I keep fidgeting with the crease in my slacks while she checks the list. We handed her our IDs. Mine is a fake, showing that I'm 21. My dad, naturally, is already making eyes at her like he's got nowhere else to be. I'm not sure if he's actually flirting or just trying to distract her. I never know.
A second later, she hands us each a flashlight, a deep red satin tie, and a water bottle.
"Molly will be with you guys in a sec," she says, flashing us another playful smile.
A woman comes up to us a moment later and introduces herself as Molly, the host for the event. That part's normal. They always send someone to walk us through the place so we know the layout and our positions.
Molly leads us through the front entrance first, and the club swallows us whole.
Scarlet is darker inside than it looked from the street. The lighting is low and moody, washed in red that spills over black walls and glossy surfaces. Everything feels intentional. Sharp edges. Dark velvet booths. Mirrors framed in matte black. A long bar that gleams under a strip of crimson light.
The air smells like expensive perfume and fresh paint.
My eyes move automatically, taking inventory. Exits. Sightlines. Blind spots. Points where somebody could disappear if they wanted to. Dad does the same beside me, only he looks bored doing it, like this kind of thing is muscle memory.
Molly walks backward in front of us, talking as she goes.
"This is the main floor," she says, motioning to the center space where the dance floor will be once the crowd fills in. "VIP sections along the left wall. Bar's over there. Bathrooms are at the back. Emergency exit by the alley, staff only, and there's another exit near the storage hallway."
I nod once, filing everything away.
Dad glances at a booth near the far wall. "That one a VIP?"
"Yes," Molly says. "All the red booths are reserved seating."
"Fancy."
She smiles, clearly used to men like him. I'm not sure whether that makes me more amused or more annoyed.
She keeps us moving, leading us past the bar, where bottles are still being arranged behind glass shelves. Bartenders are testing the taps, glasses clinking softly in the background. A stage sits near the back with dark curtains drawn tight on either side, and overhead, a lighting rig throws a faint red glow across everything below it.
"We have security stationed at the front door, the main floor, and the back hall," Molly says. "You two will be mostly circulating, checking wristbands, keeping an eye on the bar, and helping with crowd control if things get too loud."
She takes us toward the back hall next. The music is still off for now, but I can already imagine what it'll feel like once the place fills up. Bass thumping through the floorboards, people shouting into each other's ears, drunk bodies pressing too close under red lights.
The hallway is narrower, quieter, painted black from floor to ceiling. Doors line one side: storage, staff only, office, restroomaccess. A camera sits in the corner above us, angled down toward the hall.
"Storage's here," Molly says, stopping at a steel door. "Medical kit, extra supplies, backup wristbands, replacement radio batteries. If anything happens, call me or one of the managers first."
"Got it," I say.
She points to another door. "Office. Locked at all times unless management is in there."
Molly takes us through the staff corridor and out the rear exit, where the alley waits in dim afternoon light. Dumpsters line the brick wall, and there's another door that opens straight into the back of the club.
"This is where deliveries come in," she says. "And where you'll probably spend half your night if somebody starts trouble."
My mouth twitches.
That sounds about right.
She gives us each a final once-over, then points back toward the front. "You'll have radios. If you need anything, call it in. Once the doors open, it gets loud fast."
I glance back toward the club entrance, then up at Dad.
He's looking at the building like he's already decided where the problems will start.
I can barely hear my radio over the music. The club is packed now, bodies moving in a restless blur, every kind of person folded together under the red lights and thick bass. So far, the night's been easy. Quiet. Mostly respectful. I've spent most of it posted near the bar, and Dad's stayed in his section too.
