Saving Amy (27 page)

Vanessa broached the subject of me working towards a career as a writer and we discussed it for almost half an hour. I squirmed at first – she only knew about that because of Richard – and also thanks to Richard, she had read what I was capable of. She was unexpectedly encouraging, and told me if I had the drive and determination to write a full piece, she would be more than willing to consider it for publication. I wanted to be excited about that, but my subconscious wouldn’t allow it – just in case.

“Well, I think we have covered pretty much everything. Do you have any questions?”

Only thousands…

“No, thank you. You’ve been very informative.” I breathed a sigh of stark relied. I’d done all I could. Now I just had to head home and fidget my fingers off while I waited for an answer.

“In that case, it gives me great pleasure to offer you an internship on behalf of Salt House Publishing.”

What the…

“
Really?
” I bounced so fervently in my seat I almost hit the ceiling. “Thank you so much!” I added, thankfully managing to restrain myself from swearing every obscenity known to man.

I didn’t expect to find out so quickly and my insides were reeling with sheer exuberance, pride and more than a little apprehension as they pirouetted their way through my veins.

“I’d like you to start Monday, 9 AM, if that’s okay with you? Obviously if you have prior plans we can make alternative arrangements.”

“Monday’s fine,” I said, doing the nodding-dog thing again.

“Great. I’ll email you your internship pack. It contains a comprehensive history of our company, what you can expect to gain by training with us, and also all of our contact information. Here’s my card in case you need me in the meantime.” She handed me a glossy black card with her details printed in fancy gold script.

“Thank you,” I beamed, excited and nervous as hell.

“Right, we’re all done,” she said, gathering her papers from the table and filing them neatly into her leather briefcase. “I’ll see you Monday.” She stood up and offered her hand again. I did the same.

“Yes, Monday. Thank you again.” Nodding, she smiled her firm smile, and left.

I stood, frozen and mute, as my eyes followed her out of the restaurant. Then, without warning, my hands involuntarily started clapping together like some kind of trained sea lion, and I let out an ear-piercing squeal, startling both myself and everyone else around me.
Oops!

After managing to drive Richard’s precious Audi home without breaking it and then easing it first time into one of his designated bays in the underground lot beneath his apartment, I took a moment slumped over the driver’s wheel to compose myself. I did it. I actually goddam did it. With that thought, I snatched the keys from the ignition and made my way to the elevator.

Richard was waiting for me in the living room and jumped to his feet the second he saw me. His expression was anxious – his hand resting on his forearm in preparation to start rubbing. A wicked
streak which I didn’t know I held until now
was enjoying watching him squirm – karma for going behind my back perhaps – and I decided to drag out his agony a little longer.

I dropped my head and forced a frown.

“
Well?
” he asked, carefully assessing my subdued disposition. I shrugged my shoulders.

“I got it,” I purposely whispered so he would struggle to hear. He moved closer, took hold of my hands and drew them up to his chest.

“Never mind. There’s plenty-” He stopped mid-sentence, his gleaming eyes widening. “Wait… did you just say… you
got
it?” I’d planned to keep going for longer but excitement swelled in my veins until I feared they might burst under the pressure.

“Yes!” I shrieked.

“I knew it! I knew you’d do it!” He scooped me in his arms and twirled me around so fast I began to feel dizzy. “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

“Thank you,” I whispered into his ear, pulling him close when he set me back down. “And I’m sorry too.” Richard pulled back a little so he could see my face.

“For what?” he asked, puzzled.

“For being an over-reacting, ungrateful bitch.” I buried my face in his neck so he couldn’t see the smile threatening to explode on my lips.

“Consider yourself forgiven,” he teased and even though I couldn’t see his face I could feel his wink. “You did good today. I think you deserve a reward,” he said through a salaciously suggestive grin. Then he scooped me right back up and carried me to the bedroom.

**********

Sunday afternoon and the mall was bursting at the seams.
Isn’t Sunday supposed to be a day of rest?
Seemingly not... Richard and his wallet were accompanying me on a getting-kitted-out-for-my-new-job shopping spree. For the first time I was revelling in the experience of spending his money. Probably because it would be the last – I’d have my own money soon.

Richard remained the dutiful boyfriend – following me in and out of endless shops and boutiques, nodding and frowning in all the right places and handing me his credit card when required. After passing him my latest bag of goodies, I led him to the shop next door. Clothes-wise I was all done and tucked away in the bags weighing down Richard’s strapping arms were two pencil skirts, two pairs of smart trousers, three white blouses and a blazer.

“Now for the shoes,” I said, causing Richard’s posture to droop. But like a good boy, he breathed through it and followed me inside, perching himself on the stools by the dressing rooms out of the way.

I tried on six different pairs of shoes – heels, wedges, flats, pointed-toe, peep-toe and strappy. I couldn’t feel my toes anymore. Eventually I’d narrowed it down to two pairs and I held one from each in my hands. I literally weighed them up in my palms, raising and lowering them alternately while I tried to pick the right ones. I was torn between the sensible flat – and therefore comfortable – option, or the impressive, confidence inducing heels.

Hmm…

“I can’t decide. What do
you
think?” I asked Richard, approaching him with my dilemma. He looked up from his
cell which
he appeared to be texting or emailing on.

“They’re both nice.”

How helpful. Not.

“But which are nicest?” I pressed, growing frustrated.

“Get both,” he said without looking back up, too busy tapping away on his phone. He could’ve at least
pretended
to be interested.

The shoes cost three hundred and twenty and two hundred and eighty dollars respectively and if he couldn’t be bothered distracting himself from his cell for two minutes to help me make a decision, then on his wallet be it.

“Fine,” I snapped, stalking off towards the counter. I slammed my shoes on the counter, causing the girl to jump back a step from the cash register.

“Sorry,” I muttered. It wasn’t her fault I was in a raging bad mood.
It’s
his,
my subconscious sneered towards Richard who was lagging behind me, fumbling for his wallet. I sighed, exasperated as he handed over his card to the short, bottle-blonde cashier
who
of course, was fixated with him.

I knew exactly why I was in a foul mood. It was because even though I had my job now – therefore no secret meetings required – Richard’s suspicious phone-call behaviour remained. Only now, he was texting all the time too. Believe me, I knew it sounded ridiculous, possessive and irrational… but texting is so informal.
Too informal for discussing hospital related stuff, right?
And it wasn’t like he had a tonne of friends – not that I knew of anyway. Only…
her.

Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe I was just turning into a crazy, insecure, jealous freak. All I needed now was a rabbit and a hot pan.

“All done?” Richard asked, stuffing his wallet back into his jeans and wrapping his free arm around my waist – turning my insides to guilt-ridden mush. I nodded gratefully at him. “Thank Christ for that. I don’t think I can take any more ‘girl talk’.” He bowed his head towards two homecoming-queen-esque girls by the dress rack. “You know, the blonde is
so
screwing the brunette’s boyfriend,” he said in his best ditzy-blonde voice. It was actually unnervingly good and I made a mental note to fly off the handle if he ever suggested I get my hair cut short.

After giving myself a strict talking to during the ride home I was finally over
myself and my pathetic insecurities
. Who the hell was I to say who he could and couldn’t text? I wasn’t his mother. But then even a mother wouldn’t get so antsy over a few text messages for fuck’s sake.

I gave Richard a full-on fashion show, parading up and down the great living room one outfit at a time.

“This is my favourite,” I announced, sporting my grey flared pants, fitted white shirt with ruched sleeves and killer black, three hundred and twenty dollar heels.

“Hmm,” he murmured as if he was unsure.

“You don’t like it?” I stared myself down and decided I looked pretty damn hot.

“It’s very nice. I just think you’d look better with it off,” he said, rubbing his chin suggestively. I bent towards the couch, reaching for a cushion to throw at him, but as I stretched my arm he grabbed it, pulling me onto his lap, making me squeal like such a…
girl.

Feeling his sweet breath on my face as he kissed me, inhaling the scent of his tea-tree infused hair as I clawed at it with hungry fingers… I struggled to believe I could ever be mad at him. I focused on his ragged breathing, on his intense green eyes blazing with desire, and I could see and
feel
how much he loved me – how much he wanted me. All traces of suspicion and jealousy dissipated into nothing.

Until his cell bleeped, vibrating against the glass of the coffee table…

The stern talking to I gave myself earlier flew straight out of the nearest window and into the path of an oncoming truck. Seizing my opportunity to quash my, hopefully irrational, doubts once and for all, I reached for his phone.

“Leave it,” he ordered too abruptly and then instantly tried to backtrack. “I mean… it won’t be anything important. Now, where were we?” He tried to pull me back into his kiss but my frustration had returned with a vengeance and I pushed him away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Who’s texting you?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t check,” he answered defensively. “It’s probably work related.” He sounded irritated. What I couldn’t decide though is, was it because he was hiding something, or because of my unjustified interrogation?

“Is hospital stuff really the kind of thing you should be discussing via text?” I
pressed,
knowing deep down I should really let it drop.

“Amy, what is this? What are you getting at?”

Hmm, what
am
I getting at?
I didn’t really know.

“Amy, answer me!”
Crap.
Bossy Doctor had arrived. There went my plan to ignore him.

“You’ve just been on your cell a
lot
lately.” Yep, it sounded even more pathetic out loud and I wished I’d kept my mouth shut.

“I don’t understand. Do you think I’m having an affair or something?” he asked, his voice shaking as if he were trying to suppress laughter.

“I’m glad I amuse you,” I deadpanned.

“Baby, look at me,” he said, his voice turning abruptly serious. “Look into my eyes and tell me if you think I’m cheating on you.”

“No. Of course I don’t.” And I really didn’t. Did I? No, that was absurd. I trusted Richard implicitly. Didn’t I? Yes. Yes I did. He was the only person I had ever trusted my whole life. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe I was incapable of trust. Maybe I just didn’t know how… Yes. Yes that was it. This whole thing was just another symptom of my fucked-up-ness and was actually nothing to do with Richard at all.

“I’m sorry,” I confessed, leaning in for a kiss. “Maybe my period is due or something,” I joked in an attempt to trivialise my whole bunny boiler episode.

“I would never,
ever
hurt you like that. You’re everything to me,” Richard declared, his voice grave and meaningful as he tried to reassure me. Which he did - and now I felt even more stupid – and guilty – for doubting him in the first place.

I nestled back into him, burying my face into his neck and relishing the thrum of his pulse playing gently against my cheek. Christ I loved him. And he loved me. I just needed to work on the believing it part…

O
h shit. Breathe. Oh shit. Breathe. Oh sh-

“Amelia,” Vanessa greeted, interrupting my inward freaking out session.

“Good morning,” I said, taking her proffered hand and shaking it. She led me up a long white corridor, the walls either side lined with windows exposing offices littered with desks, bookshelves and people who looked like they knew what they were doing.
Much unlike me.

“You’ll be based in here, with me.” She opened the door to a huge office with ‘V A Heart – Editor’ etched onto it. I nodded weakly and took in my surroundings.

Vanessa’s office was bright and airy. A long horizontal window spanned the full width of the exterior wall and everything was white or glass, with the exception of her peanut-shaped
desk which
was a smooth pine.