Page 58 of Whirlwind

“I know it is, but I guess it still surprises me when I see it in black and white.”

“You L.A. folk don’t take it seriously.”

“Not true. Musicians from Nashville automatically get credit for authenticity, no matter their genre. It’s a songwriting, storytelling town and has all the respect. Pop is the most commercial, and you need the publishing industry, and that’s L.A. and New York. But times are changing. A number of labels have set up shop here now.”

The driver weaved through the city, through traffic, and into a desolate commercial neighborhood. Behind a graffiti covered warehouse, cars and motorcycles streamed into a makeshift parking lot. Our car pulled over and we got out.

We passed through an ID checkpoint, and followed a stream of people down a shadowy hallway. I slid an arm around Violet, holding her close in the thick and smoky atmosphere of the warehouse. We finally emerged through a small doorway into a new world. Veiled in fog, pulsating with lasers, thumping with intense electronic dance jams.

A small band played on a platform in the middle of the big area, and a DJ held court from a platform to the side. Electric pianos, drum sets, laptops. Two singers were hopping up and down to the rhythm of their song as they sang. The whole room was hopping. Violet moved, her body joining the beat. She clasped my hand and drew me into the crowd. We danced, moving to the groove together.

I hadn’t been to any kind of dance party on this scale since I’d graduated high school, which was when I’d joined the band. Another was when we toured in Europe that first time, opening for The Heave, their record label in Europe had set up this crazy party at a club in Berlin. But this felt different. I was anonymous in the flow of new music, music I’d never heard before. Good music. A genre fusion of R&B and electric pop. There was an eighties feel but diverse, textured.

The crowd was delirious, so enthusiastic, and the vibe raw and fresh. Everyone wanted to be here to listen, to dance. To live the music. I did. Violet did.

I squeezed Violet in close, my hands at her hips keeping her against my body. We moved together, part of the crowd, within the beat. The lights flashed and I caught her intense gaze as if we were in a movie.Flash, flash, flash.Our hands found each other between our bodies and our fingers entwined together. The air was thick and hot as we danced, rubbing against each other, holding onto each other.

Her warm lips nuzzled the bare skin of my chest. Each press of those lips, swipe of that tongue, searing my skin. Completely sober, completely drunk. Drunk on her. On this chemical tidal wave that swelled through the two of us with the beat, the lights.

Her tongue darted out and licked at my quartz crystal necklace. My hands squeezed her ass, grinding her against me. The need to taste her roared within me, heated my blood. I crushed her mouth with mine, our tongues immediately lashing together. People jostled against us and it didn’t matter. We were in a groove with each other with the music, with the crowd. We didn’t let go, we hung on, we kissed deep in the center of the storm in another universe of lights and beats.

“You taste so good,” I whispered loudly in her ear.

She squeezed my body with hers in reply, and I laughed. A hand squeezed my arm. A man’s hand. My body stiffened, my head jerked in the direction of a deep voice saying my name.

I turned. “Dré!”

His hand thumped my arm. “You’re here! You actually came.”

“I told you I would.” We tagged fists. “This place is incredible.”

“Glad you like it.” Dré’s arm was wrapped around a petite blonde. A blonde whose stare shot from Violet to me and back to Violet.

“This is my girl, Tara. Tara, this is —”

“I know who he is. Hi, Beck.” Tara bit her lip, her head tilting at Violet, eyes wide.

I slung my arm around Violet. “This is Vi—”

The girls burst into laughter.

“What’s up, babe?” Dré said to Tara. “What’s going on?”

“Violet is my cousin who I met up with here in Nashville.”

“No shit,” laughed Dré. “You’re Violet?”

“And you’re Dré?” Violet’s gaze darted to Tara, whose features tensed for a second. Was there a big reveal going on here? “Great to meet you.” Violet’s eyes flashed as she shook Dré’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good, I hope?”

“The very best,” said Violet. She and Tara hugged and drifted off together, talking excitedly.

“What do you think, B? Nashville’s got game?”

“Nashville is insane,” I replied. Over his shoulder, I noticed Tara’s lips pursed, she nodded stiffly as Violet talked to her, a serious earnest look on her face. There were flashes of emotion, tension in both women. Violet hugged her cousin again.

Dré told me about the band that was playing, how they were on their second album and doing well, and considering going to L.A. The girls returned to us, and Tara slid her arm around Dré, holding him close. His face erupted into a satisfied smile and he brushed the top of her head with a kiss. They made a striking couple. The petite, blond, blue-eyed girl and the tall, lean Black man with a head full of short dreadlocks.

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