The smoke floating in the air made Aidan's eyes sting and he wasn't particularly enjoying the constant jostling of the closely packed crowd.
It was Saturday night, a little more than twenty-four hours since he'd pitched writing an in-depth review of Seattle's newest nightclub to Lynette. But now that he was here in the midst of the loud conversation and blaring music that made up the atmosphere of the club called 'Soleil,' he thoroughly wished he was home watching a Law & Order re-run. Despite his discomfort, however, he smiled when he saw the man he was looking for emerge from the smoky haze of the club's second-floor bar area.
"Jean-Philippe," Aidan said, clasping the shorter, dark-haired man in a firm hug.
When the two moved apart Jean-Philippe, the epitome of the dark-haired, romantic Frenchman in an Armani suit and Italian shoes, regarded Aidan's much more casual jeans and black polo shirt with a wry grin. "Only you would show up to the hottest new club in town wearing the clothes you do your grocery shopping in, Aidan," he said, his words faintly highlighted by the French accent he'd all but lost during his boarding school days in England where he and Aidan had met and formed a long-lasting friendship.
Aidan laughed, slapping his old friend on the shoulder. "And only you would be arrogant enough to call *your* club the hottest one in town despite the fact that you've only been open for, what, a week now?"
Jean gave a classic Gallic shrug. "Ten days. Ten days of revelry and dancing and," he let out an appreciative breath as a blonde in a halter dress that seemed much to short—on both ends—walked by, "...and beautiful, beautiful women," he finished his sentence and returned his attention to Aidan. "Besides, once you write this article about 'Soleil' opening in Seattle I'll get more press for 'Bamboo' opening in L.A. in four months. It's such a nice diversion, this taking over of America's nightlife," he finished on a chuckle.
As they spoke they'd made their way to the furthest end of the bar and took seats. From that angle they could see the entirety of the bar-level. With dozens of thick, dark-painted columns throughout the room, each one embedded with tiny glowing lights, the atmosphere created was one of stars sparkling in the smoky darkness of the room.
Ordering a beer, Aidan raised an eyebrow but didn't comment when Jean asked for only bottled water and a glass of ice. Once their drinks were served, Aidan turned on his stool to watch the energized crowd gyrate to the fast dance songs blasting out over hidden speakers. "It's an amazing place you've got here, Jean."
His friend smiled arrogantly. "Yes, I know."
Shaking his head at Jean's shameless overconfidence, Aidan smiled and brought the bottle of beer to his lips but turned his head to hear Jean over the music.
"And what about you," the Frenchman asked, slowly swirling the water in his glass like it was the finest of wines.
"What about me," Aidan tossed the question back.
"Where is your dream, my friend? I remember that you wanted to be a photographer, an artist, but instead you spend your time taking pictures of beaches and mountains that are better suited for postcards."
Despite his best efforts, Aidan felt his jaw clench in irritation. Leave it to Jean to bring up his life's path in the middle of a raucous nightclub; he'd always had a terrible sense of timing.
"You always have had a terrible sense of timing," he said aloud and drained his beer, signaling the bartender to bring him another.
"And what the hell does that mean?"
"What do you think it means?" Aidan glowered at him. "I do what I have to do to make a living, all right? I majored in print journalism at Columbia instead of photojournalism because I knew that I'd never make any money as a photographer. Hell, I barely make enough to put me through Grad school doing freelance work as it is."
"So is that all it is for you," Jean asked quietly. "It's just about the money? You'd give up something that you're passionate about because you think you won't make money? Damn it, Aidan, I'll give you money if that's all you need."
"Dammit!" Aidan slammed his bottle down on the bar, ignoring the copious amount of beer that splashed out onto his hand and the astonished stares of nearby club-goers. "I don't want your money, Jean. I didn't want my father's money and I sure as hell don't want to talk about this. What I do with my life is my business and no one else's."
Returning Aidan's hard stare unflinchingly, Jean momentarily wished that he'd picked a better time to discuss this, but, like Aidan had said, he had a terrible sense of timing and a bad habit of simply saying what came to mind without thinking it through. "Look, Aidan, as your friend..."
Aidan cut him off. "As *your* friend, I'm asking you to drop it. You wanted me to write a story for the magazine, I pitched it to my boss and she liked it as a feature about attractions in Seattle, so I'll do it. But when it comes to my *personal* decisions—just leave it alone."
They both simmered in silence for several heartbeats. Aidan's tenseness was palpable, as was the fact that Jean had obviously not said all he intended to say. "Alright, I'm sorry I brought it up," he said finally, laying a brotherly hand on Aidan's shoulder. "I think I'm becoming a mother hen in my old age."
Aidan snorted his skepticism of that point as he watched Jean eye a blonde in a crimson bustier and black mini skirt. "Don't worry about it," he replied and they sat in companionable silence for long minutes.
"It's like a delicious game of roulette, you know," Jean said after a while. He was still watching the blonde but his face took on a speculative expression. "When I opened that first club in Paris...that was the biggest gamble of my life. No one thought I would last three months." He smiled at the memory, his elbows resting on the edge of the bar as he watched the crowd. "Even I didn't think I would last the first month," he laughed. "But it's been almost two years and look at it...my fourth club in the States. Three in Europe. Do you know what I learned in all of this, mon ami?"
Aidan smiled at his friend's reflections. He really was happy for all that Jean had accomplished so early in life. While Aidan was struggling through journalism classes at Columbia, forced to relegate his love of photography to a handful of elective classes and seminars, Jean was still in Europe carving out a place for himself in the world just like he'd always said he would.
In a way it made Aidan sad, and admittedly a little jealous, to think of all of the dreams he'd had slip through his fingers while Jean was continuously adding more to his collection. 'But I'm happy for him,' he thought. And he was. So he asked, "What did you learn over the past few years, Jean?"
Sighing a contented sigh that reminded Aidan of a just-fed cat, Jean drained his glass of water. "I learned that this business isn't about being the best or having the most extravagant club. It's about knowing your customer."
"And you know yours." Aidan couldn't keep the skepticism from his voice as he thought of a usually self-absorbed Jean professing to be a people-watcher.
"I know you don't believe that," Jean said, understanding the line of Aidan's thoughts, "but it really is about giving them the things that they need—the things they don't even know they wish for. There's a reason I named this place 'Soleil.'
"The Sun," Aidan translated.
Jean nodded. "Seattleites live in a place of clouds and rain, so I brought them sunshine. This is a place for the outgoing girls who're heartbreakers and veterans of the chase. It's a place where the men know that they aren't the only ones on the hunt...where dark corners hold promise and every beat of the music matches their every heartbeat. That's what they want. They all believe themselves to be unique and unpredictable, but I *predict* that. I know in advance what's in the mind of every person who walks through my doors."
With a grin on his face, Aidan stared out at the crowd as Jean talked. He watched the club-goers move together, against and away from each other, on the steamy dance floor below the bar and took in Jean's words. It was true that clubs had a certain clientele that were, for the most part, always predictable, but as Aidan was about to ask Jean if he'd become a poet as well as an entrepreneur, two women entered the bar-level via the a spiral staircase leading down to a lower level of the club where the twenty-one and under crowds danced the night away. One was tall, dark-haired and slim; the other was shorter, rounder, with a mass of chestnut hair and a familiarly dainty chin. Aidan squinted his eyes in the darkness, looked hard at the second woman and swore under his breath in disbelief.
***************
Rainey's feet hurt. Her back hurt, the cigarette smoke in the air was making her eyes water and the pulsing of the music in the club made her head hurt, too. She knew she wasn't being a good friend to her roommate, Karen, who'd all but begged her to come out to what was supposed to be the hottest new club in town, but she couldn't help it.
Leaning the small of her back against the table she was sitting at, she tried to find a more comfortable position for her aching feet in the little high-heeled sandals Karen had leant her but it was useless, there was no relief short of taking them off and Rainey couldn't do that until they left. Which she hoped would be soon. She realized that she was the world's worst 'going out' companion but Karen had practically manhandled her into the outfit she was wearing, so she couldn't say no.
The satiny red shirt she wore was a past Christmas present from her mother as were the form-fitting jeans hugging her full hips. In fact, Rainey had never even considered wearing half of the 'nice' clothes her mother bought for her since she usually preferred her clothes to be a bit loose in order to hide her more...obvious sins. But even with all of Karen's work doing her best to turn Rainey into a glam-girl for a night on the town, Rainey knew what everyone else in the club knew: she was nothing but a wallflower out for a bit of sun.
She sighed and shifted again in the chair, resting one elbow on the cool surface of the table. She really had come out tonight, albeit apprehensively, with the goal of at least trying to have some fun, but the minute they'd crossed the threshold into the club her hopes had dropped enormously as she took in what seemed to be an ocean of brightly clothed, beautiful girls dancing and laughing and talking with gorgeous guys, all of them without a care in the world. A world in which Rainey knew she didn't belong.
