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Alyssa
“You’re not going to leave me, right?” I ask from the other side of the black SUV. I’m all decked out in a silver, shimmering dress, one that features the lowest chest cut-out I’ve ever worn. The outfit is made even more glamorous by the diamond necklace that’s resting against my skin, and the uber-expensive makeup decorating my face.
Typically, if I were dressed up like this, I would’ve borrowed every ounce of it from Marina’s closet. But this time, everything came to me courtesy of the record label, with Gregory stating that Hollywood designers love being the one to dress thenext big thing. And since the label’s been promoting me as thenext big thing, that means that I’m going to be a walking, talking billboard for other people’s designs for however long this adventure lasts.
Thankfully, Gregory seems to have some respect for my general aesthetic, which is the only reason I’m wearing custom-made sneakers tonight instead of another pair of uncomfortable heels.
“I’m not going to leave you, babe,” Marina says matter-of-factly from the other side of the car, a wide grin on her face. It’s not reassuring at all. “What do you think is going to happen? We’re going to show up at this party and I’m going to run off to the bathroom with the first rock star who asks?”
I quietly groan at the mention of the party. It’s been messing with my nerves all week, thinking about showing up to this event, knowing that there’s going to be cameras flashing and more famous musicians in one room than I can probably count. I didn’t even know label-sponsored parties were going to be part of my schedule as an artist, but when Gregory announced it to the band while we were mid-recording, I realized that my attendance was less of an invitation and more of a requirement.
Rhys and Van didn’t seem as thrown off by the invitation though, which sort of helped with my own anxiety. Both of them were talking it down, as if they were trying to get me to see it more like I was showing up to a party with potential friends instead of sharks circling in the water. Next big thing? All I can picture is people looking for the next bigstory, waiting to see if the new girl is going to fall on her face or say something that goes viral the next day for all the wrong reasons.
But I still can’t shake the feeling that tonight is going to feel like walking into a lion’s den.
“I mean, maybe?” I finally reply, with a slight chuckle. “It’s not like you haven’t gone M.I.A. on me before, Marina. I love you, but when there are hot guys around? I’m lucky if I see you twice throughout the whole night.”
“Yeah, no doubt, but this is different,” Marina replies with a shrug. “This isworkfor you, babe. And I would never fuck up a work event for you by hooking up with some rando. And I love you too, which is why I’m going as your emotional support wing-woman…” Marina quirks an eyebrow before she finishes with her thoughts. “Even though you’re currently hooking up with two hotties who could’ve gone as your emotional support wing-people. Why couldn’t they be your escorts tonight, again?”
“Because showing up with Rhys would get me on Geesha’s kill-list,” I reply. “And showing up with Van would be pretty bad for my reputation.”
“Because?”
“Because it’s way too early for me to be sleeping with him?” I answer. “Because people are shitty, and way quicker to judge women for doing the exact same thing that men do all the time.”
“I don’t know.” Marina says. “I think it’s pretty progressive. And pretty brave. And I’m not going to lie about how crazy jealous I get when I think about you hooking up with two guys at once.”
“Oh, please. Like you haven’t had your share of threesomes.”
“Uh, of course I’ve had threesomes, babe!” Marina chuckles. “But not with two hot musicians! You are currently living a rock-and-roll lifestyle that I’m never going to be able to catch up with.”
“Aren’t you, like, already the queen of your acting circle?”
She smirks before she concedes. “Pretty much. And I’m going to be upgraded to queen status if I end up booking this super cool indie movie with this up-and-coming director—”
“We’re here, ladies,” our Lyft driver says, as he pulls over toward the sidewalk. He’s been blasting music in his ears throughout our entire trip, which makes it genuinely surprising to hear his voice for the first time.
“Thanks!” Marina says, already swinging her long legs out of the car. I follow her lead, thanking heaven for the sneakers as I try my best not to trip over myself or get tangled in my dress. A few seconds later, Marina is linking her arm through mine, her lime dress and my silver dress shimmying in perfect time as we make our way to the front of the warehouse.
As soon as we make it to the door, an extraordinarily buff security guard is staring down at us from behind dark sunglasses, his arms folded across his broad chest.
“Ladies,” he says, his voice as deep as the ocean. “Names?”
“Alyssa Smith,” I start. “And Marina Williams as my plus-one.”
The guard doesn’t say anything in response. Instead his hand quickly goes up toward his ear, like he’s listening to something that we can’t see. He then offers us both a nod before stepping away from the doorway, his expression still stoic and completely unreadable.
“Have a good night, ladies.”
“We’ll try our best,” Marina jokes, excitedly pulling me inside of the warehouse, as my stomach lurches at all of the awful possibilities for the night.
* * *
Whoa.
The warehouse is nothing like I’d been expecting it to be; my brain envisioned something a little more formal and a little stuffier, too. Instead, there are glowing neon bars that run from one side of the warehouse to the other, bright pinks and greens providing the main source of light for the dance floor. There are also dancers in elaborate birdcages, built with the kind of attention that reminds me of an expensive stage production instead of a typical go-go bar situation. The people in the birdcages seem high-end too, their movements more indicative of trained gymnasts and professional dancers, not just people trying to make a buck or those who want to be the center of attention for the night.
“This is fucking killer!” Marina squeals, practically jumping up and down. “Oh my fucking God! Alyssa, we’re doing it! We’re actually at our first big Hollywood party!”
