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Jesey @Jeseylovesshoes
@aCurlieee_doll SHE SHOWED UP? Wow wow wow the balls on that one
Bennifer @benniferbites
@aCurlieee_doll ok troll. There’s no way. Have you seen them together? Relationship goals.
Tae @Wide_eyedbitchy91
@aCurlieee_doll holy shit did Melissa lose her mind?
blaze @ablazeaverysmom
@aCurlieee_doll @Wide_eyedbitchy90 I heard that Rusty wants out and melly isn’t having it. Why would she? The endorsement deals alone. They make so much money it’d be best for her to look the other way. people would be pissssed if it all turned out to be a sham. Imagine their sponsors
Tae @Wide_eyedbitchy91
@ablazeaverysmom @aCurlieee_doll speaking of their book, aren’t they on tour? God I hope they’re paying their handlers well
Ella @1967_Disney_bound
@aCurlieee_doll they just finished their show. Anyone know if they’ve announced anything else? My spidey senses are tingling
booksnbangtan @booksnbangtan
@1967_Disney_bound @aCurlieee_doll FBI should really hire fandom. I heard there’s dirt on their kids too. Rich kids are all the same. Can’t wait for this one to blow
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Back at the hotel in San Francisco, somewhere between Melissa seething “You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed for this family—no idea!” and Rusty’s growled “Our kids think every day is Saturday and every bill in your wallet is for them!” Carey and I give up on trying to get the Tripps to stop shouting at each other. They barely notice that we’re standing there, watching their nuclear meltdown from just inside the door of Melissa’s hotel room.
Which is another thing I discovered—the Tripps haven’t shared a bed in two years, at home or at hotels. Carey tries to book them adjoining rooms under the pretense that they like a lot of space. When connecting rooms aren’t available—and, conveniently, they often aren’t—the Tripps are happy not even being on the same floor.
“This is a clusterfuck,” I mutter, and feel the way Carey turns to look at me. “What?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before,” she says in wonder.
“I do. Sometimes.”
Something crashes farther in the room, and it sounds like a remote control hitting a wall.
“Yeah,” she says, “but in your suit with your combed hair and glasses, it’s like hearing a toddler curse.”
“You know toddlers in suits and glasses?”
Carey cracks a smile and starts to respond, but our attention is yanked across the room when Melissa opens the drawer of the nightstand and hurls the Gideon’s Bible at Rusty, hitting him in the shoulder.
“Melly,” Carey says gently, “can I grab you some dinner?”
The air seems to cool as she turns to face Carey. Her chest is heaving, and her face is flushed from yelling.
“Can you get me dinner?” she asks, her face contorted in rage. “Dinner? Are you kidding me? You and Russell humiliate the fuck out of me in front of two hundred people and now you want to shut me up with food?”
I hold up a hand. “Sorry, I’ve got to jump in here. Carey didn’t have any part in—”
“I wasn’t talking to you, James.” Melissa spits out my name. “This is between the three of us. Carey has just tried to take credit for my fucking life’s work, so maybe you should just go back to your room, read a calculus book, and stay out of this.”
I look to Carey to see what she wants, and she gives me a little It’s okay nod and tilts her head toward the door.
I don’t want to abandon her, but I have no idea what protocol is in this type of situation. There’s no HR to guide me. We don’t even have Robyn’s clumsy presence here, worried about the legalities of Melissa speaking to an employee this way. Refusing to leave and continuing to defend Carey might just get me fired, and for the first time, the prospect of being fired doesn’t send even a mild pulse of relief through me, because it would mean I’d leave Carey to manage this alone.
She sees my hesitation and opens her mouth to speak, but I see her embarrassed blush. God, this is painful. “Okay,” I relent. “Call me later?”
I’m only halfway down the hall to my room when I hear the Tripps’ door open again. Turning, I see Carey come out, wiping her face, and jog in the opposite direction down the hall.
It’s already eleven, but there’s no way I’m sleeping after the madness of the book signing, the fight in the hotel room, and Carey’s tearful departure. I haven’t seen her since, and she’s not answering her phone. I’m guessing Melissa is doing one of her long, indignant soaks in the bathtub, but I’m pretty sure I know where I can find Rusty.
Indeed, he’s bellied up at the hotel bar, with a half-empty glass of beer in front of him and his face turned up to the television screen overhead.
“You a …” I look at the teams and need a beat to decipher what BOS means on the scoreboard. “A Red Sox fan?”
