Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
Watching others swirl down a drain of misery didn’t bring Kya pleasure, but she had to admit it didn’t hurt right now. The next night, from her seat in the back of the bar, Kya quietly witnessed the break-up of a couple huddled at a nearby table. ‘I hate you!’ the blonde woman screamed before jumping up and storming out through an emergency exit. The guy just sat there, dumbfounded, when really, he ought to have been rushing out to the parking lot and checking on his car in case she was smashing the headlights. Not that Kya blamed her. She’d been scorned, too, and the mix of rage and sorrow was unlike anything she’d ever felt.
‘You were saying?’ Hugo said.
Fifteen minutes ago, he’d abandoned her at their table to greet some DJ from the UK or wherever. He was back, casually picking up the conversation where he’d left off. She didn’t blame him for ditching her, she was terrible company tonight. If only he hadn’t insisted she come out. She was better off at home.
‘I was saying,’ she resumed, through clenched teeth, ‘that none of this makes sense. What were they thinking? How could they possibly make me redundant? Do I look like dead weight to you? I’m a key player, the ace of spades. When I get back out there, I’m heading straight to HQ. I’ll make those cowards tell it to my face. What? You think I won’t? I’m not afraid of those men and their small—’
‘Small what?’ Hugo interrupted.
‘ Ideas! ’
‘Oh,’ he said, disappointed. ‘Go on.’
She carried on with her rant. ‘I’ll make them sorry. I’ll cram their email down their throats! Do you hear me?’
‘I hear you,’ he assured her. ‘And I love this energy. But that’s assault, and if it lands you in jail don’t call me. Or your brother. He works hard and doesn’t need the stress.’
She slid him a side-eye. ‘You two are useless!’
Hugo, an insufferable optimist, was fundamentally unable to grasp the gravity of her situation.
He shrugged. ‘What can I say? We live a soft life. No riding, no dying.’
‘Must be nice.’
He reached for her hand. ‘This is a bump on a long road. You’re strong. You’ll survive this.’
Deep inside she did not feel strong. That was the problem.
Kya took a sip of her cocktail, which was unquestionably weak. She was determined to get drunk and this speakeasy-style bar, known for its speciality cocktails, had let her down. Two drinks and no buzz, just a constant ringing in her ear from the loud music, which was driving her insane.
‘Do you want my advice?’
‘Not really.’
‘Chill out,’ Hugo advised her anyway. ‘Try to have a good time.’
‘I am chill.’ She could stab someone with an icicle, she was that chill.
‘Dance!’ he ordered. ‘Shake it off!’
‘Shut up before I assault you .’
‘Look at where you are.’
She glanced around. The speakeasy was at the heart of artsy Wynwood. It was called Blood Orange due to its monochromatic décor. Everything, from the walls to the velvet chairs, the bold neon signs, even her mediocre cocktail, was in a homicidal hue.
‘Looks like I’m in hell, if I’m being honest,’ she said.
Hugo winked and ruffled her hair. ‘Might as well enjoy it.’
He was a bad influence; that’s what she liked most about him. Whenever she travelled to Miami to visit her brother, which wasn’t often, she ended up spending most of her time with Hugo. Family lore had it that her sombre sibling had fallen under the Brazilian graphic artist’s spell within seconds. It was easy to understand why. Hugo was life-affirming – and handsome, too. Thick black curls, amber skin, a wicked grin, he turned heads wherever they went. While Dr Adrian Reid performed rhinoplasty on the well-to-do, she and Hugo spent their days at the beach and hit the trendy spots at night.
Tonight’s event was a private party. They were here at the invitation of one of Hugo’s friends. Solstice Music Week was fast approaching and these sorts of events, showcasing electronic music and the genre’s superstar DJs, were the norm. A nice change of pace. In the last six months, she hadn’t attended any event that didn’t involve a corporate logo tee. Normally, she’d be into it. Blood Orange was a cool venue. She’d locked eyes with a gorgeous girl in the ladies’ room. When was the last time that had happened? She’d been single a while and eager to move on. Her eagerness lagged.
She’d been at the mirror, doing everything she could to look alive. Her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror had shocked her. Hugo had dragged her out of the house without much warning. Her face was gaunt and her deep brown complexion ashen. Kya did the best with what she had. With trembling hands, she applied lipstick as blush. She ran her fingers through her waist-length braids.
The girl at the next sink, who wasn’t having a meltdown, confidently swiped on lip gloss and fluffed her hair. It was just the two of them in the dimly lit, narrow space that smelled heavily of lavender. The music’s deep bass pounded at the door. The girl had deep bronze skin and thick curly hair tied back. She wore an oversized blazer, heels, and … nothing else? She caught Kya staring. It wasn’t full-on eye contact, a side glance at most, but there was fire there. And yet, even after all that, her deepest, most ardent desire was to escape, slip out the emergency exit like the angry blonde, hop in a ride home, and crawl back into bed – where Hugo had found her – and cry herself to sleep.
‘How long have you known your DJ friend?’ she asked Hugo.
He brought his straw to his lips. ‘Which one?’
‘The one who invited you … the one from Scotland—’
‘England,’ he corrected her.
‘Yeah, that one.’
‘We go way back. Why?’
‘Would they mind if we left early?’
Her question went unanswered. Hugo had many friends with whom he went way back, and a group had arrived. They crowded their small table, cackling over a joke that flew over Kya’s head, knocking over her drink in the process. She had to get away from these clowns.
Kya got up and made her way to the bar. She needed something simpler and more substantial to survive the night. ‘Tequila on ice!’ she ordered.
The bar was social media central. A woman at the far end was vlogging, straight up talking to camera with a mini ring light illuminating her features. The guy in the seat next to hers was livestreaming the event. He wore jeans ripped to shreds and if Kya was in a better place, she would’ve asked him about his tattoos. But she was in a bad place and couldn’t be bothered. She couldn’t imagine the members of her private LinkedIn group taking an interest in the livestream of a DJ set, so her phone stayed firmly in the back pocket of her vintage Levi’s. What would she even say?
Hi guys! It’s Kya. Ten p.m. on a Saturday night in Miami and this is a nightmare day in the life of a girl who got laid off from big tech.
Kya scanned the room, looking for no one and somehow finding her, the girl from the ladies’ room. Huddled with a group of guys by the stage, awash in red neon light, she glowed while the others faded into the shadows.
If there was anything worth Kya’s neighbour photographing, it wasn’t a cocktail glass, it was her. In this hellscape, she was an angel. Her light brown hair, now loose, spun to gold at the tips, creating a halo. She was beaming with joy, and when her little group erupted, her laugh bubbled to the surface, light and clear. Some people had made better life choices than her, that much was obvious to Kya. To be happy, what would that even feel like? God, she might die.
The music stopped abruptly to roaring cheers. Kya sighed and welcomed the relative quiet that followed. She wasn’t a party girl at heart. Her phone held carefully curated playlists to suit her activities, mainly working, working out, and commuting to work. Power ballads and anthems – that’s what she liked most. Anything to wake up the girl boss in her. She could use an anthem now. Hugo said she’d survive this ordeal, but she needed a little help to believe it.
Kya turned to the stage. Her rational thoughts were swimming for their lives, but somehow, she decided this was her chance. One DJ had wrapped their set and now another, the happy girl, was gearing up to replace them. She kept right on chatting with the others while a sound tech hooked her mic. It was a sign, from heaven or hell, that she should make a move.
Kya tossed back the tequila and made her way across the dance floor. Soon the music would pick up, the crowd would swell. It was now or never. The girl pushed up to the podium. Up close and in the light, she was more beautiful than Kya had thought. There was glitter in her hair and her eyelids, and somehow, she sparkled all over.
‘Hey, DJ!’ Kya cried. ‘ Heyyy! ’
Was she slurring? God! The tequila hadn’t done her any good.
The girl glanced her way. Kya thought for sure she might dismiss her until one of the guys tried to and she blocked him.
‘Don’t!’ she warned.
The single syllable was delivered in a pointed British accent. It took a minute, but Kya managed to connect some dots. ‘Hey!’ Kya shouted. ‘Are you my friend’s friend?’
The question sounded stupid even to her own ears.
The girl approached and hunched low to meet Kya’s eyes. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve got a lot of friends,’ she said. ‘Do you need us to call someone to the stage?’
Why was she speaking to her this way? She wasn’t a child lost in a mall. ‘I’d like to request a song.’
The DJ smiled pleasantly. ‘No.’
‘No?’
‘ No! ’ she said. ‘Which song, though?’ she asked. ‘Just curious.’
‘“Survivor” by Destiny’s Child,’ Kya said, in hopes of persuading her. Already the chorus stirred inside her heart .
One of the guys on stage, having overheard, cried, ‘This ain’t karaoke night!’
Another jumped in, lightning-quick. ‘Feeling emotional? Is it that time of the month?’
And yet another added, ‘What else can we get you? A hot water bottle?’
Kya’s enthusiastic face dropped and her bottom lip stuck out. It looked like she might burst into tears at any moment.
The DJ tried to intervene. ‘Shut up! Can’t you see that she’s not okay?’
Her words were swept away in a torrent of laughter. They cackled and howled and congratulated one another on their quick wit. A minute ago, Kya had bragged about taking down her former employers, getting in their faces and telling them what’s what. And now? She just stood there like the dead weight she was.
Let them laugh , Kya thought. They have every right to. I’m not okay. I’m a joke.
‘Go and have a glass of water,’ the DJ said. ‘You’ll be all right.’
The kindness cut deeper than any insult. Kya couldn’t take it. She swivelled around and bolted. In her rush to get away, she bumped into a waiter. His loaded tray flipped out of his hands. A second later, Kya was covered in ridicule and bright and fruity cocktails.
If humiliation was a colour, it was blood orange.