Performing at breakneck speeds, Chance barely noticed a strange emptiness that had begun to grow in the pit of her stomach around 10pm. She brushed it off quickly, attributing it to her recent bout of insomnia. Tonight was a VIP event, invitation only, and still the 1589 person capacity club spilled into the street and around the block, from what security had told her. She served with masterful ease, thankful for the dual barbacks Andy had hired to help tonight. They eased her workload by fetching ice and bottles, cleaning glassware, and changing the rapidly emptying kegs.
“Take five, C,” Andy had yelled to her from across the bar at 11pm. “Get some air!”
“It’s cool,” Chance yelled back, “too close to midnight!”
“You’ve been working your ass off,” Andy replied, his ample belly encased in a white tuxedo. “Get outta here! I mean it, I cannot afford for my star bartender NOT to have a break in this madhouse!” Andy had come around the bar, and was now taking the bottle opener out of her hand. “I’ve got it,” his amiable eyes twinkled.
“Ok, be right back,” Chance rolled her eyes, sighing in mock exasperation. She grabbed her coat and waded through the gyrating bodies, secretly thankful for the break. Roughly 20 feet from the bar, there was a spiral staircase which led to the second floor, where another full bar, matching satellite bars, and separate DJ and dance floor was set up.
“You’re working your ass off tonight,” Scrape appeared beside her at the stairs. Nicknamed Skyscrape by Chance herself, he towered somewhere around 7′.
“Considering the crowd, you look actually look bored out there,” Chance observed.
Scrape had volunteered to work security tonight, knowing that his mere presence stopped many fights before they happened. They moved through the second level toward the balconies along the west wall, unable to talk due to the volume level. Chance was lighting a cigarette as they stepped out onto the wrought iron encircled balcony. She drug deep, held the smoke briefly, and let it out in tiny smoke rings. Her spirits were instantly refreshed by the sharp pacific bay air. She enjoyed her job, was good at it, and between this and her day job as a tattoo artist, she pulled in an excellent salary; enough to keep a small condo with an excellent view of both the Cascades and the ocean, which also just happened to be less than ten blocks from both jobs. On nights like this, when the club was full and the liquor freeflowing, she automatically acted in overdrive, expertly pouring drinks and tossing the bottles in flair, and was subsequently worn out quickly. Then, there was this awful foreboding feeling in the pit of her stomach…
“Sweetie?”
She turned to look at Scrape. He was searching her face. “You ok, hon?”
“Yea, of course.”
“I’ve been here all night, C. Who knows you better than me?” he was silhouetted by the downtown lights, which put his face in a slight shadow. Chance read his concern nonetheless. She smiled. “I’m ok. I’ve just had a strange, I don’t know, emptiness brewing inside. Like a feeling of…impending doom, or…something.” She quickly drew long on her cigarette.
“You think something’s gonna happen tonight?” he asked.
“Not sure, I don’t think so. I don’t know.” she genuinely didn’t.
Scrape was smoking his own cigarette, leaning on the railing, gazing across the structures to the play of lights on the waves. He straightened up, and drew Chance into an embrace. His protective presence was deeply comforting, and Chance let out her breath shakily. Moments later, they returned to the rail, Chance sighed deeply, “I haven’t been sleeping well the last week or so. I’m thinking maybe that has something to do with it,” she explained, though not completely believing her statement.
“Really? Girl, an atomic bomb could go off outside your balcony, and you would go right on dreaming. Now I know something’s definitely wrong with you,” he glared at her with mock consternation.
“Hey, you know I’ve been working three weeks strait, with only Christmas day off!” she countered.
Scrape shook his head, “Yeah, they can’t keep doing this to you. That will run you down, then what are they gonna do?”
“I know. Andy said he hired somebody, but he didn’t have the time to train a new hire over the holidays.”
“When’s your next day off?”
“I don’t work until Thursday.”
Scrape visibly relaxed. Chance loved the big lug to pieces. He weighed in around 350 lbs., and was covered in tattoos and scars. They had met more than two years ago, when Scrape had walked into her tattoo shop requesting a labret piercing. They had become instant friends, and Chance lovingly referred to him as her ‘little big brother,’ given the fact he was three years her junior. He was as protective over her as she imagined an older brother would be.
“We’re taking you out to dinner tomorrow.”
“Saf has the night off?” Chance questioned, regarding Scrape’s fiancee. Sapphire was a charmingly pudgy, round eyed, dollfaced jewel, with dimple piercings and fire engine red dreadlocks. Standing a mere 5′ 1″, she barely came to Scrapes elbows. She was good for Scrape, kept him in line and out of trouble, and Chance adored her to death.
“Yup.”
“It’s a date. What time?”
“How about five? Make it an early night, ‘cuz I want you in bed by 10.” Scrape ordered sternly.
Chance giggled, flicking her cigarette over the railing.
“Promise me you will get some rest?” He searched her eyes for assurance.
Chance nodded, watching as the cigarette ember hit the sidewalk, exploding into a miniature fireworks. She turned back to Scrape, tilting her head slightly to the side. “If I didn’t have you to watch over me, I do not know what I would do.”
Scrape slipped an arm over her shoulder to lead her through the red velvet curtained doorway. “Sweetie,” he chuckled, there’s noone man enough to take care of you!” He rolled his eyes, “talk about high maintenance!” He glanced sideways to watch her reaction.
Shocked, Chance retorted, “Glad you think so, ‘cuz you’re buying me dinner now!” She goosed his ribs and took off toward the stairs, Scrape on her heels, feigning revenge.
The rest of the night passed quickly, and Chance was grateful. Scrape rounded their close friends at the bar, and Chance toasted with them at midnight. Sapphire had even slipped away from her station at a satellite bar undetected, as most of the guests were preoccupied with their complimentary champagne. Chance usually refrained drinking during her shift, but Andy had scolded her that tonight was indeed a celebration, and by two o’clock, she had imbided in a couple shots of bourbon, besides the swiftly downed champagne. She was slightly buzzed, yet it did not come close to dulling the ambiguously bitter sensation that had grown even more. Andy had extras on the cleaning crew, so she was able to clock out shortly after two. Scrape and Sapphire accompanied Chance home. Her apartment came with two parking spaces in an underground garage, and she generously supplied one to them. Spirits were high as revelers spilled out of clubs and corner bars. It seemed to Chance that the anxious optimism of the masses had vanished at midnight, morphing into a genuinely lively celebration. Scrape and Sapphire were glowing; holding each other around the waist, laughing, gazing into each other’s eyes with undeniably profound devotion. It was heartwarming to watch a couple as close as these two, yet at the same time it seemed to magnify Chance’s loneliness of not having someone. Chance could count on one hand the number of relationships she had had, and although each had been distinguishing- she considered herself to hold very high standards in a mate; she had yet to meet the one.
The bad feeling was irritating her, but what really frustrated her was that it seemed completely uncalled for. Nothing had happened tonight as far as altercations in the club. Her building was gated and secured, and nobody in their right or wrong mind would come near Scrape with bad intentions! As far as the insomnia was concerned, she did not know what to think of that, either. She was healthy, ate right, got plenty of exercise running back and forth for hours at the bar, enjoyed a wide variety of water sports, and had an active social life with many diverse friends.
“You want us to come up with you, hon?” Scrape asked.
Walking briskly to escape the to the bone chill of the damp fog that had been born of the sea,