Writing A Wrong (Write Stuff 2)

I stood on the sidewalk, watching him disappear into the terminal. I almost shouted his name but bit my cheek to stop myself. He appeared again through the glass and waved one last time before turning away and then he was gone.

Chapter 11

"Smack my ass and call me a donkey. That's the Love Bus?" Monica whistled as our traveling home for the next month pulled up in front of the hotel.

The rest of us could only gape at the monstrosity. I'm not sure what I had been expecting, but this was not it. This RV was more than rock star caliber. Even famous musicians traveled less conspicuously than what was parked before our eyes. The large motor home was covered from front to back and on both sides with the current book cover of each of the four authors. We would be a rolling billboard. If the publisher wanted attention, then mission accomplished.

The door opened and Greg jumped down from the vehicle to help stow our luggage. Chelsea stood on the top step, clapping her hands. "Climb aboard, ladies," she said, ushering us inside. "Isn't this spectacular?"

She couldn't have been more right. Four plush oversized chairs that swiveled and reclined surrounded one common table in the middle. Each chair also had built-in temperature regulating cupholders. Mounted on the wall, adjacent to the chairs, were power stations with multiple outlets for laptops and phones. A flat-screen TV, mounted above the cockpit looked to have a perfect view from every chair. Under the TV sat a low sofa across from a galley kitchen with a refrigerator stocked with water and soda. We knew that because Tina peeked inside. A large basket filled with snacks and other delicacies took up most of the space on the counter.

"Dibs on this chair," Monica said, throwing herself on one of the recliners closest to the kitchen.

Her declaration spurred us all into action, acting like kids on the first day of school as we claimed our spots. Tina took the seat next to Monica while Michelle and I happily grabbed the two chairs across from them.

"Gah, I'm never going to want to leave this," Michelle said, reclining her chair backward into a near lying position. I had to agree with her. I wanted to park this bad boy in my apartment complex and never leave.

"Everyone ready to go?" Greg asked, entering the RV wearing the chauffeur's hat I picked up for him in Times Square. It was a gag gift since he was always insisting I sit in the back. Seeing him wear it now made all of us laugh. The trip was already starting out with a bang. With our easy rapport and amazing workstations, it was going to be epic. To think, I could have fun and get my next book written at the same time. The situation was ideal.

An hour later, I was singing a different tune. Riding in an RV was a tad different than being in a car. The oversized vehicle had a tendency to sway from time to time, especially since there was a heavy breeze blowing outside. My stomach was already threatening to rebel and ruin the entire trip. I had to abandon my lovely workstation and trade spots with Chelsea on the couch in hopes that if I were lying down I might be able to get my nausea under control. After embarrassing myself already by running to the small bathroom to puke, I kept my eyes tightly closed, willing myself not to vomit again in the rocking puke wagon—Love Bus my ass.

I envied the cast-iron stomachs of my traveling mates as I listened to their muted voices. Naively, I thought after tossing my cookies I'd feel better. How wrong I was. Six weeks of this hell was likely to kill me. When I told Olivia I planned to watch what I ate during the trip, I had other ideas in mind.

"You okay, slick?" Greg asked over his shoulder.

"I'm planning my funeral. Will you make sure they don't decorate my coffin with black flowers?" I couldn't see him because I was facing the other way, but I could hear the amusement in his voice above my head.

"Can do. You want me to do your eulogy too?"

I cracked my eyes open and tilted my head back to see him staring at me in the rearview mirror. "Only if you gloss over how I died. Death by Puke Factory doesn't have the best ring to it.

He smirked at me. "Puke Factory? What happened to Love Bus?"

I closed my eyes again, realizing that I felt marginally better that way. "I've lost all my love for this death trap," I muttered. Laughter rang out from the chairs next to me. I couldn't hear the topic of conversation, but it saddened me to be missing out on the fun.

"We'll be stopping for lunch soon. Maybe you'll feel better after you get a little food in your stomach. I used to get sick before lacrosse games in college, couldn't eat anything without puking it up. Then afterward I would chow big time and always felt better."

As thought provoking as his anecdote was, the idea of food made my stomach clench. I could tell my mood was matching the sourness of my stomach so I neglected to comment any further. The only thing I wanted was a shallow grave that would remain blissfully still.

Thankfully, I was able to doze off, so time passed without me on my knees in the smallest bathroom ever clutching the toilet. I woke sometime later to the sound of the brakes squealing, bringing the RV to a stop. We were no longer swaying, that much I could take comfort in.

Greg jumped from the driver's seat and opened the door. I sat up cautiously, taking stock of my traitorous stomach. The world was no longer spinning, so maybe I was feeling better.

"How you feeling honey?" Tina asked, sitting on the couch with me.

"Like something the cat wouldn't even drag in."

Greg reached his hand out to help me to my feet. "I was thinking maybe you should sit up front in the passenger seat. Maybe if you can see out the window it'll help the nausea. My mom used to get sick every time we drove to upstate New York, but she figured out if she rode up front the ride was tolerable. She also used to munch on crackers. She said that helped too."

"I guess it's worth a try," I said, shrugging. "I definitely don't want to arrive in Knoxville in a body bag." I stepped off the RV, happy to feel firm ground beneath my feet again. I was tempted to bend over and kiss the sidewalk, but I figured my traveling crew would second-guess my sanity.

Tina slung an arm across my shoulder. "We'll get you some Dramamine too. That should help."

I smiled at her meekly. She'd been friendly enough to me on social media, but I was surprised at how nice and truly personable she was. She oozed self-confidence, but there was a distinctive steely hardness to her attitude that screamed I'm nice until I'm not.

"Nicole, please let us know if there is anything we can do to help you feel better," Chelsea said, looking exceptionally troubled.

"Thank you. I'm sure I'll feel better soon. The crazy thing is I'm a ride junkie at theme parks. I've never gotten dizzy in my life, much less thrown up."