"But you *do* have to
dance. You should go with, uh, Mimi, to the club. DJ None Of Your
Fucking Business is *amazing*."
"I don't think Mimi wants company," Alan said.
"What makes you say that?" Mimi said, making a dare of it with hipshot
body language. "Get changed and we'll go together. You'll have to pay to
get in, though."
Link and Natalie exchanged a raised eyebrow, but Alan was already headed
for his place, fumbling for his keys. He bounded up the stairs, swiped a
washcloth over his face, threw on a pair of old cargo pants and a faded
Steel Pole Bathtub T-shirt he'd bought from a head-shop one day because
he liked the words' incongruity, though he'd never heard the band, added
a faded jean jacket and a pair of high-tech sneakers, grabbed his phone,
and bounded back down the stairs. He was convinced that Mimi would be
long gone by the time he got back out front, but she was still there,
the stripes in her stockings glowing in the slanting light.
"Retro chic," she said, and laughed nastily. Natalie gave him a thumbs
up and a smile that Alan uncharitably took for a simper, and felt guilty
about it immediately afterward. He returned the thumbs up and then took
off after Mimi, who'd already started down Augusta, headed for Queen
Street.
"What's the cover charge?" he said, once he'd caught up.
"Twenty bucks," she said.
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