The club was alive, but it was all background noise to you. The band played some upbeat number but the excitement in the room didn’t reach you. It never really did.

You moved with the music, swaying on the raised platform under the swirling colored lights. The mini dress you wore shimmered under them with your white go-go boots as you kicked a leg up, spun, tossed your hair. The crowd watched, some grinning, some barely paying attention, others too caught up in their own conversations to care. It didn’t matter. They never really saw you anyway.

Your smile, bright, practiced, unshaken-never faltered. A fortified smile, the kind that had been perfected over time, one that let you keep people at arm’s length even while they looked right at you. It was armor, a way to keep yourself from feeling too much.

The Monkees were here again. You’d seen them come in, slipping into their usual booth. They were a lively bunch, always laughing, the kind of guys who seemed to have the world at their feet. You knew them by name, mostly because they were hard to ignore, but you’d never really spoken.

Micky leaned back, arms draped over the booth. “Man, these places all start to look the same after a while.” Peter just looked around, sipping his drink.

Davy smirked. “Interesting? More like captivating. I mean, come on—those girls could dance circles around anyone. You gotta admire the effort.”

Micky chuckled. “Oh, I do admire it.”

Mike wasn’t listening.

While the others joked, nudged each other, Mike watched you with something different in his eyes. You weren’t sure what he saw, but it was enough that he always came back whenever they were in Oklahoma. In the same spot, with that same unreadable expression.

You never stopped moving, never let your expression change as you stepped down from the platform, slipping past tables, and weaving through the crowd. You could feel his eyes on you as you started to pass by their booth, trying to avoid eye contact.