“Okay.” I was nodding. Sitting up straight.
“I want you to agree with me. We have a problem. This is how we fix it. There are trust issues here on my behalf, and I want to address them first. You’ve been here for years. And I trusted you. Now I don’t. Because youput numbing out your problems before your professional commitments. Understandable. But those kinds of shit moves do not work here. Not in this company. Not with me. You and I? We’re better than this. Clear?”
“Clear.” I was. I did understand. “I am in a better position right now than I was six months ago,” I said. Again, just honesty. “I think I know where I want to go, and I am making very clear plans to get there. I look forward to going to see Dr Wilkes. Thank you.”
“Good. As long as you are very aware of two rather relevant details.”
“Which are?”
“Dr Wilkes is my mother. Don’t pull any tricks, because even though her professional boundaries are solid, my mother is hardcore. She won’t tolerate any sway from the programme, and since I will pay her? She reports straight to me.”
“I can pay,” I started, but she just tutted. “This is my responsibility. I saw it coming, and to be honest, you were looking worse by the day. You look terrible, still, but. Not too shabby. There’s hope.”
“Thank you.” I had no idea what I was thanking her for. Still being here? Not kicking me out? Not beating the shit out of me? She had reason to and was being surprisingly restrained.
“What you did was abysmal.”
“I know.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t.” I was pretty sure of that. Right now. At least right now. No. “What was the second thing?”
She had to think for a second, then burst into laughter.
“Oh yes. Gina DeSanto is one of my besties. So fuck you, Jacobs.”
Oh.
Well fuck you too, Juliet.
I laughed. It felt bloody freeing to actually…laugh.
George
“George.”
Here we went again. I couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t cope with anything else. I was spread so thinly against the schedule at hand, and I’d started just leaving my headphones off and my phone on silent so I could just try to at least tick off the meetings.
I was still failing, and now I was being dragged by the arm into Gina’s dressing room, by the woman herself.
It wasn’t actually a room, more like a curtained-off area in the corridor where the floor was littered in sparkly dust and old coffee cups. And I honestly did not have the time for this, not now, probably not ever. I half hissed that in her face, as her grip tightened on my wrist.
At least she lowered her voice.
“Shit is about to hit the fan. My management is pulling me out today. I’m not mad about it.”
My breathing was calm. Steady. Not unexpected. Not that I was privy to that kind of information, but Kirsten had turned up with her blazer ripped at the back, and she was missing half of her false eyelashes. The ones on the right.
I hadn’t bothered to point that out. Also, Alastair hadn’t turned up for the past two days, which had further added to my workload.
I wasn’t going to look at my phone. Too many missed calls. Too many messages. All the expectations and no time to even breathe.
“I know this is your first gig, and you’ve done well. Whatever happens, don’t let the fuckers get to you. If you need to walk, you need to walk right now. Head held high. You hear me, kid?”
“I need this job,” I whispered. The desperation was there; I was just masking it well. Like everything else.
I was a mess on the inside. Sheer panic flowing through my veins, every second of the day.
