Chapter 2 #2
“The way you look, that’s going to change tonight. If you don’t want him to have your number, give him a fake one. Next. You’re in college, anyway, so you’re cool there. We’ll say we’re roommates. I’m a liberal arts major. What are you majoring in again?”
“I’m supposed to go to medical school, but—”
“Better stick with that. Truth when possible. You don’t get as mixed up.”
“I’ll be in medical school, then, starting an internship.” Even the thought of it depressed her. “But I don’t want to talk about school unless I have to.”
“Boys only want to talk about themselves, anyway. Oh, God, we’re like almost there.” Julie opened her purse, checked her face in a little mirror, freshened her lip gloss, so Elizabeth did the same. “Can you get the cab? I got a hundred out of my mother’s cash stash, but otherwise I’m tapped out.”
“Of course.”
“I can pay you back. My dad’s an easy touch.”
“I don’t mind paying.” Elizabeth took out the cab fare, calculated the tip.
“Oh, man, I’ve got goose bumps. I can’t believe I’m going to Warehouse 12! It’s totally the bomb!”
“What do we do now?” Elizabeth asked as they climbed out of the cab.
“We get in line. They don’t let everybody in, you know, even with ID.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a hot club, so they turn off the dorks and dogs. But they always let in the hot chicks. And we are so the hot chicks.”
It was a long line, and a warm night. Traffic grumbled by, rumbling over the conversations of others who waited.
Elizabeth took in the moment—the sounds, the smells, the sights.
Saturday night, she thought, and she was queuing up at a hot club with beautiful people.
She was wearing a new dress—a red dress—and high, high heels that made her feel tall and powerful.
No one looked at her as if she didn’t belong.
The man checking IDs at the door wore a suit and shoes with a high shine. His dark hair, slicked back in a ponytail, left his face unframed. A scar rode his left cheekbone. A stud glinted in his right earlobe.
“He’s a bouncer,” Elizabeth whispered to Julie. “I did some research. He removes people who cause trouble. He looks very strong.”
“All we have to do is get by him and get in.”
“The club’s owned by Five Star Entertainment. That’s headed by Mikhail and Sergei Volkov. It’s believed they have ties to the Russian Mafia.”
Julie did her eye roll. “The Mafia’s Italian. You know, The Sopranos?”
Elizabeth didn’t know what singing had to do with the Mafia. “Since the fall of Communism in the Soviet Union, organized crime in Russia has been on the rise. Actually, it was already very organized, and headed by the SS, but—”
“Liz. Save the history lesson.”
“Yes. Sorry.”
“Just pass him your ID, and keep talking to me.” Julie pitched her voice up again as they wound their way to the door. “Dumping that loser was the best thing I’ve done in months. Did I tell you he called me three times today? God, as if.”
A quick smile for the bouncer, and Julie held out her ID as she continued her conversation with Elizabeth. “I told him forget it. He can’t make time for me, somebody else will.”
“It’s best not to commit to one person, certainly not at this stage.”
“You got that.” Julie held out her hand for the club stamp. “And I’m ready to check out the rest of the field. First round’s on me.”
She stepped around the bouncer while he performed the same check and stamp on Elizabeth, and her grin was so huge Elizabeth wondered it didn’t swallow the man whole.
“Thank you,” she said, when he stamped the back of her hand.
“You ladies have fun.”
“We are the fun,” Julie told him, then grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her into the wall of sound.
“Oh my God, we’re in!” Julie let out a squeal, mostly drowned out by the music, then bounced on her heels as she gave Elizabeth a hug.
Stunned by the embrace, Elizabeth jerked stiff, but Julie only bounced again. “You’re a genius.”
“Yes.”
Julie laughed, eyes a little wild. “Okay, table, Cosmos, dance and scope.”
Elizabeth hoped the music covered the pounding of her heart as it had Julie’s squeal.
So many people. She wasn’t used to being with so many people in one place.
Everyone moving or talking while the music pumped, pumped, pumped, a flood saturating every breath of air.
People jammed the dance floor, shaking, spinning, sweating.
They crowded into booths, around tables, at the long curve of the stainless-steel bar.
She was determined to be “chilly,” but a sweater wouldn’t be necessary. Body heat pulsed everywhere.
Getting through the crowd—dodging, weaving, bumping bodies—kicked Elizabeth’s heart rate to a gallop. Anxiety clutched at her throat, pressed on her chest. Julie’s death grip on her hand was the only thing that kept her from bolting.
Julie finally beelined for a table the size of a dinner plate.
“Score! Oh my God, it’s like everybody’s here. We’ve gotta keep scoping a table closer to the dance floor. This is so completely awesome. The DJ is slamming it.” She finally focused on Elizabeth’s face. “Hey, are you okay?”
“It’s very crowded and warm.”
“Well, yeah. Who wants to go to an empty, cold club? Listen, we need drinks and now, so I’m going to go to the bar. I’ll buy, since you paid for the cab. That’ll give me time to start scoping. You do the same from here. Two Cosmos, coming up!”
Without Julie’s hand to anchor her, Elizabeth gripped hers together.
She recognized the signs—anxiety, claustrophobia—and deliberately focused on steadying her breathing.
Liz didn’t panic just because she’d been swallowed up in a crowd.
She ordered herself to relax, starting with her toes and working her way up.
By the time she reached her belly, she’d calmed enough to take on the role of observer.
The owners—and their architect—had made good use of the warehouse space, utilizing an urban industrial motif with the exposed ductwork and pipes, the old brick walls.
The stainless steel—bar, tables, chairs, stools—reflected back the flashing color of the lights—another pulse, she thought, timed to the music.
Open iron stairs on either side led up to a second level, open as well. People crowded the rails there, or squeezed around more tables. There was likely a second bar on that level, she thought. Drinks were profit.
Down here, on a wide, raised platform, under those flashing lights, the DJ worked.
Another observer, Elizabeth decided. Raised in a position of authority and honor where he could see the crowd.
His long, dark hair flew as he worked. He wore a graphic T-shirt.
She couldn’t make out the art with the distance, but it was virulent orange against the black cloth.
Just beneath his perch, several women moved sinuously, rocking their hips in an invitation to mate.
Calm again, she tuned in to the music. She liked it—the hard, repetitive beat; the pounding of drums; the rough, metallic scream of guitar.
And she liked the way different dancers chose to move to it.
Arms in the air, arms cocked like a boxer’s with hands fisted, elbows jabbing, feet planted, feet lifting.
“Wow. Just wow.” Julie set martini glasses filled with pink liquid on the table before she sat. “I nearly spilled these coming back, which would have bummed. They’re eight dollars each.”
“Alcoholic beverages make up the biggest profit margin in clubs and bars.”
“I guess. But they’re good. I drank a little of mine, and it’s like pow!” She laughed, leaned in. “We should make them last until we find some guys to buy us drinks.”
“Why would they buy us drinks?”
“Duh. We’re hot, we’re available. Drink some, Liz, and let’s get out there and show our stuff.”
Obediently, Elizabeth sipped. “It’s good.” Testing, she took another sip. “And it’s very pretty.”
“I want to get lit and loose! Hey, I love this song. Time to shake it.”
Once again, Julie grabbed Elizabeth’s hand.
When the crowd closed in around her, Elizabeth shut her eyes. Just the music, she thought. Just the music.
“Hey, nice moves.”
Cautiously, Elizabeth opened her eyes again, concentrated on Julie. “What?”
“I was afraid you’d be dorky, you know. But you’ve got moves. You can dance,” Julie elaborated.
“Oh. The music’s tribal and designed to stimulate. It’s simply a matter of coordinating legs and hips. And mimicry. I’ve watched others dance a lot.”
“Whatever you say, Liz.”
Elizabeth liked moving her hips. Like the heels, it made her feel powerful, and the way the dress rubbed her skin added a sexual element. The lights made everything surreal, and the music itself seemed to swallow all.
Her discomfort with the crowd eased, so when Julie bumped hips with her, she laughed and meant it.
They danced, and danced more. Back at their tiny table, they drank Cosmos, and when a waitress came by, Elizabeth carelessly ordered more.
“The dancing makes me thirsty,” she said to Julie.
“I’ve got a nice buzz going already. And that guy over there is totally checking us out. No, don’t look!”
“How can I see him if I don’t look?”
“Take my word, he’s totally cute. I’m going to give him the eye and the hair toss in a second, then you, like, sort of really casual, turn in your chair. He’s got blond hair, kind of curly. He’s wearing a tight white T-shirt and a black jacket with jeans.”
“Oh, yes, I saw him before, over by the bar. He was talking to a woman. She had long, blond hair and wore a bright pink dress that showed a lot of cleavage. He has a gold hoop earring in his left ear, and a gold ring on the middle finger of his right hand.”
“Jesus, do you actually have eyes in the back of your head like my mom used to say she did? How do you know when you haven’t looked?”
“I saw him, over by the bar,” Elizabeth repeated. “I noticed him because the blond woman seemed very angry with him. And I remember because I have an eidetic memory.”
“Is it fatal?”
“No, it’s not a disease or condition. Oh.” Flushing a little, Elizabeth hunched her shoulders. “You were joking. It’s commonly called a photographic memory, but that’s not accurate, as it’s more than visual.”
“Whatever. Get ready.”
But Elizabeth was more interested in Julie—the eye, which included a tipped head, slow, secretive smile and a shift of the eyes from under the lashes. This was followed by a quick shake and toss of the head that lifted Julie’s hair and had it drifting down again.
Was it innate? Was it learned behavior? Some combination of both? In any case, Elizabeth thought she could emulate it, though she no longer had hair to toss.
“Message received. Oh, he’s got such an adorable smile. Oh my God, he’s coming over. He’s like actually coming over.”
“But you wanted him to. That’s why you…sent the message.”
“Yeah, but—I bet he’s at least twenty-four. I bet. Follow my lead.”
“Excuse me?”
Elizabeth looked up as Julie did but didn’t risk the smile. She’d need to practice first.
“I wonder if you can help me with something.”
Julie executed a modified hair toss. “Maybe.”
“I’m worried my memory is failing because I never forget a beautiful woman, but I can’t recall either of you. Tell me you haven’t been here before.”
“First time.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
“I guess you’re here a lot.”
“Every night. It’s my club—that is,” he said with a dazzling smile, “I have an interest in it.”
“You’re one of the Volkovs?” Elizabeth spoke without thinking, then felt the heat rise as he turned sizzling blue eyes on her.
“Alex Gurevich. A cousin.”
“Julie Masters.” Julie offered a hand, which Alex took, kissed stylishly on the knuckles. “And my friend Liz.”
“Welcome to Warehouse 12. You’re enjoying yourselves?”
“The music’s great.”
When the waitress came with the drinks, Alex plucked the tab off the tray. “Beautiful women who come to my club for the first time aren’t allowed to buy their own drinks.”
Under the table, Julie nudged Elizabeth’s foot while she beamed at Alex. “Then you’ll have to join us.”
“I’d love to.” He murmured something to the waitress. “Are you visiting Chicago?”
“Born and bred,” Julie told him, taking a long swallow of her drink. “Both of us. We’re home for the summer. We’re at Harvard.”
“Harvard?” His head cocked; his eyes dazzled. “Beautiful and smart. I’m half in love already. If you can dance, I’m lost.”
Julie took another drink. “You’re going to need a map.”
He laughed, held out his hands. Julie took one, rose.
“Come on, Liz. Let’s show him how a couple of Harvard girls get down.”
“Oh, but he wants to dance with you.”
“Both.” Alex kept his extended hand out. “Which makes me the luckiest man in the room.”
She started to decline, but Julie gave her another version of the eye behind Alex’s back, which involved a lot of rolling, eyebrow wiggling, grimacing. So she took his hand.
He wasn’t actually asking her to dance, but Elizabeth gave him credit for manners when he could have left her sitting alone at the table.
She did her best to join in without getting in the way.
It didn’t matter, she loved dancing. She loved the music.
She loved the noise rising around her, the movements, the smells.
When she smiled it wasn’t practiced, just a natural curve of her lips. Alex sent her a wink and a grin as he laid his hands on Julie’s hips.
Then he lifted his chin in a signal to someone behind her.
Even as she turned to look, someone took her hand, gave her a quick spin that nearly toppled her on her heels.
“As always, my cousin is greedy. He takes two while I have none.” Russia flowed exotically through the voice. “Unless you take pity and dance with me.”
“I—”
“Don’t say no, pretty lady.” He drew her close for a sway. “Just a dance.”
She could only stare up at him. He was tall, his body hard and firm against her. Where Alex was bright, he was dark—the long wave of his hair, eyes that snapped nearly black against tawny skin. As he smiled at her, dimples shimmered in his cheeks. Her heart rolled over in her chest and trembled.
“I like your dress,” he said.
“Thank you. It’s new.”
His smile widened. “And my favorite color. I’m Ilya.”
“I’m…Liz. I’m Liz. Um. Priyatno poznakomit’sya.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too. You speak Russian.”
“Yes. Well, a little. Um.”
“A beautiful girl wearing my favorite color who speaks Russian. It’s my lucky night.”
No, Liz thought, as, still holding her close, he lifted her hand to his lips. Oh, no. It was her lucky night.
It was the best night of her life.