1
Vivienne
I stood outside The Orpheum's imposing glass doors, my reflection wavering in the dark surface like a question I wasn't sure I wanted answered. The building rose above me in sleek lines of steel and shadow, all sharp edges and expensive restraint. Through the windows, I caught glimpses of warm light and moving figures—beautiful people in beautiful clothes doing beautiful things I had no business attempting.
What the hell am I doing here?
I smoothed my hands down the black satin corset Melissa had bullied me into buying, the fabric clinging to curves I usually kept hidden beneath loose cardigans and A-line skirts. The high-waisted slacks were supposed to be ‘sophisticated,’ according to my old college roommate, but I felt like I was playing dress-up in someone else's life.
"You have to stop hiding your body like it's something to apologize for," Melissa had said during our shopping expedition that afternoon, dragging me through boutiques I'd never have entered alone. "We're going to be seen tonight, Viv. Trust me on this."
It had been a whirlwind of a day since Melissa flew in that morning—brunch at an overpriced café, the impromptu shopping trip, then the FaceTime session earlier this evening where Melissa had insisted on approving the final look from her hotel room while she got ready herself.
I had trusted her, even spent forty minutes trying on different combinations while Melissa critiqued each one.
I splurged and bought new lipstick—a deep wine shade that made my mouth look fuller, and made me look more confident than I felt.
Now, standing alone on the sidewalk while well-dressed couples glided past me into the club's warm embrace, I wondered if trust had been a mistake.
I pulled out my phone. Still no response to my last three texts:
I'm here.
Where are you… Running late as usual?
Mel, please tell me you didn't forget.
The silence stretched, filled only by the distant hum of the city and the soft jazz bleeding through The Orpheum's doors each time they opened. I checked the time. Eight-thirty. We'd agreed to meet at eight.
Melissa was always running late—it was practically her signature move. But thirty minutes? That was pushing it, even for her.
A group of women in designer dresses laughed as they passed, their heels clicking against the pavement in perfect synchronization. One of them glanced at me—a quick, assessing look that somehow managed to catalog everything wrong with my outfit, my posture, my very presence outside this place.
I should leave.The thought came with a wash of relief so strong it surprised me.
I should call a cab, go home and grade papers and pretend this never happened.
But I'd already paid the cab fare to get here. Had already spent money I didn't really have on clothes I'd probably never wear again. Had already psyched myself up for an evening of catching up with the girl who used to be my closest friend before life pulled us in different directions.
And somewhere deep down, beneath the anxiety and the voice that whispered I didn't belong, was a tiny flame of curiosity.
When would I ever get another chance to see inside a place like this?
I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and walked through the doors.
The interior hit me like a wave of sensory overload. Warm amber light pooled from fixtures that probably cost more than my annual salary. The air smelled of expensive perfume and aged whiskey, with an undertone of something rich and smoky I couldn't identify. Jazz played softly from hidden speakers. Music that suggested sophistication and secrets.
The hostess—a striking woman with platinum hair and a smile sharp enough to cut glass—looked up from her podium. "Good evening. How may I help you?"
"I'm on the guest list," I said, proud that my voice came out steady. "Vivienne Ellis. I'm here with Melissa Torres."
Manicured fingers scrolled down a tablet. "Ah yes, Ms. Ellis. Welcome to The Orpheum. Ms. Torres hasn't arrived yet, but you're welcome to wait at the bar or I can seat you at your reserved table."
Of course she's not here yet.
"The bar is fine, thank you." I manage.
The hostess gestured toward the far end of the room, where a curved bar of dark wood gleamed under pendant lights. "Miguel will take excellent care of you."
