Pretenders (Firsts and Forever 3)

After last call was announced, I ended the night with one of my signature mixes, which I was calling Disco Seventies Space Funk. A spotlight flooded the DJ booth, and the crowd turned their attention to me. The eight-minute extended mix of Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love” provided the backdrop, and I cut in and out of it, blending together funk and disco, then peppering in sound bites from pop culture.

I took off my headphones and held one of them to my ear. That way, I could hear what was playing in the club and what I was cueing up next at the same time. I laced in a sound clip of Han Solo telling us he had a bad feeling about this before dropping right into the middle of “Shining Star” by Earth, Wind & Fire. From there, I pieced together two disco tracks and blended in a few seconds of the “Imperial March” before Darth Vader told us we’d disappointed him for the last time.

I absolutely loved this, taking familiar things and turning them into a brand new creation. The crowd was right there with me, moving to the beat and whooping with delight every time I brought in something campy. I let myself indulge for a few minutes before bringing it all home with another funk classic.

When I finished, the crowd went wild. I gave them a quick wave and a smile, and then I draped my headphones around my neck, grabbed my laptop and backpack, and slipped backstage.

There was a time when I’d lived for the applause, and for what inevitably followed. In this world, I was a minor celebrity. Lots of guys were attracted to fame, no matter how tenuous, and were all too willing to buy me a drink, take me back to their place, and fuck me into oblivion. But tonight, I just wanted to go home.

On the way out, I ran into Preston. He’d hired me as the house DJ four months ago, right after he bought the nightclub. I had absolutely no idea how he’d managed to afford this place, but I was happy for him. It was rare to see someone actually make their dreams come true.

“Great job tonight, Ash,” he said, as he paused to shift several empty liquor bottles in his arms. He’d managed the club for years, and now that he was the owner he still did most of the grunt work himself.

“Thanks. It was a fun crowd.” I paused too and stuck the headphones and laptop in my backpack, then took out a jacket and pulled it over my head.

Preston grinned and gestured at the hoodie as he said, “That’s a perfect match.” He was referring to the fact that it was the same shade of lavender as my hair.

“But of course,” I joked, as I slung the backpack over my shoulder. “I’m nothing if not color coordinated.”

He dropped a few of the bottles, and I chased them as they rolled down the hall. Then I accompanied him to the back of the building and held the door for him. After we tossed them in the recycling bin, he headed back inside and called, “See you Wednesday.”

Normally, I would have avoided Castro Street at this hour. Since all the bars and clubs had just closed, it was packed. But I had an important errand to run, so I made my way to the twenty-four-hour drugstore and bought two pints of ice cream.

On the way home, I cut through an alley and wove down a couple of side streets, which were mostly deserted. Just a few minutes later, I let myself into a pretty, baby blue Victorian and hurried upstairs to my apartment.

This was definitely my happy place. My roommate Jasper and I had decorated it with a hodgepodge of things that made us smile, from colorful, comfy furniture to odd little knickknacks. The best part was our art gallery. We’d painted the living room walls a deep plum color between the ornate crown molding and the white wainscotting, and then we’d covered that purple section with all sorts of prints, post cards, and trinkets, which formed one big mosaic that circled the room. It was eclectic, colorful, and pure joy.

Jasper wasn’t home yet, so I stuck the ice cream in the freezer and went to my room. Unlike the vibrant living room, it was soft and soothing, my lavender and white sanctuary from the rest of the world.

Since I always worked up a sweat at my job, I took a shower, then pulled on my favorite enormous sweatshirt and a pair of gym shorts. Then I paused to check my reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. I was thin and pale—even paler than usual—and my blue eyes were underscored with dark circles. In other words, I looked as weary as I felt. But when a key clicked in the lock, a genuine smile took a lot of that dreariness away.