he's some kind of fancy prince over in England," Carlos added.
I nodded, pulling out my cell phone. I pulled up Jojia's Facebook page again, and sure enough, her page showed a photo of her taken only forty-five minutes earlier. She was standing in a friendly pose next to a tall, black man who was wearing a white satin shirt. Both held flutes of champagne. The photo was tagged as being taken at Hakkasan.
"She's here," I said, showing Carlos the picture on my phone. "Or at least she was forty-five minutes ago."
"She's not sipping that stuff down here," Carlos shouted. "It looks quiet where she is."
"I know," I said, looking around. "But it's not in the lounge we checked, either. The color scheme is different. There must be somewhere else in the club."
Carlos pointed. "Look up."
I hadn't noticed it, but there was an entire mezzanine level above the dance floor.
"How do we get up there?" I asked.
Carlos shrugged.
I flagged down a waitress and pointed up, trying to communicate using hand signals over the noise of the music. The waitress pointed me to a staircase in the far corner, and Carlos and I headed in that direction.
When we got upstairs, a VIP host greeted us.
"Do you have reservations?" she asked, pretending not to recoil in horror at our appearance.
"No," I said. "We're meeting Jojia Takada here."
She looked at me skeptically but then waved us in without further comment.
"Well that was easy," I muttered.
Carlos shook his head. "They don't really care if you have reservations or not. The drinks up here cost even more. Probably five-hundred bucks for a thirty-dollar bottle of booze. So they're happy if you're sitting here and not dancing around down there."
"You sound like you know what you're talking about," I remarked.
He shrugged. "I was young once."
I laughed. "Let's go on the prowl."
The VIP rooms were semi-private, meaning they were partly enclosed by walls but still open to prying eyes, probably a calculated effort to appeal subconsciously to people who worked in cubicles. Laughter spewed out of the first one we walked past.
I peaked in. She wasn't in there.
"There," Carlos whispered, cocking his head to our left. I turned and saw a tall black man in a white shirt leaning against the railing across from us, looking down on the hundreds of dancers below us.
"That's the guy in the photo, you're right," I said. I squinted, trying to see if Jojia was anywhere to be seen. I couldn't quite tell. The distance to the other side of the mezzanine was probably fifty yards, and the multi-colored spotlights above us were flashing on and off in every direction.
I nudged Carlos along, and we headed over to the other side of the mezzanine. As we got closer, I didn't have much of a plan, but I had a sense that Jojia was so friendly we'd hit it off in no time and become BFFs. The black man leaning against the railing was making no effort to hide his appreciation for my ridiculous outfit, or at least what was underneath said outfit.
"How you doing?" he asked, completely ignoring Carlos. I could almost feel Carlos' left pectoral muscle flex in protest.
I smiled at him shyly. He was very good looking, with dark eyes and a sculpted face. His gray sport coat stood in contrast to Carlos's ridiculous getup. "You here with Jojia?" I asked.
He gave me a knowing nod, as though he was a member of some kind of private club, and I'd just said the secret password.
"But why don't you and I go chat for a little bit?" he asked. He had a syrupy sweet low voice, which made it hard to say no.
Carlos butted in before I had the chance. "He's half your age, you know," he whispered in my ear.
"I didn't catch your name," I said. "I'm Raven. This is my little brother, Carlos." I pinched Carlos's cheek for effect.
The man smiled at me, clearly enjoying the role of the alpha dog. "I'm Charles," he said. "I hope you'll stay."
I nodded. "We're just cruising around, you know. Hitting all the spots." I signaled to Carlos that we should