Molly found herself talking more in that one hour than she had in the last six months. She told him about the night she found a girl crying in the stall because her date had left her stranded. About the time she talked a guy out of a fight by reminding him his mother would be disappointed. She was the heart of Club Sweethearts, and for the first time, someone wanted to know how that heart beat.
He looked at her then, really looked. Past the armor, past the crimson hair. “And do they? Land on you?”
“Conversation,” he said. “With women who aren’t reading quarterly reports to me.” clubsweethearts molly kit
For the next hour, Leo didn’t leave her side. He didn’t try to buy her a drink (she refused), and he didn’t touch her. He just asked questions. About the DJ’s setlist. About the couple having a silent argument in the corner. About the bouncer, Big Frank, who Molly revealed had a secret passion for watercolor painting and had done the mural in the women’s bathroom.
“You’re doing it wrong,” she said, nodding toward the pulsing heart of the dance floor. “You’re hunting. This isn’t a hunt. It’s a garden. You don’t chase the butterflies. You sit still, and they land on you.” Molly found herself talking more in that one
On his fourth approach, he ended up next to her. He didn't try a line. He just sagged against the bar, sighed, and said, “I think my friend lied. He said this was a ‘sure thing’ club.”
He walked out into the grey dawn, and Molly was alone in the empty club. She looked at his card, then at the gold spotlight still humming softly overhead. She was the heart of Club Sweethearts, and
“The light in here is terrible,” he said. “The magenta washes everyone out. But the gold spot over the DJ booth? That’s a fifty-year-old Fresnel. The way it catches the dust motes… it’s beautiful.”