Chapter 9
Aura
Absolutely not. I toss one more designer dress onto the heap already piled on the questionable bed. Did I sneak out to the next town over to buy a brand new set of sheets and a comforter? Yes. Did it make the lumpy mattress any less suspect? Not really.
But I can’t actually take Quint up on the offer to stay at his place, right?
I eye the clothes one more time, then my cell sitting on the bedside table. Then I’m back to glaring at the clothes, which are great when heading out on the town in LA, but probably not so great for a small-town country bar.
Finally, I heave out a sigh before picking up the phone. I start tapping out a message, delete it, type again, delete. This is not a text type of situation. I need to call.
So I steel myself and start typing my best friend’s number onto the keypad. Although, the way I’ve been ghosting her this past year, she might not be my friend anymore at all, much less my best friend. She probably won’t even answer, anyway.
But to my surprise she picks up after the first ring.
“Ree? Is everything okay?”
The confusion and fear in her voice hits me hard, and I collapse onto the lumpy mattress, fighting back the tears welling in my eyes.
“Hey, Abby. Everything’s fine. Sort of. You know.
As good as it can be.” I falter over the words.
There’s too much distance between us. Too much time I’ve spent pushing her away.
I can’t explain this all away in one phone conversation.
What am I doing, trying to call her for fashion advice when I should be groveling?
“What’s up then?”
“I don’t know. Maybe this was a bad idea. I’m not even sure why I called. I’m sorry. I’ll let you go.”
“You better not hang up that phone, Aurelia Lane. Don’t even think about it.”
I jerk back, startled at the intensity in my friend’s command. She’s supposed to be the sweet one. “Okay.”
“Now tell me what’s going on. I make a habit not to look at online gossip, but I do know what went on with that asshole. Are you okay?”
“Yes.” It’s the knee-jerk response. The polite everything is fine. But this isn’t some reporter, some random costar. This is Abby. She’s seen me at my best and my worst and everywhere in between. “Not really. But things might be getting better. If I can just land this role.”
“Oh, are you at an audition? Can you talk about it? Maybe we can meet up later.”
I laugh. “That might be a little difficult.”
“Oh.”
“I’m in Canada.”
“Canada? What are you doing there?”
“Okay, this is a bit of story. Do you have time?”
I stand up and start pacing around, putting even more wear and tear on the already tired carpet.
“For you? Of course.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ree. I understand what it’s like. Living in the spotlight. Under scrutiny. I may spend more time writing songs than on the stage myself, but turns out if you write too many chart toppers, people kind of get to know you anyway. Doesn’t help that I married a pro hockey player.”
“How is Seb?”
I can hear the love in her voice through the phone line.
“He’s fantastic. They might not have made it to the playoffs this year, but he still had his best year, and the team’s built so much momentum, they’re going to take it all next year.
I can feel it. But you don’t want to hear me gushing about him. ”
“Yeah, I do, Abs. I absolutely do. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed us. I’ve been an incurable jerk, and I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. You were going through a tough time. You didn’t want to talk about it. But there’s nothing you could do to push me out of your life. I wouldn’t let you.”
“Thank you.” Some part of me has been clenched so tight for so long I didn’t even realize it wasn’t normal. Until now, when my friend’s words shake the tension loose.
My defenses crumble, and I share everything with her.
The way I found out Brad had cheated on me.
Multiple times. The way I lost it on him in public when I found out.
And the way he spun the story to make me look unhinged, like a loose cannon that could misfire at any moment.
The way he used his father’s power and influence to turn everyone against me.
How things got so toxic on the set of Paisley Creek I had to leave.
She listens, sympathizes, but doesn’t interrupt or offer advice.
This is what I needed. Talking to a therapist is fine, but as a public figure I’m never truly comfortable spilling my deepest feelings to a stranger.
Even someone sworn to secrecy. There’s too much at stake.
So, I let him help me with the anxiety, the panic attacks, but not the deeper roots of it all.
“Wow, Ree. I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through that. I had no idea it was that bad.”
Which is also my fault. Because I didn’t tell her. Didn’t think I could open up even to my closest friend in the world.
“No, you didn’t. But it’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you and I should have. But it’s going to be okay.”
After I tell her about the show and the ranch, and my dirty little secret that led me here to Balsam Grove early, I then launch into the reason I actually called in the first place. Well, at least the reason I told myself I was calling.
“So, this is a really small town. And I couldn’t get a steady room anywhere but this shady hotel on the highway. But Quint offered to let me stay on the ranch. At his place.”
“Really? That’s nice of him. What’s stopping you?”
“I don’t know him. Not really. He’s nice. His family seem like good people, but I don’t really know them, and I’m pretty sure his sister hates me.”
Car tires screech as a red car pulls into the parking lot at a speed meant for the F1 track, not the pothole-ridden parking lot of a seedy hotel.
“I’m not going to make the decision for you, Ree.
I’m not there, and I don’t know the situation.
So, take a look deep down. I know it’s hard to trust your instincts when you’ve been burned before.
But think about it. Is it your past experiences telling you not to trust him, or is it something real?
Because if you really think you can’t trust him, then stay the fuck away from that situation.
But if not…think about it. Weigh your options.
Is the hotel that bad? Would you be better off with him? ”
A loud bang has me almost jumping out of my skin, followed by someone yelling obscenities. Maybe the universe really is trying to tell me something.
“Thank you.”
It’s good to talk to her again. This is what I’ve needed for so long. A friend.
“Well, let me know what you decide. And send me your location. That way I can hunt him and his family down if it turns out they’ve wronged my bestie.”
Her fierce protectiveness wraps around me like my favorite worn-out college hoodie. Maybe I should wear that to the bar? Which reminds me.
“One more thing before I let you go. Quint invited me to a local bar, and I’m not sure what to wear. Any chance you can help?”
She laughs. “Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be giving me fashion advice?”
It’s true. I’m usually the fashionista and was perpetually telling her what to wear in our college days. I’m still convinced it was the champagne dress that landed her the love of her life. At least, it got them started on the path.
“This is different.” I bend my neck to balance the cell precariously between my shoulder and ear while I walk back to the bed.
“I know how to dress for a red carpet event, a Hollywood party, a fancy restaurant. Heck, I even know what to wear when I’m going shopping in Beverly Hills or to pick up a coffee at a trendy café.
What I don’t know is how to dress for some random bar in the middle of buttfuck Canada. You have to help me.”
“And you think I do?” She laughs.
The phone slips, but I catch it before it can hit the filthy carpet, then swap it over to speaker. “You’ve always been better at casual than me. Plus you’ve been to Nashville. Written songs for country legends, for fuck’s sake. You’ve got to have some idea what would be appropriate.”
“Well, I’m not sure I’ll get it perfect, but I do know I’m going to relish this moment for the rest of eternity. The day Aurelia Lane asked me for clothing advice.”
“Whatever you say. As long as you get me through this night without standing out like the spoiled celebrity they probably think I am.”
“I can’t promise that one. You’ve always attracted attention. It’s like you were born for this life.”
“Tell that to the assholes from my last failed audition.”
“Aww, Ree.” Her teasing tone softens, and I hate it. We were just starting to get back into our playful rhythm and I had to spoil it.
I shake my head. “No, not looking for a pity party. Wait a sec. I’m just gonna hang up and call you back on video.”
“Sure.”
I hastily hang up and dial in again. She pops up on the screen and it’s so good to see her. Her wavy brown hair is piled on top of her head in a wild bun, round cheeks flushed and eyes tired but happy.
“I’m looking for help with this.” I point the phone toward the pile of unsuitable clothing stacked on the bed.
“First up, do you happen to have any alcohol handy? A drink will definitely loosen you up a little, and you seem tense.”
My gaze wanders over to the tiny fridge in the room. Might not hurt. I snag one of the tiny bottles of prosecco I grabbed to make the nights at this dismal place a little less depressing and fiddle with the plastic cork until it pops.
Then I hold it up to the camera in a cheers and take a swig. The bubbles dance on my tongue.
“Good plan. Now where do I start?”
“Okay, well, jeans for sure. That’s a given. Do you happen to have any that don’t look like they cost a thousand dollars?”
“What does that even mean? What’s the difference?”
“Right. Probably be fine as long as there are no visible designer logos. Show me what you got.”
The pile teeters, toppling over as I yank the stack of denim out from the bottom, laying them out for her to see.