Turned By Him

The women found a place to park only a block away from the entrance and briskly trudged up the icy sidewalk. There were two very large bouncers out front. Checking IDs and collecting the twenty dollar cover, there didn’t seem to be much resistance to new people. When Eliza and Heather reached to doors however, the bouncer promptly stood between them and the changing lights which emitted from inside. “Do you have an invitation?” the bouncer asked incredulously.

Heather rummaged through her bag and pulled out the 4 x 8 card. Shamelessly sporting a smirk of surprise, the bouncer collected the cover and let the women pass. Something in the man’s harsh smile made Eliza feel uneasy.

Inside the tomato packaging plant, lights, speakers, a bar and two stages had been set up over two levels. Eliza was shocked at the way the party organizers had utilized the space around the factory equipment. Heather immediately led Eliza to the bar. The counter was several finished pieces of wood over conveyor belts. Behind him, bottles were set up on shelf built into a light and speaker system. The wall behind the bartender flashed different colors as the D.J.’s music thumped through speakers. “You should have one now,” Heather coaxed Eliza. “That way you can have one and be done.”

Eliza sighed but agreed. She hadn’t expected the ‘party’ to be a full-on rave, in a warehouse, in Brooklyn. A drink would steady her nerves and give her something to hold onto. Eliza pulled her purse close to her. Heather approached the counter and rested her large bosom on the bar. In under a minute the bartender came over to service the two women. “What can I get for you?” the bartender asked in a vaguely Russian accent. He had tattoos which extended from his pressed collared shirt to his jaw. “My name is Devlin and I’ll be tending bar all night,” the man said with a toothy smile.

Batting her beautiful blue eyes and leaning a bit more into the bar, Heather ordered for the both of them, “We’ll have two long islands please.” The bartender turned around, grabbed the bottles and then returned to face them. While he made their drinks, Heather asked, “Do you guys have raves here often? All this stuff is really impressive.” Eliza shared Heather’s curiosity and amazement with the raves atmosphere. Watching Heather flirt with the bartender, Eliza couldn’t help but feel that Heather was being a bit too suggestive. Though they were best friends, Eliza had always been more introverted than Heather. Heather was a bit older and had always behaved somewhat as an older sister might. Considering Eliza had been an orphan at 15, she had always appreciated the strong example Heather had set for her.

“We are somewhere different each week,” the bartender responded. “Everything you see here, that isn’t a tomato packaging machine, is mobile.”

That really impressed Eliza. “Who puts it on? This is incredible.”

The bartender shrugged and slid them their drinks; “NuBlood,” he said flatly and a little perturbed, “Eighteen for both.”

As Eliza moved to pay for her drink, Heather stopped her. “I got it,” she said. “You’re only here because of me and I’m glad you came out tonight.” Eliza hugged her best friend and the two girls sipped their cocktails while exploring the exotic EDM one night show.

The first story dance floor was brimming with people swaying, grinding and bobbing to the music which echoed through the plant. As Heather and Eliza shouldered their way through the mob of ravers, Eliza couldn’t help but feel that everyone’s eyes were on her. Whenever she would look over at someone she passed, she would see cold eyes inspecting her head to toe. Eliza had been to raves before and she didn’t usually feel so out of place. Eliza considered the possibility that she had grown out of her “party” phase.

Eventually, the women went upstairs to survey the scene from above. The first floor opened up to the second floor in the middle. A wide gangway stretched over the dance floor where people looked down on the rave. The second floor’s walls were lined with tables and plastic barstools. Pink and blue lights flashed through the metal grating they walked upon. As her heels got caught in the iron grating, Eliza couldn’t help but feel that someone should have told her high heels would be a bad idea.

When they got to their table Eliza was able to sit on a barstool and felt better. She had never really been a fan of heights. Even in the powerful megalithic skyscrapers which loomed over Manhattan, Eliza often chose not to appreciate the view from the top. As they sat, Heather and Eliza chatted about school. Both women were close to completing their schooling. Heather had several more years before she would be a resident doctor however, while Eliza was about to enter the workforce as Dr. Eliza Bathurst.

When their drinks were almost finished, Heather offered to get them another round of drinks. “I really don’t think I should,” Eliza protested. “Besides, I’m not sure I really want to stay all that long.” When Eliza had been walking around the rave, she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. She was accustomed to adventuring but with so much work still to do on her thesis spending the night dancing to mediocre electronic music seemed an undesirable decision.

Heather looked a little disappointed but seemed to accept Eliza’s preference. “Let me get a drink and I’ll be right back,” Heather said. “Please stay a while longer. We only just got here.” While Heather was gone, the D.J.s switched shifts. The hard thumping EDM was replaced with a smooth trans-psychedelic mix. The young new D.J. announced herself as Harper over the speakers and began to play her set. As the music hummed and thumped, she whispered “strangely, the love with the most power is the love with the most danger” into the microphone. The words rang with a haunting accusation which made Eliza feel uneasy. After being gone for several minutes, Heather returned with two more long island ice teas. “I forgot,” she said in a jokingly innocent tone. “Don’t worry, they were free. I think the bartender has an eye for me.” The two women laughed and Eliza accepted the mixed drink.

Several moments later a blonde man in tight black jeans, a short black T-shirt and Doc Martins strode over to their table. Before he said a word, Eliza knew the man was going to begin hitting on Heather. His drunken sway gave away the source of his courage. To Eliza’s surprise however, Heather rose from the table and greeted the man with a hug. “Thanks for the invite Henry,” she said, giving her fellow medical student a kiss on the cheek. After they exchanged greetings and pleasantries, Henry took a seat at the table. “This is a really cool party,” Heather said. “The bartender says they move to a new location every week.”

“They do,” Henry slurred. “It’s actually a pretty tight knit group. Every week they find a new place to host the rave. Most of the DJs, bartenders and partiers are the same.”

“So this is all pretty rehearsed,” Eliza said observantly.

Either not hearing her or choosing not to respond, Henry continued his explanation. “Most of the people who attend are involved with the production.” Henry’s leery gaze was fixed on Heather.

“Does that mean you’re a part of the group that organizes this?” Eliza felt that, if she was going to be ignored, she’d pose the questions for Heather’s benefit. “How many people are involved?”