The Fallout

Van woke me by throwing random objects at my bedroom door and yelling that breakfast was ready. He was up before me! Now that was a first. I still hadn’t recovered from the exhaustion of last night. Call me melodramatic, but it was so draining as I know I was getting as much attention as Van was (though very little of it was good)

My phone was flashing manically with missed calls and texts. I opened the first;

          ‘Why wasn’t I the first to know you were pregnant? I’ve had newspapers calling me up wanting my version of events. What do I tell them?’

Her voice messages were along the same vein, though each successive one got more hysterical, her voice getting higher and higher. I’d left my phone on silent as I didn’t want to get woken up. Maybe I should have turned it off altogether. The other voice messages were from magazines wanting interviews about the baby and wishing me congratulations. Ooops.

          I threw on a robe and wandered out to the smell of bagels being cooked, and something else…

          “YOU FOUND CRUMPETS!” I squealed, running over to hug him.

Yes, I had more important things to be worrying about now, but there is no love like the one between a girl and crumpets. I felt like a crack whore being given a hit just from the smell.

          “Yup. Sit down I’ll bring them over.” He was amused by me, as usual.

          “We have a problem. No, we actually have several problems. Have you checked your phone today?” My voice was growing higher the more I thought about it.

He shook his head and yanked the crumpets out of the toaster, popping them on a plate and putting a thin layer of vegan marge over the top. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. What was I saying? Oh yes.

          “Well I have a lot of voice messages from my hysterical mother and several magazines that want all the gossip about the twins.” My tone peaked out of hysteria and disbelief. It had been funny yesterday, now…my mum was never going to speak to me again!

He looked at me in confusion and carried the plate over to the table, setting it before me before planting a soft kiss on the top of my head. What the hell?

          “The twins, you know, Zebedee and Loony.” I snorted at the names.

          “Oh.” He said, turning away to hide the laughter.

          “Oh indeed.” I said, sinking my teeth into a crumpet.

Better get this over with. I dialed mum’s number, chewing slowly. This was going to be very, very bad.

          “Georgiana! I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day! You are all over the news over here and in the papers.”

Shit.

          “Mum, I know what it looks like, but it was all a big joke. Come on, my stomach is flat in those pictures, and I haven’t been out here six months so how could I be that far gone?” I took another bite and paused for breath.

          “No baby?” She asked, sounding deflated.

          “No mum, I’m sorry. Don’t you think you’d be the first to know if there was? I don’t want kids. That hasn’t changed and I doubt it ever will if it hasn’t by this point. Van is wonderful, but he’s my boss, not the father of my fake babies.”

          “I am slightly relieved as I had some concerns over the name choices.” She always did get straight to the crux of the problem.

          “You think I’d let my kids be called Zebedee and Loony? If anyone else calls, just say ‘no comment’, hell if you like take the money and make something up, just don’t talk about Van ok as he has a career and it’s kinda my job to ensure that doesn’t go down the toilet.”

          “You sound different.” She said.

          “How do you mean?” I asked, feeling cagey.

          “Happy. Healthy. Perky even. I’m not used to it is all, it’s a relief actually, you don’t know how long your dad and I have worried that we’d come home and find you swinging from the loft hatch.” Such nonchalance for the subject matter!

Awesome. Thanks mum. I looked over and Van to see if he could hear, but he was tidying up in the kitchen, humming to himself.

          “Could you get copies of any mags or papers? They’d be great to look back on when I have to go back to a crappy retail job.”

She laughed slightly, still sounding disappointed. I hadn’t even thought she would hear about it, let alone this quickly.

          “I saw you get attacked, are you ok?” Her tone softened a little.

          “Yeah. Van’s fan girls hate me with a passion. They think I’m using him to advance my career or something. There are hate groups dedicated to me on face book.” I said with a laugh. She didn’t return it. I wasn’t sure she knew what FB was.

          “Be careful Georgiana.”

          “Van won’t let anything happen to me. He’s very protective. We were just winding the media up last night as the premiere was dragging. It was amazing though, the film was great, you both need to go see it when it comes over there.”

          “George, the UK premiere is in a fortnight, I thought maybe you’d want to come?” Van said from across the room.

          “See, I’m his PA and I have no idea of what’s going on. He should fire me.” I said with a laugh.

          “It would be good to see you George. Would it be in London?”

          “I assume so, yeah. I’ll let you know the details as soon as I know them. Take care mum.”

          “You too. Bye.

I hung up and sighed. I didn’t really want to go back to England if I was honest. It was just rain, grey skies and the old me, the one I thought would remain there forever and not follow me here. She might jump on the plane home and get back with me. I finished the crumpets and carried the plate over to the sink. Van was chewing on his fingers.

          “What’s wrong my love?” I said.

It was something I said to everyone, regardless of whether I loved them or not. I hadn’t even thought about it, but he looked surprised.

          “What? Van? What’s wrong?”

          “Nothing.” He mumbled. “Just tired I guess. Yesterday was draining. We don’t have anything for a few days, so I thought I might go to New York and see Luke.”

          “That’s a great idea. I’m going to get in contact with your agent and see why there’s such a waiting time on actually getting the scripts. They’re really doing a sucky job at the moment. Anything you need me to do while you’re gone?”

He shook his head and left the room, still chewing on his fingers. Had I said something wrong or done something to offend him? I thought back on the conversation and couldn’t think of anything, but then I had a habit of talking without thinking.

          I followed him to his room and knocked on the door. He called me in.

          “Talk to me, what’s wrong?” I asked as he began packing a suitcase.

          “I’m fine, really. I’m just tired and have a lot on my mind.” He avoided looking at me as he grabbed things from drawers and threw them in the case.

          “Anything I can help with?”

He shook his head. I took it as a sign to leave, closing the door softly behind me. His mood had just dropped out of nowhere. I must have said something, but what?

 

I had expected him not to leave until the next day, or at least the evening, but he was gone within the hour. I’d been given a curt goodbye, a hurt look lingering in his eyes as he closed the door behind him. What the hell was going on?

I felt like curling up in a ball and crying. Everything had been going so incredibly well, I should have known something would happen to ruin it, that it couldn’t last. I wandered around the apartment morosely, not really knowing what to do with myself. I’d gotten out of practice of being alone and I hated it now. Before it had been necessary as I’d never found anyone I really cared enough about to be around all the time. Former boyfriends had been kept close for fear of being alone, and they had done the same to me, cheating, stealing and using me in a hundred different ways.

          I snuck into his room and stole his robe, putting it on even though I was hot. It still smelt like him and the aftershave he used which I could identify on any man that wore it. I’d even squealed at Masanobu that he was wearing it. It had scared him a little by how excited I was by the fact, but he was frequently freaked out by me. We’d been chatting via text, unable to make schedules click again, but now that I had a few days off and no Van, I really wanted to see Masa. It might have been a case of loneliness and Van replacement therapy, but Masa was a good guy and I enjoyed his company (when he actually spoke) it would be good to see someone other than Van for once. To be a normal person in normal surroundings, or at least as normal as this place got.

          I rang Masa but he didn’t pick up, so I left a message telling him I was free and happy to meet up at any time as I had no plans. It sounded a little desperate, but he wasn’t the kind of man to judge me like that, he’d hopefully just be happy that we’d finally get together. He was how I used to be, scared to talk to people for fear of rejection or ridicule. As my mother had said, I’d changed. I was a tiger mother now (without the kids) ensuring that my ward (Van) ate, slept, didn’t smoke too much and had all his veggies. Since we’d moved in together he’d become practically Vegan. We cooked together, so it was just easier to use meat replacement, and he didn’t miss meat he had admitted. I could put money on him binging on the stuff in New York though. I rarely thought about meat anymore, but I did miss the ease of it, just going in somewhere and picking anything off the menu, instead of having to ask exactly what was in everything.

          I sat at the table and stared out of the window, feeling a bit useless. I was used to planning my life around Van and had grown to hate my free time, unless it involved spending it with him. We’d become inseparable, going shopping, watching Breaking Bad obsessively together (he was now as hooked as I was), we’d even baked together once after he’d gotten excited about finding a recipe for Vegan muffins online. They sucked, but that wasn’t the point. It was fun and a ’couple’ thing. I’d ended up with more of the batter in my hair than in the bowl after Van had decided to start flicking it at me, but the side of me that worried about that kind of thing didn’t seem to exist here. I didn’t buy into the ‘stiff upper lip’, ‘uptight’ British stereotype, but it was true in my case, or maybe it was the sun? The new surroundings? Having a job I loved? I could tell myself whatever I wanted, but I knew it was down to Van, and Sofia. I found myself wishing she lived closer, but she was in New York, as was Van.

          I sent him a text to let me know that he got there safely, and set about cleaning. The flat was never messy, but I went OCD and moved all the furniture, dusting, sweeping, mopping, cleaning, washing… I emptied Van’s washing basket and dragged his and my clothes down to the laundry room, feeling sad as we usually did this together. I had no one to chat to as the machine went through its cycle, so settled for staring at a wall and brooding. Once the stuff was in the drier, I began checking my phone every two minutes to see if Van or Masa had messaged me. They hadn’t. I texted my mum and then began neurotically tidying up the laundry room. I had to keep busy or I was going to drive myself mad. I’d done it before. The Devil makes work for idle hands or whatever the saying is. If I had too long to think, I would do an excellent job of depressing the crap out of myself. I would dissect every conversation and look for signs that I’d messed up, or that he had been acting the whole time just to make working with me easier and he’d now had enough of it. Living together maybe hadn’t been the best idea, but he’d suggested it. Did he think I was getting too attached? Well duh, of course I was, he was wonderful. How could I not?

          I remembered what Sofia had said about his previous PA using him. Did he think I was doing the same? I couldn’t think of any time where I’d taken advantage to my knowledge. Everything he had done for me, he had offered, I’d never asked. Or was this something else entirely and I was reading too much into it? Was it simply that this place was getting to him again? But that wouldn’t explain why he was in such a good mood when I first got up and then it disappeared after I’d spoken to my mum. What had I said that could have upset him? I was going around in circles.

          I took the clothes from the drier and lugged them back upstairs. I loved this building, I loved the flat, I loved the view over the skyline and the sun, I loved living with Van and I especially loved how close we had gotten recently. I wasn’t ready to give all that up. If I had to, I’d move back to that shit hole, that was fine, but I couldn’t give Van up. I couldn’t comprehend my life without him now. He was the first thing I thought of when I woke and the last thing at night, and it wasn’t just because I was his PA, that didn’t even come into it. I loved him. It had been creeping up on me for a while now, but I’d just thought it was a silly crush like the rabid fan girls. I knew it wasn’t now. It was a lot stronger. Yesterday had been proof in the way I’d wanted to defend him. I couldn’t stand the idea that people were upsetting him. I had risked pissing off some serious players around here just so they would leave him alone. I wasn’t scared when he was around, I was this braver, stronger version of the girl who’d left England all those weeks ago. I had fallen so hard in such a short amount of time.

          Moping wasn’t helping. I set his iPod to random and turned the docking station on. I couldn’t help but smile at the song that came out of it. ‘Rhythm of Love’ by Plain White Tees. It was a song I’d had in my head for a whole week once and couldn’t stop singing. I’d driven him half mad with it, humming, singing even though I didn’t know the words… Evidently he missed me repeating it all the time as I didn’t think it had been on there before (I’d stolen his iPod every time mine needed charging and he did the same with mine, loving my cheesy 80’s tracks.) Well, it was now in my head for another week. I wasn’t going to mope, I was going to jump around like a nutter, something I hadn’t done in a while. I let my hair down (literally, I’d had it in a bun) and started hopping around in a weird, stupid dance that people only do when they don’t think they’re being watched. I hope to God he hasn’t got security cameras in here. He’s probably sat in New York laughing his arse off and streaming it to the internet. The fan girls would love that.

          After the fifteenth time on repeat, I couldn’t stand it anymore and turned it off. The forced happiness hadn’t lasted. It was growing dark outside now the sun had set, and he hadn’t replied to my message. I hoped that was because he didn’t want to talk to me and not because he was hurt. I was being paranoid. He was fine, he was just enjoying seeing Luke. I was tempted to message Sofia, but I didn’t want to hassle her. She was a freaking world famous super model after all and had better things to do than listen to my angsty whining.

           I fell asleep in front of the TV, lounging on the couch with my phone in my hand, checking it obsessively. Even my mum hadn’t replied. I was feeling a little unloved, watching people scream abuse at each other on a talk show to cheer myself up. (I slept with my sister’s friend’s cousin’s goat and then her brother’s neighbour’s dog, or something equally confusing.) Talk shows in England were pretty tame compared to that.

Heaven and Hell

He was right, moving my stuff was entirely too easy and made a mockery of his awesome truck. It was literally what was in my suitcase, the bag I used for work and my fridge’s contents. If I died tomorrow, this is all I would have to show for it. On the plus side, there wouldn’t be any freaky stories about how I owned a life size my little pony or a 72 piece vibrator set. I didn’t even own a one piece vibrator set.

          I covered the dress with bin bags so he wouldn’t be able to see it and placed it in my case with the love and care of a holy relic.

Going down to tell the asshole at the desk I was leaving was way too much fun. The benefits of living in a shit hole that didn’t take card details, wanted cash and didn’t do contracts. There wasn’t even a deposit to worry about. Awesome.

          On the drive to Van’s I was thinking about all the benefits of living with him; rides to our appointments, not having to make sure he was up, internet access, and well…Van. I would be living with Van. I would be actually living with Van. Holy crap, life just got better and better (minus the attempted mugging)

          “Van, I’m going to have a huge mark on my face for the premiere.” I said, prodding the stitches with my finger in irritation.

          “Don’t mess with it. If you like, I’ll put stitches on my face and we’ll pretend we’re making a fashion statement.” I hoped he was joking.

          “So come on, tell me everything I need to know about attending a premiere.”

He thought for a moment, his eyes on the road. He began chewing on his fingers again. Uh oh, this usually meant bad news.

          “Basically, you just stand there and look pretty as I wow the crowds, smooze with the red carpet interviewers and look utterly gorgeous.” He winked at me in the rear view mirror. “There’ll probably be an after party, but I generally don’t stay for those. They’re messy, dangerous and are usually crawling with paps waiting to get photos of you vomiting in the gutter.”

          “So I just stand there.”

          “Yup.”

          “And if they ask me questions like that evil bitch did?” I’m sitting on my hands to stop myself picking at the stitches. It’s so addictive, but I don’t really want to make this any worse. I don’t think scars are in fashion right now.

          “You give them my favourite hand gesture.”

          “I hope you’re kidding. I’m sure as your PA I should be discouraging it or something, but it is slightly hilarious watching people’s faces when you do it. I also love how all your fans greet you with it, it’s a whole sea of middle fingers. Could there be anything more beautiful?”

          “Mac, my favourite word is fuck, I love giving the finger, I smoke where I’m not supposed to, drink too much, make no secret of my hatred of interviews…I’m the brat as far as everyone’s concerned and I couldn’t give a flying fuck. If you want to piss off every person in that place, go for it, just draw the line at directors I might want to work with in the future.” He shot me the cutest lop sided grin and pushed his hair out of his face. His accent peaked on hard consonants and made my insides feel like squirming eels.

          We pulled up at his, taking only one trip to get my things upstairs. Unpacking took all of two minutes, the only thing I cared about was my dress getting wrinkled. Van had obviously already decided I was moving in before he mentioned it to me as he’d made the room more girl friendly, I.e. taken down the posters of cars that had been up before. All of Luke’s things were packed away (though there hadn’t been much.) It was a gorgeous room with a window that had a view over the skyline, the sun setting in a thousand shades of orange and gold. I could hear myself sighing contently. This was bliss.

          Van appeared in the doorway.

          “Let me show you where you can stick your bathroom junk. I know girls have a million bottles.”

I held up my shampoo, conditioner and shower gel.

          “That’s it? Wow. Don’t ever live with Sofia, she had three medicine cabinets full of lotions and potions. They quite honestly scared me.”

          “Van, I can’t thank you enough for this…”

He held up a hand to stop me.

          “It’s purely selfish. I hate living alone, I miss Luke and it’ll be nice to have company. Plus it’ll make both our lives easier. I won’t need an alarm clock because you’re uber organised.” He grinned, showing all his perfect white teeth. How did a smoker have such amazing teeth? “Hungry? I thought I’d cook, y’know, welcome you to the apartment…”

          “You have food?” I said in mock horror, pulling a Macaulay-Culkin-in-Home-Alone expression.

He rolled his eyes.

          “I even bought some of that fake meat, mushroom protein crap. It looks vile, but apparently tastes like chicken.”

          “That sounds great. Thank you. Let me help though.”

          “Nope. You relax, check your email or something. What’re you going to do now that you have internet access? How will you cope with the excitement?”

          “I’ll be watching cute videos of kittens and puppies all day long.”

He smiled and left to go start on dinner. He thought I was joking!

          I carried my laptop through to the main room, liking that there was someone else here. I could watch him attacking vegetables with a cleaver like he was in the middle of the zombie apocalypse and not have him realise that’s what I was doing.

I made my first port of call the hate group on Facebook. It had thankfully been removed, but another had been set up in its place, cleverly called ‘FUKIN TRY N GET THIS TAKEN OFF BITCH! WE STILL H8 GEORGIANA MACMANUS!’ And the best part? Apparently I used to be a man. They’re basing this on the fact that I have a huge Adam’s apple. Do I? I can’t say I’d ever taken the time to focus on that part of my body as I was usually fixated on how awful my skin was. Nope, I wasn’t going down that road. I wasn’t going to let a group of silly little girls give me even more things to worry about. I was neurotic enough without adding to it. I reported the group again and headed for Twitter. I was tagged in no end of posts telling me I was fugly, stupid, fat (?!?), anorexic (make up your minds people) gay, and one person was even telling everyone I was dead. Impressive that I can check this from beyond the grave.

          I clicked on my Beloved’s profile and felt myself blushing at some of the things he’d written in defense of me;

          ‘@myusername is probably the sweetest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, please stop insulting her as I find it really hurtful.’

          ‘Look people, can we stop now. @myusername is my close friend and I won’t have people insulting her.’

          ‘Please don’t call yourself a ‘fan’ if you’re insulting one of the most important people in my life @myusername.’

          ‘Spent the day with my favourite girl @myusername. She made me laugh so hard coke came out of my nose.’ I smiled remembering that day.

          ‘@myusername is making sure I eat my vegetables. Three square meals a day, and coffee doesn’t count? ;p’

          I felt better after reading those. I was his favourite girl? I wasn’t going to start getting excited, he was doing it to protect me and piss off the haters no doubt. But my heart was doing little back flips of happiness. 

          “Are they leaving you alone yet?” Van called, his arms covered up to the elbow with pieces of carrot peel.

          “Nope. I have several face book groups dedicated to me. I used to be a man according to them.”

          “Awesome. I always wanted to meet a chick with a dick.”

          “Classy Van.” I said snorting back a laugh. “I just don’t understand why they’re wasting their time! They could be doing something productive or fun, but instead they’re spamming the crap out of me.” I clicked onto an actor database. This was what I’d secretly wanted the internet for, to stalk Van! Mwahaahahhahahahaaaa!

          In another window, I did a search for pictures of him and left it running whilst I looked at his career. Holy crap he’d been in a lot of films, and I’d actually seen a couple of them! Surely I’d remember him wouldn’t I? There were a lot of independent films listed, along with ones that hadn’t been released in England, which would explain why I’d never really known about him (that and me living under a rock.) I scribbled a quick list, intending to get hold of every single one. Heh heh heh. God bless the internet. I closed that page and looked at the photos. Holy fuck.

          “Jesus Van, you look hot in a dress.” I said, looking over at him.

His eyes widened in panic and he rushed over to the computer, shutting the laptop.

          “Banned! No more! You can help me chop veg if you’re going to misbehave.” He looked utterly horrified.

          “It’s ok, all I have to do is this…” I closed my eyes and smiled dreamily. “Oh yeah Van, work it.” I was laughing, trying not to snort as I did that WAAAAAAY too often and it was not remotely sexy.

          “You’re evil.”

          “Well you have great legs. Miaow.” I said winking at him

          “I hate you. You can stir this.” He handed me a wooden spoon and steered me over to the hob, his hands on my hips guiding me.

 

And he can cook. The stir fry was so good! I almost felt indecent eating it in front of him because I was enjoying it way too much. We were getting like an old married couple, bantering, teasing and chucking things at each other. It never escalated to a full food fight, but it was close. We did the washing up together and slobbed out on the couch afterwards, chatting about trashy TV (Jerry Springer is awesome) and what our favourite shows were.

          “So what do you watch?” I asked, stretching and yawning. Sleeping was hard when you can’t lie on your back due to puncture wounds. They weren’t agonising or anything like that, but when I was asleep and rolled over, they stung enough to wake me up.

          “I don’t watch much TV to be honest.”

          “Have you seen Breaking Bad?”

He shook his head. Uh oh.

          “What? Please tell me you’re joking. That show is the best thing on TV! Tomorrow we’re going to find a box set and watch them all in a giant marathon!” I said, my voice getting higher and higher as I got more excited. The hand clapping and squealing started then. I felt like saying we could paint each other’s nails and put on face packs, but I thought it would scare him, plus I’d never done that myself. Girlie sleepovers were alien territory for me. Maybe I had missed out on a whole chunk of my life through being a social pariah. Meh, Van could be my girlfriend.

He smiled indulgently as I chatted away about how great the show was, how much he sucked for not watching it and how much fun we were going to have. I don’t get out much and get excited over stupid things. Plus Aaron Paul is AMAZING. I just hope I don’t tear up when bad things happen to Jesse. Just thinking about it made my eyes a little misty. I had to say though, watching Meth addicts on BB was a lot better than nearly being mugged by them!

          The evening was such a wonderful bubble of domesticated bliss without the complication of a relationship or sexual tension. We chatted, teased, play fought and then planned what to do tomorrow on a rare day off. I went to bed happier than I could remember being for so long, secretly a tiny bit thankful to Stabby McStabberson for making this happen. Poor bastard was probably going through withdrawal in a holding cell somewhere.

          I fell asleep quickly and didn’t wake up once.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Neighbourly Behaviour

Neighbourly Behaviour.

 

 

Unfortunately I wasn’t alone in the lobby. A man and what looked like a crack whore were leaning against the opposite wall, eying me up like a piece of meat. Crap. I smiled politely and began trudging up the stairs as quickly as I could. It made no matter, the man took the stairs two at a time and reached me in seconds.

          “You’ll be wanting to make a donation tonight.” He said, his teeth yellow and broken, his breath horrific.

          “I’m sorry?” I could only assume he wanted my money, but I didn’t have any on me, just spare change. “I only have spare change and not much of that.” I said, trying to step around him.

His long greasy hair hung in front of his eyes, one had been blackened in a fight and his lip was split. I couldn’t think why, as he was such a delightful gentleman.

He pulled a wicked sharp hunting knife from his pocket and waved it in my face unsteadily. He was either drunk or on something and dumb too as mugging people in this building was pointless.

          “You can have whatever I’ve got, but it’s not much.” I said, my heart hammering and my vision darkening at the edges. I was about to have a full blown panic attack, just what I need.

My breathing became shallow and quick, my palms sweaty, my vision a little weird. My hands struggled to open my bag as they were shaking so hard. He swiped the knife across my cheek lightly to hurry me along. I felt the blood beading from the wound. Scars were only sexy on men. What a stupid thing to think in that moment!

          I pulled out my wallet and opened it, spilling everything into his upturned palm. He was not happy at how little there was.

          “Looks like we’ll be taking a walk to the ATM missy.” He said with a feral smile.

His female friend had appeared, struggling with the stairs in her six inch heels. She was swaying too, her skin a mess of ragged flesh. Meth by the looks of things. Awesome.

          “I don’t have any money in my bank. I live in this shit hole! Do you think I would do that if I had money?” I babbled, my voice getting higher and higher as I went on.

He considered that for a moment.

          “You got anything worth selling?”

I shook my head. My flat was completely devoid of anything, apart from my dress  and my iPod.

          “I don’t believe you. We’ll be taking this little lady to a cash point.” He said to his crack whore.

She nodded, but looked so out of it I doubted she had any idea of what was going on.

He jabbed the knife into my back until I began to walk back down the stairs. I felt blood where the knife had poked me. He had no control over his hands, they were shaking more violently than mine were, and the knife found my back several more times. The back of my t shirt was damp, but I didn’t think any of the wounds were serious as I could feel no pain. It was adrenaline, but I clung to it as it was all I had. Could I disarm him? Push him down the stairs?

          We reached the bottom and he pushed me towards the door, the knife adding another hole to my back as he failed to stop in time.

The dizziness that accompanies a panic attack was starting to make its presence felt, and my feet grew sluggish and unresponsive. I was stumbling more than walking, the fear making my knees lock. I was rewarded with several more pokes and the blood was running past my waist band and down my thigh. More worrying that the cuts was what the knife had been used for previously. I doubted it was clean and HIV and god knows what were worse than being mugged or cut a little. I wanted Van. I wanted someone, anyone to stop this. I wanted all the people who were usually on the street screaming abuse at one another to step in. But would they help or make things worse, mugging me themselves?

          “Faster.” He snapped, another two punctures.

His whore was straggling behind on unsteady legs. This was my chance. I could disarm him and run, but where to? He knew where I lived and would just follow me. No, I was not going to be a victim. I didn’t give a shit if he gave me a few more scars, I was not being that scared little girl anymore. I didn’t need anyone. I could stand on my own two feet.

I took a deep breath and turned around, using my knee to hit his hand making him drop the knife. I picked it up quickly and waved it in the air between us.

          “Ok lady, you’ve made your point.” He said, raising his hands and backing up.

          “I don’t think I have. Down on the ground, both of you.” I yelled, hoping someone would come to see what the commotion was about.

The whore fell to her knees and lay down, breathing as though she were minutes from death. The man joined her, his fingers twitching by his sides.

I took my phone out and called the police.

The man clearly had no intention of being arrested, and climbed to his feet. A knee to the groin soon fixed that, and when the cops came, he was still writhing on the floor in agony.

 

After taking a statement and arresting the couple, they took me to the hospital to get my cuts cleaned up, and to give me a blood test. They were clearly concerned about what would be on that knife too.

What a weird day. What a terrifying, confusing, weird day.

          The staff at the hospital were lovely, but I had a nightmare as far as health insurance and all that jazz were concerned. In England, you walk into A and E, join the queue, get seen, then leave. Here you have to fill out paperwork, even if your arm is falling off. It’s completely insane. What if you’re unconscious?

          They took blood, cleaned me up, covered my back with gauze and told me to call them in a couple of days for the results. I really didn’t like having that hanging over my head, but there was nothing that could be done about it. I hurt now that the adrenaline was spent, and my cheek stung. It had been a deeper cut than I’d thought and needed butterfly stitches to hold it together. I would look so pretty tomorrow, I would be getting all the boy’s numbers.

          I got back to my flat at 4.30am, feeling like stir fried shit, shaking with fear at every single noise the building made, jumping at every car that drove past in the street below. Not good. Not good at all.

 

I met Van bright and early the next morning at his apartment. I didn’t know the way to an audition he had today, so he would drive me. His son had left late last night so I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to Luke or Sofia, but didn’t have time to dwell on it due to Van’s reaction to my face.      

          “What happened?” His eyes were wide, his jaw hanging open. His hands flapped in the air between us as he didn’t know what to do with them.

          “Good morning to you too.” I said as he stepped aside to let me through the door.

The colour had drained from his face as his eyes traced the line across my cheek. I hadn’t had the guts to look at it yet, holding the mirror in such a way that I couldn’t see it when I had been getting ready that morning. Showering had been a bitch. The soap and shampoo ran into all the cuts and stung, plus it meant all the tape and stitches came off. I couldn’t reach my back so left it, and finally having to examine my face to put new butterfly stitches in place.

          “Just your friendly neighbour meth addict wanting money.” I said, not meeting his eyes. “I’ve made a list of the pros and cons of all the scripts you gave me.” I took out the paperwork and handed it to him. “Have you had breakfast?” I asked, not giving him room to question me further.

          “You’re bleeding.” He said quietly, his voice monotone.

My hand moved to my cheek, but it was fine.

          “Your shirt…” He pointed to my back where a poppy coloured stain was spreading across my back and edging across the sides of my shirt.

          “Awesome. That’s the only clean shirt I have. So have you had breakfast?”

          “Jesus George, we need to take care of this.” His hands were lifting my shirt carefully. “What the fuck happened?” He asked, letting it drop to grab some tissue. He blotted the wound gently, using the back of the shirt to carefully pull me over to the sink. Thankfully I wasn’t dripping on the carpet, I didn’t want him losing his deposit on the flat.

          “A meth addict called Stabby McStabbison decided I would make a good pin cushion. It’s ok, I took his knife, kneed him in the nuts and called the police. He and his crack whore friend were arrested.”

          “Why the hell didn’t you call me?” He asked.

I thankfully couldn’t see him as he was cleaning up my back with a wet flannel.

          “Why would I call you? Besides, it was stupidly late and you don’t sleep enough as it is.” I continued.

          “Georgiana stop. Regardless of our working relationship, I am your friend. I am here if you need me. If you are in trouble, you call me. You shouldn’t have been alone in your flat after this happened.”

I yawned, unable to keep it in any longer. I was so tired I felt dead on my feet.

          “I’m ok.” I said, not even convincing myself. “Do you have any gauze? We’re running a little late.” I said, checking the time.

          “Screw the audition, they can wait.” He said irritated. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the audition or because of me. “How can you be so blasé about this?”

          “Because if I think about it too much I won’t ever be able to go back to that building and will get on a plane back to England and live in my parent’s spare room until they or I die. I’m not doing it. I’m fine.” I tried to inject my voice with something resembling courage or at least cover the fear. I failed epically.

He took my shoulders and turned me around to face him, his expression unreadable. I looked down at my feet and surprised when he pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around my waist. He was careful not to touch the holes in my back, his hands gently brushing my skin like you would when trying to soothe a child. I couldn’t help myself, my throat tightened and my eyes filled with tears. I was fine until someone asked me if I was ok, or showed me affection or that they cared, that was generally my undoing. I sobbed and sniffled into his shoulder, my arms tight around his neck as though if I let go, there’d be nothing left. We were going to be late and it was all my fault, but that just made me cry even more.

He made ‘shh’ing sounds and told me everything was going to be ok, that he was here for me and I wasn’t alone. I was thankful I didn’t wear makeup as it would be all over his shirt if I did and that would just slow us down even more.

          “I’m so sorry.” I stuttered between sobs, wiping my eyes roughly with the backs of my hands and pulling away reluctantly.

          “Don’t be silly, you have nothing to apologise for. Come on let’s get these cuts covered and we’ll see if I can find you a shirt to wear.”

 

We got to the audition on time, but I had no doubt of what they thought when I walked in, red eyed, sniffing and wearing a man’s shirt that was at least three sizes too big. I didn’t care anymore, I was just too tired.

This audition had been arranged before I’d become his PA, so I knew nothing about the role or what was involved. For auditions, I waited with the other hopefuls in the waiting room as it would be inappropriate to go marching in with him. I used the time (and their Wi-Fi) to check my emails, contact a few people about things Van needed arranging, and to check on my haters.

          Twitter ran slow on my ancient machine - that and the fact that it was threatening to crash under the sheer volume of nasty messages. Just bloody great. I wasn’t having the best day and really didn’t need this.

I went through and reported the worst ones, before typing my own ‘tweet’.

          “I’m sorry that people are failing to understand that I work for VM. We are not a couple, we are not dating. It is my job to make his life easier. Sending me hate mail is not the best way to get in his good books.” Admittedly it had to be split over a couple of tweets, but I was thoroughly fucked off with it all.

          I checked my face book and found friend requests from my Beloved, Masanobu and 1000 rabid fan girls. I’d been sent a link to the ‘I HOPE GEORGIANA MACMANUS DIES!” page. The only photo they had was the one Van had taken of me and they’d edited it in such a delightful way. I had a speech bubble coming from my mouth that said; ‘I’m a skanky, dirty, disease ridden whore.’ and they’d blacked a couple of my teeth, given me wrinkles and added flies buzzing around my head. I joined the group and complimented the originality of their photo editing skills, offering them several more photos that they would have more fun with. I even littered it with kisses and smiley faces. I didn’t care anymore. I just didn’t have the energy. I scrolled down to a document called; ‘Why we hate that British fucktarded bitch.’ and felt my jaw hit my lap.

          The reasons they hated me? I was using Van. I was probably giving him STDs by being in the same room as him. I was causing him to drink more, smoke more and sleep less. Since I had become his PA, he had looked progressively less happy with each passing day. I was ugly. I was stupid. I was going to trick him into getting me pregnant then I was going to steal all his money. I stopped him seeing his son and I hated his ex (but so did they by the looks of things) Seriously, what was wrong with these people!

          I shut the thing down as the battery was dying, plugging it into the wall and looking around at the picture perfect men and women I was surrounded by. There were several other PAs, they were easy to spot as they had their phones surgically attached to their ears. Did they have hate groups dedicated to them on the internet? Somehow I doubted it. They seemed so efficient and professional with their immaculate hair, nails and business suits. I got a lot of evil stares and wide eyed curiosity when they saw the cut on my face. Maybe I should have sent the haters a photo of my face so they could start a rumour that I was in a gang fight or a riot or something.

          I rubbed my tired eyes and pulled some paper out of my bag. I’d write my mum a letter as I had nothing much else to do without my laptop.

          ‘Dear Mum and Dad,

                                             I hope you’re well. Things here are great. The weather is always amazing and I love my job. My boss is incredibly sweet and kind, and the work is varied and challenging. Next week I’ll be going to a premiere with him so you might even see me in a magazine. I’m not looking forward to it as you know how clumsy I am and how socially inept, but it should be fun and will be the first time I’ve seen some of his work.

          I might be moving to New York when Van heads back there after pilot season, but I’m not sure as of yet.

Is there anything you’d like me to send over to you? American food or whatever?

Take Care

George.’

 

We weren’t a family of many words.

 

Van strode out of the audition looking weary but elated.

          “How was it my lovely?” I asked.

Everyone’s eyes had turned to focus on Van, the women longingly, the men jealously. He pulled me to my feet and put my arm through his.

          “I think it went well. I’d love to do this movie as the script is really unusual. We’ll see.” He said, pecking me on the cheek.

I blinked. Oh if the fan girls had seen that! No doubt several of the people in the waiting room had witnessed it and would be ensuring the world at large knew what a disgusting floozy I was. He had just kissed me. Van Murphy just kissed me. Today just got a whole lot better.

 

We went to lunch at a small restaurant as Van liked to avoid the ones that Hollywood royalty frequented for any number of reasons. I was relieved, plus they had a Vegan option. I vetoed Van’s idea of just having dessert and he pouted melodramatically.

          “I have to ask…how are you still alive?” I said as they brought our meals. I’d forced him to get a side salad as well as the burger and chips. Was he allergic to vegetables?

          “Pure luck I expect.” He said raising an eyebrow and his favourite salute. I returned it with a big grin.

          “Love you too. I’m serious though, you have a son. You need to look after yourself better, if only for his sake.” I snarfed a piece of pasta and popped it in my mouth. It was so good!

          “I know.” He said. “I’m doing good with the cigs though.”

I nodded, thrilled that he had cut down so much. We ate in companionable silence, his smile fading every time he looked upon the cut on my face.

          “The interview cancelled for this afternoon.” I said, checking my mobile. They didn’t even bother to call, just sent a half arsed text. Nice.

          “Booyah!” He said raising his drink in a toast. “Thank the lord. That means we can get you moved!”

          “I’m sorry, what?”

          “You’re coming to live with me. No arguments. I’m not having you in that hell hole a minute longer, besides, we won’t be in town for more than four weeks, so we’ll find you a place in New York.”

I stared at him open mouthed, not having a clue of what to say.

          “You’re coming to New York right?” he asked, stabbing a piece of lettuce with his fork.

We’d never really discussed what would happen when he went back to NY, he couldn’t need a PA once pilot season was over as he mostly did movies the rest of the time and they were long term with a lot less that needed arranging. Was he just being polite? I mean I’d follow him into Hell if he asked, but was I really needed? And living with him? For a month! What the hell! How would that work? I’d be driving him crazy the whole time.

          “I’d love to go with you to New York, but I’m ok in my flat at the moment. As you say, it’s only for a month.”

          “I said no arguments. It’s happening. You can cope with me for a month right?” He winked.

          “Fine. Let me know how much you want for rent and junk like that and first thing we need to do is go food shopping because if we’re living together, you’re going to be eating properly.”

          “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist the idea of being able to nag me 24/7.”

I threw my napkin at him but he ducked it easily.

          “You have next to nothing to transport, so it should only take one trip.” He said.

          “Yeah, but you’re not allowed to see my dress.”

He nodded before returning his attention to dissecting the salad. I was with him on that one, salad is vile. I’m probably the only vegan on the planet that doesn’t eat them. Yuck. But needs must and he was going to be the healthiest son of a bitch in the country if I had my way. Where had this control freak come from? Was it born out of concern or a power trip? I had no desire for power and shied away from the idea of it. It was because I couldn’t bear the thought of him being ill, but if he ever was, I’d look after him happily. Poor boy would be sick of me within 24 hours, I’d put money on it.