I just needed to work out why.
“Who was Graham?” I started with something I figured would be easy for her to answer.
“He was my boyfriend. We started going out when I finished school only my dad didn’t approve, you know, because of the age difference…” She looked forlorn – that was definitely the word.
“How old was he?”
“Thirty-six.”
“That’s how old he is now?”
Roisin shook her hair. “No, he’s forty-four now.”
An alarm bell started to ring very loudly.
“So your dad wasn’t too keen on the age difference?”
She shrugged. “I think that was part of the problem.”
“So tell me about the rest of the problem.” Something was starting to click.
She wrapped her hair around her hand and pouted. I began to see past the well-crafted veneer of sweet and innocent.
“Graham’s into music. My dad said he’d sign me but I couldn’t be involved with Graham anymore.” She arched her back and stuck out tits that were too small for my liking.
“I’m going out on a limb here and saying that Graham’s last name is O’Leary and he owns Macadamia Records.”
She clapped her hands together. “Yes! That’s him! Do you know him?”
I did. He was slime. Her dad made a good move. I ignored her question else I might’ve ended up telling her exactly what I’d seen her ex-boyfriend doing on several occasions when he would’ve been dating her.
“And your dad is…”
“He’s my step-dad really, that’s why no one really knows we’re related.” She smiled, happy again.
“I’m waiting.”
There was another beam. “He’s Arnie Sachs.”
I sat back in my chair and downed my coffee. It burned. It needed to. Arnie Sachs was a decent bloke, astute businessman who dealt with the business and not the music, instead working with some of the top producers in the industry. The instruction for Little Miss Complicated’s songs had come from her producer.
Things now made sense.
“Then you’re going to have to pull your finger out and get something decent written because what you’ve got so far isn’t going to have number one album engraved anywhere near it.”
There was a hair toss and I saw her stare at a light bulb, probably to make her eyes water so she looked like she was crying.
I took a very long, very deep breath.
“Can’t you write something like that for me? With all the stuff you’ve had going on, you know, like being an alcoholic and an addict, you must be able to put something together.” Her words were whiny.
I sat back in my chair and looked out of the window, an unfortunate mistake because Sophie was there again, stretching her arms to do something with her hair.
The kiss yesterday still reverberated through every one of my bones. She’d been soft in my arms and she’d smelled of something spicy but sweet, a scent that had made me want to keep her there. Hell, everything had made me want to keep her there.
Until I realised she hadn’t felt the same. That even though we’d just sat through one of the best fucking things I’d ever seen and I’d felt something there between us that I hadn’t had before and she thought it was a rouse.
I wanted to stamp my foot like a small child. Or shout. I was going to do neither.
