There was a long pause. “Elly, I can’t. Gotta go. Sorry.” She could hear the game in the background. “Dennis! Don’t you dare hang up on me, I need you to—” The phone went dead. Rage rose up within Elly, and she momentarily pictured herself strangling her brother. She looked down at her phone and, with a sigh, started searching for her last resort.
Twenty-five minutes later, Snarky Teenager’s shiny silver Jetta pulled up in the alley behind the club. Inside, Elly could hear a growing commotion about where Lola had gone. It was only a matter of time before the paparazzi came around the corner, and then Lola, drunk and barely clinging to consciousness, would be splashed across every newspaper and entertainment news program for the next week. There would be “experts” on to diagnose her, and well-meaning (i.e., fame-seeking) friends who would come out of the woodwork to express concern for her safety. She would be humiliated, and the wedding would surely be called off. And before she met her, Elly would have watched every minute of it. But not now. Elly had always prided herself on loving her clients, and caring for their needs. Usually, their needs were floral, and not say, making sure that they didn’t choke on their own vomit, but hey, her job description had always been a bit vague anyways.
Snarky Teenager bounced around the car, took one look at Lola, and sighed, “Love her dress,” before pushing her head-down into the car. Elly bent down to tuck her feet in. “Are you barefoot? What are you …?” She gasped so loud that Elly almost dropped Lola. “Oh my god! Look at your boobs right now!”
Elly looked down. They were practically bursting out of her shirt. “Yes, I know. I look ridiculous.”
Snarky Teenager shook her head. “No way! Look at them! You should dress like that every day! We would have so many more customers! I want to poke them!”
Elly went around to the passenger side and climbed in the car. “That’s never going to happen.”
Snarky Teenager sighed. “Okay. Where are we taking her?”
“Well, I’m not sure where she lives, or even where she is staying, so we’ll take her to my house. She can sleep over, and in the morning, I’ll take her home. But before that, I might murder my brother. I believe it might be legal in this case.” She recapped her conversation with Dennis.
Snarky Teenager bit her lip. “You should kill him when you get home. He’s having a hard time though, I think. A haircut might help.”
Elly patted her on the shoulder. “Thanks for picking us up. I owe you one.”
“Make me manager.”
“That’s not happening. We’ve talked about this.”
“Why are you so mean to me?”
“You think everyone is mean to you.”
Snarky Teenager kept her eyes glued to the road. “I could be manager. I’m responsible. You never believe me. You never believe anyone.”
Elly looked back at Lola as she gave a loud yawn, followed by a smacking of lips. “We have a bona fide wasted celebrity who might throw up in the back of your car. Can we maybe talk about this later?”
Snarky Teenager pursed her lips. “At least it would be Lola Plumb’s vomit.”
After that, they stayed silent for the drive home. The flashing lights of hungry photographers were left behind as the tiny car crawled back toward the comfortable darkness of an affluent and quiet suburb.
Chapter Twenty
When Elly opened her eyes the next morning, the house was eerily quiet. There was no creaking sound of Dennis raiding the cereal shelf, or the strange, ethereal music that accompanied his game. All was silent. She sat up in bed. Something was wrong. Wrapping her robe around her PJ shorts and tank top, Elly made her way to the living room. Misty morning light poured through her bay window, bathing the entire room in a gray haze that highlighted circling dust particles. Lola was sleeping on the couch, her tiny body curled up next to Elly’s pillows, covered by one of her mother’s quilts. Her mouth hung slightly open, and even with the large mascara streaks that ran down her cheeks, she looked like a movie star. A very damaged and fragile movie star. Dennis was sitting on the floor about a foot away from her, sitting perfectly still and staring at her face with rapt adoration.
“Dennis!”
His face turned toward her with disbelief. “Lola Plumb is sleeping on our couch.”
“You look like a total creep. Get away from her.”
He shook his head. “No way. I can feel her breath on my face.”
Elly sighed as she began rooting around the fridge for the orange juice. There was a yelp behind her, and she spun around.
Lola was on her feet, teetering back and forth in the living room. “Where am I? Where am I?”
Elly walked over to her and made her sit back down on the couch. “You are at my house. Remember? I’m Elly? Your florist?”
Lola looked at her with blurry eyes. “And?”
Elly took her hand gently and passed her some orange juice.
Her eyes narrowed. “Coffee?”
Dennis leapt up. “I’ll get some!” He rushed over to Elly’s purse, pulled out a few dollars, and dashed out the door.
“Who was that?” Lola asked, rubbing her forehead. “My brother. He’s currently not my favorite person.”