2006: Freedom City

I like this club, the girl decided. She was in the back corner, sitting alone on a bar stool, some kind of drink in hand. The bass washed over her: a dance remix of Blue Monday. I like the music, she thought aloud. And then she stifled a laugh at that.

She thought, I like the drinks, even though they're non-alcoholic, just before draining hers, and as she set the glass down, a corseted, fishnet-wearing member of the wait staff ankled by, smiled, and brought her another one. I like the staff, she thought, smiling as her server walked away but seemed unable to look away, unable to stop smiling at her, until the server nearly collided with a tall, gaunt shoe-gazer. The girl covered her mouth with the back of her hand and shifted her gaze to her drink.

Then she looked around her at all the beautiful, black-clad Goths, watched them as they drank and danced and flirted, and she smiled as though she were a queen, looking with pride upon her subjects. I really like this club.

And then someone new entered the club, and the girl's attention was drawn to her like a moth to a candle's flame. Clad in a PVC corset, thigh-high boots, and opera gloves, she would have cut a dramatic figure had she not been so short. But that didn't matter to the girl, who wasn't much taller anyway. There was something about her. Something important, and the girl knew she had to meet her.

And then her friend eased into the other stool at the table. Beautiful. Chestnut haired. Tall. Curvaceous. Her best friend, who said, "I brought you another – Oh, you have one." Disappointment flattened her friend's words, and with a glance, it became clear to the girl that her best friend had noticed the focus of the girl's attention, and that it displeased her. So the girl put her slender, pale hand on her friend's, interknit their fingers, and said, "I think she's beautiful, Carmen. But she's not as lovely as you."

And Carmen smiled, but the expression was without real warmth. "And you want to meet her?" she asked.

The girl answered in dulcet tones, though she knew she would get her way, even without being nice about it. "Yes. But it's not because I like her better or because she's pretty. She's important. I can tell she's important, sweetie. So we're going to have to be friends with her." And even Carmen's cold smile faltered at that notion, so the girl continued, "She's not going to replace you. And when I've understood why she's important, I promise, we can have some fun with her."

Carmen brightened at this and drank from her drink, and so the girl knew she was ready, she said, "OK, I'm going to make her come over here now."

* * *

When she went to the Midnight Hour for the first time, when she looked around, a feeling washed over her. It was like walking into an ionized cloud. Her hair felt like it was standing on end with the thrill of it. She didn't understand: It was an all-ages club - not that exciting, prima facie. But clearly, something momentous was about to happen. She tugged up her opera gloves, looked around again, and saw the girl, revealed suddenly by one of the dance-floor spots that had at that very moment apparently broken. She was small, pale, and clad in black lace. And beautiful. Heartbreakingly, ethereally beautiful. And so sophisticated, so elegant and worldly. And so she immediately crossed the floor to the back of the club to meet the girl.

* * *

"I'm S—I'm Yvette," the PVC-clad woman said, extending her hand.

The girl took it, her perfect red lips describing a perfect red smile. "I'm Rebecca," she answered. "And this is Carmen." She stepped back, to let the taller Carmen shake hands with Yvette. Carmen clearly thought their new acquaintance was, at the very least, easy on the eyes. That would assuage her jealousy.

Upon touching her, the girl realized that Yvette was not the one she needed to meet, after all. But she had the searing conviction that Yvette could take her to that one, in time. And then she stepped close again, slipping her arms around the delightfully narrow waists of Carmen and Yvette, and said, "My friends call me Becky. And I have a feeling we're going to be friends."

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