TWO
The hint of warmth from his car vanished as Cooper's door thumped shut and his shoes squeaked on the snow. His face scrunched up and the cold pinched his newly shaven face as he looked over the full lot to the tall, somewhat ornate building with its theater marquee and unused ticket booth. In its beginnings, Gateways had been a burlesque theater sandwiched between a brothel and slaughterhouses until a fire in the late '50s burned down the entire block but for the theater. Housing remained several blocks away, but new fire codes and NIMBY neighbors had kept almost everything else out, chain-link fences and decades-long litigation over who owned the surrounding property making it a lonely place when the sun was up.
Squinting, Cooper sniffed, a hint of excitement quickening his pace as he wove through the cars. There was already a line at the door. He was going to be pissed if this was a joke.
Hands in his pockets, he walked with his head down, hunched and uncomfortable in his dress shoes that didn't do a thing to stop the cold. His ears were frozen since he hadn't wanted to put on a hat and risk putting a wave into his hair, still damp from his shower. He'd changed into slacks and a shirt and tie, but he knew he wasn't going to look like anything other than a poor grad student. "Which is what I am," he muttered, his head coming up as he settled in behind the laughing, excited pair who had run to get to the door ahead of him.
The doorman didn't look cold at all, standing with a short leather jacket covering his thin dancer's body. Expression bland, he checked his clipboard against the name the two people had given him, then pointed to the line snaking from the door where people dressed nicer than he stood and shuffled for warmth.
Crestfallen, they moved to the end of the line, and Cooper stepped forward, worried. The music was thumping already; he was late, but he'd wanted to shower and shave. What had he been thinking? The doorman hadn't let them in. This was going to be a disaster.
"Name?" the man asked, bored.
Cooper glanced at the beautiful people in line. "Uh, I'm Cooper. Felicity invited me."
Like magic, the man's almost too-pretty mouth curved up in a smile, and he stepped aside, not even looking at his clipboard. "She will be delighted. Welcome to Gateways."
The people huddled in line groaned, and Cooper's jaw dropped, even as the man pulled open the door for him. "Go right on in."
With an unexpected feeling of importance, Cooper brushed by him, having to get closer than he liked. The music thumped, and the sound of laughter drew him in. An obvious sniff from the man turned him around as the door began to shut, and he saw the doorman wrinkling his nose right before the heavy oak slab shut out the night.
Eyes on the moving people on the dance floor, Cooper stood to the side to take off his coat and hand it to the small woman reaching for it, slipping his bulky car keys and cell phone into his jeans pocket at the last moment. Starting to smile, he looked over the spacious, noisy room still holding on to the faded grace of another time. Red velvet on the walls tried to soak up the noise, failing. What looked like the original chandeliers still hung, the crystal catching the darting lights to send flashes everywhere, but the sloping floor one would expect in a theater had been leveled off, bringing the ceiling down somewhat. Before him, the large stage was full of movement as three men pounded out a heavy beat with bobbing heads. A good three feet below it was the dance floor, thick with gyrating bodies and waving arms. Apparently Felicity worked with party animals. Around the edges were tall tables where people stood, laughing and talking in excitement. Closer to the door, there were more private booths with black leather and paintings that were almost more frame than picture. The bar was a gigantic wood and glass edifice that took up one entire side. There had to be at least five bartenders, all moving with a quick, certain efficiency. Everyone was dressed better than he was.
Except them, he thought, finding two men his age standing before it, clearly working out their chances of going home with the striking woman they were talking with. They weren't alone. The entire length of the bar were clusters of two or three average people being wined and dined by red-haired beauties of both sexes.
The warmth of the place was stealing into him, and the scent of wine and . . . frosting? Head starting to move to the beat, Cooper looked closer, his smile fading as he noticed a clear division between the haves in leather and expensive-looking jewelry, and then the have-nots, dressed like him in shoes that hurt and knockoffs. Maybe not have-nots, he decided as he dove into the mass and headed for the extravagant bar, but people trying to make it in a class a couple of rungs higher than they could easily afford. There were beautiful people here-Hollywood beautiful-and it made everyone else look common.
Beginning to feel unsure, Cooper looked from the band rocking on the stage to the dance floor and the weird mix of mosh pit jumping and . . . clogging? Frowning, he scanned for Felicity. He'd say hi, then leave. This had all the earmarks of a recruit drive for a pyramid cleaning-supply scheme. And what was with all the red hair?
"Hors d'oeuvre?" a soft voice breathed beside his ear, and Cooper spun. Two steps back, a smiling woman in a short skirt and a pageboy haircut raised a tray of white petits fours in invitation.
That explained the sweet smell of frosting, he mused, his wish for a beer vanishing upon seeing the little square cakes on the white napkins. "Thanks," he said, trying not to be obvious as he looked the woman over in her skintight uniform.
"Have two. You're a big one," she said, and Cooper's eyes shot to hers, wondering if she was coming on to him. He hesitated, and in that instant, he was jostled, his reach overshooting and almost hitting the woman in her chest.
"Cooper!" Felicity called breathlessly, laughing as she caught her balance against him, and he wondered if she was drunk. "I thought you'd stood me up, you lovely man." Before he could think to answer, she linked her arm in his possessively, her free hand coyly playing with a long silver chain about her neck. "Amber, go bother someone else," she said as she began dragging him away. "Cooper is my invite."
"Nice to meet you." Cooper grinned as he looked over his shoulder, but the woman had already turned away, frowning in annoyance.
"You don't want anything Amber has," Felicity said as she led him to an empty table, and Cooper's eyebrows rose at the thinly veiled insinuation. "She sneezes a lot."
"Sorry I'm late." Cooper eyed the people eating off little white napkins, twice as hungry now that he'd almost gotten something to eat. "I wanted to clean up."