Page 96 of All Signs Point to Malibu

I open my eyes and break into the line dance sequence. I’m awkward and slightly off beat, but I keep going.

The crowd don’t know what to think.

I force enthusiasm as I gesture for them to join in. “Jump in when you’re ready. On the beat.”

No one does. But cell phone cameras come out. Naturally.

“This is fun.” I kick my heel and swing toward the bar, slightly off balance. “Darren, get out here!” I say, but it sounds more like a desperate plea for help than an invite to dance.

He hears it too as he jumps over the bar and onto the DJ stand a second later. He grabs the mic and forces a laugh. “Just kidding folks,” he says as he hands the mic back to DJ Scale, who sends me a sympathetic look as though I’ve just committed social suicide.

Immediately the song is cut off and the lights go down. Strobe lights and hip-hop music are back a second later. People stare at me as they reluctantly refill the dance floor. I stand there, in the torn maid of honor dress, helpless and depleted.

I’m a complete and utter train wreck.

I feel Darren’s hands on my shoulders leading me to the exit in a foggy daze of psychedelic lighting and bad decisions. Embarrassment hasn’t set in yet, I’m too numb for that, but I’m sure it’s coming. In waves.

We reach the door and Darren turns me gently toward him. He pulls me in for a hug and I sink into him, resting my head against his chest.

I hadn’t realized just how much I needed this hug, this comfort, this supportive gesture, but I cling to him and fight the waves of sadness, guilt, despair, and remorse washing over me.

He pulls back and bends at the knees to look at me. “Everything is always worse in the glow of neon light. Get some sleep, dollface.”

He gestures to the bouncer and a second later, he walks me to a taxi waiting near the curb.

I climb in and he leans in to kiss my cheek. “I’m happy, Hailey.” He closes the door and the taxi driver turns to me.

“Where to?”

Darren might be happy, but what about the rest of my clients?

I hesitate, common sense telling me to go home...

“Forty-eight Pine Street,” I say instead.

The taxi pulls up in front of a beautiful, big house in a nice neighborhood twenty minutes later. It’s dark and quiet, but the lights are on inside Alice’s front office. Through the window, I can see her at her laptop.

“I’ll just be a second,” I tell the driver.

But as soon as I climb out, he tears off almost before I have time to shut the door.

“Hey!” I yell after him. I hadn’t even paid him yet. Was I really that obnoxious recounting the events leading up to this tragic moment in time?

I stare at Alice’s house for a beat before heading to the front door. I ring the bell and listen for the sound of footsteps approaching from inside. I glance at the maid of honor dress. Maybe I should have headed home and changed first...or come by in the morning—it’s after midnight. Not exactly professional to be crashing in on a former client like this, but it just seems poetic...and justified in my current state of heightened emotion.

Ironically, in this moment, I’m everything I try to help my clients avoid.

A moment later, Alice answers, surprised to see me. “Hailey? What are you doing here?”

Say it quick and be done. “I’m here to tell you, you should write that book of your heart. The sci-fi Western romance. Do it. I was wrong to tell you to follow the market and write something else.”

Alice sighs and looks slightly sheepish. “I did write it. And well, it kinda sucks.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” I say quickly. I’ve gotten into her head, made her doubt herself. “You’re a brilliant writer, Alice.”

“No really, the book sucks,” she says matter-of-factly. “I get it now. What you were trying to say all this time.”

“I don’t always know what I’m talking about.”

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