Claiming Addison
By: Zoey Derrick“Then why don’t you pack up a few things and come stay at my house while I’m gone,” I tell her.
“Addie, seriously, I can’t do that.”
“Shut up, Sam. You can too. It will give you a nice break from mega-watt-bitch and you can eat up all the groceries I just bought this weekend. Plus, it will give me peace of mind knowing that someone is watching over the house besides my housekeeper who only comes once a week.”
I know she’s rolling her eyes. Sam isn’t a broke girl by any means, but for some reason, despite all the bullshit with her roommate, she’s never moved out. I’ve met the roommate on more than a few occasions and she’s just pissed off at the world, at least from what I can tell. Despite all her bitching, Sam doesn’t do anything about it.
“Alright, I’ll do it, but I can’t promise I’ll leave when you get back,” she says.
I smile. “I’m hoping that’s the case. Meet me at the haunt, say seven?”
“You got it, see you there. Should I bring Jess?”
“Uh, sure, why not? Then tomorrow night you can start staying here.”
“When you leaving?”
“Thursday,” I tell her.
“Your house will be alright while I’m gone in San Diego, right?” she asks.
“Yeah, Maria will be here Friday. I’ll let her know that someone else is staying here so she doesn’t freak out on you and I’ll make sure the house is locked up tight for the weekend.”
“Sounds good, see you in a bit.”
“Absolutely.”
We hang up and I dive back into packing. Hoping to god that neither one of them pressure me too much about who I’m going on tour with. Then again, they both know what industry I work in and they have no clue who any of my clients are or have been. Though it will be hard to keep the 69 Bottles thing from them once we’re in San Diego, which is why I plan to indirectly tell them what’s what.
In the big bad scary envelope are two exclusive VIP badges, usable for each show. I intend to have them given to Jess and Sam when they pick their tickets up at Will Call. Their suspicions will already be high enough as it is when I don’t show up to meet them outside the theater before the show.
My phone goes off with a text.
Sam: Where r u?
I look at the time. Shit! It’s already seven. CRAP!
Me to Sam: I’m running out the door now. C U in a few.
Sam: Hurry up woman!
Okay, okay, I get the hint. I grab my purse and bolt for the door. Crap, I didn’t want to be late, where the hell has today gone? God, I hope tomorrow isn’t like this or I’m screwed.
Despite the monumental amount of alcohol we consumed last night and that I hardly slept, I feel great this morning. Maybe that’s why I feel great? Still drunk. When I did finally manage to pass out, it was nearly four and I didn’t wake again until after eleven.
Which means I have been running around nonstop since noon, and I am finally ready to go. Suitcases are packed, laptop, iPad and new work cell phone are on the charger. Calls from personal phone forwarded to work phone, though I am still taking it with me since I don’t have time to transfer my contacts. My personal phone is partially paid for by Bold, one of the perks I guess, but some months that stipend is hardly enough to cover the actual work related use. Being a PR Rep means I am on call 24/7, 365 days a year. I’ve actually only been awoken in the middle of the night once, but I have had more than a few weekend calls. For the most part, between 7 in the morning and 10 at night, I’m fair game. All of my clients and their ‘staff’ are given explicit instructions about what constitutes an after 10 or weekend emergency. Though I guess, going on tour puts me at their beck and call all day every day.
Sam is on her way over with Chinese takeout, and I have two bottles of wine ready to rock. We chatted a lot last night at the bar and Jess did a great job of making me feel guilty about ditching the vacation plans. But once I told her this is a major career boost for me, she dropped the guilt trip. Miraculously, it only took me one time of reminding them that I can’t discuss my job with them and they let it go after a promise that at some point they will figure out what the hell is going on.
