Look,” Seven said, “The club fills with glow-in-the-dark foam up to our necks, then drains out. The foam sticks to us, creating the most killer effect ever.” His friend cocked his head. “Do you really want to go home all foamed up do you?” After Josh shook his head, Seven continued, “So we get a new set here.”
That made sense. In a very, very convoluted way.
“You couldn’t have warned us?” Josh demanded of his friend.
“Like you would have come if I had,” Seven said rolling his eyes.
True. Josh couldn’t argue that point. Instead, he looked to Allie. “We don’t have to do this.”
Really. We don’t. Josh wanted to add. He perhaps had never wanted out of a situation more than he wanted out of this foam party. Seven had raved about how “off the hook” this party was, but Josh clearly had not understood the full extent.
Allie though, gulped. “You’ve already put out a hundred…”
“The money doesn’t matter,” he reassured her, keeping that “s” in check. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” Or for him to have to strip, but he couldn’t say that. Not out loud. Not with Seven right there. Stephen was his friend and would never talk smack about him, but Seven? Well, Seven would probably tell the whole school if Josh pussied out right now. He needed Allie to refuse so that he could walk out of here, his head held high, acting the gentleman.
Unfortunately, Allie looked to Stephen, who by now had pulled on a white tee-shirt. She turned to the attendant. “Do you have bottoms?”
The woman just gave her a “duh” look.
Allie gulped again. “We’ve come this far?”
Her eyes scanned his face. If it had been anyone else, he would have just urged them to leave, but Allie seemed to be getting into the spirit of the foam party. How could he refuse her?
Josh opened his wallet again. “So how much?”
The attendant pulled down another tee shirt and white jeans. “For you plus the other shirt it will be sixty five.” Then she grabbed a rather short skirt and tank top. “For her, a hundred.”
Allie held up the skimpy top. “How can this be more expensive? There’s like a quarter the fabric.”
“Yeah,” the attendant said. “You’ll pay more for clothes and get paid an average of seventy percent of what a man makes. Get used to it.”
“This is really expensive,” Allie said.
That could have been his out, but he couldn’t pay the broke card. Not when he had the money. “We said it was going to be a night to remember, right?” He pulled out his last two hundred dollar bills. “No change, again?”
The attendant shrugged a shoulder. “What can I say, policy.”
There went three hundred bucks in the space of a few minutes. His dad would kill him—well, more likely sit him down for a “talk” that included graphs and charts regarding fiscal responsibility, and his mom? Oh my gosh his mom would just tear up and go off to bake a pie or something.
As Josh handed the money over, he looked to Seven. “We will never discuss how much this cost. Ever.”
“Whatevs,” Seven said, tearing at the hem of his shirt, ripping it diagonally.
Allie gathered the clothes to her chest. “Is there a changing room?”
The attendant just gave her that look. At a foam party? A changing room, really?
“Allie, man,” Seven implored. “Be. Cool.”
“Stephen, don’t you —”
“Agh!” his friend exclaimed. “It is Seven. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” He turned to the attendant. “Right? Tell them I’ve got a rep.”
The attendant held out her hand. Seven looked to Josh but he was tapped out. With a heavy sigh, his friend dug around in his pocket and pulled out a fistful of crumpled bills. Josh noted they were all ones. Seven counted them off into her hand for a grand total of seven bucks. However, the woman was not satisfied until his friend fished around and emptied out all the change in his pockets into her palm.
“He has a rep,” she said with a monotone, then went back to texting.
“Oh, come on,” Seven implored, but the woman ignored him. He turned to Allie. “You heard it, though. A rep, so get busy and strip.”
CHAPTER 3
Allie froze in place. She’d felt certain that Josh would pull the plug on this whole foam party thing. She wasn’t about to show off what a stick-in-the-mud she was. But now the moment of truth was here and she couldn’t do it. He’d spent three hundred dollars. Practically half of Allie’s rent, and she was going to chicken out. Josh would never speak to her again.
“Here,” Josh said, taking off his jacket and holding it up. “I promise we won’t peek over.”
“Speak for yourself,” Seven argued.
Allie shot him one of her mother’s “do not test me” looks. The teen went back to customizing his shirt. Before she could think further, she pulled her turtleneck off and threw on the tank top. Backwards. Shimmying, she got the dang thing aligned properly. Or at least as properly as she could. Her bra straps stuck out like a sore thumb. Why of all nights did she decide to wear her hot pink one?
“Okay, ready for the bottoms.”
Josh lowered the jacket. For a just a moment his eyes dilated at her top, then he blushed and looked away. Well, at least there was that. Allie was beginning to worry that Josh didn’t bat for her team. Half the girls at school either thought he was gay or were in line to help show him why he shouldn’t be.
Unzipping her skirt, she let the thick fabric drop to the floor, then hurried into the mini-skirt. Make that a micro-skirt. A Snoo
kie-inspired number. There would be no bending over tonight. None.
Her skin felt so exposed. It wasn’t used to so much air-time. Heck, she slept in pajamas. The only time she was this uncovered was in the shower, and even then she rushed through it.
Making sure the skirt was tugged down as low as possible, Allie came out from around the jacket. She took the garment from Josh. “Your turn.”
However Seven snatched the jacket away. “Please, he’s a dude. It’s just like a locker room, only with hot chicks watching.”
Josh’s eyes darted back and forth. Allie made another grab for the jacket, but Seven skipped out of reach. She gave Josh a sympathetic grin. “I’ll look away.”
“I won’t,” the attendant chimed in. Great time for her to take a break from texting.
Allie averted her eyes as she heard the rustle of clothes coming off.
Then Seven barked a laugh. “Oh man! Tighty whities? Tell me it’s not true.”
She couldn’t help it as her eyes darted over just in time to see the stark white cuff of the briefs disappear behind the white pants.
“What were you thinking?” Seven demanded.
“Probably that his pants weren’t coming off tonight,” Allie retorted.
“Thanks,” Josh said. “I think…”
Oh crap. Allie hadn’t mean to imply…. Well, she wasn’t sure what she had meant to imply and what she hadn’t. Before she could open her mouth, Josh turned to the attendant.
“So, any more costs before we go in?”
“To get inside the club? No,” the purple haired chick said. “To store your clothes? Yes.”
Josh groaned next to Allie. “How much?”
“Just five bucks,” the attendant said sounding almost chipper.
“And none of that forty-five bucks I overpaid counts?”
With false sympathy the attendant shook her head. “Sorry. Strictly a la carte.”
Josh dug around in his wallet, he pulled out a folded bill. It looked like his emergency twenty.
Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection) Page 67