“I mean, besides drinking at a kitsch Russian bar,” I clarify, and she glares at me, but there’s no heat to it.
“Depends,” she says. “What kind of scene are you looking for?”
“Something different,” I tell her. I want her to peel back the layers of shine over this city and show me the underbelly. There’s no reason to bet on her knowing where the underbelly is, but she’s the only source I have, and besides, if tattooed bartenders don’t know the more fringe scenes, who would?
“Actually…” She smiles, leaning forward on her elbows. “There’s somebody you should meet.”
* * *
Later, Indah will wonder what compelled her to bring a boy she just met to meet her best friend/sometimes-more-than-friends friend. She doesn’t introduce Neon to a lot of people, too worried about revealing Neon’s secret, too selfish to want to share her with anyone else, and yet she gave both away so easily to the odd teenager who smiles so well she poured him an entire bottle of their finest vodka on the first night they met. She didn’t know a thing about him, she still doesn’t, and yet, it seemed like the thing to do. He sat there smiling, not at all contrite about ditching her a few nights before, making her worry, and she suddenly wanted desperately to show him the most interesting parts of her life.
Later, Indah will wonder how she didn’t see it. How she, of all people, didn’t see him. She’ll wonder if it would have made any difference even if she had.
Indah will wonder where she’d be if he hadn’t walked into Lubitsch that night. If she hadn’t introduced Robert and Neon. Maybe things would be different. Or maybe she, like Robert, was doomed from the start by something given to her at birth.
* * *
“Sup,” the woman says, extending her arm to me. I go to shake her hand, but she just slaps my hand, open palmed, twice, like we already have some kind of established handshake.
“This is my friend Neon,” Indah laughs, rolling her eyes. I smile like I’m in on the joke, but I’m already distracted by the fact that Neon seems to be one of those effortlessly cool people who never feel self-conscious about doing anything. A small but built Black woman with long locs, she’s wearing an enormous leather jacket that doesn’t look ridiculous even though it’s clearly three sizes too big and heavy black combat boots to match. There’s something electric about her. Magnetic. I’m immediately pulled in.
“Aw, come on, babe,” Neon purrs, curling herself around Indah, “‘friend’? I think we’re a little more than that.”
Neon nuzzles Indah’s neck and Indah laughs some more, pushing her away.
“Well, you say we’re not girlfriends, so if we’re not that, we must be friends,” Indah throws back.
“There’s plenty of space between friends and girlfriends,” Neon says, stepping closer to Indah, putting her arm around her again.
“Not to me.” Indah shakes her head, smiling, and playfully pushes Neon’s head away gently with the meat of her palm.
I have no idea what to do with myself. I take the moment to look around the room. We’re back on Sunset, in one of the music clubs that speckle the strip, but one I haven’t gotten to yet. There’s booming bass coming from the main room, but we’re ensconced in a run-down, but oddly cozy, backstage room. In my nights out since I got here, it never occurred to me to come backstage, where there are fewer people and you can actually hear yourself think. My veins thrum in time with the distant music, so many wants rushing through me that nothing has a chance to come to the surface. I stick my hands in my pockets, uncertain about what else to do.
“Aw, I think we’re scaring the poor choirboy,” Neon observes.
“He’s from Kansas,” Indah teases, eyes sparkling at me, and I shrug in what I hope is a self-deprecating and charming move. The hope alone tells me it will be received as such.
“Well, Kansas, nice to meet you.” Neon smirks, pulling away from Indah and lighting a cigarette. The flame of her lighter makes her dark skin glow, highlighting the bright blue eyeliner and glitter that cover her eyelids. On anyone else it would look ridiculous. On her, it’s mesmerizing.
She steps toward me as she exhales, her brown eyes peering up at me through the smoke. They rake up and down my body, scanning me like she’s looking for weak spots. I stand my ground, refusing to cower, and the ghost of a smile moves over her lips.
“It’s Robert,” I say, “Robbie. That’s what—that’s what people call me.”
I’m already mentally kicking myself for saying that—after leaving Nebraska, I swore I’d never go by Robbie again. It shouldn’t matter that I’ve given her that name—if I don’t want her to call me that, she won’t. But something compelled me to say it, so maybe—
“Right … Robbie.” Neon nods before cocking her head to the side and giving me the once-over again. “You know, it’s funny, you don’t look like a Robbie.”
“What do I look like?” I flirt, feeling bold.
“Trouble.” She smirks.
“You have no idea, babe,” Indah says, huffing a laugh, from behind her.
“Oh yeah?” Neon looks over at Indah, smoke curling between her lips. “He give you problems already?”
“Mm-hm.” Indah nods, smiling. “He crashed on my couch, broke one of my glasses, and fled the scene.”
“You took him home with you?” Neon’s eyebrows rise as she looks between us. I have the strangest urge to apologize for a nonexistent betrayal of a relationship that doesn’t seem exclusive in the first place.
Eight years of being the way that I am and I’m pretty confident in the power I hold over people. It’s imperfect, intangible, but I know how to command attention. A single minute of being in Neon’s presence and she’s somehow overridden all of that. She has the same intangible quality. Except she’s not like me. She can’t be. There’s no one in the world like me, but Neon has bottled power in a way that makes even me want to do what she says. It sets my brain on fire in the best way and the thought flickers across my mind that maybe this is what people mean by love at first sight. But suddenly I’m thinking of Them, the only people to ever say that word to me, and Neon starts to fade away as I begin to sink into memory.
“Poor kid needed a place to crash,” Indah says, her now familiar voice bringing me back to the present. “I don’t even know how he convinced me to let him stay over.”
“I can be pretty persuasive.” I shrug, showing my teeth in a mockery of a smile. I brush off the strange new feelings of a moment ago, focusing on my need for Neon to know that I’m not going to fall at her feet like she expects. With her short but strong body, the ends of her hair dyed an electric blue, piercings on her nose and eyebrow and cascading down her ears, she cuts an intimidating figure next to my doughy, pale body. But looks can be deceiving.
“So, Robbie—” Neon starts.
“Robert,” I demand, making a decision. “Or Rob, if you really have to shorten it.”
“Of course.” She smiles. “Robert.”
Her acquiescence is like dopamine straight to the center of my brain and I smile a real smile. It’s one thing to have Indah or the hotel clerks do what I want. They’re easygoing. They’re in service, trained to believe that the customer is always right. But Neon … I know immediately that Neon is a hard sell and I just bought her respect. The thrill of my satisfaction at this is only slightly dampened by my desperation to keep it up.