She turned to Ryan, but he was nowhere in sight.
“Ryan!” she cried, only to have her words echo right back as the door slammed shut, locking her inside.
THIRTY-SIXWHERE HAVE ALL THE GOOD TIMES GONE
“Hello?” Layla stepped deeper inside the club and looked all around. The way her footsteps echoed on the white concrete floors gave her the chills. It wasn’t like she’d expected a crowd, but the absolute emptiness of the place left her wondering just what exactly she’d agreed to.
In an instant, the colored lights switched off and a series of spotlights kicked in. She blinked against the sudden brightness and looked toward the far side of the room, where an image of a hand was projected onto a wall, pointing in the direction it presumably wanted her to go. Not knowing what else to do, she followed. Ira said he wanted RED to be an experience—the ultimate performance space—and so far, she had to admit she’d never experienced anything like it.
She found herself staring down a long hallway offering various doors to choose from. Ira had told her about this part as well, claiming some of them would be auditory, some visual, and all where you could choose your own ending.
At the end of the hall a pair of eyes stared back, seeming to beckon her closer. Once she’d reached a certain point, the eyes veered in the direction of the door on her right. So Layla grasped the knob and stepped inside.
The first thought that came to mind was how creepy it was.
The second was that she had no intention of staying.
She turned, eager to flee, when the door slammed shut and locked from the outside.
THIRTY-SEVENANY OL’ BARSTOOL
Tommy crossed the large, cavernous, all-white space and approached Ira sitting alone at the bar.
“What do you think?” Ira turned on his stool and swung an arm wide, gesturing toward his latest creation.
Tommy looked all around. “Well, it’s really, really white.”
Ira laughed and punched a few prompts on his iPad, first drenching the space in slanted gray shadows and lines before switching it to a deep bloody red that seemed to drip down the walls and spread across the floor.
“I think of it as a canvas,” Ira said. “Those are just two of the landscapes I can create. It’s seemingly limitless. Check this out.” He tapped another prompt and the room glowed a deep, translucent blue. There were colorful coral reefs, sharks swimming by, like being under the sea, no tank or wet suit necessary. After a moment, he switched it back to red.
Tommy paused uncertainly. Ira had summoned him there just a few hours earlier, and Tommy still didn’t know why.
“Sit. Have a drink,” Ira said.
Tommy obeyed, watching as Ira grabbed the bottle of Unrivaled tequila, filled a couple of shot glasses bearing the word RED, and pushed one before him.
Tommy paused. His last encounter with tequila, just the day before, hadn’t gone down so well. Still, Ira was waiting, so he braced for the worst, hoped for the best, and tossed back his drink. As soon as it was empty, Ira filled his glass again and looked at him expectantly. “I’m pacing myself,” Tommy said, raising a hand in protest.
Ira laughed and drained his own glass.
Tommy tilted back on his stool. He felt nervous, anxious. The whole scene set him on edge, partly due to the strange heightened environment, and partly because he worried Ira was softening him up before he called him out on breaking into the Vesper. He wondered if he should mention it first—beat Ira to the punch. Since they both knew it happened, it seemed strange to not just get it out into the open.
“How are things going at Elixir? Malina treating you well?” Ira asked, before Tommy could put a voice to his thoughts.
Tommy debated whether to confess. Deciding Ira probably already knew, he said, “Been better.”
Ira gave him a look that encouraged him to continue.
“I screwed up.” He ran a hand through his hair and toyed with the rim of his shot glass. “She threatened to cancel the contract.”
“Not sure she can do that,” Ira said.
Tommy shrugged. “She thinks she can, and that’s all that matters.”
“Do you want me to speak to her on your behalf? Or set up a meet with a lawyer?”
Ira was acting like a dad, and it made Tommy uncomfortable. Why was Ira always trying to help him, or at least pretending to help him? Should he tell him? Finally speak the truth he’d been waiting to put into words?
Tommy wavered, on the verge of a full-blown confession, when instead he shook his head and said, “She has the grounds. And honestly, I’m not sure I’m cut out for all this.”
“All what?” Ira’s gaze was as sharp as his tone.
Tommy could sense an impending lecture, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t cut out for that either. Last thing he wanted was to confide in Ira Redman, the very person responsible for getting him into this mess.
Malina was pissed about the botched Rolling Stone interview and had threatened not only to cancel his contract, but to kick him out of the apartment as well. He had an appointment to speak with her first thing in the morning. A week ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about keeping it. Now, he was no longer sure.
He remembered the way Madison had lectured him when she called him out for complaining about the haters and tabloids.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe he was ungrateful, or unwilling to take the bad with the good.
Maybe he was being naive.
Maybe he just didn’t have it in him.
Maybe he really was spineless and scared and would always be more comfortable being a big fish in a minuscule pond, where admiration was assured and little was required in return.
All he knew was that the summer had forced him to face some harsh truths that left him questioning who he was, what he stood for, and just how far
