Page 31 of For Her

“Oh,” Rebecca, Chris’s fiancée hiccups from the end of the couch. “We weren’t supposed to put real champagne in these?” She holds up her champagne glass. It’s then that I notice her other hand is clutching an actual champagne bottle, and the color of the liquid in her glass doesnotrepresent the correct ratio of champagne to orange juice.

“Oh…” Melanie mimics my thoughts out loud from the arm chair kitty-corner to Rebecca. “No, honey, we’re going with mocktails since Mayzie can’t drink,” she gently informs her. It’s not much of a hardship for Melanie as she’s a light drinker to begin with, but I have to say, Sarah’s being a real champ and Rebecca… well… it’s okay. She’s come a long way with her social anxiety and speech impediment, and it’s so nice to see her kicking back with us, without stammering, no less.

“Oops- HIC!” Rebecca covers her mouth. “I’m sorry, Mayzie- HIC!”

“It’s okay,” I assure her from my end of the couch. “I’m glad you’re here and having fun with us.” I turn more towards her, wanting to take this opportunity to open up more while also hoping it will get my mind off douche-face’s interview tonight. “Your wedding to the loveable, crazy drummer is coming up. Any news on the planning front?”

“Well,” she looks up after taking a sip. “Chris wants Iggy to be the ring bearer,” she says thoughtfully between more hiccups, referring to her weird, creepy, but sweet sphinx cat that Chris has developed a super-weird bond with. “And he wants to take his place at the altar to The Rock’s wrestling theme music.”

“Oh…” I muse hesitantly, trying not to let my encouraging smile waver. “What do you think of all that?” I ask, not prepared for her dreamy-eyed answer.

“My gallant and powerful knight in shining armor with his mighty sword that drops like Thor’s hammer? He can do whatever he wants as long as he keeps letting that monster ferret of his keep hiding in my fox hole!”

Fucking hell!

7-Up or not, I tip my mimosa back and start chugging, trying to laser off the visual that’s now tattooed on my brain. Once my glass is drained, I look up to see Melanie and Sarah doing the same thing while Rebecca bites her lip and twirls a lock of her tawny hair around her finger while staring off into the distance from behind her trendy black frames.

“So!” Sarah changes the subject while eyeballing Rebecca’s champagne bottle, likely calculating if there’s enough left for her to sneak a small amount without her noticing. “What do you think the guys are doing?”

“Well, if I know Jack,” I pipe up.

“And if I know Matt,” Melanie volleys.

“They’re gearing up to watch the interview.”

“Which they said they wouldn’t watch.”

“With copious amounts of alcohol.”

“Unlike us.”

“They might even hang a punching bag in the living room.”

“Guys, come on,” Sarah scolds from the armrest of Melanie’s chair. “First of all, you sound like the twins from Harry Potter. Second, your men lovingly and thoughtfully put us up in this luxurious resort so that we could get pampered and relax and have our minds taken off the douche-who-shall-not-be-named.” She takes a pull of her completely alcohol-free beverage, draining the glass before not so inconspicuously reaching for Rebecca’s champagne bottle. “So… it’s going to start soon, and if the guys are watching it…” she hints at us.

“No.” Melanie cuts her off, firmly. “I never want to see that asshole again,” she mutters down at her glass.

“Babe, I know,” Sarah acknowledges Melanie’s past with the douchebucket. They dated when she was younger and came to a Turn it Up performance with her before they were famous. I’m sure you can see where it all leads, but to sum up, he horribly black-mailed her to get her out of his way so he could sign with them. “But it might be fun to see how ugly he looks in orange…” she tries to persuade.

“I’ll watch it!” Rebecca declares as she springs out of her chair and skips to the adjoining room. It’s amazing how not-awkward she is when she has a few in her. It just means I’m going to have to call Chris to come get her in less than two hours.

“Um… Rebecca?” I call after her.

“It’s fine!” she hollers back. “That ass spelunking nitwit hasn’t done anything to me. Bring on the douchebaggery! I’ll let you all know what’s happening!” she finishes, as we hear the TV flick on and she lowers the volume.

“It’s okay,” Melanie waves a dismissing hand. “She can watch while she rides it out.”

Sarah and I nod our heads in agreement before taking a sip of our drinks that we all end up spitting out and spraying the space between us when Rebecca’s shriek comes from the other room.

As I cough and wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my robe, I try to gauge if she’s okay, but my answer is quickly answered by her cackling laughter that follows.

“Guys!” More laughter, followed by gasping for air. “Guys, it’s okay! The coast is clear!” Another deep breath and more cackling follows. “The interview’s not happening, get in here! Oh my God!” Another round of laughter erupts out of the tiny bombshell as we all scurry in to see what’s going on.

We come into the room to find her relaxed back in an overstuffed chair, facing the TV. Her champagne flute is discarded on the floor with orange juice splatters on the carpet. Her head is tossed back as she shakes with laughter, absently holding the remote up to Sarah.

Sarah aims the remote at the DVR and rewinds what just played so that we can all see what has Rebecca dying of laughter. She hitsplayand the screen fills with Kassandra, sitting in a chair in a cold, sterile- looking room that her studio hands seem to have tried to give some kind of ambience to with dim lighting and a side table beside her chair.

“We regret to inform you that the long-anticipated, exclusive interview with former PR mogul, Eli Costa, will not be taking place tonight.”

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