“Anything to drink?” the stewardess asks as she stands with her hair in a perfect low bun, flawless makeup, and a smile way too big for it being so early in the morning.
“Vodka cranberry.”
I look over to Brooke, who stole the window seat from me. “It’s eight in the morning.”
“Make that two vodka cranberries.”
I shake my head and tell the stewardess, “An orange juice will be fine.”
“With a side of vodka.” When I look to Brooke, she simply smiles innocently and says, “Come on. This Vegas signing only happens once a year. Lighten up.”
“Do you remember what happened last year?”
“How could I forget the guys from the Thunder from Down Under. Seeing them practically molest you on stage will go down as one of the highlights of my life!”
“So humiliating.”
“Humiliating? The look on your face told a different story,” she says with a devilish smirk. “To everyone in the audience, it looked like you were enjoying every second of that guy grinding up on you.”
“I had way too much to drink. I blame the alcohol.”
“Did you ever tell Landon?”
“No. He’d be pissed if he ever found out,” I say a pitch too loudly. “Did you ever tell Chris how you made that stripper pole your bitch that night at the club?”
“Of course I did.” Our drinks come, and after we dump the mini bottles of vodka into our juices, she adds, “He’s been jealous of that pole ever since.”
We hold up our cups, and I toast, “To Vegas.”
Once we land, collect our luggage, and make it to the hotel on the strip, we head up to our room and settle in. Brooke is immediately on the phone with the bellhop to have all the boxes she shipped to the hotel brought up to our room. As soon as they are delivered, I help Brooke organize the books that fans preordered. We bundle them, slap sticky notes with names on them onto the covers, and check them off the spreadsheet. We then verify the boxes filled with the swag she purchased: bookmarks, bracelets, magnets, and everything else readers gravitate to.
A knock on our door pulls me away from the pile of books surrounding us on the floor, and when I open it, I’m thrilled to see my friend, Erin, another author who will be attending this event.
We squeal and hug like giddy schoolgirls. When I started in this line of work, my friends faded away and I cemented myself to other authors. Writing is a very isolating job. When I’m deep in the writing process, I tend to shut everyone out. Most of my friends took it personally, but it wasn’t intentional on my part. It was just a gradual drift. Now, the majority of my friends are other authors, because we totally understand the lifestyle and are much more forgiving than those outside of this “sorority.” The one downside: the only time we get to see each other is if we happen to be at the same book signing.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Madilyn,” Erin says as we break our hug. We all address each other by our pen names. I know Erin’s real name, but never once have I thought about actually referring to her by anything other than her pseudonym. It’s an unspoken respect we authors give one another.
Erin turns to Brooke to share an embrace as well. Brooke has been with me since day one. There isn’t a book signing she hasn’t attended with me, so all my friends are her friends too. I’m so lucky she’s been able to be a part of this whole experience with me. But I notice Erin’s assistant isn’t with her, and ask, “Where’s Jen?”
Brooke’s head whips around in my direction with her rictus mouth. “How do you not know?”
I look between the two of them. “Know what?”
“Well, I only heard this through the gossip of a couple of the other authors that were at the last book signing in Dallas, but Erin would be the one to ask and confirm.”
“Why does no one tell me anything?” I accuse.
“Girl, it’s all drama in my camp,” Erin tells me.
“What happened?”
“So, remember last month in Dallas when we all went out after the signing to the Trophy Room Bar?”
“How could I forget? Brooke got me drunk on tequila, and before I knew it, I was riding the mechanical bull.”