"You're such a nun, Samantha," Judy says. "Where'd you come up with that name anyway?"
"In a book."
"That figures. Every time I see you, your nose is in some book or another. If you don't lighten up you're going to be all dried-up before you're forty."
"Fine, let's do it. Don't say I didn't warn you." Samantha gets out of the car, stumbling on the platform heels Judy convinced her to buy. She adjusts the tight black dress she bought because Judy thought it made her look "exotic." She thinks it makes her look like a cheap hooker. A cool breeze runs across her bare shoulders, making her wish she'd brought a sweater along. Why did I agree to this? she wonders.
"Hurry up, Samantha," Judy says. She's wearing a red dress even shorter than Samantha's, an over glorified bathing suit. Why am I doing this? Samantha wonders again.
There's a line at the door to the club with dozens of other young girls and their dates waiting to get inside. Samantha smoothes out her dress again, feeling everyone staring at her. The disco music inside pulses loud enough to hear out here, something by the BeeGees she vaguely remembers hearing before.
Judy takes a pack of cigarettes from her bag, offering one to Samantha, who refuses. "Those are bad for you," she says.
"You're no fun," Judy says. She blows a stream of smoke into Samantha's face. Samantha snatches the cigarettes from Judy and lights one up. A fit of coughing knocks her off the platform heels; Judy catches her before she can hit the ground. "Are you all right?"
"I'll be fine," Samantha says. She takes another puff on the cigarette, this one successful. "See, I'm fine."
They reach the head of the line trying to gain access to the club. Samantha holds out her fake ID, fidgeting as the bouncer studies the picture and then her face. Next to her, another bouncer is inspecting Judy's license. This isn't going to work, Samantha thinks.
The bouncer grunts and with a shake of his head permits her entry. He lifts the velvet rope and she takes a step forward, reaching for the door handle. The door opens on its own, knocking her back. She stumbles again on the shoes Judy forced her to wear, collapsing against the velvet rope.
From this unflattering position she sees him. He's two years older, but she doesn't see any change at all. The same mocha skin, the same turquoise eyes, the same black hair kept to a fine stubble, and the same purple lips she tasted so many times. Only now those lips are kissing someone else, a girl with obsidian skin and a blonde Afro twice as big as the rest of her head. He has a hand on her back, a hand Samantha imagines will soon relieve the young woman of her gold dress.