Justin

Somewhere in the last two days, Millie’s sister decided she doesn’t like me.

I have no idea when or why. She’s barely met me. We talked when she saw Felicity and me in the hall. We saw each other last night but didn’t interact, so that doesn’t count. We’ve seen each other this morning after I knocked on the door to check Millie was still alive. Two mundane encounters later and I honestly have no clue why the fuck Lizzie’s giving me the evil eye.

Maybe she blames me for the dishevelled mess I dropped back into their suite last night? Like that was my fault! I don’t know what was going on with the women when I interrupted them but it must have been heavy. Millie marched back into the bar after (or as much as she could under the weight of her skirt) and what she previously said would be ‘strictly one last drink’ became several rounds of shots. The band guys loved it and I’m pretty sure there’ll be pictures all over Instagram this morning.

I… didn’t dislike it, but a nagging voice in the back of my brain asked if I should let her. It got overruled by the one saying I’m her friend not her keeper.

But yeah, she was wasted. I was forced to haul her upstairs. It killed any last jokes about her being whiny because that dress really did weigh a friggin’ ton. I know this because she tripped. She tripped over, I tried to pick her up off the floor and I couldn’t. I can bench press a decent amount but she was a total dead weight by that point. It took me and Kent (the bass player) to do it.

We were pretty loud though and I think we woke Lizzie up. She said we didn’t; the death glare said otherwise. At least it saved me having to help Millie out of her dress. Aside from it being a bad idea because she looked a little too hot and being a gentleman would’ve been mandatory but tough, all those corset ties looked complicated. (Alright, yes, I wouldn’t be opposed to sleeping with the supermodel. I’m a cliché and I’m sorry.)

But I still don’t see why Lizzie would blame me. Millie got drunk all by herself. Well not literally, I was there, but you know what I mean.

Whatever. So this morning I thought I should check in to make sure she’s alright. She is. She’s tinged a little green but nothing some make up couldn’t cover. She’s sitting in a chair at the table and Lizzie’s doing her hair for her. Something to do with a stylist who didn’t show up, I don’t know. I don’t envy her because she still has to go attend a product launch later while I get to nurse my own regrets some more. No puking but my head was pounding when I woke up.

“Uh huh.”

Millie’s on the phone. She’s been monosyllabic and grimacing. Not sure if that’s due to the conversation or the hangover. Lizzie’s not saying anything, only pinning.

“Okay. Thanks for letting me know. Bye.”

She tosses the phone aside. I can’t help but be curious what the conversation was. She frowned the whole way through but it’s deepened now. Her eyebrows have drawn together and she’s folded her arms close across her chest.

“Who was that?”

Thank God for curious little sisters. The question gets asked without me needing to snoop.

“Beth. Another no go.”

“Well that’s rubbish.”

I guess that means something to Lizzie because she doesn’t ask for clarification. I spoke too soon, time to be nosy.

“No go for what?”

If she thinks I’m going to acknowledge the way she’s glaring at me the kid’s got another one coming. Wasn’t even talking to her anyway.

“Oh, we’ve been speaking to a few companies about setting up this line but it’s im-bloody-possible. If they don’t say no out of the gate they get bought out.” Millie doesn’t sigh. Instead she lets out this huff of air that lifts the strands of hair from around her face.

It’s great that she took my advice but sucks it’s not working out. “That’s some pretty shitty luck.”

“Tell me about it.” The frown becomes more of a glower. “We’ve been purposely going for some of the more niche brands, but there’s this conglomerate that’s on a bit of a buying binge and they’re sucking them all up.”

“And you couldn’t just approach them?” I ask

“We don’t want to go with somebody that big, otherwise I could have gone to L’Oreal or somebody I had more contacts with in the first place. Doesn’t make sense for how we want to position the brand, it needs to be more boutique. We’d never get the level of control we need either.”

The corners of my mouth curl up. Check her out: ‘position the brand,’ ‘boutique.’ It’s nice to hear her talking about it like they’ve actually made some headway with the plans. When she first started talking about it to me… I don’t want to be harsh but she was whiny. There was this defeatist attitude before she’d really even tried.

“It is abso-frigging-lutely ridiculous though,” Lizzie says as she picks up a comb and starts pulling Millie’s hair into a small quiff at the front. “What are the odds?”

It wouldn’t win me any favour from her if I snorted right now, so I choke it back. It’s hilarious that inserting random cussing into the middle of words is a thing with the Adair-Hamiltons. Even when they keep it clean they’ve still got this way of dragging out every syllable. It’s weird the shit that’s genetic.

“As Beth rightly said, we’re not the only ones who can see they’re good,” Millie says with a morose exhalation of breath. “Suppose if nothing else it means we’re targeting the right people.”

“If only they’d stop being bought up.” Lizzie drops the comb, picks up the hairspray and gives Millie’s head a liberal covering. “There you go.”

She passes her sister a hand mirror and Millie inspects it from various angles. “Looks brilliant, thank you darling.”

“It is pretty good. Where’d you learn?” I ask.

“Been to a lot of parties, needed a lot of hairdos.”

Wow. I guess even a compliment isn’t enough to ingratiate myself. There was no need to be snippy. I was going to ask if she ever considered doing it professionally, but screw her. Her attitude’s kind of pissing me off. Instead I turn my attention back to Millie.

“So there’s no chance you can fund the brand yourself now you’re getting your inheritance?”

“I need the expertise as much as the money,” Millie said.

“You told him?”

Outwardly I remain cool but inside I’m bristling.

“We were on set together when it all came up and I vented,” she says with a shrug as she gets up from the chair. The hangover is most evident in the way she moves. The sluggishness is dulling the edges of her usual grace.

Again Lizzie looks pissed. Fortunately – or unfortunately – Millie picks her moment to go into the bedroom, so I get a chance to call her out.

“Why shouldn’t she tell me?” I ask when she’s safely behind the door.

She’s bustling around the table, picking up her hair products and tossing them back in her wash bag. More than their looks this is where I see the most difference between them. Lizzie’s energy crackles with static. Where the older sister is behind layers of wrapping, everything is leaking and seeping out of the younger. When she’s upbeat like the first time I met her that’s a good thing; right now it means she can’t hide her shit.

“Our personal business? Gee, wonder why I’m not so keen on strangers knowing.”

“Her personal business,” I correct. “She can confide in who she wants.”

“I bet you were the idiot who talked her out of nailing the bastard to the wall,” she mutters.

“Funny - I assumed that was you.” I’m not totally sure if I was meant to hear that or not. “She said she didn’t want to choose until she spoke to you. Seriously, somewhere in the last couple-a days you suddenly got this problem with me and I’d like to know why.”

“You know,” she says as she starts aggressively pulling loose hairs out of her brush, “even when I wasn’t with her I watched what was going on. Even from where I was I could see every guy in her life treating her like a trophy.”

“What, and you think I am? We’re not even dating! And fuck you, you know shit about me.”

“Oh no, you don’t treat her like a trophy. You treat her like she’s a puzzle you’re trying to work out, and anybody with half a brain cell would know exactly what’s going to happen once she’s solved.”

“Bullshit.” Not my best reasoned argument ever but screw her and her dumb psychoanalysis. “I know you love her and nobody’s ever going to be good enough in your eyes, but you can get the fuck out with telling me I treat her like a trophy or puzzle or what the hell ever. I’m her friend and I don’t need your damn approval.”

“Trophy, goddess, puzzle, just once I’d like to see somebody treat her like a human being. That guy can have all my approval. Lashings of my bloody approval.”

Think that ‘goddess’ was a Freudian slip there, but for a moment I’m too stunned to keep telling her where she can stick her assumptions. By the time I’m recovered Millie’s back and probably wondering why we look ready to kill each other.