One of the unfortunate obligations about brand partnerships is having to go to random parties they throw.
I don't know what this brand party is for, but Jun and Seira make a beeline for the free booze and food respectively while the rest of us hang back.
"Just smile and pretend like you want to be here," Jenny orders. "Good?"
"Define good."
"I'm serious."
Rami raises his hand. "I actually have no objections."
"That's because you're the only one who makes my job easy."
"I object to that statement." Lauren pouts.
Jenny places a hand against her forehead. "Now I get what Marty is always complaining about."
"Marty is going to call us into his office soon because we'll need to give Jenny a raise for all the shit she puts up with," Rami warns.
Plastering a smile on my face, I flash her a look that's unsuccessful. "I will try my best to pretend like I'm enjoying myself."
She gives me a once-over. "If Marty offers you an acting gig, turn it down. Please."
"What happened to women supporting women?" I scoff.
Jenny isn't amused. "I'm not an enabler."
Deciding to put all of us out of misery, Lauren tucks her arm into mine and drags me away.
"I think we're safe," I say after a minute or two. Lauren stops and stares at me, shaking her head. "And I thought I was the miserable one. Why do you look like you've just watched your puppy get murdered?"
"Your imagination is a wild place."
"And you're as bad of an actress as I am if you think I can't see through you." I nudge her hand away. "You might as well be made of cellophane."
"Does that make me John C. Reilly in this situation? I'll take that as a compliment."
I stare at her.
Lauren snags a glass of champagne from a server. "Maybe Maver and I had another fight. Maybe we didn't. I'm definitely not drinking away my problems right now."
Before she can lift the glass to her lips, I pull it away. I'm not above drowning my sorrows, but Lauren isn't subtle when she wants to talk about something even though she's pretending otherwise. Miss Cellophane.
"Is it..."
Instead of hashing over the details of their fight, Lauren rolls her shoulders in an attempt to release some of the stress, unaware there's only one viable option at making herself feel better. But she's in a stage where she's not ready to hear what anyone wants to say about their relationship, and I'm duty-bound by our friendship to help her through this, however long it takes.
After finalizing the finishing touches on the song she's been working on for so long, adding in a few lines here and there and crafting the perfect melody together, it's clear she's written about the eventual downfall of their relationship.
She's not subtle about it, though she's dodges acknowledging it out loud. And in spite of all that, she's still manages to weave a beautiful song into something cozy and tangible and heartbreaking all at once.
"He's leaving in a couple of weeks to start filming," she says after a few beats. "I just figured it would have been nice to not leave on such a sour note."
"Is it something you want to talk about? You seemed okay on New Years."
"I thought we were. We were. But it never stays that way, you know?"
"Have you talked yet about," I gesture in the air, "figuring out what you both want to label your relationship? Or whether you even want to use a label?"
"Sort of?" Lauren doesn't look sure of herself. "We talked about, well, needing to talk about it. But then when we never went back to figure it out. I think we both know we're more than casual but not quite sure what that means."
"That's still progress," I say. "One step and then another. If you can't figure things out before he leaves, sit down with him when he gets back. How long is he gone for?"
"Six weeks."
I nod. "Okay, that's doable, yeah? You'll be fine. Give yourselves time to cool off before jumping back in. Maybe you'll feel better having that conversation with a clear head."
I'm not sure my words are any ringing endorsement since I hardly believe them myself and Jenny made it clear I'm not about to win an Academy Award anytime soon, but Lauren is too stressed about their argument to care whether or not the advice I'm giving is genuine. The sentiment behind them is, as I would rather her be happy. I just find it more and more doubtful every day that she'll get worthwhile happiness with Maver.
"I know you don't—" She pauses. "I know you don't like him that much, even though you try your best not to be too obvious about it. Most of the time."
I give her a guilty smile.
"But I like him," Lauren continues softly. "He's not as bad as everyone makes him out to be. I wouldn't like him if he was."
I want to believe that.
Truthfully, most of my issues with Maver are surface level, so I'm not going to act like she's some princess in a tower that needs saving. And if she ever finds herself in that kind of situation, there's no one I know more capable of saving themselves than Lauren.
"I know you do. And I know you know your worth, so you'll never accept less than you deserve."
Lauren tucks her face into my shoulder, taking a deep breath before standing tall again.
"I promise. Next time I talk to you about Maver, it'll be good news."
Something jostles me from behind.
A dimpled smile stares down at me, one piece of the puzzle that makes up what appears to be one of the more charming faces I've seen at these parties. The hole along the neckline of his shirt is somehow endearing when a good majority of the people at this party are wearing what they're wearing not because they find it interesting but because it's the right brand.
"Sorry to interrupt." He holds out his hand. "I wanted to make a formal introduction. I don't think we've ever met before. I'm Mick," he says.
Lauren shakes his hand. "Catch Me if You Can has been on my 'on repeat' playlist for the past year."
Mick laughs. "Ah, thanks. Not as long as Find Me in Tokyo has been on mine, though."
A smile sneaks onto my face. "Underrated song."
"I'd say so. And the harmonies are killer."
"All thanks to Lauren. She's got the voice of an angel."
She rolls her eyes. "I do my best to keep up with her. Her voice deserves an award just for existing."
Mick, still standing with his hands behind his back and a dimpled smile making itself at home amongst his other soft features, leans forward. "These things are never as fun as you think they're going to be."
"Bold of you to assume we'd think they were going to be fun in the first place."
"Fair," he laughs. "My dad used to drag us to these all of the time and my sister and I couldn't get enough of the free food. Now that we're invited on our own, we have to pretend like we know any of these people."
"Can I tell you a secret?" Finding the amusement, Mick meets me halfway. "The free food is the only reason to come."
"And the free booze," Lauren adds.
"Never pass up the free booze," Jun calls out. With a plate of nachos in one hand and a beer in the other, he discards both on the table next to us. After brushing off his hands on his pants, he shakes Mick's, introductions quickly deemed unnecessary.
"Those look so good," Lauren whispers before diving into the nachos.
I turn back to Mick. "I actually just read your interview the other day."
"Oh?"
"We had one with the same journalist. You moved down here from—Toronto, I think?"
Mick nods. "I was two, Moxie was five. I barely remember it, to be honest. We spent most of our time flying back and forth to New York before moving there full-time when I was still in school, and then moved to Los Angeles not long before I graduated."
"Our assistant is from there," says Jun. "Misses it all the time."
Chuckling, Mick shrugs. "I don't have a preference. Though, I do feel like it's easier to just....relax here. Life is constantly moving in New York. It can get a little tiring sometimes."
"I haven't been there in a while," I remark. "Should go back soon."
"Maybe you'll see Moxie around. She's always flying back."
"You don't go with her?"
Mick winces. "I...don't like flying."
Like a lightning bolt out of the blue, a hand comes up behind Mick and crash lands against his shoulder. "That's putting it lightly. He's on the verge of tears from when the plane leaves the tarmac until his feet touch the jetbridge."
If women are the most beautiful people on the planet, Moxie is otherworldly. If I lacked any common standards of being a functioning member of society, my jaw might be on the floor, but I manage some semblance of self-control.
Where Mick is soft and charming, Moxie is sharp and commanding. Her gaze cuts like a shard of glass, and when it lands on me, I feel my resolve melt like jello in her presence.
"So," she claps, "did your manager also leave you to suffer this party on your own?"
Lauren turns back to the group. "Yup. But there are probably worse things to be stuck doing."
Moxie leans closer, arm brushing mine. "I think I can sneak us a couple of bottles if you want to get out of here. There's a bowling alley that's supposed to be closed for cleaning but I walked by it earlier and no one's there."
Moxie turns to me for an answer. I wonder what it'd be like to run my fingers through her hair. It looks soft.
"Sounds good to me," Lauren says while I fumble over myself.
The group announces they're going to pass along a message of our absences to Jenny & Co—the former will not be enthused—while Moxie grabs my wrist and drags me with her and Mick toward the bar.
I'm not sure why we're sneaking around when it's an open bar and we'd probably be given the bottles if we asked, but Moxie has other plans and I'm not leading with my head right now.
Just before we hit our mark, one of the bartenders leans in to say something to the other before disappearing out the back door. I catch them pulling a box of cigarettes from their back pocket.
Mick makes quick work of going over to the woman working behind the counter, flashing his signature puppy-eyed smile that has her eating out of his palm.
Meanwhile, Moxie, still holding my wrist, pulls me out of view from the rest of the party, and we slowly inch our way around the corner in sight of a crate full of champagne bottles.
"What's the plan?" I whisper.
She holds her finger to her lips and pushes me back against the wall, holding her arm out while footsteps descend upon us, stopping for a brief second before returning down to the other end of the bar.
Moxie crawls toward the crate and quietly lifts a bottle out before turning back to me. Before I know it, the champagne is flying through the air and my reflexes are somehow fast enough to catch it, though my heart is beating so hard I'm convinced it's flown out of my chest and shattered on the ground in place of the bottle.
After pulling out another bottle and tucking it under one arm, Moxie darts back to me and pulls me up by the hand, shooting away from the bar where I hear Mick pulling the plug on his conversation.
The three of us end up out in the hall, and once we're away from the check-in area, Moxie reaches across me to high-five her brother who pulls the bottle from my hands.
"Well, doesn't this look fancy?" He spins it. "I think that's French."
"Oui oui," Moxie chuckles. "The French are always so fancy."
"Or annoying," I mutter under my breath. Maver Vincent has ruined the French for me.
"Good work, partner." Moxie nudges my side with her elbow.
I think I'm going to explode.
"Maybe parties can be fun after all," Mick comments while ripping off the gold foil.
"Do you typically steal booze from the open bar?"
The two of them share a look. "Not generally, no."
"But this hasn't been the first time."
"It has not."
...
There are three probable scenarios: the three of us suck at bowling, Mick and Moxie are great at bowling, or we're too starstruck to do anything properly.
Knowing us, it's likely a combination of all three.
The bowling ball slips off Jun's fingers and drops onto the wooden lane, coasting along the glassy surface until it redirects at the last second, careening into the gutters.
He grunts as he stalks back to his seat. Mick taps Jun's shoulder in an attempt to console him, but Jun has stopped talking to Rami for three whole days before because he beat him in Mario Kart.
"If it's any consolation, nobody has ever picked someone up because of their bowling skills."
Jun glances back at Mick. "Says the guy kicking my ass."
"I can confirm I have never been attracted to someone because they were good at bowling," I add.
"That's because you're never around people who bowl."
"I don't know what to tell you, but this is truly the least interesting skill I have. Own your guitar playing and good looks. They're much better."
After imparting her words of wisdom, Moxie proceeds to bowl a strike.
I'm attracted to this person's bowling.
Jun takes it like he would if she offered him a glass of sour milk. The only competition she has at this point is her own brother.
Taking another sip of champagne—the first two bottles long gone, a third and fourth retrieved through similarly sleuthy means—I resign to the incoming embarrassment and sashay my way up.
The lines in front of me blur, a delayed reaction from my drink. It takes a second to steady myself, and once I do, I swing my hand back. The ball ricochets forward like the pendulum of a metronome, dropping right on beat. The sound gliding extends like a double whole note before crash landing into the pins.
The group hollers and I spin around, arms out wide and a grin spread from ear to ear. But the celebration is kept short and I stumble back to my seat, ignoring the way Jun grumbles about falling further behind on the scoreboard.
I take my place next to Moxie, and when she slides the bottle over to me again, I take a sip. Not much since it's best I cool it before Jenny finds me in a precarious state. I don't need public intoxication tacked onto a headline next to theft.
"You good?" Moxie asks as I lean my head back with eyes closed. The cold, hard plastic beneath me digs into my skin. "People tend to get worse at this stuff when they're wasted but you've beat the odds."
"It's definitely a fluke. But I appreciate your faith in my drunken abilities."
"Oh, I love people when they're drunk." Moxie pulls a water bottle out of her bag and hands it to me. I take a generous sip, thankful to drink something other than alcohol. "You really get to know someone when you drink with them right after meeting. It's like speed dating except less awkward."
"I wouldn't know," I laugh, my eyes still closed.
"If you ask me, speed dating is miles better than dating apps." Moxie shivers. "I don't even like dick and dick pics always find their way to me."
"Even those of us that like dick get stuck with them, unfortunately."
"Someone should introduce legislation to ban men from sending unsolicited dick pics."
"I think it's actually a misdemeanor in Texas. Not that I'll ever reap the benefits of that punishment."
"Must keep away from the zodiac killer."
"Exactly."
"Okay but how is it Texas and not California?" Moxie asks. "Imagine being behind Texas on dick pics. Embarrassing."
"To be fair, the US as a whole is incredibly embarrassing."
She bites her lip to hide a smile. "Very true."
"Not to be all unsolicited compliments or whatever but you're really pretty. Felt like I should point that out."
Unperturbed by the sudden outburst that rocks me with embarrassment, Moxie laughs.
"Thank you." Her eyes flick to the champagne bottle. It's running dangerously low. "You're beautiful, too."
My insides feel fizzy. "I saw myself on a list of the 'hottest women in hollywood' and nearly threw up from imposter syndrome. Who gets imposter syndrome from being called hot?"
"I don't know, it sounds normal to me." Moxie shrugs.
I groan. "Sorry. I'm drunk."
"I can tell." A smile.
"Also, Jun is terrible at bowling. I can't believe I didn't realize this before."
"Maybe drunk bowling is the new speed dating."
"God, I hope not. Might do something embarrassing."
Proving my point, Moxie reaches out to rub a wet spot on my shirt where I spilled champagne after missing my mouth. "No such thing. Promise."
...
"Can we all agree we're so fucking attracted to both of them right now?" Lauren announces as soon as the siblings leave.
"I think they're both gay," Jun replies, "but the answer is yes."
I nod, somehow finding the words mixed between all of those warm feelings in my stomach. "Definitely."
Cutting through the silence like a knife, my phone rings and makes me jump five feet in the air. When I see who's requesting to facetime, I walk to the other side of the bowling alley. It's only a few lanes but there's enough distance and chatter on Lauren and Jun's end that it feels private.
"How's training?" I ask.
Brendon walks around what looks like a kitchen. It's dark out past the window. Steam rises from a pot in the background. "Don't tell my trainer but I'm making pasta."
I squint through a smile. "Watch out for the evil carbs ooh."
"I'll repent for my sins in the morning."
"'M drunk."
"I know," Brendon laughs.
"What's up? Don't want you overcooking your pasta. Gordon Ramsey would be so disappointed."
Brendon pauses to check his pasta, easily picking one out of the boiling water and nibbling on the long strand. Determining it's done, he props his phone up on the counter before grabbing the pot and walking it over to the sink.
"I won't keep you long. Just had a question."
"You can have me for as long as you need." I stretch my arm above my head, feeling my body groan in response. I'm not sure how long it's been since we first arrived but it already feels like it's been a day.
"Right." Brendon peeks at me before turning back to his task. "I was just listening to When It Rains and I was a little curious."
Admittedly, it's one of our less popular songs on the album. Most fans don't mention it unless they're hardcore. At first it kind of stung because it's one Jun and I primarily worked on together and I like our collaborations, but I remind myself not all of them can be winners.
"Ask away."
"What did you mean by that line—and when the heavens no longer cry, the golden after glow spirals me blind, because rainbows are just colorful streaks in the sky."
I stare at his back—broad shoulders, a wrinkled shirt, messy hair that's been run through with his fingers. And even though he's not looking at me, I know what his face looks like. Brows furrowed, forehead crease in the center, lips pursed like he's questioning his own words.
"You know what I love about getting caught in a storm?"
Brendon hums, "What?"
"It feels like I'm stuck in a snowglobe. Like time stops moving. I can just...step back and let the world spin and I'll keep standing still."
He pivots back toward the camera, leaning his arms down on the counter. "And?"
"Hawaii is kind of known for its rainbows, right?" Brendon nods. "And everyone talks about how beautiful they are but no one ever mentions that falling asleep to the sound of pouring rain is inferior to none. Rainbows are paintings in the sky but getting lost in the middle of a storm, locked indoors with nothing but your mind and a bottle of wine, is where we find ourselves. I love when it rains. I don't want to just stare at art, I want to be art."
Brendon smiles, mumbling something under his breath I can't hear. I want to ask him to repeat what he said, but before I can, the phone slips from my fingers and lands on my face. The two of us erupt into laughter, the moment slipping away like the last raincloud in the sky after a storm has moved on.