The P.A.

Chapter 11: Mean Girls and Convos

The powers that be had decided that the tour needed a long break in Abu Dhabi before moving on to Europe, so they had a week there, even though they were only putting on two shows, three days apart, at the same venue, so the atmosphere was very relaxed, and MJ even unpacked a little bit, opening up her guitar stand and setting her well-used Martin out to rest on it. It had been a gift from her father when she graduated from eighth grade, and she'd always treasured it, thinking of how many burgers he'd had to flip, how many moussakas he'd had to bake at the diner to pay for it.

MJ looked out the window of her hotel room on the fifteenth floor, marveling that she was actually here in the capital of the UAE. The city that lay sprawled out before really looked like a city from the future, like a setting for a sci-fi adventure or something. The old glittered next to the new, palm trees waved next to shiny glass skyscrapers, and she could see a bit of indigo ocean and a rectangular pool in her field of vision. She'd never understood why someone would build a pool so close to such beautiful oceans.

MJ lay down on the bed for a quick nap, and slept through until the next day, simply because she was exhausted, and no one called or texted her until Meredith the next morning, asking where the hell she was?

She grabbed a quick bagel at the ubiquitous Starbucks in the lobby and ran out to the car.

"Good lord, MJ, did you sleep in your clothes?" Meredith asked.

"Yeah, I actually did," MJ answered. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Well, I guess we can let it go, since we're just going to be setting up, and we're coming back before the show, but as a rule, you can't run around looking like you got run over by a truck, you know?" Meredith said.

Meredith, of course, looked perfect in her size two Capri jeans and pink T-shirt. Her minimal make-up was perfectly applied, and her messy bun looked just the right amount of messy, not bed-head, couldn't-get-a-brush-through-it-if-she-tried messy like MJ's.

They got to the venue and ran into Heath backstage.

"Morning ladies," he called. He, too, looked absolutely beautiful to MJ, with a bit of dark scruff that he might or might not shave off for the show, ripped up cut-offs with the pockets showing and a tank top that showed off his biceps. His feet were shod in old Vans that were so perfectly distressed that it looked like he'd wrapped his feet neatly in rags.

"MJ, aren't those the same clothes you were wearing yesterday? Had a busy night, you naughty girl?" he teased, tugging at the hem of her shirt. He cocked his eyebrow at her while lifting the corner of his mouth in a suggestive grin.

"Oh, please, you think Moose Jugs here did anything but fall down in her own bed and oversleep?" Meredith interjected, shaking her head. "She couldn't find time to change, but you notice she did manage to find time to feed her face," she continued, gesturing to the bit of bagel MJ was still holding.

Heath turned to stare at Meredith, eyes wide, while MJ just stood, biting her lips and looking off to the side.

"Oh, what, you're allowed to make jokes but I'm not?" Meredith huffed, looking at Heath. "She knows I'm only teasing, don't you?" She looked at MJ and put an arm around her shoulders.

MJ looked back at her and smiled, nodding. "Sure, sure I do." She looked at Heath and nodded again. "It's okay, Heath. I'm fine."

"There, you see? She's fine." Meredith squeezed MJ's shoulder before releasing her. "She can take a joke, even if you can't, Heath Spencer."

The three of them turned and walked down the backstage corridor together, and Heath made a point of walking next to MJ and putting a hand on her back, though Meredith couldn't see it. He kept it there, rubbing from time to time, a friendly gesture of solidarity and comfort, a gesture MJ had said she didn't need, but felt gratitude for nonetheless.