SAMANTHA
My hand never left Mason’s. When we went inside the club—as Kris squealed, gushing over everything, the walls included—we were led to a private area. When we got there, I felt overstimulated. There was so much to take in. The club was huge, like a smaller version of the football stadium. The private booth or box, I wasn’t sure what it could be called, wasn’t a private booth or box. It was a private everything. We had our own floor with its own dance floor, set above the main dance floor. The DJ booth was attached to our floor, set in a corner so the crowd below could see him. When he began a new beat, they went crazy, waving their arms and pounding on the floor.
It was nuts. I’d never seen anything like this.
Dry ice filled the room with white smoke. When the DJ would raise his
