by Kim Falconer
The mic gave an ear-piercing screech as I adjusted it, which didn’t help to calm me down. The lights dimmed and the large screen illuminated. The glare was so strong, I couldn’t read the notes on my tablet. Perfect. I sucked in a deep breath, and ploughed on.
‘Since the first wave of the Aftermath, auto-immune disorders have escalated, not just here in LA, but globally. These diseases cross all borders, cultures and peoples, targeting young and old alike. The epidemiology is hard to trace, but at its core is a potentially fatal flaw …’ I choked on that. This topic got under my skin because I had one of those pesky flaws myself. At times like these, I could almost hear the clock ticking. I cleared my throat. ‘… a potentially fatal flaw in the evolution of the human genome. Constant bombardment from microwaves, radiation and carcinogenic substances has caused an abnormal gene expression, including the conditional deletion of the Bcl-x gene from red blood cells, which becomes apparent when the body loses its ability to tell the difference between self and non-self.’
I swiped the small screen on the podium, bringing up the next visual behind me. It showed a clip of a blood clot forming at 500x magnification, courtesy of APS — antiphospholipid antibody syndrome — in action. As I talked about causes and potential cures, moving on to my personal favourite, hemolytic anemia and its variants under the umbrella of AADD — Aftermath associated degenerative diseases — my eyes came back to one of the examiners. I’d never seen him before, which wasn’t uncommon. UCLA hosted the largest science campus in the western US, and specialists in the field were invited in to evaluate fourth year students, especially ones like me who hoped to land an internship with the LA branch of the CDC, the Centre for Disease Control. This guy looked too young though. Maybe an intern auditing my talk? Who are you?
The thought floated through my head. Not a welcome distraction. Every time I looked, he was staring at me, his expression a cross between curious and accusatory. It raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Oh, hell! I had the freaking wrong slide up. I pulled my focus back to the presentation and kept my gaze well away from handsome mystery man in seat A15. Sure, it registered. Handsome. Not helping.
Twenty minutes later, the lights went up and there was a brief, but slightly more than perfunctory, applause. On a scale of one to ten, for senior lecturers that was at least a nine, nearly a standing ovation. It made me smile, and in a momentary lapse, my eyes drifted back to seat A15. Big mistake. The floor was open to questions, and he took it as a personal invitation.
‘You mention the fatigue associated with auto-immune hepatitis. What test would differentiate auto-immune liver disease from other hepatic disorders?’
I swallowed hard, not because I didn’t have a damn good answer, but because his eyes were boring into me. Almond-shaped dark eyes. They had a wild look, or was that the unruly hair? It was like being on a witness stand, which I guess was the point of the exercise. He wasn’t coming across as an intern. His voice was too confident. I reviewed the role of typical histological findings in both AILD and other chronic liver diseases, finishing with a discussion of immunoglobulins and various triggers for immune response. He questioned again, and for a while, we had our own private ping-pong match going on. Then others had comments and questions for me and, while I engaged, out of the corner of my eye I saw him check his phone. He nodded vaguely in my direction and left. As he walked out of the hall, a lingering thought again floated through my head.
Who are you?
CHAPTER TWO
Afternoon light slanted between the tall buildings of North Grand Avenue, one of the plusher parts of the city. The bus pulled away as I walked past Grand Park, catching a bit of breeze from the open spaces. It still smelled predominantly of car exhaust and blistering hot pavement, but there was a hint of fresh-cut grass, newly watered. No shortage of funds in this district. The busy street turned to South Grand, leading toward my destination: Poseidon. I was still riding high on the general thumbs-up I got for my presentation, so I’d decided to roll the dice again, while feeling lucky. A job at this end of town could be just what my bank account needed.
I walked beside shiny new skyscrapers sandwiched between the pre-Big One relics, and checked out people dressed in the trending threads. Some were rushing in and out of stores, others were hanging out on street-side espresso joints, tapping away on their cells and tablets. A rare few were engaged in some existential chit-chat, face to face. Not much litter clogged the gutters, and I saw no evidence of the growing homeless population. The LAPD kept things clean, in this part of town. I passed a few office buildings, an appliance store, a dress shop, and then paused at the bulletin board in front of the cinema. There weren’t many public boards like these around. Most information was spammed out by the gigabyte, delivered direct to your device, whether you wanted it or not.
I liked this bulletin board. The handwritten messages were a kaleidoscope of flash-diaries, mini-entries, saying, ‘I want this,’ and ‘Do you want that?’ A gust of wind surged as a delivery truck roared by, ruffling the messages, making them strain against their pins. I hooded my eyes and closed my mouth until the grit stopped flying. The papers settled on the board and I read about cars for sale, rooms for rent, yoga, dating. ‘Hey, MMA! My martial arts academy,’ I said aloud. No one noticed. There was also a slew of missing persons. I winced when I saw a picture of Daina. She was a friend of a friend who’d vanished three weeks ago. Rumor had it someone was murdering coeds. This alone was enough argument for every man, woman and child to learn how to defend themselves.
I looked away, searching until I found the recessed doors of Poseidon, the next building down. I went into security mode. The cinema entrance sat back from the sidewalk by a good twenty feet, but close to where Poseidon’s line-up would be, making containment a potential issue. Too much glass, and a nightmare between show times, especially on weekends. The parking meters and palm trees lining the street could create hazards for a crowd as well. This club needed a double loading zone. I’d be mentioning that first thing, if I landed the job. A few more steps and I stood in front of tall black doors. The only thing marking the club was an engraved trident overhead. Cute.
The first knock went unanswered. I pounded harder and it swung open. ‘I’m Ava Sykes. I have an appointment.’ It wasn’t exactly true, but my experience in this kind of situation was to play it confident and doors opened, literally.
A man in a black suit and tie, around my height, looked me up and down, mostly down. ‘He’s waiting for you.’
‘Great.’ I had no idea who he was. Billy? The manager?
My guide led the way into the foyer and down narrow stairs. I followed. Butterflies flirted under my ribs. I guess there was more riding on this interview than I’d realised. ‘You know, for a new club, you guys have some public liability issues to sort out. These stairs, for one, are set too steep and narrow. The ceiling’s too low, and I don’t know how you manage the line-up outside.’ My words came out staccato, punctuated by each step as we went lower and lower into the bowels of the building. ‘Not very well lit, either. No beading light?’ Stress let loose my officious critique mode. I blamed it on the Virgo star sign.
He didn’t respond. Warm chap. When we finally reached the double doors at sub-ground level, he pushed through. The air hit me in the face. And then the acoustics … it felt instantly like a big space. Really big. I kept walking, right into another world.
‘Oh, wow.’ I had to pause. So this is what the buzz is about.
It smelled clean, spacious, like open ocean air, and for good reason. The lower level dance floor could have housed a Boeing 747 with a space shuttle strapped to its back. The upstairs balconies overlooking it were at least six tables wide. It was done up like a Mississippi River steamboat, with chandeliers giving off vivid colours, possibly red and blue. To me they were green and navy. The red was just a guess, but I knew people liked contrast. The bar ran from one end of the far wall to the other, longer than a couple of back-to-back tenpin bowling lanes
. The wall gleamed with rows of glasses sparkling on polished wood shelves. All that wasn’t the breath-stealer though. Not by a long shot.
The entire back wall was a freaking floor to ceiling aquarium, flanked by mirrors, as if the place didn’t seem big enough already. This was Poseidon alright: king of the sea. There was sunken treasure, along with a tropical reef and little sharks. I tilted my head up, way up, taking in the frescos on the ceiling, a regular underwater Sistine Chapel. If I smelled a better paycheck last night, my nose hit the mother lode in here. What a joint. No wonder every girl, guy and their dogs were lining up half the night to get in. Cate had really underplayed the whole thing when she described it to me. So not like her.
As my eyes came down the opposite wall, I spotted dance cages hanging from the ceiling. They were complete with manacles, as if made for slaves. Who in their politically right mind would want to go there? Way to creep out a class act. On ground level, there were booths lining the dance floor on three sides. My guide kept walking toward one. I lagged, trying to close my jaw, which had dropped when we walked through the doors.
He turned. ‘Let’s not keep him waiting, shall we?’
‘Let’s not.’ So what if the decor was a little eccentric, not to mention macabre? Dollar signs blocked my vision; the stress of making tuition was a chronic load on my shoulders and this job could vanquish it. I hurried to catch up, boots clipping across the floor.
A hip-hop beat switched on, blasting from hidden speakers. Lights went up and a dance troupe rehearsed. Impressive. The men were topless, wearing only long black ‘skin-tights’. Nothing was left to the imagination. Not a single nook or cranny. The women were dressed the same, only in reverse, bare legs up to their G-string uncovered butts, and sequined, black halter tops. Not much support for the kinds of moves they were doing, for either gender.
‘This way,’ my guide said.
It was taking some time to cross the floor; the room’s capacity must be over three thousand. No way were the entrance and stairs up to code for this size venue. Could there be another way in and out? I was going to ask about that as well. But all those ordered, Virgo thoughts vanished when I spotted the man in the booth. He was bent over his work, completely absorbed, until he noticed me. One look and my feet stopped dead. It was too soon. I hadn’t reached the booth, but my body wouldn’t move any closer. He was handsome, yeah. Cate would say a hottie, but it was more than that. I saw attractive men much of the time in my line of work. It gave me pretty good immunity to them. It struck me at once that this must be the owner, Daniel Bane. The way Cate talked, he was like a god with his rich-mahogany hair, hazel-blue eyes and a body that … well, promised a lot under the three-piece Armani. The only thing I could think was: He conducts the interviews? That can’t be right. Where’s the manager?
‘Ava Sykes?’ He put down his pen and stood, fitting Cate’s description. He was medium-tall, with broad shoulders and a dark complexion. Very good-looking, I reaffirmed. And rich. It wasn’t the suit, alligator loafers and white silk shirt alone that gave it away. He had a kind of elegance that oozed power. A total turn-on, I’ll admit. ‘I’m Daniel Bane. Glad to finally meet you.’
Finally? It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since the invite from Billy. I breathed in, checking for anything that didn’t smell right. I had an acute sense of smell. That might sound amazing, like having a superpower, but most of the time it was a pain in the ass. Sure, some things were lovely, such as fresh strawberries, melting chocolate, and fine cologne on a man — exhibit A right in front of me. But other odours … damn. New LA wasn’t exactly a bouquet of heavenly scents, even without the smog, dumpsters and clogged sewers. As a kid, I’d learnt to keep my nose to myself. Pointing out that somebody needed to brush their teeth, or that a teacher’s clothes reeked of cigarettes, was not the best way to make friends. Problem was, certain scents were once major triggers for me. Fear, rage … blood. Of course, being a bouncer meant exposure to these very things, but I had learnt to get over it, to contain my reactions. With Daniel, all I caught from this distance was salt air, and a hint of the aforementioned fine cologne.
He waved me over as if I wasn’t standing there halfway to rigor mortis. ‘I’ve been thinking of you.’ The look on his face was curious, reserved, like he had a lot of energy, and it was under complete control.
What could he possibly be thinking about me? I was stumped by that, but managed to move forward. ‘Um … why?’
He opened his hand out, ignoring my question. ‘Please, sit.’ His voice was smooth and deep.
‘Thanks.’ Why is he thinking of me? I asked myself again. The cushion whooshed beneath my weight. His hand gently touched mine and the query vanished, no longer a concern. There was a fraction of a second where I felt a warning, but it melted like butter in the sun. This guy’s amazing.
‘So, Ava, tell me, where are you from?’
‘Homegrown LA, pre-Big One.’
He cleared his throat and I could tell I’d given the wrong answer. ‘No, I mean, where are you from, originally?’
Huh?
‘Let me put it this way, how long have you been here?’
What part of homegrown did he not understand? ‘Born here,’ I said slowly, ‘in LA, all twenty-four years of my life.’
He pressed his lips together. ‘Good. Well done.’
The whole exchange had me lost and so did looking into those hazel-blue eyes. This close, I could see flecks of violet.
‘You’re an undergraduate? UCLA?’
‘How …’
‘Don’t be surprised, Ava. We run background checks on potential employees.’
This — including Billy’s initial approach — had to be Cate’s doing. I made a mental note to thank her. Except a background check was not on my top ten list of favourite things. I wasn’t worried though. Working security for Daniel Bane? How could it get better than that?
‘Drink?’ he asked.
I caught a whiff of Scotch and frowned. At four in the afternoon? ‘No, thank you.’
‘Of course,’ he said as if just remembering, ‘you’ll be starting tonight.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘Wow. Thanks.’ I’d miss out on the scheduled full night’s sleep, but suddenly I didn’t feel the least bit tired.
‘If you’re worried about your old job, don’t be.’
I’d forgotten about it completely, which was weird. Maybe I should muster up a little more concern. ‘My loyalties to Lucky Lounge are …’
‘Admirable,’ he cut in.
‘I was going to say flexible. I’m part-time.’
‘No-time, at this point. Lucky Lounge shut down today, license suspended for a month.’
That was gonna hurt. ‘Guess I’m out of a job.’ I felt a smile creep over my face.
‘We’d like to take you on trial here.’
One door closes, another opens. ‘Is that a trial with full pay?’ I’d heard of trials that went on forever, at slave wages.
‘This may encourage you.’ Daniel wrote a figure on a piece of paper. He folded it in half and slid it across the smooth tabletop. How formal was this guy?
I opened the note. Just what I thought, slave wages. ‘This much per shift isn’t …’
‘Per hour.’
‘Oh … that’s good then.’ I unleashed the smile completely. Top dollar in my industry.
He tapped the note with a long, manicured finger. ‘With six- to eight-hour shifts, three nights a week. Will that work for you?’
‘Awesome!’ Okay, in this moment, sophisticated I was not, but my financial worries had lightened up on the spot. This would cover rent, and make up for the shortfall I owed on my tuition. I guess a place this upmarket could afford top wages. I knew Cate made a bundle, even without tips.
He chuckled, his eyes sparkling. ‘Can you be back here at nine?’ Daniel took my giddy expression and head nodding for a yes. ‘Jason, head of security, will show you the ropes. You can report to him.’ He looked at his Rolex. ‘I
’ll walk you up.’
‘Terrific. Thanks.’
Daniel leaned toward me and said something light and playful, which didn’t register. I was suddenly too preoccupied to compute his words, thinking either the guy ate raw meat for lunch, or … I laughed inwardly. He probably had just been to the dentist. How else would he have the scent of blood on his breath? ‘Thank you.’ Great. Now I was repeating myself.
‘It’s good to have you on board,’ Daniel went on, oblivious to my inner dialogue, though his expression did look a little perplexed.
I nodded, repressing the urge to keep thanking him. In this business, it was best not to come across as a complete suck-up. I stood, and he was beside me in one graceful movement.
The walk across the floor dazed me; the music pounding, dancers gyrating and the cages lit up in bright lights. I’d gone from employed to unemployed to well-employed in one second flat. Hard to believe. If I’d not been somewhat self-conscious, I might have whooped aloud. But Daniel seemed a reserved kind of guy and, for some inexplicable reason, that mattered to me. Before I knew it, we were up at the foyer, my hand captured inside both of his.
‘I’ll check on you later tonight, but you have my personal number.’ He pulled out a card and tucked it in my hand. ‘Call me any time.’
I ran my thumb over the surface of the card. The writing was fine and slightly raised. This wasn’t a sleazy come-on. The man genuinely cared. He released my hand, waiting, as if I was meant to say more.
‘I really appreciate the job.’
‘See you tonight.’ With that, he retreated downstairs.
The black suit stepped up to open the door and usher me out. It closed behind my back in a soft whoosh. I stood for a moment, the world muted, euphoria twirling around me like a candyfloss machine picking up threads of my mind and weaving them into a bundle of juicy sweet sugar. I headed down the street, revelling, but with every step I took, the traffic became louder, people pressed in, hurrying past, horns honked, exhaust thickened. I came back to myself. ‘What the hell just happened?’ I said aloud.
