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I’d almost changed twice, but Alyssa’s voice in my mind forced me to keep it on. It was one of the outfits she’d added to my luggage, and she’d been right. It fits like a glove. She made sure to tell me over and over when I tried it on over FaceTime for her.
The building glowed from the inside out, neon spewing from every corner. Large letters hang overhead that spell out the club's name, “QUBE.” As I approached the door my feet vibrate from the bass within. A line wrapped around the building, and a tall man wearing a black suit guarded the entrance.
The breeze makes me wish I’d grabbed a jacket before getting into the Uber.
Imposter syndrome strikes hard as I walk up to the bouncer.
Gareth had told me to tell the club I was with the band. That saying this would ensure they let me right in.
I ignore the sneers and glares from the dozens of people stuck in line, and when the mountain of a man guarding the entrance looks me up and down he is visibly unimpressed.
“Back of the line,” he barks and I take the inside of my cheek between my teeth.
I clear my throat. “No, I will not go to the back of the fucking line.”
I’ve surprised him and myself.
“Is that right?”
I nodded, trying to find the confidence I lacked.
“I’m—uh, here with the band. I’m their PR manager, or I guess you’d call it the tour publicist.” Words are flying from my mouth as I try to justify why the hell I’m here. “Chaotix, they’re inside.”
Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t manage the sentence without a stammer.
His thick chestnut brow furrows as he reaches for the clipboard on the podium. “Name?”
“Juliet Warren.”
He flips the page on a clipboard and scans it with his index finger. He pauses halfway down the page and looks back up at me, surprise marring his gruff face.
“Right this way, Miss Warren.”
He unlatches the red velvet barrier and gestures towards the entrance, simultaneously signaling for one of the attendants to escort me the rest of the way.
As I stepped past the barrier and entered the club, it was as if I had stepped out of reality and into some alternative universe.
There are bodies everywhere, and the pulse of the house music jars my senses.
“Welcome to The Qube. Enjoy yourself,” the bouncer says before turning his back to me and returning his gaze to the other patrons in line.
Disco balls of all shapes cover the ceiling, and the lights bounce off the mirrored bits creating a magical effect. Suspended cages with go-go dancers inside hang from the ceiling, their outfits made of reflective fabrics that bend the light from the LEDs and mirrors. Each of them sports a pair of retro, neon square-framed glasses. I guess to play off the name of the club. There is a stage towards the back that houses a massive, glowing martini glass that serves as the centerpiece for a burlesque show.
I look around, hoping to find wherever a place like this would seat their VIPs. Undoubtedly that would be where I would discover Gareth and the others. The attendant points towards a second-floor area, seemingly reading my mind.
Walking through the crowd was a task in itself. I could barely hear myself think, let alone listen to the words coming out of my mouth asking where I could find them. My skin kept brushing against strangers, stray hands touching my body as people try to pull me in for a dance. The contact is making me wish I wasn’t so exposed.
“Jules!”
A voice calls out over the noise.
I try to follow it.
“Up here!”
My eyes train upward and I see Ant.
There’s a platform high above everyone else, lined with bright purple neon strips. To the right is a staircase being guarded by someone I recognize.
