I push myself to my feet, half-expecting the floor to start tilting under me as I do, and then stride over to the curtains. I don’t look at anyone; I just focus on the gap between the sheets of velvet until I’m through and into the main room of the bistro. It’s cooler out here, the windows open to let the night in while people sit at candlelit tables or stand by the bar, but it’s not enough. I need to get out, need it more and more with every second, need it so bad my heart has started ramming itself against my chest like it’s trying to lead the charge.
I lock my gaze onto the door that leads to Avenue Mont-Royal and start speed-walking my way over, my last shred of self-awareness keeping me from breaking into an all-out sprint.
“Youssef!”
I don’t notice Nabil standing at the bar until he grabs my arm as I’m walking by. The grin drops off his face when he gets a look at me.
“Yo, you okay?”
“Need some air,” I manage to get out through gritted teeth. I break away from his grasp and lunge for the exit.
The relief is instant as soon as I’m through the door. The night air is tinged with exhaust fumes and the smells of greasy pub food coming from the few bars still serving food this late, but it tastes a million times better than the stifling atmosphere at the party. The sidewalk around me is splashed with a neon glow that paints the faces of people passing by, their smiles stretched wide as they stumble after one another.
And there’s music.
It’s distant and muffled, a dozen different bass beats warring for attention as they pump out of all the bars and clubs, but it’s everything I need. It’s that solid thing I can hold onto. It’s real.
“Youssef, what the fuck? What’s going on?”
Nabil spots me a second after flinging the bistro’s door open and comes to stand in front of me where I’m leaning against the window of a closed boutique next door. “You looked like you were going to puke. Are you going to puke?”
“No.” I close my eyes for a second and take a breath. “I am not going to puke, Nabil.”
“Okayyyy.” He peers into my face like he’s trying to check my pupils.
“I’m fine.” I side-step around him. “I just needed to...to...”
I don’t know how to describe what just went down. It’s been happening more and more lately. I look around the sidewalk again instead of finishing my sentence and spot the sign spelled out on the letter board attached to the bar across the street:
Beach Party Night this Saturday!
Special cocktails and two for one shots until 11
DJ set from the famous Chanly @ 11:30
Bring a towel cuz it’s gonna get WET!
Chanly. I know that name. I know of most DJs in the Montreal-Toronto stratosphere by now, and while I can’t place Chanly right away, it sounds familiar.
“Hey Nabil, have you ever heard of Chanly?”
He stares at me like he’s even more convinced I must be high.
“What?”
I point across the street. “Chanly. It sounds familiar.”
“Uh...” He looks back and forth between me and the sign. “Chanly, Um...Oh! Yeah, yeah I saw her at Piknic Électronik this summer. She’s the girl I kept telling you about, remember? That’s probably why it sounds familiar. She’s fucking good—like, really fucking good. I wanted her for The Cube Room, but I never found out who her manager is.”
I nod as the memory comes flooding back. Nabil really couldn’t stop talking about her, and he’s worked this industry long enough that it takes a lot to impress him.
“We should go.”
I need a distraction. I need a reason not to go back into that bistro.
“Go...where?”
“To the show. Let’s go see her.”
