“This is the violet hour, the hour of hush and wonder, when the affections glow again and valor is reborn, when the shadows deepen magically along the edge of the forest and we believe that, if we watch carefully, at any moment we may see the unicorn.”
- Bernard DeVoto "The Hour”
Chapter One
The Violet Hour was considered to be one of the greatest night clubs on the West Side of America. It was where all the famous and talented people hung out. Where the beautiful and rich could sit back and enjoy a trendy drink from the clubs sexy bartender Luke McGee. Perhaps more importantly it was the place where dreams came alive. Cause no matter who the person was, if they stayed long enough to experience the club’s magic hour, known as ‘Violet Hour’ it was said that their deepest desire would come true.
People who wanted wealth suddenly found themselves wealthy-or wealthier. Those who wanted fame, achieved it over night. Men who wanted strength became strong in a blink of an eye. Women who desired beauty, but had none transformed into creatures that would put Venus to shame. These wishes were amongst the few that were said to be attained, by a simple meeting of that special hour at The Violet Hour. However after experiencing about six hundred and sixty-two Violet Hours myself, the only thing I ever seemed to gain from it was a killer headache.
As niece and ward of Vienna Donner-owner of The Violet Hour, I am forced to stay at the club from open to close everyday-except Sunday. This included lounging about the club at one AM; a.k.a ‘Violet Hour.’ Now before you ask, no this is not by choice. If I had a choice or a wish, I would be back home in the Midwest with my non-deceased parents, arguing about my latest C in English. Instead I was stuck in the care of a thirty-two year old blonde woman, who had yet to realize that she was seventeen anymore. Or at least Vienna refuses to admit it…
Often times I wonder how such an airhead could run a five star night club. Especially when I had to explain to her five times already that just because someone says they’re a long lost relative from Nigeria, doesn’t make it true. And it definitely doesn’t mean you give them a loan of hundred thousand dollars. Besides Vienna was a hundred percent European. There was not one drop of mixed blood in her. Unlike me, who was half Mexican much to my grandparents dismay. In fact it’s probably because of my mixed blood that the only one willing to take me in is my airhead Aunt.
“Ten…Nine…Eight,” the familiar sound of the Violet Hour’s countdown rang. I peeked up over my large chemistry textbook towards the crowd all piled around the stage. Above them a flat screen TV flashing the number of seconds until it officially turned Violet Hour. The purple glow from its numbers beaming down on the crowd. Every one of them hopeful of their wishing finally being realized.
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. They were all fools. Every single one of them, if they truly believed in this hocus pocus. It just bullshit made up by Vienna and her one actual genius plan for publicity. I would know. Since I was the one who spent a hundred and twenty-one nights wishing to go back to the ways things were before. And did anything change? Nope.
“Three….Two….One!” the crowd roared. The screen flashed the words ‘MAKE YOUR WISH’ in bold letters. Upon seeing it, the crowd fell silent. Nearly every person standing with their eyes closed and heads bowed. It was a sight that used have me in awe. Now it annoyed me.
“Mira! Darling, there you are!!” the familiar voice of my drunken airheaded aunt sang.
I sighed closing my textbook. As usual I had the feeling that my homework wouldn’t be completed tonight. My Aunt waved at me, before doing the rest of her green colored martini. She grinned, her pearly white teeth blinding me with an iridescent glow from the club’s blacklight. Swaying side to side she clumsily made her way over to the booth I sat at. Bumping into a few people on her way over.
She sat with a, ‘phew,’ then took my tan colored hand into her pale one. Those ocean blue eyes of hers twinkled at me. I sighed, already guessing what she had to say. “Let me guess, you’re going home with Luke tonight. Therefore I’ll be needing to take a cab home-again,” I muttered withdrawing my hand.
Vienna beamed. Laughter escaped her, causing anyone nearby to stare at her as if she were insane. Unlike most drunk, Vienna didn’t slow in speech, let alone stutter or slur. Instead she got ten times louder and rambled on about everything under the sun. Basically she was herself without an off switch. “That’s amazing Mira! That’s the fourth time this week you’ve guessed I was going home with Luke. You must be psychic or something. Which is no surprise you do have that Latin blood in you, it would only make sense you’ve got some mystic powers in you too-“
“I have Latina blood in me, and it’s about as mystical as the violet hour bullshit you’ve got people believing,” I snapped.
She merely giggled running her manicured hand through her long blond tresses. They shined against the silken red dress of hers. I sighed thinking about my plain school clothes: jeans and Abercrombie t-shirt. In truth I wasn’t an Abercrombie fan. At most I liked their material, but until a year and a half ago, all I wore was Wal-Mart or Target brands. Probably why Vienna forced me into owning nothing but clothes of the highest quality. Vienna may not be the smartest person there was, but she did have fashion sense. “Anyway Luke and I plan to head back for a night of fun-fun-fun in the sun,” she giggled again, “Oops, I mean a romance in the moonlight night. After all it is nighttime and the sun doesn’t come out at night-“
“Get on with it, Vie. I don’t have all night,” I muttered.
Once again she giggled, “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be perfectly alright with my fiancé. So don’t worry about me, I should be home at noon like normal. If not I’ll call you.”
I rolled my eyes. Why did it matter what time she came home? It wasn’t like I’d see her. I’d be at school and from there I would get picked up by Arnold in his limo. Only to be brought back to the club to hear the same thing each night. In truth I often wonder why Vienna even bothered making me go to the club. There literarily nothing I could do to contribute to it. I couldn’t serve being because of my age. And despite Vienna’s constant assurances, I could not DJ. I was about as useful to the club as a wet towel was to someone getting out of a pool.
“Whatever,” I muttered getting up.
Vienna blinked at me confused. That bright drunken smile of hers, was suddenly replaced with a dark frown. “Where are you going Mimi?” she asked, “We were having a conversation.”
I froze hearing my s old nickname slip carelessly from her lips. A growl escaped my throat. How many times have I told her not to call me that? The only ones who could call me that were my parents-“I’m not your friend, Vienna. I am your niece-your ward at most, but not your friend,” I spat, her eyes widened with hurt, “So if you want to have an actual conversation with me-grow up! Until then I’ll be at home, because I refuse to wait through another crappy ‘magic hour’ just to take a taxi home alone.”
I didn’t even wait to hear her response before leaving. I just spun around and headed out the door. After nearly two years of waiting in a dark club filled with glowing lights, loud music, drunken people, and violet colored booth and walls, I was officially done. There was nothing magical about this place. Hell, it couldn’t even bring a niece and her aunt together. This place was dumb-this place was hell. Moreover, it was the last place I’d find the one thing I truly wanted. To be happy again.
