“Ooh, a surprise for me? Well, can you give me a hint?” She laughs at his response.
“Okay, I’ll be patient.”
“We’re here,” the Uber driver says, pulling up to the curb.
“Hey, I gotta go. We just arrived at the club. I resent that. I’m always good. Okay. Can’t wait for your surprise. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you.” She clicks off.
“Sorry,” she says. “Just my brother.”
I look out the window at the tall, old, narrow building that houses the Red Room. Each floor has a different theme and music. I’ve only been here once before, and it was early and quiet on a weeknight. The topmost floor was set up like a speakeasy, with deep velvet chairs, bluesy music, and a skilled bartender. It was intimate and felt like stepping into another era. I plan to hide out there while Daisy gets groovy dancing.
We wave goodbye to the driver and link arms, walking down the street. A giddy feeling overtakes me. The air feels electric, as if anything is possible. Maybe Daisy is right; maybe I’ve gone so far into my rut I forgot what fun a night out can be. I’m young. I shouldn’t waste my twenties staying home alone. Even introverts need people sometimes.
We walk toward a long line of club kids dressed to party. A beefy bouncer wearing all black is checking IDs.
As always, Daisy leads us straight to the front of the line.
The bouncer’s face is a scowl until he sees Daisy. He goes from scary to welcoming in a flash. “Hey, tiny dancer. Where’ve you been?”
She leans over to give him a hug. “Oh, you know me, here and there. Juan, this is my friend Olivia.”
I give him an awkward wave and try to pull down my dress so it fully covers my backside. Earlier tonight, Daisy played fairy godmother to my Cinderella. It’s one of her favorite parlor tricks, turning boring me into a slutty princess for a night out.
“Any friend of Daisy’s is a friend of mine.”
He waves away our money for the cover and unfastens the rope to let us through. There are a few grumblings from the people at the front of the line, but Juan glares them into silent submission.
My excitement for the night fizzles as we step through the door to the first floor that houses the crowded main bar. Bodies are piled in together, people shouting to be heard against grating electronic beats. Male gazes creep over me, eyeing my expansive cleavage and exposed legs.
Now I remember why I hate going out.
“Okay, it’s been super fun. Time to go home now!” I shout to Daisy.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Daisy catches my arm as I try to turn around to head back through the door. “You’ll have at least one drink and dance with me.”
“Everyone is staring,” I hiss.
“We’re fucking stunning, which is why everyone’s staring.”
I pull at my dress again. I don’t have the wardrobe for clubbing. I favor neutral and dark colors, comfortable fit, and cozy fabrics. Daisy calls my style goth homesteader, so she convinced me to borrow one of the vintage dresses from her shop.
It’s so lovely I couldn’t resist. It’s a swinging sheath of a dress that’s low and tight across the chest and falls mid-thigh. Except when I’m walking or moving. Then, it falls higher. With my curves, I didn’t think the style would work for me, but it’s surprisingly flattering, if a little skimpy.
Maybe I should have more fun and take more risks with my wardrobe. I never had much time or money to spend on clothes and finding my personal style. But this summer is supposed to be about stepping out of my comfort zone.
Daisy pushes her way toward the front of the crowd.
She doesn’t let go of my hand as she does her maneuvering, so I try my best to sidestep through the crowd with her. Wispy, delicate Daisy can breeze through tight spaces that my curves can’t, while I feel like I’m molesting total strangers with my ass and boobs. The male strangers don’t seem to mind.
When we finally make it to the bar, she catches the bartender’s attention, calling, “Two old fashioneds!”
The bartender, a man with way too many tattoos for one person, stares her down.
“Lychee martinis?” she asks, twirling her hair.
“You need to go to the top floor if you want a froufrou drink. We only have the basics here,” he growls, then folds his arms, waiting.
Daisy laughs. “Fine. How about two Red Bulls and vodka? But only the top-shelf vodka.”
“Wait, no. I’ll be up all night if I have an energy drink this late,” I say.
The bartender thrums his fingers on the bar impatiently.