Page 78 of The Wiener Across the Way

Jules fake coughed into her hand. “Hech, ech. I’m sick. Can’t go today.”

Mr. Kingman gave her the evil eye, and I remembered seeing my own dad give me a similar look when I tried to get out of school for an audition or concert. “Good try.”

“Mental health day,” she countered. “I haven’t taken one yet this year.”

That was apparently the trump card, because while he scowled, he gave her the head nod of approval.

“Yes.” She looked over at me. Declan’s den is the perfect place to set up shop. He never uses it, but it’s got the best Wi-Fi in the house, and it’s quiet.”

Declan looked at her sideways. “How do you know that?”

Jules shrugged but motioned for us to follow her down the hall. She was right. It was perfect. There was a desk, but also two easy chairs, and the walls were decorated with his awards, alongwith a bookshelf. I was sure I spied a first editionWinnie the Poohon there. I’d explore all of that later.

I reached for my phone. “It’s time to call Skeeter and figure out where we stand. And then, we need to plan our next move.”

I clicked on her number, surprised she hadn’t already called me this morning. This time, weirdly, I was sent to voicemail after one ring. Frowning, I dialed Penelope, but it was like her phone had been disconnected. I hadn’t even seen her active on social media for days. Something was off, and it was gnawing at me.

“I’ve relied entirely on Skeeter and Pen for almost all of my communications for so long that I don’t even know how to get a hold of anyone at Big Marine. I suppose I could just Google their number?”

I did and found a general number that got me to some kind of switchboard or receptionist or something. A woman answered with a generic greeting.

“Hi, this is Kelsey Best, I need to?—”

“Ms. Best. I’ve been instructed to tell you that all further communication with Big Marine needs to go through your lawyer.”

“My lawyer?” I swallowed down something awful tasting.

“Yes. Thank you.” The line went dead. She hung up on me. What the hell?

Jules, flipping through her phone, chimed in, “There’s a statement online from Big Marine. They’re saying they’ve parted ways with you, claiming you’ve become volatile and unpredictable. They’re accusing you of negotiating for more money while not fulfilling your obligations.”

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. Me, volatile? Asking for more money? That was the last thing on my mind. I felt Declan’s hand squeeze mine, a silent gesture of support amidst the chaos.

“Could it be something Skeeter’s done behind your back? I have never trusted her,” Declan questioned, his brow furrowed.

I paused, thinking back on Skeeter’s increasing pressure during the tour. “I know I have a lawyer, but again, Skeeter always handles all of that for me. I need to talk to my dad. He handles my money, so maybe he knows something.”

Without concrete information, I felt utterly stuck. Lost in a sea of confusion and betrayal with no land in sight. I called my dad but got his voicemail. I’d have to call the shop.

My mom answered on the first ring just like she always did. “Best Christmas Ever, this is Marilyn, how can I help you?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Kelsey, how nice to hear from you. How are you, sweetheart?”

Declan gave me a funny look. I’d have to explain later how my mom refused to treat me other than just an ordinary girl, including completely ignoring any sort of news, social media, or any other information about the pop star I was.

“I’m okay, but I need to ask dad something, is he around?”

“Sorry, sweetie, he’s golfing. When are you coming home for a visit?”

Declan reached over and pushed the mute button. “Your parents are in the San Diego area? Our game is there on Sunday. Tell her you can come for a visit in a few days. I’d love to meet them, if that’s okay?”

I guess since I wasn’t going to Texas for a concert, I could go to his game, and he could meet my parents too. I’d never brought any of my other famous boyfriends home to them. It just hadn’t ever felt right, especially with the way my mother pretended fame didn’t exist. Except, of course, for the celebrity of jolly old St. Nick.

I unmuted and gave her the good news. “I was thinking this weekend actually. I have someone I want you to meet. Could we do dinner on Sunday?”

“Oh, yes, lovely. I’ll tell your dad. Does your someone for us to meet like roast chicken dinner? Ooh, I’ll make a pie.”

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