Love on the Dancefloor by Liam Livings

Author:Liam Livings
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2019-06-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Paul had managed to arrange for us to play Amnesia midweek during the day. This was a prestigious slot as it generally attracted a classier sort of clubber, a less full-on messy, more chilled Balearic clubber. Apparently, that was the audience we needed to chase—subtly, of course.

The room where we were playing, if you could call it that, had a frame of fake Roman columns at each corner, with a horizontal ornate carved cornice around the top of the four columns, green plants and flowers winding around the stone, if it was stone. I doubted, really. I’d knocked it as I walked to the DJ booth on its raised stage in the middle of the room. The stone thudded and felt quite light, probably polystyrene, but with its carvings and stone colour, it did look pretty realistic from afar. That was all that mattered.

Paul and I were trying out some lighter, more chilled sounds for the daytime crowd, and in the middle of this set, Paul explained he’d be back and not to worry. He disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone in the DJ booth surrounded by sun-drenched clubbers in colourful shorts, T-shirts and vests, some wearing their swimming trunks or bikinis, all waving their hands above their heads at the crescendo of the music and swigging water with great enthusiasm.

I felt like I was having as near to a religious experience as I’d ever had. The only catch was the lack of Paul.

I played two more songs and checked the time. He’d been gone for half an hour. I couldn’t leave the booth and had no way of getting in touch with him, so I lined up the next record and played on, plastering a smile on my face, waving my hands in time with the dancers, debating whether to neck a pill to take the edge off the anxiety but deciding it was best to remain straight, in case anything kicked off and required sorting out.

Just as I was about to lose my cool, the sweat pouring down my face, cursing myself for not wearing a hat in the sunshine, Paul reappeared, wide grin, arms open for a hug.

“Where the fuck you been?”

“Here and there. I’m back now. Let me do the next track.” He took the headphones from me and stood between the two decks, mixing into the next song to a cheer from the crowd.

Once we’d finished our set, we walked to the bar. I turned to ask if he wanted water as usual, but he’d gone again. I looked around, walked back to where we’d just come from; no sign of him. My heart rate rising, the sweat on my brow dripping, I walked round the whole of Amnesia, checking the bars, the dance floors, pushing my way through thick crowds of dancers, asking bar staff if they’d seen him, returning to the DJ booth and asking the next DJ if she’d seen him, but everyone shook their heads.

Desperate for anywhere else to look, I checked all the toilets, calling his name as I stood by the door.

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