Kalisto’s front bar still smelled like lemon-sanitizer and cheap floor wax when the bass kicked in for the third time that night. The warm-up DJ had a taste for Donna Summer and slow-building intros. It suited the space. A smaller club tucked south of downtown, with low ceilings and lava-lamp chandeliers that gave off the illusion of being high-end. At least in the dark.
Evelyn stood near the edge of the dance floor, tray in hand, her heels echoing faintly under the old tile. The light shifted from magenta to amber and back again. Slow pulses. Like the club was breathing.
Her jumpsuit caught the shimmer, black sequins catching every glint. The V of the neckline dipped low and clean, exaggerated by a fat vintage belt that hugged her waist. She looked sharp. Bold. Iconic.
Angela stood next to her in a matching silver jumpsuit that accentuated her dark skin tone and curves perfectly. Her own sequins sparkled like water under moonlight. Together, they looked like they had been pulled out of a retro pin-up calendar. They were go-go girls with bottle service upgrades, and for tonight, Kalisto was their stage.
“So they’re not taking the credits?” Angela asked, her hip cocked to the side, tray perfectly balanced on one palm.
“Can you fucking believe it?” Evelyn muttered. “A state fucking college. I don’t even know why I’m trying to get the damn thing anymore, it’s not like I need it.”
Angela gave a dry snort. “Could always do one of those bullshit online degrees.”
Evelyn gave her a light shove. “The whole point was to go to college like everyone else.”
“Ohhh, I see,” Angela teased, eyes rolling to meet hers. “You wanna live out that college party life, huh?”
“Shut up…” Evelyn’s lips pursed before cracking into a wide smile.
They both burst into laughter, heads tipping back, their trays balanced with muscle memory alone.
A man drifted over in a wrinkled khaki jacket, his hair covered in a painful amount of gel. He looked like someone trying to be noticed without knowing why.
“Welcome to Kalisto!” the pair chimed, flashing their showroom smiles.
He laughed, gave a lazy nod, and kept walking. Swallowed by the haze and empty dance floor.
Angela let out a breath. “God, the tips are going to be fucking terrible tonight.”
Evelyn scanned the empty floor. Angela was right, it was a bad night to pull. A few stragglers wandered around the bar while a table of promoters checked their phones for a better spot.
“I might be able to pull some promoters our way…” Evelyn said, setting her tray down on the front bar.
Angela gave her a look. “Babe…”
“It’s fine.” Evelyn pulled out her phone, turned to face the club, then flipped her camera. She gave a slow twirl. Black shimmer caught the overhead lights as the camera drank in the sequined walls and multi-color pin spot glows. She looked over her shoulder with a practiced smirk and held the last frame.
Then she tapped in a caption.
Come see me while you can 😉
“Done,” she said, putting the phone away.
Angela frowned. “You didn’t have to do that. I know you don’t like bringing in fans.”
Evelyn shrugged. “I want the tips too.”
Angela didn’t argue. She just gave a quiet nod, the kind that said more than words ever could. She never pushed and was always understanding. It was why she and Evelyn had stayed close all these years.
Before either of them could say more, a voice cracked behind them.
“Hey, hey! Trays up at all times, Evelyn!”
Evelyn closed her eyes slowly. “Come on Mikey, really?”
“Yes fucking really,” the man barked. Mikey had a chest like a keg and a neck like a stack of bricks. His hair was slicked back in thick streaks, and he wore an open blazer over a vintage Prince tee that had seen better years. “I don’t care if you’re a big shot now. Trays. Up! What am I payin’ you for, huh?”
Angela snapped to attention with a mock salute. “Yes sir! It won’t happen again, sir!”
“Yeah, yeah…” He waved his hand and disappeared toward the back booth like some underworld king returning to his throne.
Angela leaned in close. “He should be thanking you.”
Evelyn grabbed her tray, laughing. “He’ll thank me when we break ten grand on bottle sales tonight.”
The lights dimmed as the main floor spots kicked on. Like clockwork, the first real wave of the night started to roll in. First, the promoters arrived. The same six or seven that orbited any venue Evelyn touched. And with them came the typical selection of well-manicured entourages.
And from them, the crowds began to form. They came in threes and fives. Clusters of club rats, half-drunk bachelorettes, couples with barely-there outfits and carded smiles.
Evelyn watched the club fill, then saw Ricky. A lean Dominican with a gold tooth and gold chains to match. He blew her a kiss from the bar and pointed to his booth.
Evelyn tapped Angela’s shoulder.
“Let’s go,” she said, walking ahead with swaying hips. Her jumpsuit glittered with every confident stride.
She walked like she owned the floor. Because she did.
Angela trailed behind, snapping gum as she waved to several onlookers from the crowd.
Ricky stood with two other promoters, one of them lighting a blunt under the table like he hadn’t been caught doing it six times already.
“Mira, it’s the disco queens,” Ricky said, his grin wide. “Finally decided to bless us, eh?”
“You mean rescue you,” Evelyn corrected, sliding her tray down in front of him.
Ricky gave a little nod of respect.
“Y’all doing champagne tonight?” Evelyn asked, already picking up a bottle.
“Clicquot, baby. And make it look cute. I need two stories tagged.”
“Then tip like you mean it,” Angela said behind her, popping her hip.
Ricky’s entourage laughed. Evelyn glanced at the group.
“You have them well trained,” She said playfully. Ricky snorted as several of the women glared.
“That bluntness is going to get you in trouble on day chica.”
Evelyn popped the bottle with a clean twist and lit the sparklers.
“But not today,” She said as they walked the bottle over. Evelyn could feel the club beginning to shift. Lights catching the glass, music pulsing harder. Bodies moved with intention. The start of the night had finally come.
Evelyn held a fresh bottle high and made her way through the crowd, flanked by Angela on one side and two junior girls she didn’t know on the other.
It was showtime.
She smiled. Danced. Twirled. Let her hips swing in rhythm with the track. A slow funk groove rolling into a remixed version of “Love to Love You Baby.”
By the time they returned the promoter tables, the crowd was watching. Pointing. Pulling out phones in excitement.
“Ricky!” Evelyn sang over the music, placing another expensive bottle in front of him with a kiss blown directly at the camera lens.
It looked glamorous. Cinematic.
Then she pulled out her own phone, filming the perfectly curated fantasy of what club Kalisto could offer.
But as the flash faded, something clung to the edge of her mind, her smile faltering for half a second when she hit “post.”
She glanced up at the crowd and felt the heat of hungry eyes trailing her. The women stared too, all sharp edges and quiet judgment.
This was her life. A life surrounded by noise, sex, jealousy, and fantasy.
Evelyn’s lips tightened as she forced a smile and walked on.
The club had found its pulse.
Bodies pressed into every corner of Kalisto, the air heavy with perfume, cologne, and the bass line of a Nile Rodgers deep cut. Disco lights danced across the ceiling in fractured rainbows, catching on sequins and sweat. The kind of heat that made skin feel electric. Evelyn and Angela moved through it like angelic sirens. Untouchable, hypnotic, fluent in every gesture the job required.
A look here. A laugh there.
Fingers brushing shoulders. Smiles that lingered just long enough.
VIPs waved them over. Some familiar, some new, and the two women moved in perfect sync. Bottles lifted overhead, trays resting on curves like accessories. When the crowd got close, they danced. When the cameras came out, they posed. When the hands tried to linger, they vanished like smoke.
It was a language Evelyn had been fluent in for years.
Eventually, the pair made their way toward the back bar, their pace slowing as the rhythm thumped deeper and the crowd thickened with sweat and sex. Angela led the way, popping behind the side bar and snapping her fingers at the bartender.
“Two?” he asked.
“Three,” she said. “We deserve three.”
Evelyn leaned on the bar, pulling her hair back off her neck, skin hot beneath the lights. Her eyes were glassy but sharp.
Angela slid a line of shots their way. Gold tequila in chunky disco-themed glasses.
Evelyn took one and tossed it back, then slammed the glass back onto the bar.
“I’m thinking,” she said after a beat, “I might just forget the whole college thing…”
Angela’s expression didn’t even flicker. She tossed back her own shot. “You can’t do that. I won’t let you.”
Evelyn glanced sideways, catching the eye of a very drunk middle-aged man who kept winking at her. She gave a professional smile while speaking through her teeth. “Why?”
Angela turned her body toward Evelyn as the crowd surged behind them.
“Because I know you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”
Evelyn took the second shot and stared at the glass in her hand. The light hit her cheekbone in a perfect line, making her look more like a sculpture than a woman.
“It’s just a piece of paper,” she said.
Angela leaned forward, resting her forearm on the bar. “It might just be a piece of paper, but for you, it’s more. It’s finally showing your mom she was wrong. It’s proving to your past self that you always knew what you were doing.”
Evelyn let out a laugh, sharp and sudden, but it wasn’t quite steady. There was a ripple underneath it, just beneath her breath.
“What the fuck, are you my therapist now?” she said, laughing again, doing her best not to hide her trembling lip.
Angela smiled, slow and sure. The kind of smile only someone who’d seen your worst could offer.
“Put up with the bullshit,” she said. “What’s a few more years? It’s not like you can’t afford it.”
“Yeah…” Evelyn murmured. “You’re right.”
She downed the second shot. And for a second, peace found her.
Then her gaze lifted across the room.
And everything in her body stiffened when she saw him.
“Shit.”
Angela clocked it immediately. “What?”
“It’s Ivan.”
Angela followed her eyes. “Oh yeah,” she said softly. “Sure is…”
He was hard to miss. Tall, sharp-featured, expensive. A tailored confidence that was both cultivated and unearned. A man who had never needed to ask twice. His shirt clung to his chest, open one button too far, his silver chain catching light as he spotted her.
He grinned and waved.
Evelyn’s stomach twisted.
“You want me to cover?” Angela asked, voice low.
“He already saw me.”
Ivan approached, and the crowd split like water. He knew exactly how much space he took up. And exactly who was watching.
“There she is,” he said, slipping an arm over Evelyn’s shoulder.
Evelyn kept her tray to her side, giving Angela a knowing glance before turning her attention back to Ivan.
“Did you come here just for me?” she asked, a false sweetness in her voice so clean it might as well have been honeyed venom.
“Maybe,” Ivan said, shrugging. “What if I did?”
“I’d say it’s creepy.”
Ivan laughed. “Then I guess I’m creepy.”
His accent sweetened the toxic words as his hand slid toward her ass. She caught his wrist before it made contact.
“Ah ah…” Evelyn said, her wicked smile returning as she nodded toward the towering bodyguards near the VIP booths. “This isn’t the touchy kind of place. Don’t want to get kicked out, do you?”
Ivan scoffed, amused. “Does that go for the private rooms, too?”
Evelyn tilted her head, eyes cutting sideways toward Angela, who rubbed her fingers together in the universal signal for money.
Ivan turned to look at Angela, but Evelyn caught his chin between her fingers, pulling his gaze back to her.
“Hey,” she said, voice low and charged. “You’re here for me, right?”
Ivan stared into her eyes, smiling as his hand slid up her wrist slowly.
“Does that mean we’re doing this?”
“You have money?”
Ivan sniffed. “Of course.”
Evelyn pulled his arm around her waist.
“Then lead the way.”
Ivan pulled her close. Eager, smug, and led her toward the back stairwell. The crowd seemed to part for them as men and women both stared with envy, the music thumping beneath their steps like a second heartbeat.
Evelyn looked over her shoulder and caught Angela’s eye.
Angela gave her a playful thumbs-up and mouthed “Get the bag.”
Evelyn smiled, but it quickly faded when her attention returned to Ivan.
Upstairs, the private rooms glowed in low red light. The bass was a distant hum now. Velvet couches. Frosted-glass tables scattered with half-empty flutes and lipsticked rims. She followed Ivan through a beaded curtain, his hand firm around her waist as he opened the door to a larger VIP room.
The door clicked shut behind her.
A chill came over her as the red lights swallowed her whole.
There wouldn’t be anyone waiting for her outside that door.
No one to take her home.
To hold her.
To tell her it was ok.
And while it shouldn’t have mattered, Evelyn couldn’t shake a cold truth.
When this was over, Elijah wouldn’t be there.