Axel’s two long red pigtails were like the reins of a horse in Willa’s hands, if the horse were vomiting loudly into a lobby toilet.
“I don’t feel so good,” Axel groaned. “Thank you for holding my hair.”
“It’s fine,” Willa said. And it was. She knew better than to judge, seeing as she’d been in this scenario herself — as hair-holder or hair-bearer — dozens of times. “Just get it all out.”
This was the grand finale after two hours of mandatory drinking games, followed by three hours of shots and mixed drinks, on the first night of the FitFams Retreat Weekend. They’d turned the 1,296-square-foot Summit Room — undoubtedly most often the site of an Instagram-ready wedding with hand-lettered chalkboard signs, sprigs of rosemary as napkin rings, and macaroons in Martha Stewart-approved tan, peach, yellow, and blue — into a debauched sorority house. There were Solo cups scattered all over the floor, empty bottles lining the windowsills, and two tablecloths serving as blankets for three Studio Managers currently passed out in a pile. Two others were sitting inside a fort of chairs and licking each other’s faces.
Together the team had fully ruined the evening for Lester and Arnette Wilkins, who’d had the audacity and bad luck to book the third conference room for their 50th wedding anniversary banquet.
Willa had certainly been part of the problem, cranking up “Poison” by Bell Biv Devoe and loudly schooling the group in the mechanics and historical significance of the “Kid ‘n’ Play” dance. At this moment, in the bathroom with Axel, she was still very, very drunk. So she didn’t really mind the sour smells and retching coming from her diminutive, annoyingly flexible roommate.
The door to the bathroom banged open, and a body threw itself into the next stall, getting there just in time to do some heaving of its own.
“You OK in there?” Willa asked, still holding Axel’s pigtails.
“I am now,” the person said, flushing the toilet.
Willa inched open the unlocked door to Axel’s bathroom stall to take a peek. It was Dee. She was standing at the sink, patting her curls and dabbing her mouth with a paper towel.
This was the closest Willa had gotten to Dee all night. She’d tried to catch the boss’ attention several times but kept getting edged out or ignored, which brought back memories of The Didaloos, a second-grade gang that trafficked in Lisa Frank stickers and wouldn’t let Willa join.
Why did Willa even want to spend time with Dee? Willa asked herself that at various moments during the night as she watched the woman — downing shots with one Studio Manager, putting an arm around another and letting her melt into a sinewy shoulder, engaging in an intense conversation with two others while appearing to hang on every word. And just when any of them began to think Dee was theirs, and theirs alone, Dee would pull herself away to make someone else feel special.
Dee had been flat-out mean to Willa during the evaluation, but that somehow made Willa more eager to please Dee, to be her friend, to be her favorite. But it was like trying to get an audience with the Queen, if the Queen were hot and smart and funny and feeding you drinks.
“Who’s in here?” Dee asked in the bathroom, turning around to look.
“Willa,” she said through the slightly open stall door. “From Atlanta.” Then, motioning with the pigtails, she said: “This is Axel, from Newport.”
Axel barfed some more.
Dee peered into the stall. “Of course I know you.”
“Thanks, me too,” Willa said.
Wait, what? Why did she say that? Willa’s brain was floating in tequila soup.
Axel heaved again, then whimpered. Dee, looking Willa in the eye, did not seem drunk at all. How was that possible? Willa had seen her put back almost a dozen drinks. Puking couldn’t have made her immediately sober, could it? Was Dee that magical?
“How are you?” Dee asked warmly, putting a hand on Willa’s upper arm.
Willa wanted to drop Axel’s pigtails into the toilet and collapse into Dee’s strong arms. To have the woman stroke her hair and whisper, “shush, shush, everything’s going to be OK,” then sing a chorus of “You Are My Sunshine.”
Willa smiled drunkenly at the thought, then blinked hard because she realized it was totally insane.
“Yeah, I’m good. Really good. Great. This is great,” Willa blurted, the words spilling out like a needy contestant on “the Bachelor” who knew her time would soon be interrupted by someone saying, “can I steal him for a second?”
Dee gave a knowing smile and squeezed Willa’s arm. “It really is great. I love bringing the FitFams family together and getting to know each person’s story — their successes, their failures, their dreams,” Dee said. “I really look forward to learning more about you tomorrow during the Circle Game. You seem like a really together, interesting, caring person.”
Willa felt like she was basking in the sun, with Dee the source of light.
“Oh, thanks,” Willa said, still holding the pigtails. “I don’t know if I’m that interesting.”
Dee’s face turned serious. “Don’t ever sell yourself short, Willa. I’m not haphazard about who I choose to join my company and lead my studios. FitFams is everything to me. You guys are everything to me. Please don’t ever forget it, Willa, and know that you mean a lot to me.”
This was a woman who had made Pink cry — first from fatigue, and then from an emotional breakthrough — during solo conditioning sessions intended to prep the singer for the flying acrobatic portions of her tour choreography. And now Dee was talking to Willa and telling her she was important.
“You mean a lot to me too,” Willa said, almost whispering because she wasn’t sure she wanted Dee to hear that.
Dee smiled, squeezed Willa’s arm again, and left the bathroom. Willa watched her go, feeling almost mesmerized.
Then Axel started dry heaving and crying, and Willa returned to reality.
“Time for bed,” Willa said, helping Axel to her feet and guiding her to their room.
Willa, listen to me! Get as far away as fast as you can from this woman! She is not good for you.