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Kat is a spitfire. Early fifties. Tiny as they come but has the will and strength of a giant.
I guess she has to when dealing with someone like me. But for all her bark, she has very little bite. That is, until her hands go to her hips, then you know you better be prepared to duck and cover because she’s about to start throwing shit.
She’s been my manager since I ‘retired’ from baseball. The now ex-wife of my baseball agent, she had prior experience working with actors and knew her way around Hollywood in a way that I did not. And I trusted her. For me, that’s saying something. Seeing as I can count the number of people I trust on one hand.
“I think you’re making a bigger deal out of this than it is.” I search for my shirt, finally finding it sticking out from under the bed. Snagging it off the ground, I quickly slip it over my head.
“A bigger deal?” Her nostrils flare. “We had a plan.”
“And? The plan is still on. I’m meeting up with Clarke later.”
“You don’t get it, do you? One slip and the whole thing blows up. You can’t justplaythe part, you have tobethe part, at least until this shit storm blows over.”
“I know you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”
“Oh, but I am.” She runs a hand through her short, auburn hair. “No sex until we’ve sorted this shit out.”
“But that could take months. Hell, even longer.”
“Then I guess you better make friends with your hand for a while.”
“Kat, come on. You’re being unreasonable.”
“No, I’m trying to help you. But you know what they say, you can’t help someone who won’t help themselves. So tell me, Trey, are you beyond help?”
“What? No, of course not.”
“Then you are officially celibate for the foreseeable future.”
“And if I don’t agree to this?”
“Then you can find yourself a new manager.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Try me,” she warns, her face flushed with anger. “Now, get your shit cleaned up and go home before someone realizes you were here and what you were doing.”
With that she storms out of the room, leaving me with only one thought…I’m fucked.
