“Cara is so cool,” Abigail says, bouncing to me and grabbing me in a hug. “I mean, she has her
own club. How cool is that? Do you think she and her boyfriend are serious?”
I laugh and shake my head. “You’re not gay. Why do you keep pushing this?” Should I tell her I
had a similar reaction when I met Cara the first time? Nah.
“Because I would totally go Bi for her. The woman is sex on stilettos. I either want to do her, or
be her. I don’t know, I’m all mixed up. And I’m four drinks in, so either seems like a valid choice.”
She spots Cara threading through the crowd and yells to her, “Hi Cara. Hey! How are you? You’re
so cool. This place is awesome. I love you. Oops,” she dissolves into giggles and collapses against
me, burying her face in my breasts.
I stand there dumbly, holding my friend, wondering if it’s too late to change my mind. When Cara
suggested we come to the club, I should have politely declined. Stupid new me. This is not my scene
at all. Though watching my friend make a fool of herself is mildly amusing.
Cara rolls her eyes and stops next to Janey and me. She studies our faces, and her gaze softens.
“Why don’t we move you guys to the VIP area? You’ll have a little more room to breathe up there.”
I nod frantically and, clutching Janey’s hand in one of mine, loop my other arm around Abigail.
We move as a wobbly, giggly amoeba toward the back of the club.
Cara’s approached every few steps, but she somehow keeps us moving as she smiles and laughs
with men and women along the way. Finally, we’re up some steps past one of the tallest men I’ve ever
seen in person and sitting on a velvet couch.
I sigh in relief as Abigail lets go of me and drops to the cushion. I rotate my shoulder as I stare
around the space. The music is a little quieter here, which is weird since it’s still in the same space.
The lighting is lower, and yeah, there’s more room to breathe. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, I can
look down a few feet into the mass of people, but not be totally overwhelmed by them.
“This is much better,” Janey says, the same relief I’m feeling in her voice.
Cara waves a waitress over. “Take care of them. Anything they need, put it on my tab.” The
waitress nods and takes our drink orders, then hustles off. “My bartenders are getting slammed, so I
can’t stay. But I’ll check in with you later.”
“Bye, Cara,” Abigail yells, waving her whole arm. Cara laughs and waves over her shoulder as
she walks away.
“How did I not know you were this embarrassing?” I ask Abigail, barely recognizing my friend.
