Page 7 of The Beat Match

Vivian scanned the animated room. “Pretty much. Weekends are even better. And they’ll be more bearable with you here. The guy you replaced was slow as a slug.”

“Never hire a man to do a woman’s job.”

“Truth.” Vivian shook her hips as she gathered dirty shot glasses. “You should come out tonight. There’s a killer DJ playing a late-night set at a new Brooklyn joint.”

At the word DJ, queasiness curdled Annie’s stomach. “I don’t have ID. It’s locked in my apartment.”

“Not an issue. I know the bouncer.”

So much for an easy out.

Besides playing piano, Annie hadn’t visited a club or watched a DJ in thirteen years. Not difficult during her late teens, but it had been a concerted effort since turning twenty-one. She interacted online in music forums, but visiting a club reminded her too much of Leo’s death.

She should politely decline Vivian’s offer, head home, take a long bath, rest her sore feet. Get some sleep so she could be fresh and bright for tomorrow’s piano delivery, after paying her landlord this month’s rent. But she was wired from her shift, and buying that piano had been about feeling more connected to her brother. Walking into a club would be hard. Listening to the music live could trigger memories she tried to forget.

It could also be like that moment her fingers had touched the busker’s piano, filling her up in unexpected ways.

“Count me in,” she told Vivian quickly.

“Oh, fun!” Vivian clapped. “I’m meeting a date. It’ll be nice not to go alone.”

“As long as you’re sure I won’t be a third wheel.”

“It’s a first date, so you’ll be doing me a favor. We’ll come up with a save-me-before-I-die signal.”

“You’re going to a club at one a.m. for a first date?” Annie’s dates had generally been mundane affairs at restaurants and quiet pubs. Except that one time she’d been dragged to an underground poker game and the cops had raided the place. Calling Wes to bail her out of jail had almost been amusing. The color of his cheeks had been more livid than furious that night.

Vivian ran her hands along her black bustier, her suctioned leather pants and stilettos making Annie’s skirt and high boots look matronly. “Clubs mean I can dress to impress, and if she can’t hack the scene, she’s not for me.”

Annie hadn’t expected the “she” but loved that Vivian owned who she was, down to her partier status and the type of woman she wanted to date. Annie had no clue who she wanted to date, or if she had a type. Of her two boyfriends, one had been nice and quiet, most of their evenings spent watching movies on the couch, often falling asleep there. The other had been loud and fun, snapping social media photos every chance he’d gotten, dragging her to parties and double dates, rarely spending time alone with her.

Both had gotten on her nerves around month three.

“Meet me out front in fifteen,” Vivian said.

Annie nodded and worked to clean her area, moving, wiping, trying not to think too hard about how it would feel walking into a club. Already, though, images of Leo were sneaking up on her. She may not have been there the night he’d been shot, but that didn’t keep her imagination from conjuring horrifying images: blood splatter, strangled screams, lifeless eyes.

She blinked hard.

Hopefully this outing wasn’t a horrible idea. Hopefully it wouldn’t end with a wallow session on her floral couch as she drowned her sadness in salt and vinegar chips while scrapbooking until her fingers hurt.

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3

The club’s atmosphere was like plugging Annie’s fingers into a light socket. Energy blasted from the speakers. Tons of it. A massive heartbeat wrapping her in its intensity as club goers bopped and grinned. A wave of sorrow didn’t drag her under as she’d expected. Instead the deep bass pounded in her chest, awakening memories of Leo’s smile and roaring laugh and killer dance moves.

The potency built as she followed Vivian through the standing-room-only space. Lights flashed. They got jostled a few times before they found the bar.

“This place is nuts,” she yelled to Vivian.

“Wait until you hear the last DJ. He goes by Falcon and will blow your mind. If it gets wild and we get separated, let’s meet at the exit at two thirty.” Vivian shook her shoulders to the beat while trying to flag a bartender. Fat chance with this crush of people. “So, boyfriend? Girlfriend? Single?” Vivian asked.

“Would be a boyfriend, but very single. If I don’t break my dry spell, my body might petrify.”

“That’s an appetizing visual.” Vivian wrinkled her nose.

“If we lived in Egyptian times, they’d mummify my deprived body and pull out my brains through my nose with a hook.”