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A girl can dream.
He finally notices that my screen is constantly flashing and he picks up my phone. He reads a few of them on the lock screen as they continue to arrive, breathing heavily with disdain.
“She’s off the chain,” he mumbles.
“Her meal ticket is out of reach. She can’t stand it.”
He holds my phone out to me and asks, “Unlock it so I can call her, will you?”
I take my phone but purse my lips before doing as he asks. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Albie. Knowing her, she’ll trace the call and the cops will have the place surrounded before lunchtime. She’ll make out I’m a crazed stalker who’s kidnapped you or something.”
His chest lifts as he takes a deep breath; I struggle not to study him and the medallion sitting between his pecs.
“Trust me, Mirabelle.” He holds out his hand for me to do as he asks.
I bring her info up on screen and hand it over. He presses call and after one ring, she answers.
The vile accusations immediately begin to fly.
I can hear some of it but not everything. She’s practically screaming. The curse words are extensive and I’m Public Enemy No.1 according to her diatribe.
Albie’s brown eyes turn to hot coals and he grimaces as he listens, since she presumes she’s talking to me and not him. He waits for her to get a certain way down the line, before he says, “It’s really good to know exactly what you think of our hardworking assistant, Sharon.”
Silence. She doesn’t know what to say next. I didn’t hear everything she just said then, but I’m betting some of it was really bad. Most was too high-pitched to understand.
“She’s there?” I hear that bit.
“She’s been looking after me. What more could you ask of your assistant? She drove me safely out of Somerset and has let me get some rest before I have to face the world.”
Sharon remains uncharacteristically silent. I don’t get it.
“What have you got to say for yourself?” he demands, laughing into the phone.
She says something then but I don’t have a clue whether it be apologetic or not. She’s gone quiet.
Albie’s nostrils flare as he inhales deeply. “You’re sacked, Sharon. Effective immediately.” She tries to speak, but he continues loudly, “I don’t give a fuck what you say about me or who finds out about the things I did that you swept under the rug… I don’t care if I never sell another fucking record ever again. You do not speak about Mirabelle like that. You’re done. Done. If I tell people what you were intent on with Benedict, having no doubt planned to get me drunk and high beforehand, so I’d just go along with it… forcing me to be interviewed under duress to milk my grief over my father, you’ll never work again. So, thank-you very much for making this much easier on everyone all round. And now, please, fuck off and die a very slow, very painful death, you fucking bitch!”
He angrily hangs up and tosses my phone across the room so it lands on the two-seater sofa adjacent to our chairs. I swallow hard and stare into space, shocked.
“Come here,” he says, after a while.
I’m emotional as I wobble towards him, take a seat on his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. He tugs me close and I bury my face in his neck.
“Nobody speaks about you like that and gets away with it, Mira.”
“What have you done, Albie?”
“What I should’ve done long ago. I feel so fucking free suddenly. So fucking good about myself.”
He wraps me tight inside his embrace and kisses my shoulder over my t-shirt.
“We’re going to do everything fucking properly from now on, Mira. You can be my manager. There’s nobody I trust more, nobody who knows me or takes care of me better.”
“Okay,” I whisper, though I’m not sure it’s what I want.
Him, yes.
But his world?
