Page 1 of Wicked Pickle

CHAPTER 1

SYMPHONY

The one sound you never want to hear when you’re squished four to a seat in the back of a Ford Explorer is the retching sound of a girlfriend losing her liquor.

I’m stuffed into a red dress so tight I can’t even lean forward to see who it is. “Marietta, is that you?” I ask.

Marietta is a known lightweight, and we went through four bottles of blueberry Moscato at the Dumpling Palace before calling for this ride.

One-point-five of those bottles went to me, but I ate thirteen dumplings to slow down the booze. I’m a little giggly but nowhere near the puking stage.

“It’s Bailey,” Jenna says. She’s next to me and can lean easily in her shimmery ice blue sheath. “She’s trying to catch it with her fake wedding veil.”

“That’s netting!” I cry. “It won’t hold anything.”

Bailey is about to be a bride, and we’re celebrating her bachelorette party.

“You’re right,” Marietta says. She’s on the other side of Jenna, next to Bailey, who is by the door. “It’s leaking right through.”

The driver turns around. “What is that smell?” He lowers the music we asked him to crank up. “Did someone vomit in my car?”

Jenna, Marietta, and I look at each other. I try again to lean forward to see Bailey. No use. I can’t move. “We’ll clean it up,” I say.

The retching sound happens again, and this time, the three of us lift our hands to our noses. I’m glad to be by the opposite door. I’m a sympathetic puker.

“Poor Bailey,” Marietta says.

We all lurch to the left as the car slides off the road and into a crumbling asphalt parking lot.

I let out a squeal, clutching the door. Marietta screams.

“What are you doing?” Jenna cries.

The ground crunches as we skid to a stop.

“Out,” the driver says. “I have the right to terminate any ride at a safe location. Out now.”

Jenna lifts her phone. She called the ride. “I’m one-starring you into oblivion,” she says.

“Right back at you,” the man says. “And consider yourself blocked.”

Jenna stabs at her phone. “Where are we?”

I peer out the window. “Looks like a bar.”

Bailey’s door opens, sending a sharp breeze through the car.

We all sigh in relief at the fresh air.

“You okay, Bailey?” Marietta asks.

I’m done trying to lean forward. I open my door and throw out a leg. My three-inch heel teeters unsteadily on the broken ground. I hang on to the handle as I pull myself out of the seat.

Whew. I made it. I spot Bailey in the headlights. She’s already circled around to the front of the car.

“Hey, girl! Wait up!” I totter toward her, unsure of my footing in my tight dress. I feel like a stuffed sausage.

Jenna and Marietta scoot out my side, no doubt to avoid any goopy substances.

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