The room is warm from all the bodies. The mixture of colognes has overridden the shop’s usual smell of coffee, dust, and whatever’s been ordered for lunch. Some people are hanging out, blocking the aisles as they catch up or flirt, but others are rummaging through the bins for records. Phoebe tugs me to the counter, where there’s a line of five people waiting to make purchases. Booker is perched on the stool behind it, ignoring them all while he chats up a girl holding a credit card.
“Deiss wants you downstairs,” he says, spotting us.
“Deiss also wants to sell some records,” Phoebe says, grabbing the girl’s credit card and slapping it on the counter. “So, sell some.”
Booker rolls his eyes but picks up the card. “I know you think you work here, but you don’t.”
“I know you think you don’t work here,” Phoebe says with a smirk, “but you do.”
She leads us to the door downstairs, which has been blocked by a small folding table. Mia is sitting behind it with a lockbox and a scowl. The tips of her hair are green today, and she’s finally taken the bandage off her new neck tattoo. It looks like Sanskrit and is still red around the edges.
“Twenty dollars each,” she says, giving no indication that she’s ever seen us before, much less this morning when I brought her coffee in one of Deiss’s travel mugs. I even remembered she likes milk but no sugar.
“I like the tat,” Phoebe says. “What does it mean?”
Mia’s lips curl at the compliment. “Roughly translated: Give me twenty dollars.” She turns toward me, and one pierced eyebrow lifts as she takes in my outfit. “Each.”
“I heard Bears in Captivity goes old-school with some power ballads,” Phoebe says, referring to tonight’s band. She grabs my hand and skirts around Mia’s table, giving her a saucy wink as we scurry past. “Don’t forget to save me a dance.”
“Oh.” I breathe the word out as we descend the stairs. “I can’t believe you just did that. We’re in so much trouble.”
“Mac and I come to these shows all the time,” Phoebe says, “and we’ve never paid once.”
My eyes widen. “So, just I’m in trouble?”
Phoebe glances back at me with an evil grin. “Correct-ola.”
I laugh but turn sideways just in case Mia decides to hurl a throwing star at my back. Downstairs, the lights are all on, including the bulbs that line the walls. The band is setting up on the small wooden stage that’s raised a few feet off the floor. The back wall is lined with boxes, but the rest of the basement is impressively empty. Someone, likely Deiss, has painted the entire basement a bold fuchsia color. It’s an odd choice but surprisingly perfect. It offsets the gray concrete floor well and is toned down by the collection of black-and-white music posters that pepper the wall to the right of the stage. No wonder he’s been able to give such helpful advice on my projects. He’s got a good eye for design.
The room is mostly empty, but the clicking of our heels causes the few people present to look up. Phoebe waves at the band, but I focus on the group standing in the middle of the room. It’s Deiss and Mac, who I expected to see, but Simone’s with them, too, standing next to a man I’ve never met. Notably absent: Zoe.
She texted earlier to set up a time on Monday to meet about the project she’s working on, but I haven’t seen her since she left with Deiss last night.
I expected to. At least I expected to hear her voice. I sat in my room for hours after I got home, staring at the sky blue walls and missing Cat Stevens, trying to convince myself I wasn’t desperate for Deiss to return alone. But when I finally heard the creaking of the front door, I could’ve wept with relief at the sound of only one set of footsteps.
“This is her. She did it,” Mac says, bounding toward me and throwing an arm around my shoulders. He propels me forward, beaming down at me. “These guys like your flyer!”
I smile back at him uncertainly before peeking at Deiss for confirmation, but Deiss’s eyes seem to be caught somewhere between my neck and my waist. I inhale sharply. My stomach does an aerial swoop. Even if it is just the novelty of seeing me in Phoebe’s clothes, it’s intoxicating to discover that Deiss is capable of seeing me as a woman.
“They do?” I ask, still looking at Deiss.
When my words cause him to look up, I smirk knowingly to distract from the blush I feel blooming on my cheeks. He laughs at my smugness, looking only the slightest bit sheepish at having been caught ogling me.