Stone Cold

The night is damp and unpleasant.

The rain is a misty, foggy curtain, clinging to my face like a cobweb. The wind blows in cold, long sweeps from the river. The Seine is murky and dull, angry waves dancing on its surface. My purple velvet pumps are beyond ruined, but I’m too tired to cry about them right now. The 70 euros I’ve spent to get 'beach waves' in my hair are going down the drain, literally.

Still, I keep my discomfort to myself, trying to keep pace with Eloise briskly walking ahead of me.

“I think this is it,” she says after we’ve crossed a small grassy field, and stops in front of a large, grey, rectangular building crisscrossed with cracks. The wide, open entryway is dark and uninviting, and if there was not a muffled sound of a steady beat coming from somewhere inside of it, I’d be even more unsettled than I am now.

“Should we go in?” I reluctantly ask, holding my coat tight around me.

“How else are we going to find her? She sure as hell is not answering my calls.”

Shaking her head in desperation, Eloise checks her phone again. I feel my heels sinking into the damp ground below and step onto the pavement.

“Let’s find the entrance, then,” I say, trying not to sound cranky. Truthfully, I’m not happy my evening is ending like this, looking for Eloise’s rebellious sister. Undoubtedly on purpose, she failed to meet us at Café le Rouge before we all head home.

“I’m going to kill her,” Eloise growls as we both head into the entryway, using our phones’ flashlights to navigate through it. “This is the last time I’m saving her stupid ass from mum and dad.”

“Of course,” I agree, knowing the truth is furthest from it.

Lena might be mischievous, and sometimes reckless, but she’s only eighteen. If anything, her behavior is a reaction to her more than strict, demanding parents. Eloise escaped their influence when she got a job and moved out, leaving Lena to carry all of the burden alone. Between school, choir, piano, and tennis lessons, the girl barely has the time to breathe.

Music gets louder as we approach, but then another, third light flashes in our direction, blinding us.

“Hey!” I protest loudly, shielding my eyes.

“Where to, ladies?” a male voice comes back. Eloise grabs my hand and tugs me toward the light.

“Yes, hi, hello,” Eloise rushes out. “We’re looking for my sister. Is that the entrance to the club?” She points to the glass doors this guy probably walked out of. His light goes off, but we are now close enough to see his solid outline in the dark.

“Maybe,” he vaguely answers, crossing his arms over his chest.

The thing is, this so-called 'club' isn’t really a club. It’s more like a pop-up party, organized by some reclusive promotion that uses still functional but abandoned buildings to host events now and then. You must know someone in the promotion to get the location of the next event, and then, you can only bring one other person with you. Apparently, it’s very exclusive, and they don’t let just anyone in. Lena got the invite through one of her tennis buddies.

When we get to the guy, who is built like a brick wall and at least six foot five, we notice there are two more men inside, looking inquisitively at us.

“Do you have the invite?” the brick wall asks, his buzz-cut hair and stiff posture making me guess he might be ex-military. Eloise squishes my hand in an effort to contain herself.

“No,” Eloise says. “I’m not here to party. I just need to get my sister and we’ll be on our way.”

Buzz-cut shakes his head. “Sorry, can’t let you in then.”

Eloise audibly swallows. “She’s already past her curfew. Could you at least try to find her for me?”

He scoffs at her. “I don’t know your sister, and I’m not leaving my post.”

Definitely ex-military, I conclude. I’d know, my dad is still on active duty. Eloise pokes the guy in the arm wide as a log.

“You’re leaving me no choice, then. I’m going in,” she says defiantly and tries to walk around him, but he closes her path. I glance nervously at the other two men, now heading toward the door.

“I don’t think so,” he says slowly, a hint of threat in his voice. I don’t like it.

“Seriously?” Eloise asks incredulously, and I know it's a prelude to a rant she’s about to unleash on this guy. Unfortunately, I doubt that’ll get us inside, so before everything goes to hell, I decide to try a different approach.

“Listen, you talking ape,” I start in a low tone, pulling Eloise behind me before she scratches his eyes out. Buzz-cut jerks his head toward me, surprised. “We don’t care what kind of eyes-wide-shut debauchery you are hosting inside under the veil of a party. I’d rather be anywhere else but here in the dark with your stubborn ass. So, let me make this really simple for your underdeveloped brain. There are two options – you let us in to find her sister and bring her safely home, or, I call the police to tell them you’re holding an underage girl hostage in an abandoned building.” Not really underage, but whatever works. “Now, how quickly do you think they’d be here and how happy would a police raid make your boss?”

Buzz-cut’s eyes widen, but his mouth stays shut. I keep him in my stare, faking courage with all my strength. Finally, when he’s about to say something back, one of the other men now standing behind him angrily whispers, “Let them in.”

“But-”

“Go on,” the other guy repeats, and pushes buzz-cut out of our way. “Be quick about it.”

Eloise nods and exhales, grabbing my hand again and pulling me toward the door.

“That was so cool,” she squeals at me as we are winding down the concrete stairs leading to some kind of a basement.

Strings of white lights, the kind you put on a Christmas tree, hang off the nails poking out of the red brick wall next to the steps. Electronic beat echoes around us, telling us we are close.

“What kind of slapdash party is this?” I wonder out loud, careful not to brush my coat against the wall. “To hold it in a bloody basement of a building that’s older than dirt, that’s just insane.”

“It is, it’s completely unsafe,” Eloise eagerly agrees, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. In front of us is a huge, heavy, metal door, the kind you have to pull to the side to open, looking brand new. “That’s weird.”

“Open them,” I shout, bracing myself for whatever is behind them. Eloise looks back at me with doubt. “It can’t be worse than that guy upstairs.”

“I guess,” she meekly says, and pulls on the handle.

The music hits us like a gigantic wave.