Page 8 of The Beat Match

Vivian looked mildly horrified, then she smiled. “If my date sucks, that’ll be our signal.”

“You want me to have my brains yanked out with a hook?”

“Although that would be fascinating, no. But you could pretend your hand’s a hook and jab at your nose.” She mimed the hook-nose move.

“Are you trying to make me look like an idiot?”

“Busted.” She grinned. “But we need to do something about this catastrophic dry spell. Wouldn’t want you shriveling up and rotting in the middle of a shift. And stay on the lookout for a half-Korean blond-haired woman in a red shirt. I told Sarah to meet me by the bar.”

Annie was tall enough in her high boots to scan the club for Vivian’s date. No luck, but talk of her dry spell made her think of the hand-boob incident in Wes’s car, and the strange tingle she’d felt afterward. Her lack of male company was clearly an issue. She was so deprived, even Wes, a man who treated her like a child, could spark her libido with nothing but an accidental brush.

Vivian wrangled them a couple of bright blue drinks, and they clinked glasses.

“Did you grow up in New York?” Vivian asked.

Annie sipped her drink, which was stronger than expected, delaying her reply. Aside from casual work colleagues, most of Annie’s friends were online: her scrapbooking group, the members of her BOOMpop music app, her Vintage Anonymous forum. In the online world, no one knew her mother had died with a needle in her arm, or that her alcoholic father had tucked tail and run before she’d been born. They didn’t know Leo had bribed homeless people to pretend to be their parents while moving from shelter to shelter, determined to stay together and keep them out of the foster system. In that world, Leo hadn’t been killed in a random club shooting.

“Yeah,” she shouted to Vivian, “I grew up here.” She pointed to her drink. “This is awesome. What do they call it?”

They talked about their favorite cocktails until Vivian’s date arrived, and Annie gave herself a mental high-five for redirecting their conversation away from personal topics. If she could turn that skill into a job, money would be a non-issue.

Sarah and Vivian leaned close to talk over the noise, clearly comfortable with their proximity. Where Vivian was slim and petite, Sarah was curvier and tall with long blond hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. She was also a private detective.

“Does that mean you did a background check on Vivian before tonight?” Annie asked.

Sarah gave Vivian the once-over. “That happens after a couple dates. No point wasting my time if things fall flat.”

Vivian struck a sexy pose and fluttered her eyelashes. “Is that a challenge?”

The duo moved closer together, talking too low for Annie to hear over the electronic tunes pumping from the stage. Annie caught Vivian’s eye from behind Sarah and mimed picking her nose with a hooked finger. Vivian laughed and shook her head. Looked like the date was off to a good start.

Preferring not to intrude, she people watched. The eclectic crowd was dressed in everything from skimpy dresses to T-shirts and jeans. All music lovers, closing their eyes and moving to the infectious beat. The music drifted from techno to cosmic to disco funk. Some dancers looked high as a kite, or drunk, or both, but the atmosphere was positive and upbeat. She ordered and finished a second drink while dancing quietly in her own little spot.

Vivian caught her eye, tapped her watch and mouthed two thirty, then disappeared with Sarah to an upstairs section. They would meet at the exit as planned, and Annie kind of liked being in the club alone, free to dance and drink, no personal questions asked.

After a while, the neon lights dimmed. A hush spread through the crowd, followed by a few whistles. When a figure moved onto the stage, cheers exploded.

It was too dark to see much detail, but the guy looked tall, wearing some kind of feathered mask. Maybe he was the last DJ, Falcon, starting his set—the one Vivian had wanted to hear. More random whistles. Shouts echoed through the club. He didn’t engage with the audience, just stood there, statue still. His mysterious aura electrified the crowd even more, and Annie leaned forward, maneuvering slightly to get a better view, anticipation building in her chest.

Then a violin crooned.

Slow and lush, the quivering melody flowed through the speakers, swelling. A contrast to the heavy bass from before, the notes full of sorrow and hope, peace and agitation. A flash of light and burst of symphony followed, there then gone.

More violin hummed, its rhythm and speed building. Another flash, brighter with a blast of sound, fragments feeding off one another, invigorating the packed room. Annie couldn’t quite catch the beat, but its elusive quality was mesmerizing, the need to chase it impossible to ignore. Her hips moved and her chest popped, finding the beat, losing it, getting closer. Everyone in the club was feeling it, too, the growing crescendo about to erupt.

Then bam.

A solid beat blended with the classical music. The lights turned high, and the bodies around her jumped. People waved glow sticks. Many held water bottles, high on more than the music. The song had a dark-wave vibe with electro pop mixed in. She started jumping, too, so much joy spilling through her wide smile.

She had avoided clubs so long for fear of missing Leo too much or being forced to envision his death, but all she could think about was how much he’d have loved this. She loved this, the blend of old and new, the raw energy—enough wattage to send her to the moon.

She moved closer to the stage, danced next to two women, who seemed happy to have her join them. Anonymous. Just people out for a good time. The lights were dim, occasionally flashing, but bright enough to better make out the DJ. His mysterious status was still high. He wore dark jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. An elaborate mask covered his face—the features of a wild bird in glittery turquoise, yellows, and greens. Only his mouth and lower jaw were visible. He danced as he hovered over the controller, using hand signals to slow the crowd down and speed them up.

A new hypnotic beat chased the first, blending, teasing, then taking over.

The beat match.

She remembered Leo explaining that term. Manipulating the beats, stretching or shifting one song until it perfectly synchronized with another. She moved closer to the stage, danced harder, absorbed the heat wrapping her in happiness. A trickle of sweat slid down her back. The crowd fed off every note shaking the floors.