The Calendar Game (The Alpha Series Book 2)

by Andie M. Long

  Thomas is a hoot when we're alone, but the moment he sees any of his staff, his posture holds firm and tall. Then I see him become eloquent and forbidding. Patricia comes out once to let Thomas know he has a call, but he tells her to take messages until he's finished showing us around.

  'So that's everything. Are you still bored?'

  I look at him. 'Not as much as I was. Your company has been very entertaining. However next time, I'd prefer to meet you somewhere that has food, or a bar.'

  'Your wish is my command. Then you can meet Col's mother, who I might add is desperate to meet you. Colin here has been keeping you away for far too long.' He gives Col a stern look.

  'I'll arrange something, Dad.'

  'Good stuff, son. Nice to meet you, Ronnie. I suppose I'd better get some work done. Have a nice evening, kids.' He winks.

  Back in the car Col tries to apologise for his father.

  'Col, I loved him.'

  'Really?' His shoulders visibly loosen.

  'Yes, he's a charmer.'

  'Well my mother is like a mother hen. Prepare to be suffocated.'

  'Will I meet your brother?'

  Col's eyes turn cold. 'I doubt it. I don't remember the last time he visited anyone.'

  'Where is he?'

  'Who knows. Last I heard he was in Copenhagen. He rings my mother occasionally. Other than that I don't see him. We never got on as children. We're not friends.'

  I guess there's more to the story of Col's younger brother, but I don't pry. Instead, I change the subject and ask Col about the TV awards.

  'Oh that's really not for me, Ronnie.'

  My face falls.

  'I'm not one for socialising. You know I'm not.'

  'But what if I win? I want to share that experience with you. How can I do that if you aren't there?'

  'I'd share it with you once you came home. I'll get champagne.'

  'But there'll be an after party.'

  'Ronnie. I would spoil it. You know I would. I'd be the mardy arse in the corner. I hate the whole social scene. It's part of business life, mingling with clients and it's all so false and pretentious.'

  'Thanks.'

  'You know what I mean. Everyone pretends to love each other when they'd step on you to get a better deal. If you really want me to come, Ronnie, if it really means that much to you, I will. Just don't expect me to dance to Gangnam Style or anything.'

  I look at him. He's right. It'd be like taking a penguin to Ibiza.

  'I love that you'd come if I asked, but no, it's okay. There's another woman I know going anyway. I'll hang around with her.'

  Col exhales. 'Great. I promise I'll make it up to you when you get home.'

  'You'd better.'

  Tuesday 22 April 2014

  Oh my God. I swish around in front of the mirror in my Diane von Furstenberg, Sady, Colour Block, jersey crepe wrap dress. It is divine. The wrap gives a plunge to the front, so I'm well secured with tit tape. My rack looks awesome. The dusty blue tie to the side accentuates my waist and the above knee length ensures my small stature is not drowned in fabric. My best feature—my legs—are on show, and the outfit is completed by Gucci suede-trimmed glitter finish sandals in gold.

  My hair has been pulled over so it drapes over my left shoulder in waves. I feel very Hollywood film star.

  The National Television Awards, or NTA for short, takes place at the O2 Arena so I don't have far to travel at all. Happy Morning sent a driver to take me there. I emerge on the red carpet to paparazzi flashes. I thoroughly enjoy myself, waving to the crowds and press. I've been practising the 'look over your shoulder' stance in the mirror all week.

  Then I walk inside to where the event is being held. There are seats for us to watch the show and I'm escorted to mine. I look around. I was expecting a circular table with meal and wine provided. Instead, the whole show takes place in a concert style set up. The evening passes quickly, and although I don't win the award I was nominated for, which goes to Ant and Dec—again—it's amazing to have been nominated.

  Ophelia finds me after the show. She kisses me on both cheeks and I reciprocate. I have to stand on tip-toes, whereas she probably put her back out bending down to me.

  'Sorry you didn't win, sweetie.'

  'Oh I didn't think I would for a moment. You look nice.' I say.

  Ophelia is in a short white wrap dress which contrasts nicely with her tan. I think she has too much cleavage on show. Then there's what seems like ten feet of bare legs running up to the hem of her short dress. Stella once told me that these are called aeroplane dresses; when the wearer bends over you can see the cockpit. Ophelia's dark hair is poker straight. She can get away with the flesh flash, she's so pretty.

  'So Ophelia, what are you doing now?'

  'Oh call me Pheely, Ophelia is such a mouthful.'

  'Okay.' I try the name out, 'Pheely.'

  'Listen do you fancy getting a pizza? I'm so over corporate food. I fancy pizza and a beer.'

  I nod. 'Okay. I've never really had a beer, sounds fun.'

  A voice echoes from behind. 'Fun? Fun happening without me? I don't think so. Where are we going?' Bloody Harry. He's like a bad smell.

  'Oh, it's just us girls tonight Harry,' I tell him.

  He pouts out his bottom lip. I can tell by Pheely's face that he's already got permission to tag along. He is so manipulative.

  I roll my eyes and sigh. 'Oh God, come on then. You can teach me about beer.'

  We go to Prezzo, a chain I'm unfamiliar with. Harry manages to get us a corner table, cut off from the families that are around. It's eleven at night and there are fractious children who should be in bed. They're making horrendous noises and sound like trapped birds.

  The pizza is delicious and Harry suggests he orders an array of beer for me to try.

  I don't know if it's because I'm unused to drinking it, or whether it's the gassiness, but I feel plastered in no time.

  We're thrown out of the restaurant at closing time and head to a bar to carry on drinking. I notice little looks passing between Harry and Pheely, and reckon I'm becoming a third wheel.

  'I think I'll catch a taxi back home,' I tell them.

  'No you won't,' Harry tells me. 'We're celebrating your nomination.'

  'But I told Col I'd be back.'

  'That wanker doesn't deserve to have you come home early. I can't believe he didn't come with you.'

  'Oh, he doesn't like things like that.'

  'Tough shit. He should have come for you.'

  'I'm with Harry there,' says Pheely. 'Stinks that he didn't show.'

  'He would have come. I told him not to.'

  'Yeah, I bet he begged,' Harry sneers.

  I sigh. 'Let's go and get another drink.'

  I love beer. Why have I never had this stuff before? Also I didn't know there were all these different tastes. Stout is awesome. Pheely nearly vomited when she drank it, said it was disgusting. I've ordered another Guinness. It's amazing. I like licking the cream top.

  'You've got white foam all over your mouth,' says Harry.

  I try and lick it off.

  'Oh God, you are so drunk. Here.' He wipes it off with a napkin.

  'Oh I'm having the best time. I haven't had such a scream in ages.'

  'That's cos you're with me woman,' says Harry. He reaches across to give me a hug and knocks a bottle off the table. It smashes on the floor.

  'Shit, I'm fucked,' he says.

  I start giggling and can't stop.

  'Do you know what we need now?' he says.

  'No. What?' asks Pheely.

  'Chips and cheese.'

  'Eurgh, what?' Pheely squeals. 'How many calories is that? I'll have to make myself vomit to fit into my dresses next week.'

  I frown at Harry. 'Chips with Cheese? How? Explain.'

  'Late night special. Chips with grated cheddar on the top. Trust me. It is the boss. I know a chippy that does the best. Let's go.'

  'Count me out, Haz. I'm seriously going to pu
ke if I have any more. I'm going home.'

  'Pheely,' I whine. 'You have to come.'

  'Nah.' She hops off her stool. 'I'm fucking done. Put me in a taxi will you?'

  We walk with her to the taxi rank I reach over and hug her. 'Thanks for a great evening.'

  'It's been totes amazing, sweetie. I'll see you soon.'

  I look at my hand on her arm. 'Look.' I screech. 'I'm touching Pheely. I'm being touchy pheely.' I laugh so much I end up on my knees and Harry has to help me stand back up.

  'You're a loon, Miss Huntington-Jones,' says Harry.

  We load her into a taxi and then get in one behind. Harry takes us to the chippy in the middle of a housing estate, God knows where. It takes ages to get served. I'm so bloody hungry. I lean on Harry's shoulder while I wait. I accidentally doze off a bit. When Harry moves up the queue I startle. I notice I've drooled on his jacket. Oops.

  After finally getting served, we walk down the street tucking in.

  'Mmmmmm. Fucking Hell, Harry. Ships and scheeze. How did I not know about this? Is shamazing.'

  Pissed as I am, I still get the strange feeling that I'm being followed. I turn around and there's a bloke walking closely behind. Probably just another drunk, but he eyes me warily. I become convinced he's a mugger.

  I gulp. 'Harry?'

  'Yeah?'

  I think I'm being quiet but instead I shout, 'I think there's a bad man behind us.'

  'What?' Harry turns straight round and looks at the guy.

  'No.' I wave a finger at Harry. 'Don't do that. You'll make him shushpishous.'

  'We need to get out of here.'

  Harry grabs my arm. Unfortunately it knocks my equilibrium off kilter and I start to plunge backwards. Harry follows and I end up in someone's hedge, Harry laid across me. The remainder of our chips have catapulted across the floor. I can't stop laughing. I also seem to have lost the use of my limbs due to my inebriation. Harry tries to get off me and fails too. He rests his forehead on mine, shaking his head. 'What a fucking state.'

  Which of course is when the man behind us decides to make it clear that he's actually a member of the fucking press and starts taking photos.

  'Oh no, please don't,' I start sobbing.

  'Mate. Help me up,' Harry asks him.

  'You've got to be fucking kidding me. These'll feed my family for months.' The photographer runs down the street. Further down he flags down and jumps into a taxi.

  Harry manages to fling himself sideways and sit up. He clutches his head. 'Christ everything's spinning.'

  'Harry those fucking pictures. Col will see them. He has all the papers in a morning.'

  'Just tell him what happened. He can phone me if he likes. We haven't done anything Ronnie.'

  'I know but -' I wipe my eyes.

  'No buts. He didn't come out to support you. I took you out to celebrate. We were with Pheely nearly all night. We're pissed. We fell in a bush. End of.'

  He pulls me up and we sit on the edge of the kerb.

  I put my head in my hands, suddenly feeling very sober. 'This is it. This time, I've done it. I can just tell.'

  'Ronnie. Don't worry about it. I'll sort it.'

  'How?'

  'I dunno. I'll pay the photographer off or something.'

  'Really? You could do that?'

  'Sure. That's all they're interested in. Making cash.'

  I feel some hope. 'Oh thank you.'

  'Right. Let's get you home. I need some fucking coffee.'

  'Col will be there.'

  'Good. Some jealousy should sort the little fucker out.'

  I'm obviously still pissed after all as I agree.

  'Colllllllllllll.' Briiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.

  Col opens his door and looks at me and Harry.

  'Ronnie. What is he doing here?'

  'Make us some coffee, honey, and I'll explain.'

  His nose turns up like there's a bad smell. 'I don't think so. You bring another guy here? One you know that, no offence mate, I don't trust… and what? You think we're going to be all chatty around a hot beverage?' He turns to Harry. 'Time to go home, mate.'

  'You should treat her better.' Harry wobbles to the side a bit and looks at the wall as if it's moved.

  'I'm not going to respond to that as I doubt you'll remember by tomorrow anyway.' Col rolls up his sleeves. 'For God sakes, come in. I'll get you a very small, but strong espresso, and call you a taxi.'

  'You're a taxi,' I shout at Harry. 'Hahahahahahahahahaha.'

  Col stares at me with his arms folded tightly across his chest. Then he stands back and lets us through.

  Harry pats his arm on the way in. 'Cheers mate.'

  I see Col tighten his right fist, then release.

  Harry falls onto Col's sofa. 'Papp…prazz…papp. What the fuck am I trying to say, Ronnie?'

  I start singing Lady Gaga 'Pappa-pappa-razi.'

  'That.' Harry points his finger at me with a flourish. 'They took pictures. Not good mate, not good.'

  Col's nostrils flare. 'Enlighten me.'

  Hic. Oh fuck. I need water. 'Me and Harry. In a bush.'

  'Not her bush.' Harry points at me again.

  Col closes his eyes. I swear he's counting, but my eyes are getting droopy.

  Wednesday 23 April 2014

  When I wake up, I'm still in my wrap dress. I'm laid under Col's duvet with a bucket at the side of the bed. I peer over; my head bangs as my brain feels like it's fallen to the front. No vomit there, thank God. I feel like I've licked a hairy dog.

  It takes about forty minutes for me to get in Col's shower, during which time I dry heave around three times. I find paracetamol in his bathroom cabinet and wash two down with handfuls of cold tap water. I put the shower on and lay down in the bath. Sod shower gel. I'll just lie down. I start to close my eyes again.

  'For goodness sake, are you trying to drown yourself?' Col turns off the shower. He reaches in to get hold of me. 'Come on Ronnie.'

  'I can't move. Seriously.'

  'I don't have time for this,' he says. He goes out of the room and returns with a mass of towels and a pillow. He lifts my head, sticks the pillow behind and covers me with the towels. 'Bloody stay there then.'

  I feel warm, damp and cosy. I fall back to sleep.

  'Oh my God. Owww.' My neck is hurting. My back is absolutely killing me. I'm shivering with cold. The pain in my forehead has lessened though. My mouth is so dry. If I don't get a drink soon, I think I'm going to die. I sit up slowly. I gingerly climb out of the bath and walk over to the sink. I tilt my head over the bowl, place my mouth under the tap and lap up a small amount of water.

  Righting myself, I look straight in the mirror to face the naked truth; panda eyes and knotted hair. Thank goodness I have supplies in the bathroom. I spend ten minutes making myself look clean and presentable. I slip on some yoga pants and a sweatshirt that I'd kept at Cols, and start to head towards the coffee shop door.

  Col is around the back and stops me. 'Don't go in,' he says sharply.

  'Look I know you're pissed at me, but I need a coffee.'

  'Ronnie, the press have been coming in all morning. Stay in the flat. Don't even try and get to your own.'

  'Is this because of the photos?'

  He closes his eyes and takes a calming breath, then looks at me. 'That and the fact that you didn't turn up for your morning TV appearance.'

  I feel the blood drain from my face as I realise it's Wednesday. 'I need to ring them.'

  'I'll bring you the papers first, Ronnie. Go into the living room. I'll fix you some toast and a drink.'

  'But I need to apologise.'

  'It's too late,' he tells me. 'They released a statement early this afternoon. You've been sacked.'

  I sit on the sofa and look through the tabloids. I've made the front pages of two. There are pictures of me arriving looking immaculate. Then there are the pictures of me and Harry in the bush, looking like we are having a drunken romp. There's no mention that Pheely was there most of the
evening. They quote an "insider" who talks about my previous alcohol issues and restraining orders.

  I wonder why I've not heard my mobile phone and see that it's run out of battery. I plug it into Col's charger as we have the same iPhone. It bleeps with texts and messages, including one from the Producer of the show asking me to call him as soon as possible.

  I ring and try to apologise but he keeps it short and sweet. There's no way I can represent their image. My behaviour wasn't in keeping with what they wish to portray.

  I look myself up on the internet. Twitter trolls claim I was never a celebrity anyway. Then there's a photo circulating. Originating from Twitter and now going viral—Harry looking glorious in his selfie. There's no attack on his character. Just womens’ lustful statements about how they'd like to get hold of him.

  On my Facebook feed I see a statement from LoveBug. It says they will no longer be doing business with me and the brand will be withdrawn. It wasn't selling well anyway, so really this is a stroke of marketing genius that will provide a boost for the company as people buy up the remaining stock before it disappears.

  Col comes in. 'Stop looking at it now Ronnie. There's nothing you can do but lie low for a while.'

  I pull my knees up under my chin. 'I guess not.'

  'Look at you.' Col lifts my chin up. 'You look about seventeen with your pale face and messy hair.'

  'I am a mess.'

  'You didn't need the TV shows, Ronnie. You've a natural business head. Concentrate on your gardening. Help me with the coffee shops.'

  I nod. 'I'll do what you say. Lie low for a bit and then I'll just go back to how it was before.'

  'See, it's not so bad. Why do you think I love chilling out in my shop so much? No drama.'

  'Other than the kidnapping?'

  'Well yes, but I'm not counting that. That was down to Stella and her putting her revenge plans before us all.'

  'Col.'

  'Sorry. Forget I said that. It's in the past. Why don't you go back to bed for a bit. I'll get you a couple of magazines from the shop.'

  'Thank you.'

  'Oh, and Ronnie?'

  'Yes.'

  'I'd arranged yesterday that we'd go to visit my parents for dinner this weekend. Should I cancel it?'