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“We’re leaving for London, but instead of prep school, she’s gonna send me away to live with her sister in Edinburgh till the baby’s born and then we can decide what to do.”
“Well I hope it all works out,” Makayla said, “oh by the way, what happened to Becky?”
“No idea,” Heather sighed, “but her mom came by this afternoon looking for her. She was not happy. When Becky does come home…I bet they ground her for a year.”
“Bummer,” Makayla breathed.
“Okay, enough of this shit,” Heather beamed, though not too convincingly. “It’s my last night, no tears, let’s party girls, knock ’em dead.”
“Woohoo,” Makayla shouted as the tension eased. Minutes later with Donja and Makayla singing along to Lady Gaga’s, ‘Brown Eyes,’ and Heather staring out the window in silence, Donja turned onto the International Bridge.
After an uncomfortable encounter with an utterly grotesque dimwit at customs who seemed to be getting his jollies by giving the three of them a hard time, checking and rechecking their I.D.s, Donja gassed the Mustang and they sped toward the bright lights of the city, a full moon overhead.
“Take a left on the corner of Huron and Superior,” Makayla said shattering the baleful silence.
Donja exhaled, excitement building, and with her blinker clicking rhythmically, took a sharp left as Makayla slid forward gripping the bucket seat. “Slow down and look for a parking space.”
“Hmm, lots of cars; it must be packed,” Heather said, breaking her chained silence.
“It’s Saturday, what do expect?” Makayla chimed in. “Make the block, Donja, no wait she hissed, “there’s a car pulling out.”
After several attempts at parallel parking which proved a harrowing experience, Donja exited her prized pony, found the sidewalk and strolled behind Makayla and Heather.
“You seem to be all right with everything that’s happening, Matt, the move…the baby,” Makayla said.
Heather rolled her eyes, spiked heels tapping the concrete walk. “I’m just trying to survive.”
“I’m afraid for you, so young and a baby,” Makayla whispered but Donja didn’t fail to pick up on it.
“No more than I am for myself.”
“I’m going to miss you.” Makayla said.
“I’ll miss you too, but you got Donja now so no more hurting yourself. You can do this.”
“Yeah, I do,” Makayla said pivoting to Donja. “The sister I never dreamed possible.”
“You’re both lucky,” Heather said as they rounded a corner, “Damn lucky.”
Straight ahead, Donja saw people swarming the sidewalks. She heard music penetrating double wooden doors from which young people, dressed to the nines were entering and exiting. Drawing closer she saw a sign ‘Observers’ painted eloquently on a brick wall with detailed pictures of eyes, all female, a hundred or more with long exaggerated lashes. Nearing the entrance, they fell in line behind several couples and the first thing Donja noticed was the men, some in suits, some in silk shirts with diamond cuff links, others in casual wool jackets with crisply pressed trousers and shiny, expensive shoes. There were others gathering, some in silky slacks with white shirts, open to the sternum, but one thing rang loud and clear. Money.
Seems strange for guys so young to dress so fancy.
She attempted to blow it off, but the newness of it, like everything about this new life caught her off guard. Her eyes betrayed her and within minutes she was scrutinizing the dress of every girl, some solo, some in groups, others in tow with a man’s hand in the small of their back, but they too were exquisitely dressed. She exhaled, relieved that she wasn’t the only gothiglam, thanks to Makayla. She smoothed her black mini and Makayla must have sensed her anxiety.
“You look beautiful so lose that deer in the headlights.” Makayla whispered.
“So where are all the guys in jeans and T-shirts, the gals in halter tops, flipflops and shorts?” Donja asked, matter-of-fact.
“The other side of town, or on the river at Backwater,” Heather chimed in. “They wouldn’t be caught dead at Observers, it’s high-class, baby, and anything less, is asked to leave.”
“What’s Backwater?” Donja asked.
“A low-class club for punks and wannabes,” Heather replied.
Hmm, that’s snobby!
“You’re going to have a good time,” Makayla whispered as if sensing Donja’s thoughts. “These guys are all from good families and lots of them fly in from all over Canada, Alaska, London, New York. This club’s like a money magnet.”
