Saving Amy (26 page)

“
D
ammit!” I yelled out loud, burning my throat when I dropped the pile of resumes I’d just spent fifteen minutes stacking neatly into page order, sending them scattering into disarray across the study floor. I was on the verge of giving up altogether. I’d applied for seven different jobs this past two weeks and received five ‘thanks but no thanks’ back. I guessed the other two couldn’t even be bothered to go that far.

Bending down, I started the arduous task of picking them all up, huffing and cussing when I saw they’d amazingly managed to fly into every corner of the room. I was in a full-blown bad mood. I tried to convince myself it was the unsuccessful job search, the papers falling, or stubbing my toe on the trashcan this
morning which
had blown up this impenetrable balloon of gloom around me, but my subconscious wouldn’t quit reminding me of the
real
reason.

He’s up to something,
it kept bellowing in my ears.

Richard has been acting…
strange
lately - ever since we got back from Florida. Leaving the room to answer phone-calls, getting called into work at ridiculous o’clock and then coming home with traces of alcohol lingering on his breath – apparent even through the minty mask of gum.

Yet when he was home he had also never been more perfect, if that was even possible. More loving, more fun, more talkative… Just last Wednesday we stayed up until 4 AM just chatting, laughing, sharing. So deep down I knew there must be a rational explanation for his behaviour. Mustn’t there? After all, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. Would he?

“Let me help you,” Richard offered, scaring the living shit out of me.

“Jesus! Where the hell did you come from?” I clutched at my chest, trying to remember how to breathe again.

“No, not Jesus. Richard…” he said slowly and drawn out, as if he were talking to someone who wasn’t all there. What a beautiful, sarcastic bastard he was. I wanted to stay angry but it was impossible when he was so close and my lips melted into a smile against their will.

“Thanks,” I uttered as we worked to pick up the scattered resumes together.

“Any luck yet?” he asked, trying but failing to sound genuinely interested.

“No,” I huffed, pouting like a spoilt child.

“Well maybe you can stop looking now.”

What!
Rage fuelled heat flooded my cheeks.

“No! It
will
happen, Richard. I’m not giving up so don’t bother spouting your crap again,” I snapped. He surrendered his hands in front of him.

“I didn’t mean- Look, please don’t be cross. I only want what’s best for you… for you to be happy.”

Where’s this going?

“I’ve done something for you.”

Uh oh.

“What, exactly?” I asked suspiciously, nervously and possibly even a little snappily.

“I’ve arranged an interview for you. It’s for an internship at Salt House Publishing.” My jaw dropped open, smacking into my chest. “I’ve been for a few business drinks with different companies-” A switch flipped, shining a light on his suspect behaviour. “I’ve shown them your work, and Salt House were quite taken with you.”

“You did what!” I roared before my brain or subconscious had time to process what he’d just said. “You showed people my notebook… my
personal
notebook, without asking me? How could you?” Christ I was mad. Blood simmering, stomach churning, fist clenching mad.
And…
embarrassed.
Someone else – a complete stranger – had read my most intimate thoughts. Most of which was probably a mix of depression-fuelled, fucked-up-ness induced twaddle.

“I didn’t ask you because I knew you’d say no,” he stated dryly, irritably rubbing his forearm. The cheeky, lying shit had got the nerve to be frustrated with
me!
Maybe seeing the steam blowing from my ears calmed him, because he rolled his neck from side to side and took in a deep breath, composing himself.

“Amy, everyone I showed your work to was very impressed.”

Everyone?
I wondered just how many people he thought it acceptable to betray me with exactly.

“That’s just it! It’s not my ‘work’.
It’s
just… thoughts.
My
thoughts. Thoughts I’d never intended anyone else to see!” Maybe if I had, I’d have put more effort in.

“Please, baby, just give it a chance. Isn’t this what you’ve always dreamed of?”

“That’s not the point and you know it,” I said firmly, glowering at him.

“No actually I don’t ‘know it’. I genuinely didn’t expect this reaction from you. This is everything you’ve ever wanted but convinced yourself you couldn’t have. Well you can have it! I’m giving it to you.” He leaned forward and took hold of my hands. I tried to shrug away but he gripped me a little tighter, drawing my hands into his chest.

“Look, I can see I may have gone about this in the wrong way…”

No shit, Sherlock.

“But can’t you see what a fantastic opportunity this could be for you? You have a chance to earn a place doing something you love.”

“But
I
won’t be ‘earning’ my place anywhere. Like everything else, you’ve done it for me,” I spat ungratefully, my anger melting into self-pity. His deliciously annoying eyebrow shot up and he cocked his head to one side. “I rely on you for everything. I wanted to do this by myself,” I hissed – head down, lips pouted and chest pushed out. I was in a full-on sulk.

“I’ve arranged an interview, that’s all. That doesn’t guarantee you a placement. If you want to succeed, it’s down to
you
to make that happen – nobody else.” He relaxed his grip around my hands and began to trace the length of my fingers with his. Then, stroking all the way up my arm and across the base of my neck, he settled his finger beneath my chin, raising it and forcing our gazes to meet.

Damn.
There went any hope of staying mad with the obscenely beautiful son of a bitch.

“And they
really
liked it? You’re not just humouring me?” I asked, genuine bewilderment flooding my voice as I decided to give up my fight and try rolling with it. He nodded eagerly.

“I’ve told you all along not to underestimate yourself. You are
extremely
talented.” I flushed hooker-lipstick red. “You’re going to have to stop doing that if you want them to take you seriously,” he added with a wink, tracing the circles of heat burning brightly in my cheeks with his fingers.

“So when is it?”

“Tomorrow. At one.”

Holy shit!

“Tomorrow! Like
tomorrow
tomorrow?” Holy mother of all that is fucking holy… tomorrow! I was pretty sure my heart had stopped beating and I felt the blood drain from my face – my whole body in fact – as it cascaded downwards through my violently throbbing veins and pooled at my feet.

Tomorrow!

**********

Richard and I had undertaken a whole new level of trust today – one which I never could’ve anticipated. He’d loaned me one of his babies – his black Audi TT. It was a pain in the ass to drive and I was glad when I finally pulled over outside My Big Fat Greek Buffet and Restaurant, relieved that the tut-and-cuss fest from reaching for the stick shift and then remembering it was an automatic, was over.

I was ten minutes early to meet Vanessa Heart – senior editor at Salt House Publishing. That gave me ten minutes to figure out how to breathe again, and ten minutes to find a way to keep the crap out of my pants.

I lay
awake
most, if not all, of the night roleplaying with my subconscious – trying to find ways of making myself sound interesting. I came up with a fair few quotes and ideas that would make me sound smart and enthusiastic… and now I couldn’t remember a single one of them. In fact, I was struggling to remember my name.

Still, I looked the part. I’d even go as far as saying I looked pretty sophisticated in a grey pinstripe pencil skirt, fitted white blouse and pointy black
heels which
were only
just
walkable in. All supplied by Richard of course. I tutted out-loud at the thought, but then smiled in the hope this meeting really could be the start of some much craved autonomy.

Five minutes to go.
Shit.
I pulled down the visor ready for one last fidget with my
freshly-tongued
hair in the mirror and a piece of folded white paper dropped out onto my lap. Unpeeling it carefully, I was met with Richard’s flawless handwriting.

I’m with you

My heart constricted and I clutched a hand to my chest. Those three words filled me with courage, with hope. He was with me – I could do anything with him by my side. God I loved him.

I folded it back up, kissed the crisp paper and tucked it back where I found it. Then, after a few deep, composing breaths I shimmied out of the car. Rather gracefully I might add too. A pencil skirt holds the amazing ability to quash any attempts at un-ladylike leg behaviour.

My heart was pounding harder and louder than my heels against the sidewalk as I made my way over to the gleaming glass double doors showcasing the house specials in white italic script. Stepping inside onto a black and white chequered tile floor, there was a thin wooden stand in front of me with a handwritten sign saying ‘Please wait here to be seated’ hanging from it. I did as it told me, my right foot tapping incessant and nervous against the polished floor while I waited.

Soon enough, a small olive-skinned man with black curly hair and thick-rimmed glasses appeared.

“Do you have a reservation?” he asked with a warm grandfatherly smile in a thick Greek accent.

Oh. I don’t know!

“Um, I have a meeting with a Vanessa Heart,” I said clumsily.

“Ah, I see. Ms Heart is right this way,” he said with familiarity as if he knew her personally.

Damn.
She was already here. I wanted to be the first to arrive – prove I was punctual. But then maybe that would’ve appeared too eager. Though maybe now I would come across too blasé – as if I didn’t give a crap.

“Follow me.” The old Greek man beckoned me with his hand, pulling me out of my ill-time tete-a-tete with my subconscious. He gestured towards a small two-seater table, cordoned off by a wooden partition with decorative flowers carved into it.

A woman stood to greet me.

“Amelia?” she asked, proffering her hand for me to shake. I gave mine a discreet wipe against my skirt and entered into the handshake, praying she couldn’t feel how clammy with nerves I was.

“Yes,” I replied, nodding my head ridiculously like one of those toy dogs you see in the back of cars.

“I’m Vanessa. Please, sit down.” She angled her hand towards the round wooden seat in front of me and I did as she said and sat down, reminding myself to breathe as I lowered my ass onto the firm seat. There were two cups of coffee on the table and, assuming one was for me, I took one and flooded my arid mouth with some well-needed moisture – allowing my tongue to unstick itself from my palette.

Vanessa was tall – at least four inches above me – with short jet-black hair dancing in all different directions and a firm I-take-no-shit smile. The feathery lines framing her eyes told me she was either in her late forties or a heavy smoker, and she was dressed professionally in a dark-grey pantsuit.

“So, Amelia…”

It’s
Amy, my subconscious yelled but I didn’t have the balls to correct her.

“Let’s start by you telling me what attributes you hold that would be of benefit to our company.”

Oh crap.
The complete English language seemed to have erased itself from my memory.

“Well, I, um, I’m good at-” Jesus Christ, I’d turned into a stuttering imbecile.

I’m with you…
Richard’s note flashed in my memory, comforting me, encouraging me. Straightening my back, I took a deep breath and blinked my retardedness away – picturing Richard’s glistening green eyes in front of me.

“Passion. That’s what I have. I’ve had passion for literature my whole life. I’ve been an avid reader for as long as I can remember. Books, stories… they’re always something you can fall back on no matter what life is throwing at you. They offer you a place to go when you just need to escape for a little while. That is what inspires me to write. I aspire to be able to share my imagination with others, as so many other wonderful authors have done for me.”

Wow,
I was on a roll. I watched her face intently as I spoke. She cocked an eyebrow and dragged her lips up into a half-smile. Dare I say
,
she might’ve even looked impressed?

“Perfect answer.”

Phew…

“As regards to skills, that is something you will learn along the way. We have won several awards for our training programme, though that means nothing without the passion you describe.”

We chatted rather informally for over an hour and I have to say my subconscious impressed me for once, coming up with more-than-decent answers when my mouth dried out. Without wanting to sound egotistical, I think I even managed to sound quite intellectual at times. The only downside to our conversation was that if I was accepted onto the programme I would have to attend college two nights a week.
Ugh.
But I figured I could suck it up for the greater good.