19. Pink Elephants on Parade

“What would you say if I had something that would make you insanely happy?

I stare dully in Trace’s direction glad that my sunglasses are covering the dead look in my eyes. Leaning forward, I reach for the sun tan lotion that’s sitting next to my lounge chair. If there’s one thing I don’t want it’s sun cancer, and with the way Trace is making me sit out in the sun for hours on end, I’m going to need to use an entire bottle. We’ve been doing the soak up the rays of summer for the last part of June and while I’m thankful for Trace helping me get my mind off of things, I would much rather spend my time sitting inside in the shade and air conditioning.

“I would say that you’d have to go above and beyond the duty of friendship to accomplish something like that.”

“Oh come on Lauren, you’re like the fucking stock market right now. Falling up and down and up and down…really it’s driving everybody crazy.”

“And by everybody you mean just you and Elliot, right?” I retort. He sighs heavily and lowers the cap over his face.

It’s getting close to the beginning of July and the dog days of summer are starting to set in. I’m thankful for the dry heat that California has to offer because some of the humidity that finds its way up to Wyoming is just a pain in my ass. But I don’t like spending time outside during the summer months and the fact that Trace is practically forcing me is worsening my already shitty mood.

I’m still in a bad funk with large thanks in part to Justin. The whole Elliot situation has died down now and my friend has thankfully not brought up the fact that he likes me. It hurts me that I’m hurting him, but I can’t force myself to be with him – it just wouldn’t be fair to Elliot.

Of course that’s only a small part of my shitty mood. The larger factor would be the issue of Trace finding all of our missing stuff in the pool house. All I could do was stand there as Trace relayed what Justin told him about Theo and Maura. When he was finished, I slammed the door in his face and didn’t talk to him for at least three days. I mean honestly, Theo handed Justin all the evidence he needs to convict Maura of the theft she committed and yet she’s still working for him, still touring with him, and probably trying to get him in to bed with her.

Whatever, I’m so over it.

No, really, I am.

“So what is this thing that’s supposed to make me insanely happy?” I finally question and I watch out of the corner of my eye as Trace leaps into a sitting position and faces me. The huge smile on his face is so idiotic it’s almost infectious and I can’t help but give a small smile back.

“Well who’s your favorite band in the whole world?”

“Do I really have to answer that, Trace? I thought you knew me better than that,” I scold him as I pick up the magazine I was skimming through at the start of our body bake-a-thon. I give him one last harrowing look before I start to read an article discussing the terrors of skin cancer and how sitting outside in the burning sun will more than likely increase a woman’s chances at melanoma.

“Well, what if I told you that I had two tickets to see them perform this upcoming weekend?” His words hit home just as I’m about to start a quiz to find out how savvy I am when it comes to protecting myself against UV rays. Lowering my magazine, I gaze at him over the top of the periodical and raise an eyebrow.

“Two tickets to see Queen? Last time I checked they aren’t touring in the States.”

“Which is why we need to go out of the country to see them…” Trace starts and I roll my eyes before I bring the magazine back into my line of sight, “I mean really, Loho, these are really good seats. Like, VIP…”

“And how did you manage to get those?” I question from behind the pages of Elle.

“Being best friends with your ex-boyfriend definitely has its perks, especially when he isn’t that much a follower of your favorite band.”

“My first mistake in dating him,” I mumble under my breath as I quickly turn the page.

“So come on Lo, I know you want to go,” Trace says in a sing song voice. I’m about to read about what to start looking for in stores for the fall season when a hand grabs the magazine out of my grip.

“Dammit, Trace,” I grumble, “Where is it?”

“London.”

“No. I’m not going back to England. I don’t know if you failed to realize but the last time I went, I was handed the Crown of Awkwardness to wear for the rest of my days,” I protest. Trace scoffs and rolls his eyes at me, that stupid idiotic grin telling me that he isn’t going to be giving up that easily.

“Which is why you should go back. England is a fantastic country, even more fantastic since that’s where your favorite band in the entire world hails from. And who knows…I could name drop incessantly and get you backstage. Maybe you can get in a word with…”

“The guitar hero himself? Brian May?” I squeak, “You had better not be pulling my leg here Trace because if I don’t’ get face time with Dr. May, I might have to kick your ass for all eternity,” I warn. He holds up his hands to silence me.

“I swear that if you don’t get to see your guitar hero you have full permission to beat me up and take away my ability to have children or any shit like that.”

I smile subtly at him as I snatch the magazine back from his scrawny little hands, “So when do we leave?”

“Well I’ve already got the hotel booked, we’ve got the tickets and airfare. We’re leaving in two days so make sure you’re packed for a fun filled few days in lovely London-Town!” Trace exalts and he adds onto his excitement by springing from the lawn chair and leaping into the pool.

I swear to god this guy is a mother fucking retard.

While he’s gallivanting along in the pool a sudden thought hits me. Getting to my feet, I stray to the poolside, being sure to stay out of Trace’s reach. I won’t put it past him to yank me into the pool although I think he knows better and would like to keep his lower region intact.

“What’s up?” he asks as he wades to the edge of the pool, leaning his upper body against the flagstone.

“Where’s Justin at while we’re in London?”

“How the hell should I know?” Trace questions, “I’m not his personal assistant, and I sure as hell ain’t his secretary. Don’t worry about it. This trip is all about Queen and doing the whole rock out with our cocks out…” he pauses, “well that was more for me and less for you. I suppose you could wag out with your vag out, but that doesn’t sound sanitary or as cool…”

“Trace, shut up. You promise me Justin isn’t going to jump out and say ‘boo!’ when we get there?”

“Oh hell no, I would never do that to you.”

“Good, because me seeing Justin there is a whole other can of worms then if I don’t get to see Queen.”

“I understand, trust me,” Trace responds, “You better get home and start packing, we’ve got a kick ass week ahead of us!”

I shoot Trace another skeptical look, before I turn on my heels and head towards the house. I need to get home so I can finish my laundry and get to packing my suitcase. I make a mental note to pack as much aspirin as I can because lord only knows I won’t be able to spend a few days with Trace without getting an enormous headache.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“So am I the grand master, or am I the grand master?”

“Trace, I don’t know how many times you want me to say it, but I think I can keep it up for the rest of our trip – you are the grand master and I owe my incandescent happiness to you. God bless you and your ability to make me the happiest woman on the face of the planet.”

“And you didn’t want to come to London,” Trace jokes as he slings an arm around my shoulders. I stick my tongue out at him in response as we continue our jaunt through Hyde Park. I just finished having the most amazing concert experience of my life and meeting one of my childhood heroes followed that. Wait until I put the signed picture I have of Brian May and Roger Taylor in Bentley Lexus’s glove compartment – he’s going to pee oil all over himself. The concert just got out and Trace and I decided to get off the tube a few stops early so we could walk through the park and enjoy the brisk July weather.

“Thanks for talking me into it,” I reply, “Honestly, I think you would have forced me to go if I told you no in the first place.”

“You know me too well,” Trace retorts with a grin. “So you enjoyed the concert?”

“Do you like getting tail on a regular basis?” I respond. He holds up his other hand and nods. I grin at him and we continue our stroll. We have two full more days in London and three more nights. The next few days are going to be spent showing Trace the sights of London that he wasn’t able to see when he was traveling with Justin. I have an itinerary all picked out and the little bastard is going to go through with it and not complain when he gets tired.

“So what’s on the schedule for tomorrow?”

“Westminster Abbey, the London Eye, Trafalgar Square, the British Museum, a West End show, and if we have time, hitting up a club after that…” my voice fades away as I go through the schedule for the next two days, “Oh and add on Convent Garden for tomorrow as well.”

“Jesus Christ, Lauren, are you trying to kill me?”

“No, but you said you wanted to immerse yourself in London culture and that’s what we’re doing. Be thankful we aren’t going to be here when Harry Potter comes out or we’d be camping out by the Waterstone’s in Piccadilly Circus.”

“Uncle,” Trace whines, “You do promise we’ll take breaks tomorrow, right?”

“You’re such a baby when it comes to this shit, Trace. Just suck it up and deal with it. Think of all the fun stories you’ll be able to tell your co-workers when you get back to the States,” I respond and I push him playfully to show that I’m not going to be entirely pissed off if we miss one stop. After all, this is his little tour de force in London, if he wants to miss something that’s his prerogative.

He’s about to add something but we’re cut off by two over excited teenagers who really shouldn’t be running around at quarter to one in the morning in the middle of a park. Have they not heard stories of Jack the Ripper?

“That was the most amazing concert I’ve ever been to!” one of the girls explains with a huge squeal of delight.

“I know! And to think that he’s performing like, four more times!” the other explains.

“I didn’t know Queen was performing more, maybe we can cancel the West End show and see them again?” I say to Trace. He doesn’t respond because he’s gone deathly silent, which isn’t like him at all.

“We need to talk to your mum to see if she’ll spend more money on tickets,” the first girl gushes, “I mean he doesn’t come over here all the time, she has to understand that!”

“I know,” the other says sullenly, “she just doesn’t understand my love for him like you do. I keep telling her this is just like her obsession with Paul McCartney but she says that I can’t put Big Macca in the same category as Justin Timberlake…”

I don’t hear the rest of the girl’s response because I’ve stopped dead in the pathway, Trace’s arm falling from my shoulders. Honestly, if I wasn’t so sore from rocking out hardcore with Queen I would be throwing Trace in the lake. The little bastard!

“Loho…” Trace begins, but I hold up a hand to silence him, “Please let me explain.”

“You told me he wasn’t going to be here,” I seethe under my breath. I’m trying not to get really upset because that would just put a damper on a really awesome evening. But the fact that Trace used my love for Queen to get me back to England again to possibly run into Justin again is just inexcusable. “You promised me!”

“No,” Trace starts, “I never said that he wasn’t going to be here. I said that this trip was about Queen and that’s true. Justin’s doing a string of shows here in London, but I’m not dragging you to see him or anything like that. I promised you that he wasn’t going to jump out at you and say ‘boo.’”

“Still,” I counter, “I would have appreciated if you had told me he was going to be in the same city! Now I’m going to be looking over my shoulder every damn minute wondering if he’s going to pop out of nowhere.”

“Well thankfully we’re going to highly popular tourist attractions that Justin would never be able to go to without a huge security team and shutting down at least half of the place. So you won’t run into him at all,” Trace replies. “I’m sorry for not telling you, but you honestly can’t say that you would come here if you knew he would be in London.”

I open my mouth to object, but after thinking about it I sigh and shake my head, “Yeah, I know. I’m glad I’m here though…that concert was seriously the best show of my life.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Trace, responds with a grin, “Now can we put that little tiff behind us and have a good time? And I won’t let the big bad ex get you this time around. No need to feel awkward this trip.”

“Oh thank God,” I say sarcastically as I start to walk in the direction of the hotel, “For a second I was thinking I’d have to pull out my crown.”

“Only woman who’s wearing a crown this trip is the Queen of England,” Trace interjects and I smile furtively in his direction.

If the little weasel knows what’s good for him, he won’t surprise me with Justin appearances this trip. He has to know I’d end his life so abruptly…

We walk out of the gates of the park and I let out a pent up breath as I look over my shoulder. Three more nights in London and I can already feel the paranoia settling in.

Great.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“What are your ideas for dinner?” Trace asks me as we walk through Leicester Square. The insanity that is Friday night is sweeping the famous square and the pressing of bodies all around me is definitely making me claustrophobic. But Trace wanted to see the night life of London and I figured I’d let him witness the chaos first hand during our last night in London.

“I really don’t care. I could eat at Burger King for all I care,” I respond as I tilt my head towards the large fast food restaurant in the corner. There are movie theaters all around and people are lining up to take part in exceedingly expensive cinema. I’ll wait to see the new Transformers movie when I get back to the ten dollar theaters in California. I don’t feel like shelling out fifteen dollars for a ticket.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Trace ponders and I shrug with indifference before he’s got a hold of my wrist and is winding through the dense crowd of people. We twist and turn until we reach one of the roads. Holding out a hand, he instantly hails a taxi and soon I’m being pushed into the backseat of a cab. “La Laine in Chelsea, please,” is all Trace tells the cabbie.

“Trace, where are we going?”

“I was looking through one of the dining guides in the hotel room before we left and I found this place, thought we’d give it a try,” Trace explains. I don’t have the heart to tell him that Chelsea is one of the more expensive boroughs of London and anything on that menu is probably going to set us back quite a bit.

Then again I’ve been spending a shit load of money on things I don’t need for the past few days. Trace and I have seen shows, we’ve gone to tourist attractions like nobody’s business, I had to buy a new memory card for my camera because we’ve been taking a shit load of pictures, half of which I won’t show anybody else to save myself embarrassment. Let’s just say Trace likes to steal my camera and take random pictures of people walking past us. I have more pictures of deeply disturbed Londoners and tourists than I could ever want.

But I guess we can afford to splurge a bit on our last night in London. Because I know that I won’t be able to come back here for quite some time. We discuss our visit of Buckingham Palace, Abbey Road, Camden, and the British Library during our cab ride out of central London and towards Chelsea. I have to say that I’m glad Trace and I are good friends because this trip would have been a lot more stressful and boring if I had gone with someone who wasn’t into the same things I was, or fit my sense of humor so perfectly.

Granted Trace will always be a troll to me, but I’m glad we’ve been able to get over the fact that his best friend is my ex-boyfriend and probably my arch nemesis, and be pretty close friends ourselves.

We pull up a few stores away from the restaurant and I can already tell by the clientele sitting inside that it’s a pretty ritzy restaurant. I pay the cab fare and soon we’re strolling towards the restaurant.

And then I see the slew of photographers pressed up against the windows and the beefy security guard standing in front of them to block their zoom lenses. I stop dead in my tracks and dig my fingernails into Trace’s upper arm.

“Ouch, woman, what the hell?” he interjects but when he sees that I’ve noticed the cameras he can tell the gig is up. “Look, Lauren…”

“Trace, you promised me. You fucking promised,” I’m so angry I’m seeing red. I’m about ready to release my clutches and race for the hills. I can feel all of my internal organs turning to liquid inside of my stomach and they’re ready to travel down to my toes.

“Lo, he didn’t even know I was here in London until he called me earlier today. He wanted to see me and I couldn’t tell him no…”

“Oh well, you see that’s really easy,” I interject, “You simply could have said, ‘I can’t…I’m leaving in a few hours…’”

“We both know I suck at lying like that,” Trace responds and I shake my head, “Lauren, can’t you act like an adult and put this behind you?”

“I have put this behind me!” I shout, but I immediately lower my voice when I see that one of the camera men has turned his attention on Trace and I.

“Well if you have put it behind you, then why aren’t you walking into the restaurant like it’s no big deal?”

“Because the last time I saw him, we didn’t exactly say goodbye on friendly terms. Hell, we didn’t say goodbye on any terms! Jesus, Trace, I hate you so much right now!”

“No you don’t,” he returns, “Just suck it up, be a good girl, and smile. I’ll buy you a drink when we get in there.”

“Make that four,” I whisper sullenly as I reluctantly let him pull me forward.

“Deal,” he whispers in response as we’re suddenly swallowed by a sea of questioning paparazzi. We both ignore their onslaught of questions and we make our way into the restaurant.

The place is decorated in deep reds and purples and it definitely has the feel of a swanky lounge rather than a restaurant. My eyes immediately travel to the bar and I don’t even look around to see if Justin is around. I drag Trace in the direction of the alcohol and I hear him sighing heavily.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender questions. Trace opens his mouth to speak but I beat him to the punch.

“Four shots of tequila, a margarita, and an apple martini,” I say quickly before Trace can interject.

“Lauren…you shouldn’t,” he starts but I silence him as I pull his wallet out of his hands.

“You deal with this situation your own way, I’ll deal with it the best way I know how – with a bit of Patron.” He sighs in defeat as the bartender comes back with my four shots and margarita. Trace sullenly takes his martini as I knock back my drinks. It doesn’t help that my future dinner here at La Laine would be the first meal I’ve had since lunch earlier today, but I really don’t care how smashed I get right now.

And it isn’t until Trace is leading me towards the back of the restaurant and I see Justin’s shaved head and tense face that I see the long blonde hair of the other person accompanying him.

“Trace,” I growl under my breath, “can you tell me what the fuck Maura is doing here? Do not tell me I have to sit through a whole meal sitting next to her.”

“I’m sorry, Lo, I didn’t know she was going to be here,” he says sympathetically, “Are you going to be okay? If you really want to leave you can.” I shake my head. There’s no way in hell I’m going to run away from this bitch and if she so much as looks at me the wrong way, her ass is going down the hard way. I have no problem throwing the whore down in the middle of a fancy restaurant.

“Trace!” Justin exalts as he springs out of his seat and hugs his friend tightly. I quickly sidestep any greeting and move past Justin and Trace quickly, sitting next to Maura without a word. I sip my margarita greedily before I grab for the bread basket that’s already on the table.

Maura doesn’t say anything – the bitch is smart.

Their greetings over, Trace and Justin sit down across from us and pick up their menus, Trace talking excitedly about the Queen concert. I read my menu, trying to ignore the fact that some of the words are already blurring together. God damn me and my low alcohol tolerance.

“Did you like the concert, Lauren?”

“Huh?” I ask stupidly as I look up from my menu. Justin’s looking at me expectantly and I see Trace looking at me, his eyes pleading, “Oh, yeah…it was a lot of fun. How are your shows doing?”

“Great, I’ve got two more to finish up and then I’ll be heading back to the States to prep for the second US leg…”

“He’s a busy guy,” Maura interjects for the first time that evening. God her voice is even more grating than I remembered.

“So it seems,” I respond. God I need more liquor.

Thankfully at that moment, the waiter decides to grant us with his presence and soon I’m ordering some finger foods to munch on, you know – since my appetite went out the window as soon as I walked through the door – and a gin and tonic. I have a feeling that I’m not going to be a very fun person to get along with in a few hours, but at this moment in time I really don’t give a flying fuck.

Which is good because by the time Justin, Trace, and Maura are halfway through their entrees, I’m about ready to hurl up my drinks and my lunch from earlier today.

“Lauren, are you okay? You’re looking a bit green around the edges,” Justin asks and I can see the worry etched in his face. Like the asshole really cares. I’m sure all he wants is to take me into the back for a quick fuck before he rushes out of the restaurant like a pussy.

“Lo, do you want to leave? I can get us a cab or whatever,” Trace asks as well. I can just make out his face through my blurry line of vision and I shrug with indifference before I giggle at Maura’s face. She looks a bit put off that the topic of conversation has moved from her old Stanford days to my current state of drunkenness. I want to point out that we went to Stanford together, but my inability to string words together in a coherent sentence inhibits me.

“S’ok,” I slur, “I’ll be fine.” I can tell from the exchanged looks around me that they don’t believe a word I’m saying, but I really don’t care. I’m feeling good, and I have half the mind to strike up a thought provoking conversation with not only Justin, but Maura as well.

“Sowhatareyerthoughtsonglobbalheating?” I ask. I really want to know and I hope they give me a straight answer. I hate it when Justin or other people don’t really say what’s on their mind with important topics and kind of skirt around the answer.

“Dude, she is so drunk,” Trace giggles to Justin. “Maybe I should take her back to the hotel.”

“No!” I shout as I pound the table. The din around the restaurant moves to silence as people turn to look towards the cause of disruption. Once they’ve had their full look, they go back to their eating and conversations. “Everything is grrreat!” I reach out for my glass of wine only to see that mine is empty. Scanning the table, I see that Justin’s is half full and I reach out for it. Apparently my depth perception is a bit off kilter because I find myself scrounging around in the now empty bread basket.

“Here Lauren, drink some water,” Maura tries as she shoves a glass under my nose. I give her a skeptical look and I reach over to take it, but I can’t get a grip on the cup. I spill it over onto the table, most of the liquid traveling across the wooden table and directly onto mine and Maura’s laps.

“Whoops,” I giggle, “My bad."

There’s a general fluster of arms as my party tries to gather napkins to clean up the mess. I take this time to grab all of their glasses of liquor and put them in front of me. I’m halfway through chugging Trace’s second martini when a slender hand grasps my wrist and hauls me out of my seat.

“Whassat?” I mutter and when my vision clears I see that Maura is the one who’s yanked me out of my sitting position.

“Let’s go get cleaned up. The guys will get the check and we’ll meet them outside,” Maura explains as she begins to assist me to the lady’s room. It isn’t until we’re safely inside the confines of the women’s restroom that Maura quickly drops my hand and stands in the corner of the bathroom.

Standing up and sitting down whilst completely trashed are two different concepts and I can feel my center of balance at a tilt. The world is spinning and suddenly I feel as if my insides are doing a tumultuous dance that can only end in an even bigger mess than the water on the table.

“Ugh, I don’t feel well…” I mumble and as I turn towards Maura, I double over and allow the waterfall of vomit cascade to the tiled floor. I hear Maura shriek and see her shrink back in disgust out of the corner of my eye.

Yeah, this is definitely not one of my most dignified moments, but hey, I feel lots better. Still drunk, but I guess now that some of that shit is out of my system, things are starting to get a bit more clear.

“Help me clean this up,” I ask Maura as I grab a few paper towels off the counter. Kneeling in a dry spot on the floor, I begin to sop up the sick, trying to avoid the pounding in my head.

Maura’ scoffs above me and I look up to see her standing over me, a look of disdain and utmost loathing on her face, “Clean it yourself, bitch.”

I let a paper towel fall out of my hand and I continue to look up at Justin’s personal assistant, “Excuse me?”

“I said clean it yourself? God you don’t have one professional bone in your body. Thank the lord Justin got rid of you when he had the chance. I would hate to think where his career would be right now if he was still hanging on to you.” Well that was quite some rant.

“You’ve been wanting to get that out for a long time, huh?” I ask her my words still slurring some.

“You have no idea,” she retorts.

“Good,” I say with a slight nod, “Because I’ve been wanting to do this for months now,” and before either she or I can get a grasp on things, I’m barreling towards her like a linebacker, grabbing her round the mid section and tossing her down on the still vomit streaked floor.

She skids the length of the bathroom and hits the back of the bathroom wall. I can hear the wind being thrown out of her and I stand up, hoping that my reflexes aren’t completely shot to shit. The one night I choose to beat the shit out of Maura is when I’m drunk and not up to par.

Figures.

“You asshole!” she exclaims as she struggles to her feet, “You are so going to regret that.”

“Really? Just to let you know, I used to watch day time soaps, I know how to throw down like the best of them,” I hope this bitch knows she isn’t walking out of this bathroom without a busted lip and maybe a black eye.

Maura doesn’t respond, instead she comes rushing towards me, her eyes wide and jaw set. Cracking my knuckles, I hurry forward to meet her, hoping I can at least rip out a few chunks of her hair before they call the cops.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Are you sure bringing her here was the right thing to do?” I ask Trace reluctantly as I sip as casually as I can on a glass of water. Maura and Lauren have been gone for about five minutes and I’m starting to worry.

“Well I wasn’t expecting her to get this trashed, but I figured since you’re coming back to the States and she’s one of my best friends, we had to do a little meeting of sorts to just see where we all stand.”

“I’m not having her turn into an alcoholic just because she needs to be drunk every time to face me,” I state irritably. The last thing I want Lauren to do is start being drunk around me. Sad to say, but she can sometimes be rather violent.

“I think the booze was more for dealing with Maura than with you, buddy,” Trace points out. “I don’t think she’d be able to say five words tonight if she didn’t have the help of some tequila.”

“I don’t get why Lauren still has this thing against Maura,” I respond. Sure I have doubt about Maura’s motives now, but I’m still foggy as to where Lauren got the idea at all about Maura stealing my shit.

“Well seeing as both Theo and Lauren have first hand evidence against your assistant, and you still don’t believe her…” Trace interjects. I’m about to respond but the calm mood of the restaurant is disturbed from a piercing shriek coming towards the bathrooms.

The shriek is followed by a dull thud and several more yells and a few choice swear words that don’t often appear in the British language. I take one look at Trace and before we can even assess what’s going on, we’re out of our seats and dashing for the women’s bathroom.

I can hear the pounding feet and see the flashbulbs from cameras bouncing off the walls in front of us, but Trace and I continue our race to the restrooms. I reach the door first and push it open, nearly falling on my ass due to a very slippery floor. Trace manages to get into the room and we start to allow ourselves to gain our bearings, but the yelling from the paparazzi and concerned restaurant patrons force us to tear our focus away from the source of the screaming.

“Trace, lock the door!” I bellow, my words mixing with the now magnified screams.

“You stupid fucking bitch! I’m going to do to you what I should have done five fucking months ago!”

“I’d love to see you try! You didn’t have the guts then, you probably won’t have the balls to do it now!”

“Justin! I can’t get it locked!” Trace grunts. I look up to see some photographer has got his arm through the door and is wildly taking pictures, hoping he’ll get a money shot without looking inside the room. I quickly reach up, grab the camera out of his hand and slam it to the ground. I hear his yell of indignation before I push his hand back and Trace finally gets the door shut, turning the lock with a yell of triumph.

Our little victory is interrupted by the sound of a smack followed by an acute shriek. Turning around, I finally take hold of the situation.

Lauren and Maura are standing at least two feet apart. The ground is covered in what seems to be vomit, a bit of blood, and a mixture of blonde and brown hair. Lauren is holding onto the left side of her face and I can see that her right eye is starting to swell shut and her knees are skinned up pretty bad.

Maura looks no better. Her chest is heaving up and down due to lack of breath. She’s cradling her left arm, her lip is split, and I can see a nice hand print on the side of her face. It looks like she’s lost more hair than Lauren has and I’m sure that’s either because Lauren has her hair tied back and therefore can’t lose as much, or because Maura has more adrenaline pumping through her veins.

“I swear to God if you don’t get out of my face I’m going to cry rape!” Maura cries, her swelled up bottom lip quivering. They seem to be totally unaware of our presence.

“Oh I’m sure you’d love for the attention,” Lauren shoots back, “Why don’t you lie some more about shit that isn’t true? Why don’t you go and blame my brother again who would never hurt a fucking fly?”

“Fuck off, Lauren,” Maura retorts, “You ruined my life and you know it!”

“Your life? Your life? What the fuck about mine, huh? You took away the only thing I really cared about…”

“Oh please, you were a selfish, arrogant bitch back then, I’m sure nothing much has changed. I’m surprised you haven’t already moved on to capture the heart of your sweet little Elliot…tell me, is he out of Pull-ups yet?”

“Slut!” Lauren rages, “Take that back or you’re in for a world of fucking hurt!”

“I’d love to see you try!” Maura responds. I watch with transfixed horror as Lauren reels back her arm, hand balled up into a tight fist.

“Shit!” Trace winces under his breath as he surges forward. A split second later and I’m hot on his heels as we’re racing to stop Lauren from possibly committing murder. We can’t do anything though, because Lauren’s fist makes direct contact with the other side of Maura’s face.

The blonde recoils and after catching her breath, she pounces on Lauren, the two of them punching, slapping, spitting, biting, and clawing at any part they can get their hands on. It’s a full on cat fight and if I weren’t so concerned that a homicide is soon to follow, I would be so turned on.

“Lauren!” I yell as I manage to grab her arms and untangle her from Maura. Trace has got a firm hold on my personal assistant who’s gone limp in his arms and close to tears. Lauren, on the other hand is far from finished. 

“Let me go! I’m going to fucking kill her! Let me go right now!” she’s struggling against my grip for all she’s worth and I keep a firm hold on her until she’s ready to settle down. Trace is looking at her as if he’s seeing his friend in a whole new light and Maura seems ready to pass out from exhaustion and shock.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” I say to Trace. Lauren needs to be completely ignored in this situation so she can get it through her thick and stubborn head that the fight is over and she needs to start settling down.

“How? There are paps blocking the door and there aren’t any windows,” Trace grumbles, “And it won’t look good if you’re seen escorting your bloody and drunk ex-girlfriend out of a restaurant.”

He’s got a good point. I find myself wishing that I hadn’t told Eric he could go back to the hotel early tonight. Lord only knows we could use his brawn right now. Grumbling to myself, I manage to maintain a one arm hold on a tiring Lauren as I fish out my cell phone. We have to get these girls out of the restaurant without humiliating both of them.

I make a quick call to my driver to meet us out back and to make sure that two security guards are with him. One of them can escort us out to the car while the other smoothes things over with the restaurant and grabs our things that we left at the table.

“Lauren, we’re going to leave right now, but I need you to do something for me, okay?” I’m holding onto both her shoulders, forcing her to look up at me

“If you need me to beat the bitch into a bloody pulp I was doing that until you felt the need to interrupt,” she growls. I shake my head and let her go, hoping she doesn’t make a wild lunge for Maura again. I let out a pent up breath when she stands still long enough for me to take off my jacket.

“I’m going to put this over your head and you can take it off when we get in the car.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she seethes, “Why can’t I go with Trace?”

“Because I’m too small and weak to hold you back,” Trace speaks up. Hopefully him poking fun at himself will allow Lauren to back off and let me make sure she doesn’t go after Maura or somebody else right now.

“That’s right, the troll’s too small,” she giggles. I nod quickly as I watch Trace pull off his own jacket and throw it over Maura’s head.

“We’re going to have to make a run for it, Trace you guys going to be okay?” I ask as I turn towards the door. I can hear the people on the other side yelling for ideas on how to unlock the door in order to grab their shots. I really hope we can get out of this without creating more of a scandal.

“We’ll be fine. Just keep going and don’t stop!” I nod grimly as I keep a firm hold on a now blind Lauren. She’s muttering things under her breath and it isn’t until I harshly tell her to shut the hell up that she falls silent.

“Whatever you do, Lauren, keep walking and don’t say anything,” I instruct. Taking a deep breath, I unlock the door and swing it open, the flashbulbs startling me for a split second. Once I’ve become accustomed to the popping lights, I readjust my strong hold on Lauren and start to force my way to the back of the restaurant.

It seems, though, that the camera men only care about my reaction and the person I’m with. As soon as Lauren and I have cleared the bathroom door, the swarms of photographers encircle us and start to chase after us, the mass of people crushing both Lauren and I into the middle of the corridor that will take us to the rear of the restaurant.

They’re screaming questions at me and the person hidden from their view. If I can strain my ears, I can just hear Trace yelling out behind me he and Maura getting lost in a sea of paparazzi and curious bystanders. But I don’t stop walking. If I stop walking they’ll try to tug the jacket off of Lauren’s face and then it’ll just get worse.

Someone reaches out to yank at the corners of my jacket. I turn on the young guy who’s trying to position his camera with his other arm, “Don’t fucking touch her!” I seethe and I bring Lauren closer to me by placing an arm over her shoulder and drawing her to me. She mutters in protest but I don’t hear. I can feel the breeze from outside just a few more feet down the hallway and the car will be there. I can only hope that Trace and Maura are right behind us.

The sea of cameramen separates at the doorway and I see Tiny and Eric, standing there in all their glory. Eric surges forward and begins to shove cameramen out of the way without any apologies. Once he reaches us, he serves as a protective barrier from the unyielding cameras. I mutter my thanks as we step out into the back alley where the car is waiting.

Without any words being spoken, Eric stands guard at the back door as I shove a blind Lauren into the car. She’s starting to protest now, but it’s falling on deaf ears as I slide in behind her. Eric slams the door and the driver automatically locks them so people can’t get inside. The flashes from the cameras are so bright, they’re illuminating the interior of the car. I hear the passenger door open, and Eric jumps in. The engine jumps to life and soon we’re speeding away from the restaurant.

“Wait! We need to go back for Trace!” I shout as I lean forward. The town car is pretty big and I’m leaning over the partition that separates the front from the back. Eric shakes his head and points to the road ahead of us.

“We can’t go back there. Trace is a big boy; he’ll call you when he’s reached a safe place. Right now, you’ve got other things to worry about,” Eric responds before he inclines his head in Lauren’s direction.

I lean back into the seat just in time for Lauren to give me a very violent shove into the side of my door. “Jesus, what the hell Lauren?”

“Why the fuck did you take me away? I wasn’t done with her yet!” she seethes. My jacket has been unceremoniously tossed onto the floor and I groan as I lean forward to pick it up. Lauren takes this opportunity to smack me upside the back of the head and I move out of the way, yelling in protest.

“What the hell is your deal? Would you calm yourself down for two seconds?” I know that’s pretty hard to ask someone who’s just been involved in a fight. Her adrenaline has to be pumping and I’m sure I could let her out of the car right now and she’d run for at least two miles before feeling any strain.

But I can’t let her out of my sight, she’s still drunk and hopefully she got all the throw up out of her system back at the restaurant and she won’t feel the need to upchuck in the rental. “God, I hate you right now!” she glowers.

“I’m not going to talk to you again until you’ve calmed the fuck down, Lauren,” I bristle just as my phone starts to ring. Pulling it out of my pocket, I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Trace’s name flash across the screen. “Where are you guys? You okay?”

“I’m fine, I don’t know about Maura though,” Trace shouts into the phone.

“What do you mean?” I counter. Great if my beaten to a pulp personal assistant is close to death or ready to press charges then I’ll have a lot of explaining to do.

“I mean we got separated in the media frenzy. I have no idea where she is and I have no fucking clue where I am.”

“Aren’t you by the restaurant?” I ask.

“Shit, no. That place is swarming with paps and TV crews. This is going to be all over the place in a few hours,” Trace explains and I groan loudly, “I lost Maura soon after we left the bathroom. Her phone isn’t on and I couldn’t stick around. I’m sure she’s on her way back to the hotel. Do you want me to swing by and get Lauren?”

Lauren moaning softly next to me follows his question. I look away from the window and see that her head is lolling back, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. She’s gotten surprisingly pale and I can tell that she’s close to passing out. “Shit,” I mutter, “Trace just come get her in the morning. She just needs a bed and maybe to throw up more…”

“No…” she starts slowly as I flip the phone shut and shove it back into my pocket, “What I need is…to kick the shit out of…her.”

“You’ve done enough,” I soothe as I reach forward and push a few strands of hair that came loose from her ponytail away from her face, “We’re going to get you all fixed up and feeling better, okay?”

“Where’s Trace?” her voice is distant and I feel the car slowing to a stop. Luck was on our side and we were able to get back to the hotel without hitting any red lights. Thank the lord the driver is going through the service entrance because I don’t think we’d be able to get Lauren or myself into the hotel undetected through the front entrance.

“He’ll be here in the morning. You need rest, and a huge pick me up,” I respond. She doesn’t say anything and stays silent, her tiny groans of discomfort the only sounds she’s making. I would feel bad for her if this whole thing wasn’t her fault. I mean she’s the one who got drunk, and I’m sure she attacked Maura because that’s what Lauren does when she’s drunk – she gets violent.

Eric opens the car door for us before he looks around the area for any intruders. I pull Lauren out of the car and gather her in my arms. I’m taken back to one of my parties where Lauren and I first kissed. She was so drunk I had to drive Bentley Lexus back to my place and carry her into my house like some fucked up version of a newlywed couple.

Man, déjà vu is a bitch.

Eric covers me as I rush into the hotel. One of the hotel staff members already has a service elevator ready to take us up to our floor. The lifts in some of the older hotels here in London are kind of old to give off that rustic, old era feel, but thankfully the service elevators are new installments. I shift Lauren’s weight around in my arms as we begin our ascent to the upper floors of the hotel. I was able to get a small suite during my stay here in London although there’s only one bedroom.

Looks like I have the couch tonight.

We reach my floor and I waddle down the hallway with Lauren’s dead weight burdening my arms. By some grace of God, I’m able to open the door to my room without having to drop Lauren and soon we’re crossing the threshold, Lauren still whimpering under her breath.

I’ve only been in one fight in my entire life and I know when you come off the adrenaline high, the pain is a bitch. And to top it all off, Lauren is completely trashed. I’m starting to feel for the poor girl.

“Let’s get you in the other room,” I say to her, although I’m sure she has no idea what I’m saying right now. I walk the short distance to my bedroom doors and I pause in front of them. I’m almost positive I left the doors open when I left for dinner tonight. Maybe the maids closed them when they came in for turn down service?

But as I open the doors and turn on the light my eyes meet the last thing I would ever expect to see. Maura stooped over my suitcase, shoving a jewelry box that I know contains my diamond earrings into her purse.

My heart comes to a shuddering halt and all I can do is stand there at a loss for words, Lauren still cradled in my arms. I remember to take a breath and I finally find the words that have been ready to surface since I ran into the women’s bathroom almost an hour ago.

“WHAT THE FUCK?”