Chapter 1
Dear Parker,
Life doesn’t have meaning when I don’t have you in my arms. Waking up is the cruelest moment of my day because I know that you’re not here with me. Going to sleep at the end of the day is almost as bad because I can’t stop dreaming of you. We’re together all night long, but only in my head. In the morning, I’m equally comforted and devastated.
I miss you, Parker, so much. I hate being away from you. This isn’t fair. I know you’re suffering as much as I am. Write to me. They can’t take that away from us, at least.
I love you.
The best shows didn’t let the audience see the wires behind the high-flying acts. Instead, each eager set of eyes was always exactly where it was meant to be: on the figure highlighted by the spotlight. The performer of the moment was one tiny cog in the enormous and intricate machine of the whole operation, but the audience didn’t need to know that.
They just needed to keep their eyes on the prize and let me work the magic behind the scenes.
The prize was the very magical Maven, gyrating and shimmying to the beat of the song she’d chosen at the beginning of her shift. She’d given that song to Sol, my manager, and Sol had queued it up, coordinating the lights to go along with it.
To satisfy the audience’s other needs, waitresses dressed in demure black dresses worked discreetly around the room, taking care not to distract from Maven, who was swinging dizzyingly around the pole. All eyes were on Maven, willing her to never stop spinning, to never come back down to Earth, to continue to defy gravity and other laws of physics with her acrobatics.
Yes, all eyes were on her, as they should be, except for mine.
I trusted Maven not to hit the ground with a splat, to continue to hold the audience’s attention.
I trusted Sol to man the controls with ease and seamless flow, ensuring no interruption to the show.
I trusted the bartenders to continue making the right drinks, the waitresses to deliver the beverages, the audience to continue consuming the cocktails and beers, and the bouncers roaming the floors to recognize when someone was getting out of line and to hustle the patron out quickly and efficiently without distracting too much from the show.
The show was everything, and everything supported the show—from the girls who cleaned at the beginning of the day to make sure everything was ready, to me, poring over the receipts and records at the end of the night, making sure everything was worth it.
This was my club. It had been my club for years. Things went wrong, sure, as all things are meant to sometimes. However, I always knew how to make them right again. There was no problem I couldn’t solve, no part of the machine I couldn’t quickly tinker with in order to make it run properly again.
I lived and breathed this club. I had poured all of my resources into it, nurtured it, fed and watered it, and made it grow, and it had grown fruit that had surprised even me.
When I started working here during what seemed like a different lifetime, I’d expected the paycheck to at least help me get by.
Now, though, the club had granted me a more than comfortable lifestyle, one that most people would never know and enjoy. I’d been careful. I’d made sacrifices. I’d been hard on my employees.
Through all of that, the club had succeeded. It had been successful beyond my wildest dreams. It should’ve made me happy. No, that wasn’t fair. It did make me happy. It was like a child and a partner all rolled up into one. I felt closer to this place than I did most human beings.
It just wasn’t the same, I supposed, as actually having someone to share all this success with. I didn’t have anyone to go home to and tell how good the day had been to us.
There had been employees over the year, of course, whom I’d felt affectionate enough toward to enjoy the mutual success of this place. If you understood how to work it, the club could be so
Dear Parker,
Life doesn’t have meaning when I don’t have you in my arms. Waking up is the cruelest moment of my day because I know that you’re not here with me. Going to sleep at the end of the day is almost as bad because I can’t stop dreaming of you. We’re together all night long, but only in my head. In the morning, I’m equally comforted and devastated.
I miss you, Parker, so much. I hate being away from you. This isn’t fair. I know you’re suffering as much as I am. Write to me. They can’t take that away from us, at least.
I love you.
The best shows didn’t let the audience see the wires behind the high-flying acts. Instead, each eager set of eyes was always exactly where it was meant to be: on the figure highlighted by the spotlight. The performer of the moment was one tiny cog in the enormous and intricate machine of the whole operation, but the audience didn’t need to know that.
They just needed to keep their eyes on the prize and let me work the magic behind the scenes.
The prize was the very magical Maven, gyrating and shimmying to the beat of the song she’d chosen at the beginning of her shift. She’d given that song to Sol, my manager, and Sol had queued it up, coordinating the lights to go along with it.
To satisfy the audience’s other needs, waitresses dressed in demure black dresses worked discreetly around the room, taking care not to distract from Maven, who was swinging dizzyingly around the pole. All eyes were on Maven, willing her to never stop spinning, to never come back down to Earth, to continue to defy gravity and other laws of physics with her acrobatics.
Yes, all eyes were on her, as they should be, except for mine.
I trusted Maven not to hit the ground with a splat, to continue to hold the audience’s attention.
I trusted Sol to man the controls with ease and seamless flow, ensuring no interruption to the show.
I trusted the bartenders to continue making the right drinks, the waitresses to deliver the beverages, the audience to continue consuming the cocktails and beers, and the bouncers roaming the floors to recognize when someone was getting out of line and to hustle the patron out quickly and efficiently without distracting too much from the show.
The show was everything, and everything supported the show—from the girls who cleaned at the beginning of the day to make sure everything was ready, to me, poring over the receipts and records at the end of the night, making sure everything was worth it.
This was my club. It had been my club for years. Things went wrong, sure, as all things are meant to sometimes. However, I always knew how to make them right again. There was no problem I couldn’t solve, no part of the machine I couldn’t quickly tinker with in order to make it run properly again.
I lived and breathed this club. I had poured all of my resources into it, nurtured it, fed and watered it, and made it grow, and it had grown fruit that had surprised even me.
When I started working here during what seemed like a different lifetime, I’d expected the paycheck to at least help me get by.
Now, though, the club had granted me a more than comfortable lifestyle, one that most people would never know and enjoy. I’d been careful. I’d made sacrifices. I’d been hard on my employees.
Through all of that, the club had succeeded. It had been successful beyond my wildest dreams. It should’ve made me happy. No, that wasn’t fair. It did make me happy. It was like a child and a partner all rolled up into one. I felt closer to this place than I did most human beings.
It just wasn’t the same, I supposed, as actually having someone to share all this success with. I didn’t have anyone to go home to and tell how good the day had been to us.
There had been employees over the year, of course, whom I’d felt affectionate enough toward to enjoy the mutual success of this place. If you understood how to work it, the club could be so
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