The Woman Who Stole My Life (38 page)

‘Hang tight,’ she said. ‘I’m on my way over right now.’

Half an hour later, she arrived, her cheeks pink from the cold. She was wearing a white furry hat, white furry boots and a white duvet coat. She was dusted with snowflakes, some even on her eyelashes.

‘Wow, it’s cold out there. Hey, Jeffrey!’

Jeffrey came to hug her. Even Esperanza stuck her head around her door and said, ‘Madam, you look like a princess from a fairy story.’

‘I’ll take that, Esperanza.’ Gilda smiled and Esperanza retreated.

‘Where can we talk?’ Gilda unpeeled her layers of outdoor clothing.

‘Come into the bedroom.’

‘Okay. Shut the door. Stella, I’m going to propose something here. If you don’t like it, you forget I said it and we never refer to it again.’

‘Go on …’ But I already knew what she was going to say.

‘We collaborate.’

‘Say more.’

‘We merge our two books …’

‘Right.’

‘… and create an all-bases-covered go-to guide for all ailments, physical and spiritual, for every woman who wants to live her best life.’

God, she was inspiring. ‘Yes!’

‘We’re a good fit, Stella, you and I. Always were. Kismet.’

‘We could even call the book that – “Kismet”!’

‘Sure! Or how about: “Your Best Self”?’

‘Maybe we don’t have to decide on the name just yet.’

‘But this is real?’ she asked. ‘This is actually happening?’

‘Yes!’ I was overjoyed, almost queasy with relief.

‘There is just one thing. I don’t want Phyllis as my agent.’

‘Oh, Gilda.’ I was instantly sobered. ‘I signed a contract with her when all this first started. She has to be my agent.’

‘Not if we’re both the authors. Obviously your name would be
huge
on the jacket and mine would be teeny tiny, but legally, under these circumstances, you can step away from her.’

‘I don’t know …’

‘Hey, look. She was the right agent for your first book; she put you on the map, got you a deal. But you don’t need her now. Why pay her ten per cent when she does nothing?’

‘But
who
would be our agent?’

She looked at me like I’d lost it. ‘Mannix, of course. It’s so obvious.’

And in a way it was.

‘Look at that great deal he got for you with that Irish publishing house.’

‘Can we talk to Mannix about it?’ I asked.

‘Sure! He’s back tomorrow. I say we give him twenty-four hours to get over the jet lag then we both go at him.’ She giggled. ‘He’ll be powerless to resist.’

‘She blew it.’ Gilda made an impassioned plea for bypassing Phyllis. ‘She should have done the second deal as soon as you got the first one. But she thought if she waited she’d get more. She was greedy.’

Mannix and I exchanged a look: by cutting Phyllis out, weren’t we also being greedy?

‘You’re just being smart,’ Gilda said.

‘I don’t know …’ Mannix said. ‘I feel loyal to Phyllis.’

‘So do I,’ I said.

‘It’s not about loyalty,’ Gilda said. ‘It’s just business. She’s still Stella’s agent for anything published under her own name. Always supposing you can get her support. But, guys, here are the facts: she’s refusing to agent Stella’s second book. And you’re hurting for money.’

And that was what everything came down to: money.

Almost all of the first advance had been spent. Not on fast cars and champagne, just on the daily demands of a city as expensive as New York.

‘You need to live,’ Gilda said to Mannix. ‘And there are Roland’s debts …’

I looked at her in confusion: did she know how much Roland owed? Because I didn’t. Perhaps she was just talking in general terms.

After a lengthy silence, Mannix said, ‘If this is our best chance to keep earning a living, then I’ll do it.’

‘Great! Ten per cent to you. Stella and I split the rest fifty-fifty?’

‘Sure.’

Mannix sounded so weary that I said, ‘I thought you liked the bit of agenting you’ve done.’

‘I did. I do.’

‘Who tells Phyllis?’ Gilda asked.

After a silence, Mannix said, ‘I will.’

‘Do it now,’ Gilda said. ‘Let’s get that put to bed.’

Obediently Mannix picked up his phone and Gilda scrambled to her feet. ‘Jeez,’ she said, almost gleefully, ‘this is one
conversation I don’t want to hear. Come on, Stella, let’s have some wine.’

A few minutes later, Mannix came into the kitchen and I gave him a glass.

‘So …?’ I asked.

He took a mouthful of wine.

‘How did she take it?’ Gilda asked.

‘As well as you might expect.’

‘That bad?’ I said. ‘Cripes.’

Mannix shrugged. He didn’t seem to care.

Gilda and I spent the next month merging the two books, matching the appropriate sayings with each chapter. Gilda had broken up with Joss Wootten so we took the project to a young enthusiastic graphic artist called Noah. It was delicate, challenging work, much more so than I’d imagined – it involved cutting some of Gilda’s text and shoehorning mine in. We had to do it over and over again until the blend felt natural and we put in such long hours staring at computer screens that I nearly went blind.

But it was important to get it right. I was scared now, really really scared, because this was my last chance.

Mannix had let Bryce Bonesman know that he was now the agent for the book; he promised him ‘new and exciting’ and said it would be ready by the start of March.

On a Thursday night, on the second-last day in February, at around nine o’clock, Gilda said, ‘I think that’s it. I don’t think we can make it any more beautiful.’

‘Print it?’ Noah said.

I took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Print it.’

We watched the glossy pages flop from the printer and we assembled two copies of our beautiful book, one for each of us.

The awkward matter of a title still hadn’t been resolved. Gilda wanted to call it: ‘Your Best Self’; I preferred: ‘Right
Here, Right Now’. So I suggested we leave the final decision to Blisset Renown.

‘Should we email it to Bryce?’ I asked.

‘The files are too big,’ Noah said. ‘The download would take for ever.’

‘Why don’t you deliver it in person to him tomorrow morning?’ Gilda said to me.

‘Why don’t we both?’

‘You’re the main author. You should do it.’

‘Okay. If you’re sure.’

We gave each other a congratulatory hug, thanked Noah and left.

Down in the street, I asked Gilda if she was getting the subway.

‘No. I’m going to visit a friend.’ Instinctively I knew it was one of her interesting older blokes and I didn’t want to pry.

‘So let’s put you in a cab.’ She had her hand out and a taxi had already pulled over.

At home, Mannix mustered an enthusiastic response to the pages, but I could see it was an effort. I’d been increasingly worried about him since he’d come back from Ireland. Though he’d always joked about being a glass-half-empty kind of person, I wondered if he was having a bout of actual depression, triggered by the shock of Roland’s stroke. He’d stopped going swimming, his smiles were rare and he never seemed to be fully present.

‘Everything’s going to be okay,’ I told him. ‘Everything’s going to be great.’

The next morning, I hurried over to Blisset Renown and gave the book to Bryce’s assistant. She promised she’d give it to him as soon as he came in.

Back at the apartment, shortly after eleven o’clock, Mannix’s phone started to ring.

‘It’s Bryce,’ he said.

‘He must have got the book!’ I said.

Mannix grabbed the phone and put it on speaker. ‘Hey, Bryce.’

‘Mannix, sir? Congratulations! You couldn’t have picked a better project to launch your US career.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I need to brainstorm with Sales, Marketing, Digital, the whole team, and pull together a consummate vision. But we need to get you guys in for a meeting asap. Does tomorrow morning work?’

The following morning, at Blisset Renown, Ruben met Mannix and me as we came out of the elevator and we followed him down the hallway. I’d assumed we’d be going to the boardroom but instead, to my surprise, we were diverted to Bryce’s office. Gilda and Bryce were already there, sitting behind Bryce’s desk. They were deep in chat.

A slew of colourful pages – the new book – was strewn in front of them.

‘Mannix, Stella, take a seat,’ Bryce said.

‘We’re having the meeting here?’ I asked. ‘Just the four of us?’ What about all the vice-presidents?

‘Take a seat,’ Bryce repeated and I felt a prickle of unease.

I pulled up a chair so I was sitting facing Bryce. Mannix sat beside me and Gilda remained where she was.

‘So,’ Bryce said. ‘Everyone here, we love the new book.’

I felt almost ecstatic with relief.

‘The thing is, Stella,’ Bryce continued. ‘We don’t love you.’

I thought I was hearing things. I stared at him, waiting for some kind of punchline.

‘Yes.’ Bryce sounded regretful. ‘This is real. We don’t love you.’

Looking for clues, I turned to Mannix: he was watching Bryce with intense focus.

‘You’re not working,’ Bryce said to me. ‘We’ve sent you out there, into every corner of the United States.
Three
times. We’ve spent a lot of money. Ruben got you plenty of inches and the book just didn’t sell. Not in the way we projected it would.’

He tapped the pages of the new book. ‘But this … This we can make work.’

Mannix spoke up. ‘But Stella’s sayings are in there.’

Bryce shook his head ruefully. ‘They’re coming right back out again and her name is coming off the title credits. She will have no part of this book.’

‘But Stella’s sayings are what make this book work,’ Mannix said.

Again came that regretful head-shake from Bryce. ‘Gilda’s got plenty of sayings of her own, and they’re all better than Stella’s. We’re going to start fresh with Gilda. She’s got a great concept, she’s got wow presence and everyone’s going to love her.’

‘… So what about the things I wrote?’ I already knew the answer but couldn’t stop myself from asking.

‘You’re not hearing me,’ Bryce said. ‘Yeah, I know, you’re in shock and that transitioning to the new normal will be painful. So here it is in plain English: there will be no second book for you. It’s over, Stella.’

‘… And you’re going to publish Gilda’s book?’ I asked. ‘Without me?’

‘That’s it. We’ve been watching Gilda for a while; we love her work on your blog and Twitter.’

Mannix spoke. ‘How much are you offering for Gilda’s book?’

‘Now you’re talking like an agent,’ Bryce said, admiringly. ‘That’s what I want to hear.’

‘One moment,’ Mannix said. ‘I need to talk to Stella. I can’t just –’

‘You don’t need to speak with Stella,’ Bryce shut him down. ‘You need to speak with your client – and that’s Gilda. Let’s start a dialogue.’

‘A dialogue?’ I asked.

‘You know what?’ Bryce looked at me with pity. ‘You guys have a lot to discuss. Why don’t you leave now? Take some time. Process what’s happened here this morning. And you and I, sir,’ he addressed Mannix. ‘We’ll talk later.’

Bryce stood up. ‘Go.’ He hurried us from the room with sweeps of his hands.

I looked at Mannix, he looked at me. I didn’t recognize the look in his eyes and I didn’t know what to do.

‘Go,’ Bryce repeated. ‘But remember! It’s all good!’

I had no memory of going down in the elevator. Suddenly I found myself standing outside in the street with Mannix and Gilda.

‘So I don’t have a book deal any longer?’ I asked.

‘No,’ Gilda said.

‘And you do? But how is this going to work?’ I sounded almost slurred. ‘Who’s your agent?’

She shrugged, as if she couldn’t believe my stupidity. ‘Mannix.’

‘Mannix?’ I looked up at him. ‘Really?’

‘Stella,’ he said. ‘We’re in a bad way financially, we need the money –’

‘… So what becomes of me?’ I asked.

‘You can be my assistant,’ Gilda said. ‘You can do my Twitter account, my Instagram, my blog. You can come on tour with me, if Mannix can’t.’

‘Mannix is going on tour with you –?’

‘Stella, you weren’t expecting this,’ Gilda said. ‘I get that. But let’s be grown-ups here. Try thinking of it like we’ve all just swapped roles. Well, nearly.’ She flashed a tender glance at Mannix. ‘Mannix can stay being Mannix. But you’re me. And I’m …’ She cocked her head to one side and smiled a wide, happy smile. ‘Well, I guess I’m you.’

‘My house!’ Ryan wails. ‘My car! My business, my money – it’s all gone! Why did you let me do it?’

‘I tried. Jeffrey tried.’ I could weep with frustration. ‘But you wouldn’t listen.’

‘I’ve nowhere to live. You’ve got to let me move in with you.’

‘No, Ryan.’

‘Do you know where I slept last night? In a hostel for homeless men. It was bad, Stella. Beyond bad.’

‘Did they … did someone try to …?’

‘No one tried to bugger me, if that’s what you’re asking. They just … mocked me. Men with nothing except beards and lice, they
scorned
me.’

It’s less than two days since Ryan’s karma stunt and already all interest has melted away. People just wanted to see if he’d go through with his lunatic project and, now that he has, the machine has moved on, looking for the next freak. No one is saying now that Ryan is creating Spiritual Art. They just think he’s a total fool.

Worse, they seem to be taking some sort of perverse pleasure in proving him wrong – no one is giving him anything.

With creeping dread, I remember what Karen said the
other day – that I’m a soft touch and that, if I’m not careful, I’ll end up with Ryan in my bed. Karen is always right. Everything she has predicted so far with this karma business has come true.

But I don’t want to end up with Ryan in my bed! Ryan and me, it was a million years ago. I can barely remember it, never mind consider rekindling it.

‘Please, Ryan. I don’t want to come downstairs every morning and find you lounging around in your jocks on my couch. It’s too … 
studenty
.’

‘You’re supposed to be a good person,’ he says. ‘It’s how you make your living.’

‘I don’t make any living at the moment. Why don’t you talk to a lawyer?’ I suggest. ‘See if you can get back some of the things you gave away. Say that you weren’t in your right mind when you did it. Because you weren’t.’

‘You know,’ he says, speculatively, ‘this was
my
house.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ I say, suddenly afraid. ‘That was all sorted out. Very
fairly
. You agreed, I agreed, everyone agreed. We
agreed,
Ryan!’

‘Maybe I wasn’t in my right mind then, either. Maybe I was unhinged with grief.’

‘And maybe I wasn’t in my right mind the day I married you!’ My face is hot and I’m finding it hard to breathe.

But fighting with Ryan isn’t going to achieve anything. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m very …’ What am I? Stressed? Afraid? Sad? Tired? ‘… hungry. I’m very hungry, Ryan. To be honest, I’m hungry a lot of the time, and it makes me cranky. I’m very difficult to live with. Look, what about Clarissa? I’m sure she’ll help you.’

‘That Clarissa …’ Ryan shakes his head. ‘She’s changed all the codes and I can’t get into the office. She’s emptied the business bank account. I suppose she must have set up a new one. She’s vicious.’

This isn’t exactly a surprise, but it’s a blow.

‘Look,’ he says, ‘could I sleep in with Jeffrey?’

‘No!’ Jeffrey yells from an upstairs room.

‘No,’ I say.

‘What am I to do, Stella?’ He fixes me with pleading brown eyes. ‘I have nowhere to go. I have no one to help me. Please let me stay here.’

‘… Okay.’ I mean, what else can I do? ‘You can sleep in my office. For a while.’

‘How long is a while?’

‘Nine days.’

‘Why nine?’

‘Eight, then, if you’d prefer.’

‘Where am I going to keep my things?’

‘You haven’t
got
any things. And Ryan, understand this: I
need
to work.’ I felt panicky at the thought of tripping over my ex-husband lying on a futon in my office every morning. ‘As soon as I come into that office you need to get up and get out.’

‘Where will I go every day?’

‘The zoo,’ I say, on impulse. ‘We’ll buy you a season ticket. It’ll be nice, with the baby elephants and all. You’ll like it.’

I awake.

It’s still dark outside, but something has happened.

It takes a moment to realize what it is: I am not alone in my bed. I have been joined by a man. A man with an erection, which he is pressing into my back.

‘Ryan?’ I whisper.

‘Stella,’ Ryan whispers back. ‘Are you awake?’

‘No.’

‘Stella.’ He strokes my shoulder and presses his erection harder into my back. ‘I was thinking …’

‘You have got to be fucking kidding me.’ I’m still whispering but in a shrieky sort of way. ‘Get out.’

‘Ah, come on, Stella –’

‘Get out. Out of my bed and out of my room and out of my house.’

Nothing happens for a moment, then I see the ghostly flash of his naked body as he scuttles towards the door, bent protectively over his erection, like an arthritic crab.

For the love of God. How did I end up in bed with Ryan? How has my life doubled round on itself and deposited me back where I started?