The P.A.

Chapter 2: Departure

MJ made sure she was up bright and early the day they left to begin the tour. It was a huge tour, and she had no idea how many people were actually involved. They were leaving from LAX and flying to Australia first, and then to Singapore, the rest of Southeast Asia, and Japan, then across to the UAE, Africa, and Europe. They'd cross the Atlantic and hit South America, then, finally, after nearly eight months, they'd return to North America.

She reflected that she was actually very lucky that her father was so out of touch with pop culture, and had no idea how big the tour actually was. Heath Spencer and Meredith Renner were global phenoms, and their joint tour had been advertised all over LA, with massive billboards and ads that took up the sides of entire buses.

Her dad, however, didn't pay attention to much beyond the local news and the baseball scores, so all he told her the night before she left was to make sure she had clean underwear, and to call him as often as she could.

"I promise," she told him cheerfully. She successfully hid her fear of being on a plane for the first time in her life from her father.

"God, you're so beautiful," he proclaimed. "I wish your mama were alive to see you."

"Dad, stop," MJ begged, hugging him.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, kissing her cheeks. "I'll be quiet. And I won't cry in the morning, I promise."

And he'd been as good as his word, merely waving as she'd set off for the bus that would take her to the airport.

The first snafu of the trip occurred before they'd even boarded the flight. Something was wrong with their seats, it seemed.

MJ and Meredith had been put in coach instead of first class.

Oh no.

Sally, the tour manager, went up to the ticket counter at the boarding gate and argued with the flight officer for nearly half an hour, but nothing could be done. Meredith, who was standing next to MJ holding the handle of her designer carry on luggage in one hand and her Starbucks in the other, was turning interesting shades of red.

Finally, Sally came scurrying back to where MJ and Meredith were waiting.

"I'm sorry, love, there's nothing to be done," she began, addressing her remarks to Meredith. Sally had an adorable accent, MJ felt, like Anna from Downton Abbey. MJ felt bad for her. "On the bright side, it's only for this first leg of the tour. From Sydney on, it's all private charters, okay? I promise, this is not going to happen again."

"But this first leg's like sixteen fucking hours long, isn't it?" Meredith retorted, nostrils flaring. "There's no fucking way I'm sitting in fucking coach for all that fucking time, okay?" She handed her Starbucks cup to MJ and crossed her arms. "We're going to be crammed together like fucking sardines!"

"Please, Meredith, don't make a scene, yeah?" Sally pleaded. "Nearly the whole flight's people associated with the tour, you're going to be surrounded by people you know, it'll be grand, I promise--"

"If that's the case, then it shouldn't be a problem finding someone in first class to switch with me, then," Meredith retorted. She turned away as if the matter were closed.

Sally, too, turned away, as if hoping the walls of the terminal would provide inspiration. The rest of the people were silent, their embarrassment palpable.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, she can have my seat," someone spoke up.

Everyone standing parted in an effort to see the owner of the voice, and there were a few gasps as he rose, pulling his earbuds out as he did so.