"No, no, it's fine." I wave away the pain and try and ignore the throbbing spot on the top of my head. Act cool, Thea. Act like there isn't an ostrich-sized egg growing out of your scalp. "Um, what time is it?"
"It's almost three. You pretty much slept the whole way."
"Oh." I guess that's no big surprise, considering my late-night antics and out of sync body clock, but a bit pathetic considering how much I'd been looking forward to spending four hours with the SMD team.
Across the way, I spot Mara getting out of her bunk and pulling her sneakers on. She glances up at me. "Nice drool," she says, before going back to her shoes.
My hand flies to my face, checking around my mouth for any sign of dampness.
"She's joking," Noah tells me. "You'll get used to it."
"Right. Ha." I serve up the fakest laugh ever. Hilarious stuff. Thanks, Mara.
Someone's cell starts ringing. "Hang on," Noah says, reaching into his pants pocket. "That's me." He sits down on the floor as he pulls his cell from his pocket. "Hello?" There's a pause. "Oh, right. Um, I don't know." He frowns, then looks up, spotting me. "Hang on, I'll get a female opinion on that. You think they should auction me off as a lunch date?" he asks me.
I freeze. Um, I'm not sure. Yes? No? Would my mom spring for that? Probably not. And if my mom's not going to, well…I wrinkle my nose. I'm so caught up in working out how lunch with Noah could be mine, I practically forget he's in front of me until he speaks again.
"No," Noah says, into the phone. "Better put me down for something else. You know I'm not the world's best talker. Thanks, bye." He ends the call.
"Um, I didn't mean…" I start, feeling bad. What if I've made some charity a whole lot less money now?
"No, really. It's better this way. I wouldn't be great at lunch."
"You sound like you talk just fine to me," I tell him, my heart beating faster by the second.
"But that's just around these guys." Noah's head nods, indicating all the bunks, some of which are occupied.
I nod back. Because it's all I can do.
"Anyway, we're almost there if you want to get yourself together," Noah says, tapping my bunk before standing up again.
"Okay," I say, watching his legs retreat. "Thanks for letting me know!" Great. If only I could get woken up like this every day instead of the beeping of the alarm on my cell. Wow. Even his tracksuited legs look cute to me. That is a bad sign. I'm diseased. I've got Noahvirus. Every cell in my body has been compromised.
I flop back down onto my pillow and wait for the infection to take over my entire body. Oh, no. Wait. It already did. Years ago.
"Hey, you, scoot over." A pink pair of tracksuit pants stops next to my bunk now and another, different, head comes down to my lower bunk level. Rory. I scoot, and she climbs into my bunk, lying beside me, staring up at my blank TV screen.
"Did you get some sleep as well?" I ask her.
"A bit," she says. "Not much. There were the tapes to go through. Oh, and I got a massage. I think I might put Kenan on my permanent staff," Rory jokes. "What do you think?"
I laugh. "Treat yourself. You deserve it."
We lie in silence for a bit, staring upward.
"Just three days from now, we get two weeks off," Rory whispers eventually. "Seventy-two hours."
"Not that you're counting," I tell her.
"Oh, I'm counting."
I lift myself up onto one elbow so I can see Rory's face. She remains motionless, staring up at the ceiling. "You can do this," I tell her. "You've done it hundreds of times before. Set yourself on autopilot, and you'll get through it. I'll help you."
Rory's eyes finally slide to meet mine. "Thanks. Because I really think I'm going to need it. Being on the road with SMD? It's a whole different ball game."
* * *
"It's so…flat," I say, staring out the window. I'm sitting on the curved seat, close to the window, my legs folded underneath me. Noah's here as well and Rory and Mara. Lucia and Valentina are resting, and Tobias, Cooper, and José are watching something on TV, I think.
I stick my chin on top of the back of the seat and scan the landscape. Outside, whichever way you survey the landscape, you can see for miles. The only thing breaking up the view is billboard after billboard studded across the terrain, advertising shows and casinos. "And it looks so dry." I realize they're dumb words as soon as they come out of my mouth, because I know very well that we're in a desert.
"That's because we're in a desert, Einstein," Mara drawls from behind her magazine.
My shoulders sink. "I know that. I was just thinking that it's odd. I mean, all those billboards. So many famous people coming here, to the middle of a desert, to do shows. And then everyone else traveling here, to the middle of a desert, to see those shows. Where else in the world does anyone do that?"
"Dubai," Mara says, not even looking up this time. "We've done plenty of shows there."
My shoulders sink further. Maybe I should stop opening my mouth before my whole body drops through the bottom of the bus and lands unceremoniously on Interstate 15. I don't belong here. I don't belong in their world, as my mom reminds me pretty much every single day of my existence.
"I know what you mean, Thea," Noah says, obviously trying to make me feel better. "And we've done two shows there, Mara, not 'plenty.' Got to say, it's pretty amazing. Especially Ski Dubai. That place is like nothing you've ever seen. Skiing in the desert. Now that's weird."
I give him a grateful smile. "I've heard about that place."
"Skiing sounds good. Race you there!" Rory says, and makes to get up. As if we're suddenly going to stop the bus in the middle of nowhere, get out, grab our bags, and somehow make our way to Ski Dubai.
I glare at her, and she sits back down again with a sigh.
"So, you've never been to Vegas before?" Noah asks me.
I shake my head. "Nope."
"I'll have to give you a tour. Show you all the sights."
"Sounds great!" Only a five-year-old kid at Disneyland could act more enthusiastic than me right now.
"So, why no Vegas? I would have thought you'd have been there by now. I mean, Rory's told me how much you guys travel."
I think about this for a second. "My mom's not a Vegas kind of person, I guess." It's more like my mom's an "avoiding her homeland and extended family at all costs" person, but I know I'm not allowed to say unpatriotic, un-Hartley-like things like that, so I decide to go for something people will believe.
Mara snorts at my words, and everyone looks at her.
Noah groans. "Don't start, Mara."
"She's not a fan," Rory tells me.
I frown, not understanding. "Of Mom's?"
"Of polite conversation." Rory's eyebrows shoot up.
"Come on, already," Noah says. "You," he points at Mara, "quit being a pain. And you," he points at Rory, "calm down."
Mara laughs at this. "Yes, you don't want to lose your cool, Rory."
Rory gives Mara the stink-eye. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like nothing more than for me to lose my cool and do something stupid so you can take my job."
"Sounds good to me," Mara replies.
With this, Noah stretches out one of his long legs and kicks her ankle.
"Ow." She glares at him.
"Sorry about that. Just stretching," he says.
* * *
"We couldn't get a villa," Mom tells me as the elevator makes it way upward. The SMD bus and team had been swiftly whisked away through a back entrance as soon as we arrived at the Bellagio. Uncle Erik and Allie had stayed with Rory while Mom and I were handed over to some kind of a guest services coordinator who Mom had taken aside, politely explaining how things were going to work. Her spiel, which I'd heard a million times before, went something like this: no calls, no gifts, no complimentary anything, no special attention, no access from other stars, and when in doubt, go through her staff. I'm sure they knew she was serious, too. Mom had a reputation for being serious. Not in a "don't mess with me" way,
but in a businesslike "be good to me, and I'll come back and I'll tell my friends to come too" kind of way.
Having laid down the law, she ditched the guest services coordinator, saying she was fine with her own bag and finding her way to our suite. "They said they were extremely sorry and that they'd move somebody and that, of course, there would be no charge, but I told them not to be ridiculous. Anyway, we've got two Grand Lakeview Suites—one for us and one for Anna and Deb as well—they'll be down the hall."
"We'll probably survive," I tell Mom. "Without a villa, I mean."
"That's what I said. They were mortified."
Seriously, get a grip. As if you'd evict someone from their villa! Still, considering their reaction, I'm sure there are plenty of stars who wouldn't bat an eyelash at someone doing this for them.
We make our way to our assigned room, and just as Mom is zapping the door with her card, a staff member exits the elevator carrying a huge bunch of yellow roses, my mom's favorite. "Ms. Hartley?" the uniformed guy says as he approaches us.
Mom's face tightens. "I told the guest services coordinator not five minutes ago that I—"
To save us time and energy, I take a step or two around to the other side of the staff member. I locate the card, pluck it from the flowers and scan it. "It's from Dad," I tell her, passing her the card between two of my fingers.
"Oh." Her expression changes instantly. "Oh, well. That's different. Thank you."
"It's my pleasure, Ms. Hartley. I hope you enjoy your stay very much." He passes her the flowers. And then, with a smile that says nothing at all (and definitely nothing like "all stars are nuts"), the guy turns on his heel and leaves us.
"How sweet!" My mom looks thrilled to receive the flowers and brings them to her face to take a sniff. "They're lovely. I wonder what your father did that for?"
I give her a look. "Um, maybe because we're supposed to be on vacation? With Dad. In Tasmania. And he's in Rome. Working."
"Oh." Mom waves a hand dismissively, and I almost laugh out loud. My mom is a pushover for no one on earth but my dad.
"You guys are sick." I shake my head and take the room card from her hand, because she's obviously in no state to be operating anything—heavy machinery or even a room card. "Come on." The green light flashes and I push the door open and step inside. "Right, um, I think we'll be okay here," I say, taking in the sumptuous suite. I quickly ditch my bag in the entrance and walk straight ahead to the huge glass windows that give us a wide view of the lake below. "Look, Mom! The fountain's going," I tell her, and behind me, I hear her ditch her bag as well and come over.
"Oh, it's lovely!" Mom says, sitting down on the windowsill and placing her roses next to her.
I glance at her, hiding a smile. That's the thing about my mom—there are a lot of things people don't know about her. I lied about Mom and Vegas on the bus and wasn't surprised when everyone believed me. Everyone thinks she's so classy, and I'm sure people would bet she would hate something like the Bellagio fountain, but my mom doesn't have hidden depths—she has hidden shallows. She adores things like theme parks, oversized sunglasses, novelty caps, huge sticks of cotton candy, and stuff like that—all the things she never got to do when she was a kid. We've been to Euro Disney heaps of times, and believe me, it's not because I love the place. The truth is, my mom is a teacup-ride junkie.
Mom and I sit for a while in the calm of our suite, observing the fountain until a beep from my cell distracts me, letting me know I have a text.
It's Rory.
Quick walkthrough, then some free time before show. Want to watch some TV at yours? Allie up for it.
"It's Rory," I say, looking up. "Is it okay if we watch some TV here with Allie?"
"Of course!" Mom says. "Anna and Deb have just arrived, and I think Anna wants to do a session with me, so that will work well. Order yourselves up some food if you need to." She stands up from the windowsill.
"Okay, thanks." I text Rory back with our room number and tell her and Allie to make their way down the hall whenever they're ready.
"Better unpack, I suppose." Mom starts back toward the entrance, and suddenly I feel bad for interrupting our fountain viewing.
"Mom." I stop her in her tracks.
She pivots around on the spot to check what I want. "Yes?"
I wave her back over. "Come back and watch the fountain some more."
She seems a bit taken aback when I say this. Pleased. Which gives me a quick stab in the chest, because I suddenly realize how easy it is to make her happy and how maybe I don't do it often enough.
She hesitates for a second, taking a half step, before regaining her composure and starting back over again. "Oh. Okay. That would be nice."
Sitting at the window, we follow the fountain's movements in silence for a few more minutes before I remember something. "I forgot," I say, getting up. "Rory told me we'd be able to get the music on the TV." I run over and fetch the remote and the TV clicks on to exactly the right channel. "See! It's like our own private show!"
Mom and I watch as "My Heart Will Go On" finishes and "Hey, Big Spender" begins. "Who needs a villa?" Mom says to me halfway through the song, and I laugh. And she's so excited when "Viva Las Vegas" begins after this, that she claps her hands in delight.
"And you're supposed to be the adult here?" I ask, grinning, and she winks at me.
Of course, soon enough, the show ends. "That was so good," Mom says, looking awfully content. "It's such a shame your dad isn't here. He'd have truly hated that." Just the thought of this makes her smile.
I nod. "Definitely." He really would have. Dad hates fake stuff and grumbled all the way through each Euro Disney trip, saying fun things like, "It's feeling like an increasingly small world on this inane ride" and "That duck needs to put some pants on before he gets arrested." Vegas would be his worst nightmare. I can just see him outside the fake Eiffel Tower and New York, New York, shaking his head, not understanding the point to building a fake Eiffel Tower when there's a real one in beautiful Paris and moaning about being forced to buy half-rate food in a miniature-sized Greenwich Village.
My mom turns away from the window now that the show's over. "So, tell me, how was Rory today? Erik's being…well, kind of evasive, to be honest. I don't think I'm getting the whole story."
I know how she feels, because I'm definitely not getting the whole story. "Rory hasn't told me that much," I say, then pause. "But she is so all over the place—one minute she's fine, the next it's like her favorite hair de-frizzer is being discontinued. As in, tantrums of epic proportions. It's not really like her."
"She's obviously unhappy," Mom agrees, taking in the view again. "But it doesn't seem to be about any one thing. She's probably just over the show as a whole. She's grown out of it. But, as Erik says, there's no getting out of that contract for another year. Apparently, their lawyer's already approached the show a couple of times. I'm not sure how effective he is, though."
"Rory and Mara were arguing on the bus," I say, "and I got to thinking—the only way out that I can see is if they want her out." I'd been mulling this over for the past hour or so. If only SMD could decide they wanted Mara to fill Rory's spot. It would be the perfect out for everyone. But it didn't look likely. Mara simply wasn't as popular as Rory. If they wanted her to take Rory's place, it would have happened years ago.
"Well, I don't see how that's going to come about," Mom says. "And she can't force a situation like that by being unprofessional, or she'll be fired and risk not working again. And she does want to work again, I think." She glances at me to confirm this.
"As far as I know," I tell her.
We sit, considering this for a few minutes.
"I feel so useless," I finally say, with a sigh. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing, or saying. I don't know how I can help her."
Mom listens to me carefully. "I know, sweetie. But maybe, right now, just being here for her, being you, is enough?"
I think about this as I regard my
mom and realize two things—from what Rory told me, and from what I've seen so far, it's probably true. And the other thing I realize? It's that maybe changing things up a bit is good for everyone from time to time. Because there's no denying it, this is the best Mom and I have gotten along for over a year.
-
13 -
Mom gets changed into some gym gear and is then whisked away by Anna to be tortured to within an inch of her life. I spend a bit of time checking out the suite, playing with the blackout curtains, sniffing the fancy bath products, and even hanging a few things up in the closet before Allie knocks on the door.
"Hey, Allie!" I open the door wide, and she gives me a nudge in the ribs as she enters.
"Hey, yourself. Rory shouldn't be too much longer. Another half hour or so, maybe."
"Great. Want a soda or something?" I make my way down the hall toward the huge windows and living area, then turn right to get to the bar.
"Sure." Allie follows me. "Dad said we should order something up if we're hungry."
"Mom said the same." I pass her a Sprite over the top of the high marble counter.
"Interesting. Think we should order the lobster?" Allie laughs. "Or maybe the beluga caviar, or truffles. Or all three?"
"Doesn't sound very us. Maybe they have a caviar, lobster, and truffle nachos special."
"Sounds good."
We spend the next few minutes perusing the room service menu and decide on plain old burgers and fries, with an extra order of fries and some fruit salad for Rory, who I know will say she won't want anything heavy before she performs, but will then proceed to eat Allie's and my fries anyway (thus, the extra order).
"So," I say when we're done with ordering. "Now that we're alone, what do you know that I don't?"
Allie snorts and goes to open her mouth to say something smart, so I butt in. "I'm talking about Rory."
She snaps her fingers. "Damn. I could have gone on all day, too."
"What was the whole running off thing about?"
Allie just shrugs. "It's not as exciting as it's been made out to be. She's just over SMD, that's all. Anyone would be, after that long. And now with Sonja around, it's like a pressure cooker."
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