By my seventh trip, the noise quieted, so at least the rain was dying down. But there was another layer to the sound now. A melodic whisper … a song … as if someone was singing on the other side of the door.
Well, that didn’t make any sense. As far as I knew, I was the only person in the club. Abram must have left a CD playing. I pressed my ear against the door to get a better listen as the song continued.
It was … hmmm … I had to be hearing that wrong. It sounded like it was whispering my name.
I bristled and pulled my head away.
“Hello?” I rested just my palms against the door now. “Hello? Is someone—”
The door flared with heat, and I jerked backward as the metal burned my hands.
What the hell!
The song got louder, whispering my name over and over again.
“Real funny, Abram!” I said, hoping that it was a joke. I knew better, though. Abram wasn’t the joking type. And besides which, he wasn’t even here.
A knock on the door startled me so much that I shuddered.
“Charisse,” a voice sounded from the alleyway outside, and I jumped again, then caught my breath.
Get a hold of yourself, girl! It’s just the bartender.
I flipped open my phone and checked the time. Almost seven. The club would open in just over an hour. I needed to get back to work.
I gave the weird door one last look before sprinting down the hall to let the bartender in. She stood waiting for me with a big smile on her face, dry to the bone and not a puddle in sight.
***
An hour later, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I didn’t see New Haven as the sort of place to have much of a market for a night club. A bar, sure. A backwoods pool hall, definitely. But the sort of quasi-refined establishment I had in mind, not so much.
As such, I didn’t allow myself to entertain the possibility of The Castle filling up. Half-full would be a good night, I told myself. So you can imagine my surprise when not only did the place fill to capacity, but a line formed outside the door.
I guess the bouncer won’t be so bored after all.
Things moved quickly after that, and despite myself, a sense of pride started to build inside of me. I had done this. This place was popular, in part, because of all the hard work I had put into it in the last few weeks.
It sure as hell wasn’t Abram’s doing.
I thought about calling him. After all, it was his pockets that the thirsty crowd was lining tonight. And despite how infuriated I was with him, I wanted to make sure he was okay. And what was more, I kind of just wanted to talk to him.
No, that can’t be right.
My specific role changed a bit as the night progressed. I hadn’t really expected the influx of people, and Abram’s wallet hadn’t exactly been open during all of our planning, so I had hired accordingly. In other words, we were wildly understaffed. So as the hours passed, I went from proud manager, to equally proud hostess, all the way to down to haggard (but still proud) waitress.
I had just spilled three vodka tonics all over my white blouse when I heard the first words in hours that weren’t commands or drink orders.
“Lulu, I thought you said she ran the place,” came a familiar voice. “From here she just looks like a barmaid who’s showing too much cleavage.”
I quickly found the source. Ester sat at a nearby table beside Lulu, eyeing me up and down like a cat staring at a goldfish she deemed too small to worry about.
God, why couldn’t it have been a drink order?
“Char, your shirt …” Lulu mumbled, her gaze landing on me. There was a soda water in her hand, and the look on her face was a mix of shock and discomfort.
“I know,” I said. “It’s ruined.” I bent down and picked up the spilled glasses. “And it was Prada,” I said, cutting my eyes over to Ester. “Very expensive.”
“Well, now it’s see through,” Ester announced, grinning and taking a sip of her drink. Looking back at Lulu, she muttered, “I told you she wasn’t wearing a bra.”
Of course I wasn’t wearing a bra. Bras weren’t exactly designed for open-backed tops. But how would she know?
I followed her gaze down to my breasts only to find that the vodka tonics had bled through the fabric, exposing—well, everything I had that was exposable.
My face ran hot as I realized everyone was staring at me.
“Damn it!” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I didn’t expect you to be so modest.” Ester pursed her lips. “I guess models are only comfortable showing skin when they have Photoshop to correct those little imperfections.”
“Ester!” Lulu said, her gaze shooting daggers at her new friend.
“What?” she asked, motioning to my unintended display. “So they’re not perfect? I’m not judging her or anything.”
“You’ll have to excuse me,” I said through clenched teeth. Without waiting for an answer, I bolted off, arms still crossed to salvage what dignity I had left.