She found the ballroom, four flights of winding staircases getting narrower and narrower, and then she emerged in a brightly lit arch and beside another fountain, presumably through a side entrance. People were gathered, standing around and laughing, talking. Kids in white were quietly setting up on the stage in the far corner, hanging lights and making sure mics were tuned properly.
Pharrell was waiting for her. "You drunk yet, A?"
She glanced down at her empty glass. "Y'know."
"I'll get you more. Red, you're drinkin'?" He waved a hand, and someone appeared immediately, poured them more. "She's on in ten, fifteen or so."
Christina tilted her head, largely ignoring the people around her because, yeah, they had money and yeah, this was more food and drink than she'd get in the next two years, but fucked if she was gonna act like the stupid poor kid, the child allowed to play in the adult world for once. Casual. "One question. What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Oh, y'know. I got contacts. Plus," and he grinned wide, "I like your homegirl, Britney. She's a class act."
Christina let it drop. Maybe he was fucking one of the ladies fluttering around the room, a redhead in gold or a blond in blue, it didn't matter.
Britney's set was a smoky jazz revival, with an arrangement of players behind her and a synch orchestra. Some people danced, most just watched her as she performed, body moving fluid and graceful. Christina's eyes stayed on her waist as she moved, bare hint of skin at her hip, her neck.
"Like I said," Pharrell whispered. "Girl got class."
"Fuck you, too," but it was true, the girl belonged up there, it was obvious she was an audience catch just like any fighter, riling them up, getting them steamed, getting their attention but good.
The set was fifteen numbers, and then the ghosts in white brought around trays of more dainty foods. Christina grabbed handfuls as they scurried past, and eventually, Britney disappeared backstage. She was shoved, Pharrell insistently guiding her, to the back of the room and through two huge glass doors and -- back outside.
To the dining room. under the stars.
There were several huge tables out on the patio, another patio, a huge marble and wood construction out behind the ballroom and bar, a patio build high above the actual ground. A sunken pool was off to the left and down some steps, and long tables, opaque glass and lit from beneath, stretched the length of the patio. The whole place was lit with more torches, and rose petals were scattered on the ground and the tables, smelling sweet.
The view over the balcony on the far side was to the rest of the city, and down into the hills. Beyond the glow of houses, Christina could just make out the docks, far down the hill, and the slums. From up here, the whole city spread out beneath them looked unapproachable and far away. Out to sea, clouds were gathering.
They made their way down to the very end of the balcony, Christina looking over the edge for a while, watching the changing lights. Eventually Pharrell touched her shoulder, and, "baby, we should take a seat; Pearl's already at the head table and the rest of the long seats are filling fast. We'll have to go down a level if we don't sit now."
"Right here," and Christina sat in the closest chair to the balcony. The cushion formed around her instantly. She crossed her legs, waved an arm.
Pharrell put a black reserve card beside Christina, and then went to sit across from them. Christina glanced at the small clock on their end of the table. "where's britney, if her set ended ten minutes ago?"
He stared down the table, watched seats fill up. "She can't just come and sit down. Gotta clean up and stuff." He shrugged. "Most of these people have worn three different outfits already."
She glanced around, men pulling out chairs for women in gauze and silk and scarves and draped in gold, silver, platinum. People were beautiful everywhere, and here and there people, kids really, in white robes, ran around and refilled pitchers of wine, brought out bread and rolls, fruits and left baskets of appetizers on the tables in front of them. Fake candles glowed everywhere.
"So, but soon?"
"Yeah, soon. Enjoy yourself, A," he said, drinking. "this is as good as it gets."
~
Britney came out, introduced her around as the first and second courses came around. A little bit of a break, and then, a main course and then another, then a break and some soup, then another main course. Christina ate heaping platefuls of delicacies while Britney introduced the richest people in the city.
Her second set of songs, this time sitting on a raised dais outside itself, was during the wine and cheese course. Christina clapped along with everyone else. Then another appetizer, then a break and more people, then some kind of dumplings and noodles, and another main course. Midnight came and went, and some people got up to dance, went inside to smoke and get high, drink something stronger than wine, go back into the cool air conditioned building.
During dessert, the kitchen manager or something, Pearl, came to sit across from her and Britney. A fat lard of a guy, old and leering, he smacked his lips as he talked. It was pretty obvious that if he wasn't on the other side of the table his hand would be creeping up her leg, fat fingers hoping to get between her thighs.
They ate chocolate cake and drank carafes of spiked coffee, Pearl and Britney talking business with another two men from the club itself. The owner, Sean, came and said hello but didn't stay, made the rounds to people more important than a slum fighter and a singer who's voice and body made it big.
Bottles of champagne were opened, and Christina followed the little group Britney was chatting with into the ballroom again. A more traditional dance beat was going, more subdued than ALARM but still moveable, and her body started swaying unconsciously as they talked but when Britney held a hand out Christina shook her head. Not enough familiarity with the dancefloor yet.
When it was just the two of them, Britney and Pharrell lost in the crowd, Pearl turned his eye to her. "So." He sipped his champagne. "What do you think of our little club?"
She cocked her hip. "Dinner was great."
"Oh," and licked his lips, a smacking sound audible. She moved back a little bit. "My dear, surely you have more of an opinion than that, seeing the Sunset for the first time."
She smiled, taking another drink. He'd been talking to Britney for almost fifteen, twenty minutes without any notice of her whatsoever. "If you're trying to insinuate, now that the little slum kid's had a taste of the high life, she's supposed to praise it and be very impressed, well, I can answer like that." Fluttered her eyelashes. "oh, sir, I can't believe how well you guys all live up here. I've never seen so much wealth in my life! I hope someday I can be this successful. Thank you so much for letting poor little me through your doors. Should I kiss your ring now?"
Pearl glanced around, held a hand out, "now now, there's no need to be rude--"
"And for your information, I've been here before," Christina interrupted. "An ex girlfriend brought me up every day for a month. And I broke up with *her*, not the other way around. Frankly," she continued, voice low, "I don't give a shit for the club one way or another. Dinner was great, I'm very grateful for the meal and the wine. As for everything else, I don't envy you at all."
"I don't think that's appropriate when you're a *guest* here--"
"motherfucker," and she turned around, end of discussion. He sputtered while Christina wandered away, back to where Britney and Pharrell had started whispering to each other in the corner. Britney looked up, shook her head. "Did you just insult Pearl?"
"The man with the three chins?" She shrugged. "Maybe a little."
"Christ, that's the manager of the Sunset, Christina."
Pharrell slipped something into Britney's hand, looking amused. "Baby, he probably deserved it."
"I'm gonna have my ID revoked," Britney said, sighing. "Unless I blow Pearl I'm gonna have my membership revoked, and then what the fuck am I gonna do for money? It's not like I have rich parents like the rest of these fucks."
Christina tilted her head. "No silver spoon?"
Britney snapped, "No, as a matter of fact; I worked my way up, fucking singing for money whereever I could, singing, stripping, and eventually? I got myself a place."
The three of them, huddled beside a huge pillar in the ballroom, were suddenly more than a little out of place. Christina's clothing was too worn in, and her stance too confident; a fighter's stance, when the rest of the women in the room were curved, leaning, submissive. Britney just looked pissed off, hands on her hips, and Pharrell, in a teeshirt and jeans, was horrifically underdressed. Christina said, "y'know, no offence B, but this party is boring."
Britney sighed again, clicking her teeth together and pursing dark red lips. "It's always boring, it just, it pays well."
Pharrell leaned away, snorted a line of coke off the back of his hand. "You wanna sing, girl?"
Britney nodded. Christina grabbed a couple more tall glasses of champagne off a passing ghost -- better make sure to drink as much as possible before they got kicked out. She winked at the boy, who grinned at her. Pearl was looking over at them, and she raised a glass at him, smiling widely. He scowled at her, and she turned back to Britney.
"It's all I ever wanted to do," Britney was saying, and Pharrell cut her off with,
"you wanna come into the studio some time, girl?" He pulled a titanium card case out of a pocket in his jean jacket, flipped a plastic business card through his fingers. "We could use another diva, and you got the moves, you got the voice."
Christina peered at the clear plastic ID card, as Britney examined it. "Neptune fucking studio? Jesus fuck," she said, "you're at Neptune?"
Pharrell took the second crystal glass from Christina's hand, gulped down some thousand dollar a glass wine carelessly. "Oh, yeah. I kinda own it."
Christina stared. "Jesus fuck," and she threw the glass down on the floor, grabbed Britney's bicep and dragged her towards the door, platform heels clacking loudly through the marble room, footsteps echoing. Several people turned to look at the two of them, and Pharrell tagging along behind. Pearl made to intercept them, a look on his face that looked ready to devour-- Christina just stormed past, muttering, "can't talk now, disgusting fuckhole. Busy."
He made to grab her or Britney, and Christina let go of Britney's arm, stood in front of her. "Try it, shitwad." She instinctively shifted into a boxing stance, balls of her feet, and narrowed her eyes. Intent clear. "Yeah, try it."
People were staring by now, and Pearl backed up a step, waddling away. "I was simply going to--"
Christina made to reply, but Britney stepped out, saying, "No, it's all right, Christina." She looked Pearl up and down, and shook her head, face in a grimace. "You know what I've wanted to do ever since you first touched my thigh?" She stepped back a little, looked down -- then her arm rocketed out and up.
Because by this point everyone had already stopped talking, the slap was audible across the ballroom.
~
Britney dropped her hardtac toast. "Why do I always end up seeing the sun rise when you're around?"
Christina grinned. "Baby, I always see the sun rise. Sun rise and sun set, every day for years."
The diner, in the penthouse of the building across from Christina's high rise, made powdered eggs and toast, but served real fruit juice for more than the rest of the meal. Three in the morning and they still had fresh juice, fresh milk, so fuck it, the powdered eggs were good with salt and it was good enough. The whole place smelled like grease.
Pharrell had an amused grin on his face, in fact he'd had one most of the evening. Christina said, "okay, so level, if you own Neptune Studio, if you put out all the Connect programs, why the fuck do you come to ALARM three nights a week?"
He shrugged. "S'fun."
She shook her head. "You fucking psycho."
Britney still looked angry. "what the fuck'm I gonna do? I moved into the guest quarters two months ago, gave up my old place. Without a patron I'm gonna have to back to the fucking outskirts, washing floors."
Pharrell patted her hand. "Lemme talk to Sean, boo. He'll understand."
Her eyes widened. "You would?" He nodded, and she narrowed her eyes, sighed, shook her head all in the same breath. "No, it's fine. like, I don't want to owe you that many favors. fuck, I don't have anything to offer back, and not going back to whoring for food."
"no, no, you got me wrong. I want you to come to Neptune. you're a money maker. I want that at Neptune. consider it a business deal."
Christina surreptitiously stole his plate while him and Britney were talking. Her stomach was so full it felt like she might burst, rich food and wine and smoke, and she had to be at work in an hour. "listen, I gotta nap before my shift at the Couriers. You got my bill?"
Pharrell nodded. "Guess this means I can't charge you for tabs anymore."
"Fuck no, you motherfucker. I almost didn't make rent last week."
Elevator back down to the street level, and out the door to her own building, three thirty. an hour to sleep before dawn, and back to work, six hours at the Couriers. Christina collapsed into bed, slept soundly and solidly for fifty nine minutes.