“This is just my luck. First getaway in a year and we’re stuck in a monsoon.” Ursa uncorked a minibottle of vodka and sipped miserably from it as she stared at her magenta toenails. Rainy sat in the only armchair with its back to the large expanse of windows. She was trying not to look anxious.

“We should play a game,” Braithe suggested. “Until this clears up.”

“Like what kind?” Mac asked.

“Leave it to the kindergarten teacher to vet the game!” Tara sang. “Might as well play something good, since this isn’t going anywhere.”

“We could do dares!” Ursa chose a bag of M&M’s from the minibar and studied the wrapper.

“Stop counting calories!” Braithe threw a pillow at the younger woman, who started, then smiled.

“I’m too old for dares,” Braithe said. “Maybe something more...inspiring.”

Tara chortled from where she sat on the sofa. “Who wants to play an inspiring game? This isn’t a women’s conference. I thought we were here to have fun.” To emphasize her point, she raised her arms above her head and shook her hair around like a dancer in an eighties music video. In her year of knowing them, Rainy had never witnessed Tara mock or question anything that Braithe did. Braithe was staring at Tara, equally as disturbed. She looked around to see if Mac or Ursa had noticed, but they were alert and interested in the game idea, not the sharp tones in which it was presented.

“That’s right,” Ursa agreed. “Why don’t we each ask a question that everyone in the room has to answer. That way, you can customize your game-playing experience and ask inspiring or nosy questions.”

“Ooh, I like that,” Mac agreed.

From across the room, Tara rolled her eyes and mouthed, “Of course she does.” At some point, Tara had changed from her jeans into cotton shorts and a tank top. She strolled over to the chair next to Rainy, considered it and moved to a chair on the other side of the room instead.

Rainy felt uncomfortable with the game right away. Being forced to answer personal questions directed at her by Tara, Ursa and Mac? No, thanks. But the rest of them were reluctantly crowding around the suite’s living room, finding chairs. Braithe was ripping the hotel’s notepad into thin strips of paper.

“Here,” she said, handing them around. “Write your question on this paper and try to disguise your handwriting!”

They all took a slip and one of the pens Braithe passed out and stared at her expectantly.