Verses for the Dead

10

Jenny Rosen followed her friends Beth and Megan around the corner of Seventh Street and onto Ocean Drive. Then she stopped. Stretching ahead of her, suddenly, was an endless Babylon. Encountering the boulevard was like mainlining a shot of adrenaline directly into the central cortex: an overwhelming and seemingly impenetrable wall of competing backbeats, billows of perfume mixed with the smell of grilled fish, car exhaust, and mojo-marinated meat, with the occasional whiff of weed. And the lights: candy-cane strings of white that wound up every palm trunk; garish neon signs in the windows of tattoo parlors and beachwear shops; and — blazing from every marquee and sign that ran ahead for at least a dozen blocks — a confusion of floodlamps and strobes and multicolored lasers, swinging about and vying madly for her attention.

“Come on,” Beth shouted over the calls and laughter of the crowd surging along the sidewalk. “It’s just up here.”

Jenny and Megan walked after Beth as she made her way — pushed her way, actually — through the throng. Most were young, Jenny’s age or a few years older, vaping and screaming at the top of their lungs to each other over the cacophony, half of them drunk and the other half high. Jenny had wandered through her share of trendy neighborhoods — the Lower East Side, the Mission, LA’s Venice and Silver Lake — but she’d never before experienced such a motley assortment of hipsters, punks, cybergoths, gang-bangers, surfers, losers, stoners, posers, and countless other subspecies, all mingled together into one volatile soup.

Jenny and Megan hurried past a hookah lounge, a narrow service alley, then a brilliantly lit store selling trendy sunglasses, trying their best to keep up with Beth. As usual, she had taken charge, acting the control freak. Just because Beth’s home was in nearby Georgia, and she’d spent “like, forever” in Miami two years ago — actually, just one night — she’d assumed the mantle of veteran clubber, taking her two friends under her wing and promising to show them a memorable night out.

Now the two of them caught up to Beth, who had stopped, hands on her hips, and was looking at one of the few shopfronts that was closed, its metal shutters down. “... The fuck?” she said. “This is the place I was telling you about. I can’t believe it’s closed. Maybe they just moved to a bigger space.” And she took out her phone and started tapping the screen, rocking obliviously this way and that as people shoved past her.

Jenny plucked at the neck of the top she was wearing. Late March, but already Miami was unbelievably humid, and this crush of hot, sticky bodies only made it worse. If she’d had her way, they would have gone to a place like LIV — still one of the top megaclubs in the country, let alone Miami Beach — but Beth was tight with money and didn’t want to have to spend for table service. Besides (and this was the clincher), LIV hadn’t been Beth’s idea. Her idea — just like it had been her idea to book the trashy, funky-smelling Airbnb condo miles from anywhere — had been to walk a dozen blocks down Washington, fake-remembering several awesome bars along the way, all of which turned out to be expensive or lame or both. Nevertheless, they’d dutifully had a drink in each: tequila sunrises for Megan, some fruity cocktail for Beth. Jenny, who wasn’t much of a drinker, had ordered vodka-crans at each stop.

Now Beth had put the phone away and was in motion again. “Come on, Meg,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Jen-girl.”

Jenny resisted the impulse to shoot a glance at Megan. That wouldn’t be smart: Megan was Beth’s best friend, and had been for two years, since sophomore year at Macalester. Megan had even decided to follow a vaguely similar career path. Beth was hoping to get an advanced degree in communications, specializing in public engagement. Megan was talking about doing graduate work in sociology, with a primary interest in ethnic relations. Jenny herself had been considering some kind of medical research, but a semester of organic chem had cured her of that. Now she was drifting instead toward an MFA in ceramics.

She pushed her way through the crowd a little morosely. The yelling that surrounded her made her head ache — and the three drinks under her belt weren’t helping any.

They passed the Colony Hotel, its white-and-blue arc deco façade gleaming in the artificial light, and continued northward. Theirs, Jenny mused, was an unlikely threesome. She knew, though no one had said it to her face, that she was the odd one out. But she didn’t make friends easily, and she’d invested too much time in Beth and Meg to just toss the relationships aside. That was why, when the other two had been offered interviews at the U of Miami Graduate School — travel expenses paid — she’d tagged along for the weekend. Although she didn’t like to show it, money wasn’t a problem in her family, and she’d bought the ticket herself. It wasn’t that she was all that eager to see Miami Beach, really — it’s just that she didn’t want to spend a long weekend alone in her Kirk Hall single. And who knew? It might be fun. Maybe Beth wouldn’t be her usual bossy self. Maybe it would be a fun, stress-free getaway.

Yeah. Good luck with that.

They crossed the street and passed a number of restaurants, one after another after another, all with bikini-clad seductresses or leather-lunged barkers standing out front, doing their best to entice tourists in for a meal. Then, suddenly, Beth veered toward a set of metal double doors, outlined in black light, with a leather-clad bouncer standing nearby. She looked back at them excitedly.

“Here we go!” she said as the man checked her ID.

Megan began pushing her way through the crowd with evident enthusiasm, ID already out for inspection. “Come on, Jen-girl!” Beth cried, gesticulating wildly.

Jenny hated being called “Jen-girl.” But she gamely followed her friends into the club. She caught a brief glance of a spotlit sign above the doorway: ELECTRIC OCEAN.

Inside, it was incredibly dark, and the atmosphere vibrated with the pulsing beat of merengue records a DJ was spinning. As her eyes adjusted, Jenny could make out a large dance floor in the center, with booths along the left-hand wall and a bar along the right. She could see that Beth and Megan were already on the crowded dance floor. Jenny began walking toward them, then turned instead and made her way toward the bar. Although she’d caught a buzz already, she needed a little more courage if she was going to dance.

The bartender took her twenty, pushed a tall vodka-cran toward her, then laid five ones on the counter. Jenny leaned against the bar, sipping her drink, watching the vague forms of the dancers as the flickering lights brought them in and out of view. Already she’d lost sight of her friends in the gyrating crowd.

Almost before she knew it the bartender had taken her empty glass and replaced it with another. Damn, they really push the booze in this place. She fished out a second twenty and handed it to him. Something even louder than the music blasted one of her eardrums; she looked over to see a skinny, goateed guy in a post-punk outfit yelling at her.

She turned to him. “What?”

“I said, are you a parking ticket?” he yelled back.

“Parking ticket? What are you talking about?”

“Because you’ve got fine written all over you!” He laughed wildly, eyes wide. His limbs were moving about constantly, the martini in his hand sloshing, and even in this light she could see his pupils were mere pinpricks. And here I thought guys in the Twin Cities were lame. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to be picked up by a creep.

She downed her drink and pushed away from the bar. In the hazy middle distance, illuminated by brief, flickering pulses of light, she could see a staircase lined in blue neon. People were filing up and down in a steady stream. The creep started yelling at her again, and to get away she forced her way over to the staircase and began to climb. She found herself in front of a second dance floor, just as dark, but instead of salsa music the air was full of techno-house. She walked over to the dance floor and stood at its edge, wondering if she should join in and try to make eye contact with somebody. As she did, she realized she wasn’t feeling that well. The floor seemed to be swaying a little under the assault of a thousand feet — but then she realized she was the one that was swaying. Five drinks was way beyond her usual limit — and those last two had been strong as fuck.

All of a sudden, she realized she had to get out. The suffocating blackness; the press of sweaty bodies; the inescapable pulse of lasers and throbbing electronic beats and wild screams — it was all too much. Panicky now despite all the booze, she forced her way out of the scrum and down the stairs — she might have fallen had there not been so many people descending ahead of her — and staggered toward the double doors that led to Ocean Drive.

Even the sidewalk crowds seemed a relief after the club. She walked a few feet, then leaned against the façade of the building, taking deep breaths. The panic was passing.

At that moment, two shapes came dashing up. Squinting against the bright neon, she made out her friends.

“Thought that was you I saw running by,” said Beth. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Jenny said. “Sorry. You want to go back?”

“Naw, there’s just a bunch of fuck-boys in there. Hey, listen: I heard about a club that’s really lit. It’s not far, just a block or two.”

Jenny took a deep breath. “You know what? You two go ahead. I think I’m going to catch an Uber back to the condo.”

Beth looked crestfallen. “Don’t crap out on us now, Jen-girl.”

“Really, I’m kind of wiped. Go ahead, have fun. I’ll see you later.” She reached for her phone.

But Beth was too quick: she already had hers out and was pulling up the Uber app. “It’ll take fifteen minutes, maybe double that, to reach you in this traffic. You’ve got time to at least check this other place out.” And without waiting for a reply, she finished scheduling the pickup and then began making her way up Ocean Drive, shoving her phone back into her fake Dolce & Gabbana bag as she did so.

Automatically, Jenny started to follow. But as quickly as the panic had gone away, something else started rising to take its place: the sick feeling she’d noticed earlier. It was coming back, big time. Damn, she thought: it was that fifth vodka-cran. Chugging it had been a mistake.

She stopped again, looking around at the infinitude of glittering lights. They blurred; came into focus; blurred again.

“Guys,” she said. “I’m really not feeling well. I think I’m gonna vom.”

But Beth and Megan were walking on, unable to hear her over the noise.

Jenny looked around quickly. The world was tilting in a sickening way, and her stomach was feeling worse by the second. She couldn’t just toss up a sidewalk pizza here, in front of a million people... but she felt a saliva faucet, which could only mean one thing, start up at the back of her throat.

There: just one building down was one of those service alleys that poked out in random spots along the boulevard. Without another thought she raced for it. As she ran into the sudden, narrow darkness, past foul-smelling dumpsters and doorways that opened onto greasy kitchens, the light and noise receded until she could actually hear her own feet on the bricks. There was only blackness before her, and — far away, it seemed — the glow of light from Ocean Court and, still farther, Collins Avenue. Amazing how things could change from being so overcrowded to so empty in just a few seconds.

Suddenly, nature would let her go no farther. She leaned toward the closest wall, steadied herself with one hand, and let the scallop shu-mai, crispy duck, and black rice dumplings exit her stomach and return once again to the outside world. It went on and on, until nothing was left but dry heaves.

Slowly, the awful sensation of nausea passed. Jenny was still buzzed — and her sides had started to ache — but at least she felt human again. She took a deep, cleansing breath. It was almost cozy here in the dark; she felt a strange affection for the temporary privacy it had afforded. But Beth would probably have an APB out for her by now. A light breeze rustled the scraps of litter behind her as she turned back toward the boulevard. She’d call off the Uber and show her friends that she could party like—

And it was then that the rustling grew suddenly louder — louder than any breeze; a hand clamped down hard over her mouth; a strange sensation ran quickly across her neck; and then her throat abruptly filled with warm, gushing, choking blood.