Blues

Chapter Seven

All eyes in the bar are very clearly on Nas, and I can't blame them for a minute. When she dances, she looks so free and confident, it's hard not to want both to know her and to be her. She dances with a partner for thirty seconds at a time before moving onto someone else in the crowd. She dances equally with women and men, sometimes with both simultaneously, and appears to have a knack for working the crowd. She is dancing with a man behind her, and she reaches back and takes the hat off his head, placing it on her own, and he loves it. Moments later she's grown tired of him and pulls a new woman toward her to dance by the necklace, and she loves it. When Nas chooses a partner, they are drawn to her instantly. She is a friend to everyone, intimidated by no one.

"Is she always like this?" I ask Cia, who leans against the bar stirring a drink and watching the crowd, rather than choosing to engage in it.

"She barely stops dancing any time we're out," she says as an answer. "But this is the life she's used to. Before she came to live with us, this is how she spent her nights. She loves the dance floor. Always has."

"Apparently it loves her," I comment, staring without shame and certainly in good company.

"And she'll leave here tonight with at least twenty new phone numbers. Nights with Nas always go exactly according to plan."

Nas starts to walk toward us now, glistening with sweat but making it glamorous, and very clearly having the time of her life. "Come on, you losers, someone's got to get laid tonight and I've already hooked up three and a half times in the bathroom of this club. Once more and people will start to talk."

Cia takes one look at Nas and decides she doesn't want to partake in whatever she has up her sleeve. "I have to pee," she announces, leaving us alone at the bar.

"Come on, Sav," Nas pushes again. "There has to be someone in here catching your eye. I've seen everyone in this room check you out at least once."

I shrug and sip my drink. "Not really interested," I say.

"You went through the trouble of letting Adaline clone herself," she says. "You might as well get something out of it."

"Clone herself?"

"You do realize that's what she does, don't you? The eyeliner, the dark lipstick. All you need is a red wig and a Southern accent. Nothing personal, though. If Addy had her way, everyone would look like her."

I shrug at the thought of that. "There are worse things."

"We'll find you someone," she says, remaining convinced. "What're you into, just women? Men too? Whatever, see her over there in the purple dress? I know her from the bar I used to work at. Gay as the day is long, always up for anything, and an hour ago her eyes might as well have been glued to your ass."

"Give it a rest, Nas," I tiredly say. "You're high."

"Correction," she says, poking a finger into my forehead. "I'm drunk."

"My mistake."

"So what do you say? Should I call her over?"

"Do three no's make a yes to you, Nas?"

"What's your deal, Sav?" she groans, as though I'm somehow inconveniencing her. "Man, you have got to get over her if you want this to work."

"Over who?"

"Who do you think? I'm referring to the sentient cigarette ad that's probably off hooking up without you right now."

"I cannot believe that you think this has to do with Adaline."