Dorian’s.
an excerpt from debut novel, no place like you
“The last time I was here, they demanded to see vaccination cards,” Perry started. "Got all the way out here, right? It was freezing rain, and then I remembered the damn card was on my dresser.”
“Oh no, did they let you in?”
“They did not,” he confirmed, pausing for effect before holding out a hand. "Fortunately, I’d taken a picture right, and creepy-ass Google photos was able to bring that shit up when I typed ‘vaccination’ in the search. Brought it right up.”
Lauryn giggled “Creepy, yes, but it’s just so damn convenient–”
“Convenient!” he echoed at the same time.
He grinned, slowing to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. The rush of traffic and laughter from nearby restaurants as he stepped around her to open a very ordinary-looking door, the kind you might miss if you weren’t paying attention.
Apparently, they’d arrived. Lauryn eyed the building, but the facade was so narrow she’d have to step off the curb to get a real look. Perry simply held the door, that small, knowing smile on his face.
Inside, the brightness hit first–fluorescent white walls, two oversized globe lights casting a clean, almost clinical glow. Black-and-white chevron tile stretched under their feet, toward a small back room.
It took a few more steps for her to realize they were in a record store. Built-in bins hugged the walls, and a massive counter dominated the far end. Empty. Not a single person in sight.
She pivoted on one heel, her brow lifted. "Are we buying records? Are they even selling records? Because no one’s here.” With a flick of her wrist, she spun her purse in a lazy circle.
“Not tonight.” Perry gave her an easy smile and nodded in the direction behind her.
Lauryn turned to find an open doorway behind her, with a white backlit sign above that read “Listening Booth”. She frowned again. “A listening booth, huh?”
She wasn’t entirely disappointed at the idea of being squeezed into a soundproof booth with Perry. Pushing the thought aside, she stepped through the doorway into an all-white room where colorful record covers hung like paintings. A slim white desk held a translucent record player with a single pair of headphones beside it. One vinyl chair sat in the corner, leaving barely any space to move.
“Where are we going? I feel like we’re in a sophisticated funhouse. This is giving me anxiety,” she laughed.
“I’m going to need you to take some deep breaths. Relax, relate, release, Whitley Gilbert.” No sooner had he said this, a hidden pocket door suddenly slid open.
Lauryn watched, as the shape of an afro emerged, followed by a smiling face attached to a long lean body in a full Puma tracksuit, “Hey, welcome to Dorian’s.”
“Oh!” Lauryn’s eyes need a moment to adjust from the bright white room. Behind the doorwoman, a deep room cloaked in inky blue and purple darkness. And for the first time Lauryn could hear music.
Excitedly, she stepped down into the speakeasy with a long bar and enormous booths and tables. She smiled, recognizing the cool keyboard and brassy trumpet of a classic Fela Kuti song.
They wandered deeper into the lounge, where the low lighting cast long shadows over a row of empty booths. Early evening left most of the tables empty, and Perry claimed the center booth for them, pulling off his jacket and folding it beside him.
Lauryn slid into the booth, her eyes drifting over the space.
A massive wall of records stretched from corner to corner, extending high up toward the ceiling. She tried to guess how many there were, thousands probably, slotted together in an endless archive. She was still taking it in when Perry leaned down close to her ear. “What are we drinking?”
His voice was smooth and molten, as if it could slip into every corner of her being. She tried not to visibly grip her purse.
No Place Like You, Christina A. Bennett (2025)
