Launi

Oh my God. I cover myself, but it isn't necessary. My clothes are still on even though I feel exposed and vulnerable and like the worst person ever. I've read the contracts between them that outlines their business arrangement. In legal print, their relationship is simply a business deal, but I also know that Tinsley has gone above and beyond what the contract has asked and as a girl's girl, I should know better. She has to like him beyond the terms and conditions she's required to pretend to and I never should have got in the middle of that.

"I'm so sorry," I say, getting up as fast as I can from beneath Rye.

"Wait," Rye says, but even he looks like a kid who has been caught with his hand in the candy jar.

"It's ok," Tinsley says, glancing around the room either out of embarrassment or maybe she's trying to think about whether she can forgive him for this.

"It's not Ok," I tell her and then make it a point to look at Rye also. What we just did was not ok and I'm embarrassed. I can't control myself when I'm around him and it makes the whole thing dangerous. In just a few seconds we have imploded this tour. All it will take if for Tinsley to say something and the word will spread. We've been so stupid!

"Launi," she says, but I don't want to wait for her to finish. I try to push past her, but she calls out after me. "We should talk."

We don't need to talk. I need to get out of here and try to salvage what I can of my job. I've ruined everything. No one will ever take me serious in this business again. I already have the privilege of nepotism getting me on this tour, and now I've become a groupie and got involved sexually with a client. It's unethical and unprofessional—and it's my first job in the field.

I rush down the hall, not even stopping when I see Sean raise his hand to say hi from the end of the hall. I can't face anyone right now. I open my room door and fall onto my bed. Parker can't get here soon enough, she'll know what to do or at least she can sit with me as I get fired or worse yet, have to face my dad for all of this.

I don't expect Rye to come after me, he needs to patch things up with Tinsley, but when I'm still alone on my bed an hour later, I realize that he never followed up to tell me what was going to happen next. Was Tinsley going to call the managers? Were he and I both cooked on this tour?

Me: Parker I'm in big trouble

I realize in the moment that she's at her sister's wedding. The thought makes my anxiety feel so much heavier. I lay, unmoving on the comforter in the quiet, not sure what my next move should be. Maybe a confession is a good place to start. I can reach out to the managers myself and get ahead of this story. I'll just hope that Rye and Tinsley are still arguing and it bought me the time to figure out who to call first.

My phone chimes before I have the chance to connect the call to the band's manager.

Parker: Sorry! Stupid wedding is taking forever.

Me: I shouldn't be bothering you

Parker: I would be angry if you didn't

My phone screen flashes with a picture of Parker as she Facetimes me. I slide to answer. The sounds of happiness fills my hotel room. Romantic music plays in the background and Parker looks beautiful with her hair up and make-up on. The dress isn't my favorite, but we had predicted her sister would choose the worst color and style so she could shine brighter as the bride. You can't be too mad about that, I guess. For a moment I forget about my own drama and want to know everything about Parker's night.

"Awee, You look stunning!" I tell her.

"Thank you!  I'll never get all the bobby pins out of my hair, but at least it will look great in the photos all night. The weather here is a little iffy and the wind could do some damage if the hairdresser hadn't basically glued my hair in place," she says, touching the slicked back potion to show it is indeed immovable.

"How was the ceremony?" I ask.

For as much as Parker jokes about her sister being unreasonable and a pain, Parker's eyes seem to glow when she talks about how beautiful her sister looks and how romantic the ceremony was.

"Launi, it was perfect," she tells me, lifting a glass of chilled white wine to her lips. "He's so in love with her it makes me sick." There it is. That's the Parker I know.

"Stop it," I say with a small chuckle. "You can't hate love." She doesn't, but she wishes she did. Love is the thing that has always been just slightly out of reach for her. I know deep inside she wants to find her person and be married forever even if she'd never admit it.

"Fine," she agrees, "but only for tonight." She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and getting closer to the screen. "Now," she says, "tell me what this big trouble is."

In the background I can hear the DJ start a new set of music. It's loud and makes hearing Parker more difficult but I want to be sure before I start spilling secrets that no one can hear me. "Can you go somewhere to talk?" I ask.

"Is it that serious?" she replies, but she's already on the move. I watch her smile as she passes by other guests, sometimes greeting with a 'hello' or with a simple head nod. She slips into an empty room and the silence is a relief.

"I'm in trouble, Parker," I confess.

"I'm going to hear you out," she tells me like a wise sage, "but first I want to remind you that you're an adult woman with free will so whatever trouble you are in can't be that bad. We'll just pick up and move cities-- countries if we have to. Change our names, buy new clothes, find men in Italy, or Spain..." she continues.

"Parker." I stop her.

Her lips press together and the small wrinkles at the corners of her eyes appear. She knows I'm being serious.

"Tell me," she says.

"Tinsley just walked in on me and Rye." I deliver the line straight forward, devoid of the actual panic I'm feeling about the whole thing.

Parker's eyes go wide but then she reigns her emotions back in. "First of all," she says, raising the glass back up to her lips regally, reminding me of the strong, and all-knowing female characters in movies that deliver the best lines. "He was dead to us, but I'm going to look past that for you," she points the glass in the direction of the screen as if belaboring the obvious that I violated the safety plan she had implemented since clearly I can't manage my own life. "Secondly, we'll have to switch to a place with limited cell service so perhaps we can start over in a beautiful little town in some mountainous area or if you want tropical we can find an island."

"It's that bad?" I ask, but I already know the answer.

"It will pass," she replies. "But it's going to get really ugly first if she tells anyone."

This is why she's my best friend. She doesn't bullshit me. This isn't the time for sugar coating or blowing smoke, this is exactly what I need. I knew the answer already anyway. However, if I know Parker, she won't let me suffer long.

"It could be worse," she offers.

"I doubt it," I tell her.

"Your nudes could be leaked," she says. "And not any good ones, but the ones you take when you're trying to look at something on your body and don't have a mirror."

I laugh hard this time. "You're right."

We sit for a moment together as if she is here with me, just holding space for this disaster I've made of my golden opportunity.

"What am I going to do?" I finally ask.

"You're going to spin it. I don't know how, because that's your job, but I know you're really good at it," she tells me.

There's a knock on the door behind Parker and I feel guilty all of a sudden that I've pulled her away from this important moment in her life to counsel me. She opens it and another bridesmaid tells her it's almost time for the speech.

"Go," I tell her.

"I will," she says. "Do you want to know what my speech is about?" she asks.

I nod.

"Do you remember when she took us to that house party the fall we were about fifteen?" she asks.

"Yes!" I say, the memory flooding back to me. We felt so special and old, getting dolled up to go to a high school party with a senior. It felt like we had finally made it somehow.

"I wore my mom's beautiful cream halter tank top," she says.

I close my eyes and nod my head. I already know what's coming.

"It was my first party. My rookie season you could say," she jokes. "And I messed up. I gave into impulses and ended up pushing boundaries and throwing up on it."

"I remember," I tell her.

"Do you remember what she told me—well us, on the way home?" Parker asks.

I shake my head. I remember the back seat of the car and knowing we were going to be in so much trouble for lying about where we were going, borrowing the tank without asking permission, and for ruining something that wasn't ours to ruin. I don't remember what she told us, but I do remember feeling like we had a plan and she was guiding us. It's kind of like how I feel about Parker right now. Surrender to the person who can think more clearly in the situation.

"She told me to never confess to more than what I'm being accused of. Take accountability for what you've been caught doing when confronted about it, but don't offer up more information." Parker says, draining the last of the wine. "You know we hid that tank until we could get it dried cleaned. I only ever confessed to borrowing it without asking, but I returned it in better condition than when I took it and my mom never asked anything else about it. For all she knows I wore it to school."

"Parker you can't tell that story at your sister's wedding!" I say horrified at the possibility of the secret being out now.

"No, but I can remind you of her great advice and then go out there and make a speech about how she guided me through my adolescence and looked out for me," she says. "Wait for the problem to come to you, Launi. Don't go confess to something that might never get out because you're feeling guilty. Give yourself time to create a plan."

"Ok," I say.

"Oh," she says, "I'm also going to mention when she called to tell me after their first date that she was 'in looooooooove' and wanted to have his 'babiesssssssss' like the deranged crazy person she is. Ok byeeeeeeeee," she says before ending the call.

I don't get a chance to tell her that it's probably not the time to tell that story either.