“This isn’t because I don’t want to stay,” I say, and it feels like I’ve just granted not just her eyes but her whole self access to my soul.
Her expression softens, and there’s almost sadness in her moist eyes. “I know.”
“Rumour has it we may make it to number one on Sunday,” I say, loosening my grip but not taking my hand off her completely. “What will you do to celebrate?”
There’s a glint in her eye as she replies, “Oh, I’ve had a few number ones before. It’s no big deal.”
I pout at her but can’t stop my eyes from smiling. “Fuck you, Cassie.”
“Fuck you, too, Pia,” she says, and then she gets out of the car and slams the door behind her.
CHAPTER 16
CASSIE
“Good morning, Miss Everard,” Nora says as I walk into the kitchen. I note that I’m only slightly surprised to see her there. She’s been my assistant for only a week now, but maybe I’m finally getting used to having her here at certain times.
“Morning, Nora,” I say with a yawn. The terracotta tile is cool under my bare feet, which I’ll appreciate after lunch today when it’s all hot and sticky outside, but right now, it’s a little uncomfortable. “How are you?”
“Very well, thank you,” she says. Before I can reach up to the cabinet where my mugs are, she’s handing me a cup of tea.
“You’re not supposed to be making me tea,” I say, but I take it all the same because somehow she knows just how I like it–strong with a dash of milk and honey.
She shrugs and then heads to the dining nook in the corner of the room. It’s possibly my favourite space in the whole house with its view over my gardens and the hills in the background. If you squint, all the rooftops of surrounding houses and mansions become part of the scenery, and I could almost be back in the Cotswolds, if I just ignore the palm trees. I join her so I can enjoy the view while she begins our usual Monday morning meeting.
A make-up artist suggested I hire a PA a long time ago, but I didn’t see the need. However, my conversation with Pia changed my view on a lot of things, not least asking for help when you need it. It was easy to find Nora, an efficient and industrious New Yorker in her thirties who had spent ten years as a PA in A&R at Motown Records. A photographer had recommended her–they were distant cousins, two Puerto Rican girls climbing high behind the scenes in the musicindustry–and I’d warmed to Nora immediately at our first meeting. She quickly took management of my diary and didn’t blink once when I explained my issues with reading and writing, my dyslexia.
The relief I now feel knowing somebody is reading my correspondence and communicating to me every single word has surprised me. Unopened letters no longer terrify me. Meetings flow more easily knowing I have Nora taking notes. And she has been essential in my preparation for the North American tour, which is fast approaching.
That’s what most of our morning meeting is about as I sip my tea and slowly wake up. It wasn’t a late night, per se, but I was tossing and turning much of the night, thinking about Pia. As I have been every night since I last saw her a week ago. But last night, the night our song ‘What I Want’ hit the top of both the Billboard Hot 100 in the US and the UK Top 40, she was inescapable.
I know Martin will have called her sometime yesterday afternoon with the news, and I’d very naively sat close to my phone most of the rest of the day, waiting for it to ring in case she wanted to talk about it, but the only calls that came were from Nora and Clarence congratulating me, which was very sweet, but neither was the call I was hoping for.
“I’ve booked your hair and make-up for the re-scheduled pre-tour shoot next week,” Nora is saying, and I suspect I’ve missed some key information.
“What day is that?”
“Wednesday. Hopefully,” she adds with an unimpressed pout as she refers to the cancelled shoot last week.
“Did we get to the bottom of whose fault it was this time?”
“According to Vik, it was George’s fault, and according to George, it was because Stephan passed out after being on a red eye back from England.”
“And what did Stephan say?”
“I don’t know, but I do have it pencilled in here that you said you would call him today.”
“Did I?” I say absent-mindedly.
“Yes, he wants to talk to you about the tour setlist.”
“Already?” I sigh. “We have weeks to argue about that yet.”
“Or maybe it’s something else.” Nora’s tone changes and her voice lowers. “I’m not one to gossip, but apparently it’s off with Melissa.”
That has my sudden and full attention. “What?”
“I go to aerobics with his hairdresser, Kim,” Nora explains. “She told me, and half the class, that Melissa never came out like she was supposed to the other week. And then he rushed home to see her, but came back alone after just two days. Stephan told her it was over and that he was hoping to make amends withyou.”
